#Growing Pains: TOV

[magicmetslogic]

Oh, also

Growing Pains Sequel Fic Be Upon Ye!

So THIS fic is set after @skywardheroine and I's OTHER fic called Growing Pains, which was all about Raven and Karol addressing their familial feelings over the course of an action-packed, joke filled adventure through a monster cave system!

In THIS fic, however, they've since been established as a family and now they're enjoying their life together! They're finishing up a pirate adventure with patty together! They're having a great time!

And then Raven gets pneumonia. Yeah, sick-fic time.

Anyway, enjoy!

[thecomfywriter]

You're not a bad writer. You're just an inexperienced one.

Writing is a skill that requires practise and honing. It requires dedication and repeated stimulation to grow as a writer. You aren't going to show up to your document one day with the perfect writing style that encapsulates your voice perfectly or is stylistically engaging. Oftentimes, it takes a lot of trial and error to figure out what your writing style is yours. But that isn't to say you're a bad writer. Just that you're still learning.

I'm going to give you an example of what my writing sounded like just a year ago. Draft 4 (the Blasphemous Draft, as I like to call it) was literally so atrocious, it forced me to go back to the drawing room and create the masterpiece that is now Draft 5 (the Canon Draft) of ToV. I wasn't a bad writer. It was just a bad draft that didn't represent the story I wanted to tell properly. Therefore, I thought the writing was bad, when in fact, i just needed to retry and approach it in a different, more authentic angle. Here's the excerpt from each draft of ToV to show you how I've personally grown:

Draft 1 (the OG-OG Draft):

I don't have any excerpts from it because it was wiped off my laptop lmao rip. It was iconic though.

Draft 2 (the Trauma Draft // the OG Draft):

 "You must realize what a great honour it is to learn like we do. Humans believe there are selected few with magic in their blood, able to do what Cairoyas do. Those are their supernaturals. Whereas we, Cairoyas, can learn magic as a skill, as easy as it is to learn art or music, but a lot more difficult too. You must make terrible sacrifices to learn magic, Alan. To learn, you must give me your time, time that will take out of your sleep, your lunch, your leisure activities. And much effort is required. Strength, control, endurance, and much much more is needed. You must also be able to take the pain and a whole lot of it as well. I will torture you in many lessons, the magic will show you no mercy, and you must be able to fight it, to endure it, and you mustn't give up. Magic has a way of twisting your mind boy, so listen to me clearly when I say this: if I say something, you do it. If you feel the magic telling you to do something though, use your judgement. Many magicians have gone mad with magic- the power intoxicates you, and you'd do anything for more. Be careful my boy. You must remember who you are. The last sacrifice you might make is yourself."

Draft 3 (the Campy Draft, aka the goofiest draft that I still quote to this day):

Ahh, but dear Erevena… if you bring a vampire in the sun, its skin will set afire and it will burn. Similarly, if you stab a Mezomeena’s eyes, their ability to shapeshift will cease to exist. A wizard is nothing without his wand, a witch is helpless against water. Mermaids are confined to the water, and even dragons are limited to their primitive minds. But us, Cairoyas, we’re innovative, smart, advancing with the times. We have the ability to strengthen our bodies, adapt to our surroundings, grow stronger, more powerful. We are not limited by our abilities, nor are we weakened or killed by bodily imperfections.”     The change in Hilbert’s tone was beginning to scare me more than fascinate like he intended. The image of the fallen dragon beneath his feet kept flashing before my eyes.     “We, are, perfect. Simply limited by our moral obligations and our bodies weakness, easily soluble problems. Imagine, a man above all, who is not held back by societal expectations, or physical weakness. Who’s mind is elevated, unsuspectable from corruption, external or internal.” The glory of his vision twinkled in the blues of his eyes as they focused on mine. He pointed his bony finger at me as a grin grew on his face.     “You, Erevana, will be that man. We will train profusely, until your muscles have the strength of ten dragons, and your mind elevated to their heights of the Arcane World. You will be my prodigy.” 

Draft 4 (the Blasphemous Draft, aka the bane to my existence):

“Ahh, but dear Erevana— if you bring a vampire into the sun, its skin will set afire and it will burn. If you stab a Mezomeena’s eyes, their ability to shapeshift will cease to exist. A wizard is nothing without his wand, a witch helpless against water. Mermaids are confined to the sea and even dragons are limited to their primitive minds. But us Cairoyas, we’re innovative, smart, advancing beyond our times. We have the ability to strengthen our bodies, to adapt to our surroundings, grow stronger and more powerful. We are not limited by our abilities nor weakened or killed by bodily imperfections.” The change in Hilbert’s tone was eerie, scaring Alan more than it fascinated him like Hilbert probably intended. The image of the fallen dragon beneath his feet kept flashing before Alan’s eyes.  “We are perfect. The only limitations we possess are our moral obligations that we ourselves create and the easily soluble fatigue after long durations of magic use. Imagine a Cairoyas above all, who is not held back by societal expectations or fatigue. Who’s mind is elevated, unsusceptible from corruption, external or internal.” The glory of his vision twinkled in the baby blues of his eyes as they reeled in Alan’s direction. He pointed his bony finger at Alan, a grin growing despicably on his face.  “You, Erevana, will be that Cairoyas. We will train profusely, until your muscles have the strength of ten dragons and your mind elevated to the heights of the Arcane World. You will be my prodigy.”

Draft 5 (the Canon Draft):

“For Maadh’s sake, Markum... Nevermind that. It appears our first lesson is a history one. I’m afraid we will not have time to introduce any actual forms today, as the Flame seems to be setting now, but I will end today’s lesson off with this: non-mages are not of our world. They exist in their own pitiful societies, in a land of their own, to live out their mere lives engaging in odd conflict, loathsome diseases, and perhaps the most unfortunate of their states— a lack of magic. Ay, cursed they are without any ability to manipulate any form of magic. Among them in their world sometimes lives the odd supernatural, but they too are limited by flaws, their power unmatched to our own. [...] Ah, but dear Erevana… if you bring a vampire into the sunlight, its skin will set afire and he shall burn. If you stab a Mezomeena’s eyes, their ghastly veils will die and they will cease all ability to shapeshift. A wizard is nothing without his wand, a witch helpless against water. Mermaids are confined to the sea, and even dragons are limited by their primitive minds. But us Cairoyas? We are innovative, smart, advancing beyond our time. Our capabilities to strengthen our bodies, adapt to our surroundings, grow stronger and more powerful— they are boundless. We are not limited by our abilities nor weakened or killed by bodily imperfections. [...] We are perfect. The only limitations we possess are of our own moral obligations, and the easily soluble fatigue of overexertion. But such is not a design imperfection. I tell you this, Erevana— imagine a Cairoyas above all, unbound to societal expectations or fatigue. Whose mind is elevated, insusceptible to external or internal corruptions. [...] You, Erevana, will be that Cairoyas. We will train you profusely, until your strength exceeds that of ten dragons and your mind is enlightened past the glories of the Arcane World. You asked of me to become your mentor, and I said I’d make a Limious of you. These are the fruits you shall bear. You will be my prodigy.” - Hilbert to Alan (‘We are perfect’ monologue), Chapter 7 

You will grow as a writer. Grow into your style. Grow into your confidence. Grow into your pride for your work. You will grow. You just have to water the plant and feed it with the warmth it needs to blossom.

[ivanttakethis]

End of Round 13 - Tov’s Log

Jae (64) vs. Vii (35) - Jae Win

————————————————————

Wren found Tov again that night.

Round 13 had just finished.

64 - 35

Jae won decisively.

Vii was dead.

The guards allowed both classes to mingle during free time in the hour prior to curfew.

Most people chose to stay inside. Tov and a few others ventured out into the fields.

At night, the simulated daytime of the Anakt Garden dome was switched off, allowing those inside to see the true night sky above.

The stars seemed further away somehow, but they were no less beautiful.

It was a perfect night for stargazing.

Tov stayed close to the main buildings, tucked away around back, out of view of anyone passing by.

She knew the spot from childhood. It was a good place if you wanted to be alone for a while.

“There you are!”

At least it was…

Wren sat down in the grass beside her, crossing her legs and mirroring Tov’s position.

“I figured I would find you out here.”

Wren’s tone raised her hackles.

Tov furrowed her brows, turning to look at her, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Wren shrugged, but kept her eyes on the sky, unbothered by the slight edge in Tov’s voice. Her white hair seemed to glow in the moonlight. Even her roots were white.

“You seem to like the stars, and they’re awfully pretty tonight.” She said.

Tov couldn’t argue with that, so she didn’t.

“They are pretty.” She nodded, looking back up at the constellations hanging overhead.

The two were quiet for a moment, before Wren spoke again.

“What was it like performing on stage?”

Tov tried to think back to Round 10, but her mind drew a blank. She couldn’t recall much of anything.

Only fragments of that night remained scattered around the void in her memories.

The stars.

The heartache.

The first line of her song.

The gunshot.

The smell of blood.

The way Nyx hugged her like she was something fragile.

Everything else was gone.

“I don’t remember much.” She said quietly. It almost sounded like a confession. “I wasn’t really thinking about the stage, or the crowd, or the cameras.”

“Then what were you thinking about?” Wren asked, “That emotion in your voice didn’t come out of thin air.”

Tov’s eyes found Tallis’s constellation instinctively.

Was she really about to spill her sorrows to a stranger?

Regardless of how friendly Wren behaved, they didn’t know each other.

But… who else did she have in her life to talk to?

Cassio? No.

Nyx? He had enough on his plate preparing for his upcoming round.

Himei? Tov didn’t know if she would ever talk to her about this; about what she and Tallis said and did.

She’d already been isolated once because of all this grief they found themselves neck deep in.

Tov wasn’t going to add to that, or make things worse. It would just make the situation more confusing.

She briefly closed her eyes and sighed, “Did you watch Round 7?”

Wren nodded in her periphery. “Of course. I watch every round.”

How can you stomach it all?

Tov didn’t ask that thought aloud.

“The contestant that lost…”

“Tallis?”

She almost winced at the sound of his name. The wound was still too raw.

“Yeah… him.” Tov swallowed around the growing lump in her throat. “He… he meant a lot to me.”

Andromedas, why is this so painful?

“He was a friend of yours?”

She shook her head immediately, “No.”

The word “friend” was far too reductive to encompass everything that Tallis meant to Tov.

But how else could she describe their relationship?

Even with her face placidly neutral, Wren still managed to sense Tov’s internal frustration.

“Ah, more than a friend.” She mused. “Did you love him?”

“I did— I do.” Tov amended. Nyx’s words came back to her then.

“Just because he's gone doesn't mean he doesn't still love you.”

Guess that meant she didn’t have to stop loving him either.

“When I was singing, I was thinking about him.”

“I see.”

This time, the ensuing silence bordered on comfortable. Tov’s chest felt a bit lighter too. Maybe talking about it isn’t so bad.

“You named a star after him.” Wren said it like a statement, not a question. It startled Tov.

“How did you—” Her eyes snapped to the odd grey gaze staring back at her, expectant but already knowing.

“You keep looking at the same spot in the sky.” Wren explained. “You kept looking up at the stars when you performed too.”

Tov felt strangely exposed, like Wren could see through her skin and straight into her soul.

It was different from the way Tallis looked at her, though. But she couldn’t put a finger on why.

“It’s a constellation.” She conceded, finally.

Wren smiled a little, almost giddy, “Ooh which is it? Wait, wait, wait— let me guess!” She scanned the stars intently and her brow furrowed in concentration.

It made her look much younger than she probably was.

How old is Wren anyway?

She pointed upwards with one eye closed for accuracy, “Is it that one there? The one shaped like a cresting wave?”

“No, that one’s for Azure.” Tov said.

“That guy from Round 1? With the sea green eyes?”

Something about Wren’s description of Azure made Tov huff out a chuckle.

“That’s him,” She nodded. “The song he performed was called Nouvelle Vague, ‘new wave’. I thought it was fitting to name a wave shaped constellation after him.”

“It fits him well.” Wren nodded, then pointed to another constellation nearby, “What about the one that looks kind of like a thought bubble?”

“That’s Moran’s.” Tov said.

“Ah, the redhead from Round 2!”

“Yes, she was a good friend of mine. A great friend, really. She taught me a lot about philosophy; always thinking.”

Tov took over from there, pointing out each constellation she’d named after those she cared for.

Stasya. Minori. Flor. Even Min.

Min protected Himei when she didn’t have to. She was the only reason her closest friend was still alive.

For that alone, Tov cared about Min too.

“That one,” She said finally, pointing to the cluster of constellations in the shape of a harp, “That one is for Tallis.”

“I believe in you.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

For once, Wren quieted first.

Tov felt her eyes on her, but she didn’t break the silence; content to simply look at stars.

It still hurt. But it was better than the numbness from before.

“You know…” Wren started, “You look at everyone else’s constellations the same way you look at Tallis’s.”

Really?

“Really.” Wren said.

She paused for a moment. Then two.

“If you ask me, it seems like you loved all of them.” Wren murmured.

At that moment, something in Tov’s heart clicked into place. A gentle warmth unfurled inside her rib cage.

Oh.

Oh.

Maybe… maybe I do…

The realization brought tears to Tov’s eyes. Her heart ached in a new, novel way.

Bittersweet. Melancholy.

It made her laugh for some reason. She hadn’t laughed in a long time.

As she stared up at the celestial memorials of everyone she’d lost, Tov found herself smiling ever so slightly.

What a terrible time to realize it was all love.

————————————————————

We love sisterly bonding, even if one of them doesn’t know it yet 😌

Plus a little feelings realization and healing, as a treat!

Tov has a lot of love for others, even if she doesn’t think she does. Only now is she beginning to realize how deeply her relationships have affected her as a person.

Tov’s current thoughts about Wren are like: “this girl is kinda weirdly friendly, and there’s something odd about her aura, but I would rather die than talk to anyone else in my life about my problems, so I will continue to trauma dump on her since she’s cool with it”

My girl probably needs a therapist, but we don’t have time for that lmao

Next up: End of Round 16!!

Jae belongs to @kofeedoggo.

Min and Vii belong to @starry-skiez.

Nyx belongs to @rockwgooglyeyes.

Tallis and Himei belong to @lookatmysillies.

Azure belongs to @azureitri.

Moran belongs to @geospiral.

Stasya belongs to @billwasnot.

Minori belongs to @minori-dash.

Flor belongs to @sotogalmo.

[laineystein]

A bit of a nighttime rant/blog thing because I’m leaving soon and can’t sleep (though that has nothing to do with the fact that im leaving soon — I typically can’t sleep as most of you know by now)

I spent a lot of the day in our little shul here. I’ve come to really love being one of the only women on base and I’m definitely one of the only frum female soldiers…if not *the* only one. But it’s nice because it’s so quiet and it’s like existing in your own shul and it was just me and Hashem chatting for almost two hours. Then I prayed for our hostages and our chayalim. And then I cried. Which I’ve done a lot lately. But it was like therapy and I was so grateful to have it! When we leave I will be in a place with no privacy and no quiet. I’m really trying to cherish it.

When I finally emerged to eat I ran into a soldier I actually met recently. He’s 19 (a baby!!!) and a lone soldier. He’s the sweetest young man and I adore him. And he told his Ima that he feels safe with me around and I’ve spoken to her on the phone so now I feel extra responsible for his wellbeing. Anyway! We went for a run after dinner and we talked about a friend we lost last week. Then we talked about the other “friends” we’ve lost; the ones that have chosen to turn a blind eye and push us away while our tribe is going through the most painful thing a group can experience. It’s a different kind of trauma, to grieve the living. I genuinely only had two goy friends before all of this and now I only have one. The other I have completely detached from and have no desire to ever speak with her again. When people show you who they are, believe them the first time. I’ve said it before but I have my tribe and my safety and happiness will always lie with the Jewish people and I’m so content with that. My lone soldier friend, however, (and rightfully so), is really struggling with this. He did not grow up in a Jewish neighborhood like I did. He was not born in Israel. Many of his friends are goy. And he is really struggling with them. And my heart breaks for him. Because I don’t know what to say to make him feel better. Because what I want to say is to forget them and focus on the love of the Jewish community. But I know that’s not as easy for everyone as it is for me. And I just wish there was more I could give him. So if anyone has any words of wisdom I will happily share it with him!

Then I spent the rest of my night checking out supplies and packing my kit while on the phone with my husband. Which took me far too long because I kept getting distracted which has been happening a lot lately. Too many balls in the air, not enough hands to catch them all. But my bags are finally packed so I’m just waiting at this point. Which is the effing worst…hence why I’m currently shouting into the virtual abyss.

Did I mention that my husband might be fostering a dog while I’m gone? A dog that was found in the South was sent to a rescue in Tel Aviv and it had puppies and now my husband wants to foster one…and cited my physical absence in his life as being equivalent to missing the energy of a small hyper dog, hence the need. So I’ll probably be going home to a dog because my husband is the most laidback individual that is not at all affected by anything and will excel at canine fatherhood the way he excels at everything else in life. Standby for updates on this disaster.

Anyway.

How’s everyone else doing? Anyone have any good news? How’s the diaspora? Everyone okay out there? I worry about y’all. People have lost their damn minds. Just a reminder you can apply for aliyah anytime you want. We’d love to have you 💙

Tov, going to attempt sleep I guess. Take care of yourselves, fam 🫶🏼

[mendelbluming]

Menachem Bluming Muses: Why Smash a Glass Under the Chupah

Question from a groom: 

I understand the reason we break a glass at a wedding ceremony is to commemorate the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem some 2000 years ago. This indeed was a significant event in Jewish history, but it doesn't seem to have any personal relevance to me. What does a destroyed building have to do with my wedding?

Here’s a Wedding/ Tisha B’Av thought:

The destruction of the Temple has extreme personal relevance. It happened to you. The shattering of the glass commemorates not only the fall of Jerusalem, but also a cataclysmic shattering that happened to your very own temple, your soul.

Before you were born, you and your soulmate were one - a single soul. Then, as your time to enter this world approached, G-d shattered that single soul into two parts, one male and one female. These two half souls were then born into the world to try and find each other and reunite.

At the time, the split seemed tragic. Half of your soul went missing. What was once a peaceful whole had become fragmented and incomplete. Why would G-d do that to you? If you and your soulmate were meant to be together, why didn't G-d leave you together?

Only when standing under the Chuppah do you find the answer to this question. At the wedding, these two halves are becoming whole, reuniting never to part again. And you can look back at the painful experience of being separated, and actually celebrate it. For now you realize that the separation brought you closer. Only by being torn apart, living lives away from each other, were you able to develop as individuals, mature and grow, and then come together in a true relationship, a deeper oneness than you had before, because it is created by your choice. Had you never been separated, you would never appreciate what it means to be together, because it wasn't earned. At the wedding you realize that your soul was only split in order to reunite and become one on a higher and deeper level than before.

And so we break a glass under the Chuppah, and we immediately say Mazel Tov. Because now, in retrospect, even the splitting of the souls is reason to be joyous, for it gave your connection depth and real meaning.

So you see, your personal story and the story of Jerusalem's destruction are inextricably linked. The shattering that happened to Jerusalem happened to your soul; and the joy you are experiencing now will one day be experienced by Jerusalem too.

The Temple was not a mere building, it was the meeting place of heaven and earth, ideal and reality, G-d and creation. When the Temple was lost, with it went the open relationship between G-d and the world. Our souls were ripped away from our Soulmate.

The only antidote to fragmentation is unity. And the deepest unity is experienced at a wedding. Every wedding is a healing, a mending of one fragmented soul, a rebuilding of Jerusalem in miniature. Our sages teach us, "Whoever celebrates with a bride and groom it is as if he rebuilt the ruins of Jerusalem." When soulmates reunite in holy marriage, an energy of love and oneness is generated, elevating the world and bringing it one step closer to mending its broken relationship with G-d.

And one day soon, when the Temple in Jerusalem is rebuilt, our souls will reunite with G-d, our Soulmate, in a true relationship that we built ourselves. We will no longer mourn the destruction, but looking back we will finally understand its purpose, and we will celebrate. Then, even the shattering will deserve a Mazel Tov.

Mendel (Menachem) Bluming and many other sources

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

hey sex witch, this is a little bit of a gross question but i’ve googled this before and not gotten helpful results? so - i’m afab and sometimes when i masurbate, i feel like i feel? bumps that feel like pimples on/inside clitoral hood (i think). i alway just ignore since I’ve had them long time. but am nervous about them again cause might soon have sex for first time. is this normal? extra question, is nipples extremely hairy (need to pluck a ton) with lots of bumps normal? thank you!

hi anon,

first off, I've heard grosser. I've always heard grosser.

it sounds like what you're experiencing could be some kind of skin irritant, which is pretty common around the vulvar area.

they could be inflamed follicles caused by ingrown hairs, which is especially likely if you're in the habit of shaving your pubic area with a razor. there are also all kinds of things that can upset the relatively delicate skin in that area and make it a little bumpy or inflamed, with the primary suspects being excess sweat trapped in the area, wearing underwear that's too tight, using laundry products or personal hygiene products with harsh chemical scents, or douching (the practice of trying to "wash" your vagina by flushing it out with water. don't do that).

however! you mention that these bumps have been around for a long time, and I'd be interested to know if they're actually causing you any discomfort - itching, bleeding, aching, making your clitoris too sensitive too touch, etc. if not, they certainly might be a point of interest in your personal geography, but doesn't sound like they're causing any harm. some people are just built a little different, you know?

whether they're causing any physical discomfort or not - although this is a particularly good idea if they are - I'd recommend taking the time to go somewhere private, make sure the lighting is good, and using a small mirror or your phone's selfie mode to have a good gander at your vulva and see what you can see. feel around for those bumps and see if you can actually spot anything, particularly anything that looks like a pimple, blister, or point of inflammation. if you can, it may be time to start experimenting with trying looser cotton underwear for better ventilation, a laundry or body wash with less abrasive scents, etc, to see if that makes any positive change.

you mention being particularly self conscious about these little mystery bumps because you may be having partnered sex for the first time soon - so first off, mazel tov. it's normal to feel more aware of your body and anything that might seem unusual or strange about it when faced with the prospect of another person seeing it in an intimate context for the first time! but your partner is unlikely to be too concerned about how aesthetically pleasing your clitoris is - and if they are, please deposit them in the nearest trash receptacle!

if those little bumps cause any physical pain when touched, I would maybe be worried about that, but it doesn't sound like they historically have. if they're not a detriment to masturbation, they're unlikely to slow down partnered sex much.

last of all, hairy nipples! given that you were able to type and send this I'm almost 99.99% certain that you are a mammal and most likely a human, which means it's considered normal for you to have hair everywhere but your lips, the palms of your hands, and the soles of your feet. you're perfectly at liberty to remove it if you like, of course, but there's nothing concerning about that hair growing there.

bumps are also pretty typical, as long as they're not inflamed, painful, or growing rapidly. they're most likely just your Montgomery tubercles, oil glands that are more noticeable on some people than others.

[petrichoravellichor]

Title: A New Kind of Life

Wordcount: ~10k

Rating: T

Summary: What if, when Sam and Dean break into the Empty, Cas isn’t the only one they save? A post-15x19 fix-it fic in which Crowley gets a second shot at the redemption (and family) he deserves.

(Read on Ao3)

********************

Chapter 3 (of 5) (Ch. 1, Ch. 2., Chs. 4 & 5)

"When I suggested you take on the Mark of Cain, I didn't know this was going to happen. Not really. I mean, I might not have told you the entire truth. But I never lied. I never lied, Dean. That's important. It's fundamental. But...there is one story about Cain that I might have...forgotten to tell you. Apparently, he, too, was willing to accept death, rather than becoming the killer the Mark wanted him to be. So he took his own life with the blade. He died. Except, as rumor has it, the Mark never quite let go. You can understand why I never spoke of this. Why set hearts aflutter at mere speculation? It wasn't until you summoned me...no, it wasn't truly until you left that cheese burger uneaten...that I began to let myself believe. Maybe miracles do come true. Listen to me, Dean Winchester: what you're feeling right now—it's not death. It's life—a new kind of life. Open your eyes, Dean. See what I see. Feel what I feel. And let's go take a howl at that moon."

—Crowley to Dean, 09x23 "Do You Believe in Miracles?"

**********

The following evening, there’s a knock on his door. “Crowley? Hey, you in there?”

Crowley looks up from his book. He hasn’t spoken to Dean since that day in the war room, when they’d all returned from the Empty. From a tactical standpoint, it’s been very easy: all Crowley’s had to do is keep largely to his room during the day and save visits to any common spaces for the late night hours. This is the first time in a good long while Dean’s made it a point to seek him out alone, and it’s that more than anything that makes Crowley decide he actually wants to hear what Dean has to say.

Still, no point in making it easy on the bastard. “That depends,” Crowley calls back, aiming for nonchalance. “What have you brought me?”

“Ha ha. Open up, asshole,” says Dean, but the epithet contains about as much malice as the bitch he occasionally lobs at Sam. “We, uh. We need to talk.”

Crowley arches a brow; is it just him, or does Dean sound nervous? He sets his book aside and shifts to sit on the edge of his bed. “It’s open.”

Dean enters, and Crowley sees that he was right: Dean does indeed look nervous, perhaps even guilty. He nods sheepishly in Crowley’s direction as he closes the door behind him.

“Hey,” Dean says, smiling slightly, and the gesture stirs a painful kind of longing in Crowley’s gut. Looking at Dean has always felt to Crowley like reaching for something without knowing what it is he’s grasping at or why, the way a weed arches without thinking towards the sun. It’s maddening in a way Crowley doesn’t have words for, because he knows, in the way he supposes a weed does, that the light isn’t there for his benefit; experience has shown him that much.

And yet, for as much hurt and anger Crowley’s felt because of Dean, he’s also realized that he just...can’t find it in himself to hate Dean, not in any way that lasts. They’ve been through too much together, and maybe none of it mattered to Dean, but it matters to Crowley. He wishes it didn’t, but it does; it always has. And he can no more deny that than he can the sun.

But he can’t very well say all that to Dean, so he pushes his thoughts aside and schools his features into a neutral expression. “Hello, Dean,” he says evenly, rising to stand with his hands in his pockets. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Dean reaches up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. “You, uh. You settling in okay?”

Crowley snorts. “Surely you can do better than that. Go on, let’s have it.” He takes a step towards Dean and flashes a smirk. “I promise I won’t bite unless you ask me to.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well...That’s kinda what I came to talk to you about.” He gestures at the desk next to the bed. “Mind if I have a seat?”

Crowley shrugs. “Make yourself at home.”

“Thanks.” Dean walks over to the desk and turns to lean against it, not quite sitting but also not quite standing. Crowley stands next to the bed, waiting.

Eventually, Dean clears his throat. “So, uh. Cas said the two of you talked—”

He expects his words to get a rise out of Dean, to throw him off kilter so their conversation is easier to manage.

“Oh for the love of—Is that what this is about?” Crowley grumbles; just how much of their conversation had Castiel felt the need to share? “Allow me to save you some time, then. You and your long-suffering Angel of Thursday have my blessings, for what they’re worth. Slow clap, mazel tov, etcetera, etcetera. If you like, I could even pull a few strings, see if I can get you Hell as a venue for the wedding.” He smiles darkly, adding, “Although based on recent events, your influence there probably exceeds my own.”

Instead, Dean just raises a brow and says mildly, “So you and Rowena still aren’t talkin’, huh?”

Dean chuckles. “Nah, just figured I’d let you finish first.”

Still aren’t—?! “Really?” Crowley sputters angrily. “That’s all you have to say?”

“Ever the gentleman,” Crowley sneers.

“I try.”

“You really think I didn’t miss you when you were gone?”

“Well, try to get to the bloody point!”

And whatever barb Crowley was about to hurl dies on his tongue. He opens his mouth, then closes it, shifting awkwardly under Dean’s level stare. Eventually Dean sighs; he pushes up off the desk and moves to sit on the edge of the bed, patting the mattress next to him. Crowley sits down without a word.

“Listen,” Dean says, once Crowley is settled, “I don’t know how much Sam told you, but you weren’t the only one we lost that night. Cas died, Lucifer made off with our mom, Kelly didn’t survive the birth, and Jack bolted after I took a shot at him. Which...yeah, in hindsight, I’m not proud of, but that’s where I was at the time.” Dean looks down at his hands. “It wasn’t good. If Sam hadn’t stepped up and been a dad, things with Jack woulda turned out different, and not in a good way. If it’d been up to me, if I’d known how...I probably woulda killed the kid.”

Dean snorts softly. “Yeah, maybe, only you were too busy offing yourself to keep Lucifer locked over in Apocalypse World. Man, you don’t even know how huge that was, do you?” Dean looks up at him then, earnest. “You think everything would be the way it is now if Lucifer had gotten his hands on the kid before we’d figured things out?”

Crowley swallows. He tries to think what he would have done if his and Dean’s places had been reversed, if Dean had died that day instead of him, and comes to only one possible conclusion. “To be perfectly honest,” he says, quietly, “I’d have done the same.”

Crowley can only stare back, stunned. He’d sacrificed himself to thwart Lucifer; that his death had also made it possible for Jack to grow up in the Winchesters’ charge, free of Lucifer’s poisonous early influence, and thereby helped shape who Jack was, who God was...It’s honestly never occurred to him until now.

A protective sort of rage boils up in Crowley on Dean’s behalf. Sam hadn’t gone into all the gory details during his explanation, but Crowley knows enough. “Michael.”

“Anyway,” Dean continues, when Crowley says nothing, “then Jack brought Cas back, which we didn’t even know was possible. Thought maybe it was just a fluke, but we didn’t have time to really think about it because we had to go get our mom back, and then there was all the crap with Lucifer, so we had to deal with that, and then...” Dean trails off, his jaw tight.

Dean inhales steadily, nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that. And then...after…” He sighs. “Jack lost his soul and killed Mom, and I damn near killed him, and then everything with Chuck...Man, it was just non-stop. Then we finally beat Chuck, and with Jack all souped up, we had a way into the Empty, and hell yeah, we were gonna get Cas out, but the plan was always to look for you, too. Oh come on, don’t look at me like that,” Dean says, frowning at Crowley’s shell-shocked expression. “You’re a royal pain in the ass, and there’ve been plenty of times I wanted to stab you in the face, but you think that means I don’t give a damn what happens to you? Like it or not, man, you’re family, and we don’t leave family behind, not when we can help it.”

Crowley studies Dean carefully, looking for the lie...and not finding it. Then, that means...Is he really...?

“Family,” murmurs Crowley, experimentally. “You know, I’ve never had much luck with that word.”

Dean gives him a sad sort of smile. “Yeah, me neither. Not the one I was born to, anyway, 'cept for Sam. The one me and him made, though…” His smile turns genuine. “That one’s pretty damn awesome.”

They sit in silence, neither speaking for several moments; then—

Crowley clears his throat. “Can I ask you something, Dean?”

“Shoot.”

“That first day, after you brought me back, Sam said I should talk to Mother, said she has...regrets.”

Dean regards him thoughtfully. “You thinkin’ about giving her another chance?”

“I honestly don't know what I’m thinking,” Crowley admits. “There’s a lot of bad blood there: hers, mine, both of ours. When I saw her here, in this room, she said she’d missed me, that she loved me, and...”

Crowley feels his throat tighten, and he doesn’t know how to say the rest: that for all he hates himself for it, for all the times it’s blown up in his face, for all the horrible things Rowena has done to him—

“You don’t know if you should believe her,” Dean finishes quietly, “but you want to.”

Crowley sighs. “It’s stupid, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not,” Dean says firmly. “It’s not stupid to want to be loved, not by family: that’s kinda how it’s supposed to be. The stupid part is that it doesn’t always go that way, and then we gotta deal with the fallout.” Dean hesitates, then adds, “And...and sometimes that means we think we don’t deserve love when we do, and other times, it’s people sayin’ they deserve our love when they don’t.”

Crowley mulls that over. “Does she deserve it, do you think?”

“From you?” Dean shakes his head. “Man, that ain’t for me to say.”

Bollocks, thinks Crowley, barely managing to suppress a groan of frustration; if only there were a way to know which decision was the right one ahead of time...“How did you decide?" he asks after a moment. "With your father, I mean.”

Dean looks taken aback, and Crowley thinks perhaps he shouldn’t have asked; but before he can change the topic, Dean sucks in a breath and says, “Look, my father was an obsessed bastard. He left me and Sam alone for weeks on end, and when he was around, he was more of a drill sergeant than a dad. Some of the shit he pulled...” One of Dean’s hands closes into a fist. “It’s not the kind of stuff you just...forgive.”

Then Dean lets out a slow breath, and the fist relaxes. “Thing is, though, a lot of the crap he put us through, raisin’ us the way he did...He was tryin’ to protect what was left of his family, and...and I get that, you know? I’ve done a lot of really messed up shit for the same reason, for family. Doesn’t mean I forgive him, it’s just...complicated.” Dean sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. “Like, really freaking complicated. Honestly, I’m still kinda trying to figure it out. But, yeah...all that to say, I don’t know if Rowena deserves your love or whatever else you wanna give her. She’s done a lot for me and Sam, helped us save our mom and Jack, and then her whole swan dive into Hell and all that, but when it comes to the two of you...That’s something you gotta decide for yourself.”

Crowley studies his hands. His left palm still bears thin scars from that day in the war room, when Sam had told him Rowena had changed and Crowley had gripped his fist tightly enough to draw blood. He still isn’t sure he believes his mother is actually capable of being anything other than what he's always known her as. Maybe she isn't, and if that’s the case, then she doesn’t deserve his love. Crowley can live with that; he has his entire life. If Sam was right, though, if his mother has changed...that’s something Crowley needs to see to believe.

And there it is, Crowley realizes: he needs to see her.

“I think,” he says, after a moment, “that I’ll meet with her and hear what she has to say, and if I don’t like it, I’ll tell her to bugger off, this time for good.”

Dean gives a hum of approval. “Sounds fair to me." He claps Crowley on the knee and stands. "Okay, then, I’m gonna go hit the hay. Lemme know if me or Sam can help with the Rowena thing, okay? You don’t gotta deal with her on your own.”

“I will,” Crowley says; then, as Dean’s about to leave, “and Dean?”

Dean looks back, hand on the doorknob. “Yeah?”

And Crowley once again feels something stirring in his gut, but this time, it isn’t longing, but gratitude, gratitude that he has Dean in his life and gratitude that, at the end of the day, everything they’ve been through together, the good and the bad, it matters to Dean, too, and that's important. It's fundamental.

“Thank you,” Crowley says, and means it. “For everything.”

For a moment, Dean regards him in silence; then he smiles. “Yeah. You too.”

He slips out of the room and leaves Crowley alone with his thoughts, which are...actually rather optimistic. For the first time in a long time, Crowley feels alive. It’s a new kind of life, one with family, one where he matters, and Crowley doesn’t know for certain what it’s going to bring, but he knows he wants to see it, experience it, eyes wide open.

[sophieakatz]

Thursday Thoughts: I Don’t Want To Forget 2020

A year ago, I wrote about my lack of interest in treating January 1st like the definitive New Year’s Day. Life just doesn’t have clear borders like that.

Of course, I know why so many people are looking forward to midnight tonight. It’s the end of 2020. 2020 was, to use the technical term, a shitshow. January and February were completely weird, and from March onward, everyone aside from the billionaires had a bad time.

A friend of mine just described the 2020 experience as “a holding pattern,” and that was true for me. It was terrifying, and it was also stagnant. All the wheels I had turning at the start of the year came screeching to a halt at the end of March, and my experience was far from unique. Of course people want to see tonight as an ending, as an opportunity to put 2020 behind us. Of course people want to take this as an opportunity to move on, to forget about the fear, the uncertainty, and the pain.

But I don’t want to forget 2020. Forgetting 2020 would mean forgetting everything that I learned from 2020.

I learned to never take a hug for granted again. I learned that it’s possible to do everything right and to still lose – and that that loss doesn’t mean that I did something wrong. I learned about the many benefits of wearing a facemask, and also just how creative a little piece of cloth can really be. I learned to see my mental health lows as not a failing to hide and ignore but a real sign that I need and deserve help. I learned that it’s okay to be not okay. I learned that I can write 60,000 words in 30 days, and that even in the worst of times, my craft brings me a sense of purpose and joy. I learned how much my religious traditions mean to me, and how much the structure they provide helps me, and that I can make challah. I learned that I’m more able to handle heartbreak than I’ve ever been before, and I learned a little more about exactly what I want from a life partner. I learned how to conduct interviews, and that the joy I feel when I listen to someone talk about something they love is shared by so many other people.  I learned – I re-learned – just how many people I have in my life rooting for me.

Does what I learned from 2020 make the hardships of 2020 worth it? Hell no. I do not believe in ends justifying means. I would rather have a world without COVID-19 than all of these lessons. But now that we’re here, at the “end” of 2020, I’m fine knowing that it can’t be undone.

This year did happen. It happened, and we survived it. And that survival means more than just reaching the end of 2020.

That same friend sent me this post today, with an image of flowers growing through the cracks in a harsh landscape. Despite life’s difficulties, our efforts this year, everything we did to find health and purpose and justice and happiness, those were real. The work we did this year to repair the world around us, in whatever ways we managed it, is a foundation for the future – if we recognize it as such.

We didn’t accomplish everything we wanted. We didn’t fix everything in 2020; of course we didn’t. But it’s like Rabbi Tarfon says in Pirke Avot – we are not responsible for finishing the work of repairing the world, but we are not free to desist from it. I would add that we have an obligation to recognize the work we’ve done, and to see that work as a foundation for the work we will do in the year to come.

2020 was a shitshow. But it will not be a waste. And for the sake of 2021, 2022, and for every year to come, 2020 should not be forgotten.

“Od tireh, od tireh / kama tov yihiyeh / bashana, bashana haba’a” – “You will yet see, you will yet see / how good it will be / next year” – Ilan & Ilanit

[mamacleo]

Personal from Mom: the Good Bad Day

CW/TW: Physical distress leading to medium-duty progress, change, adaptation, and growth. Also spiritual stuff. CW: Really damned long. Sorry. I know, it's a chore, but if you follow me and Callie, you know how deeply layered a lot of this stuff is. Nothing extraneous is in there, though, I promise. You know I love labels. Like my winter distress, once called the Winter Monsters, now referred to (for accuracy) as the winter terrors. People who've known me since way back when have seen me struggle with labeling myself. They would tell me not to, and I couldn't really phrase it at the time, but what I needed to say was: no, please, don't ask me to redefine myself according to your perceptions of validity. Please accept that I am like this and help me work through it. So I want a label for the kind of day I am having today. I've been getting them more and more often without my having to try. For lack of anything catchier, I am labeling it a Good Bad Day. The word order is important! It means that there is also such a thing as a Bad Good Day, but they aren't the same. This isn't a gripe day, but this girl is just reporting. I think it's one of my bad pain days, one of those where all the weed in the world won't help. Maybe not that bad, but you may have read my description of the pain at its worst: it literally feels like each and every nerve-laden cell in your body is trapped in a vise and being crushed. Chronic pain sufferers know this day. It's that day where you cannot imagine making yourself move, yet you have to get to the bathroom SOMEhow, and ain't nobody gonna fix your coffee for you. So you do. You wake up in negative spoon territory and somehow you do it, even if "it" comprises only going to the bathroom. Now, I do have an emotional alarm clock, two actually, and their names are Adorable and Rosie. As I told my beautiful bride today, Adorabe gets this look when she realizes when, like today, only one hand is busy, and look old lady, I don't CARE if you're laying on it, I KNOW you got two hands. Let's see the other. Every morning she runs in to wake me up and get attention, and even if it irritates me some mornings, she always wins me over. Rosie comes in next for her morning affection, and...that's the start of a Good Bad Day. I'll sum up because Constant Reader knows the details. There's the pain, and the pain brings weariness. Today's promised partly-sunny day in the 60s is now just the latest in a long couple of weeks of chilly cloudfests. I'm starting to get really tired of them. We're broke for a few days and we need a couple of things. (Luckily not immediate necessities, but.) Things need picked up a bit, but there's no energy for it. I wanted to grill today, but can't see it happening. . And yet, my mood is good. Not just agreeable, but positive. The progesterone, which my love calls my "chill pills," have become the last piece in a 60-year puzzle. Callie and I remembering us joking around last night, some silly humor and some bawdy humor. Me promising that if I feel up to it (I will), I will redesign some pages for her. Realizing that, you know, it's weird, but I actually LIKE bird and squirrel videos for cats. Having a couple funny observations and sharing them. Getting to pet the outside cat, Buddy, when I brought him his breakfast. Adorable is right next to me, napping. My writing skills are in great form today, and I said a couple of things that I felt were more well-written, more helpful than before. Having people reach out just to share this or that with me privately. Feeling content because yesterday, I redefined my purpose in life, and the situation in which we live, in a way that is both rewarding and helpful to my beloved bride. Because that redefinition might not have happened without the exact right intervention at the exact right moment by my pearl, my girl, myErie (Because this is important at the end, I'm gonna sum up what happened that was so bad, Erie had to call. An issue I thought was settled turned out not to be, and that was moving to Cleveland, my girl's home town that she

misses so much. There were levels of significance to it that I just plain couldn't see because of my privilege, but the Chauvin trial brought them all to the front for her. My episodes can be weird. In this case, everything was emotional, and there were some severe conflicts involving resisting some selfish motives while trying my best to look out for her. The emotional issues involved for me triggered my BPD, of course, and the bottom dropped out and I had a really, monstrously bad episode. I isolated badly and was so overwrought, Callie thought I was going to leave. Erie intervened, made perfect sense as always, and sat with us on the phone while we worked through it. Like that, everything is right again. I say again: I will walk in front of her in case of bullets.) , responded to my plea to adopt me (to get his food!) and he asked me if I wanted to be his daughter fo real. And I said yes. So really, my breath left me and I was alive with fear and hope at the same time, and I said: "Thanks, mom." She was more than okay with it. And...Mom has a mom. Mom didn't know how much she needed a mom until one day, this powerful soul, this woman namedLinda , said the exact right thing at the exact right time...and out of nowhere, the urge, the *need,* to say this knocked at the door and took my breath away. I don't exaggerate. The last time I felt this was when my Pop,Greg And yes. She really is a mom. She really is my mom. Just thinking about it takes my breath away again. I waited my entire life, wanting a mom who never existed. And then... See, she said a thing to me that struck me hard for two reasons, and it was not long after I transitioned. It was a picture of modeling a bodice dress and looking happy, and she said, "You have a powerful strength that I'm not sure you even see yourself." It struck me hard because she is not the first to have said this, and she and the first person to say it, when I was 19, are not the only ones who have said it. I capped that and kept it so I would never lose it, and in the hopes that one day I could show it to her and say, hey, I see it now. I'm living it now. It gets amazing sometimes. The other reason it struck me so hard was that, and if she wants to talk about this I would love her to, when I reads those words, I felt something. The other day I talked about the gestalt and the lack of physical distance, and how items and artifacts can be conduits for spirit. The internet is the same way. Someone's words on the screen can be a conduit for your spirits to connect, and I felt it at the time and knew it was a different one than the other spiritual connections. The thing she said, others have said to me, but the thrill that took my breath away was that I could feel her faith. The boss who said that to me when I was 19, he had an expression that was, now that I reflect on it, quite possibly the trigger, THE moment, that things turned around. Because he was the first person to express faith in me. I mean, really, upon examination, I remember people encouraging me, but he was the first one to express faith in me. Damn, I wish I could find him and rock his world. That was what Linda said, too. Across the miles, I felt her faith. Yes, mom, I am going to say it right out loud in case I'm not being clear: you made a difference in my life. I called you mom, and that was where it started. You made my hope grow. (ASIDE: Ahh, it is NOT one of those pain days after all. Hallelujah for herbal medicine.) (Edibles hate it when you talk shit about them and get you back.) So it is a Good Bad Day. Things would probably, ordinarily, make me grumpy today, but I feel content. For today, at least, things are consonant. Nothing is bothering me. I have redefined what I saw as a coming traumatic struggle into the opportunity to guide both of us into a new and more exciting life. We are surrounded by love. The day is gray, but there are sunny days coming. We want for nothing. We're having a handfasting in two months and family will be here. In September, I'll be able, finally, to legally change my name,

and we'll change hers legally at the same time. On top of all of this, I am confident now that the 40 years in the desert is over. There is a sea change happening. You can see it in the resistance against the worst of it by the majority of Americans. The awfulness reached its worst and shocked every decent American, and the people who drove it have lost their credibility outside anyone in their sewing circle. Their influence is now waning. There are good years coming, and much to look forward to. I feel happy, and that's the weirdness that set this all off. Everything is in balance. Of course there will be bad days again. I'm still mentally ill and while it's under as much control as it can be under, it's not under total control. But I'm okay with that. I know they'll happen, but they make the sweet times sweeter. My beautiful, wonderful Lilith, you will be rewarded for all the good you do. I love you. I love our life. I love being who you need. I will do more to be who you want. Mazel tov!

[magicmetslogic]

The final chapter is up!

[easylion]

Ima

I is for Ima

Ziva is here and then she is nowhere. For now, she cannot reach her.

Tali.

“Ima. Bevakasha. Please come home.”

The broken voice crackles down the line, over thousands of miles, through millions of wires, firing in out of countries and cities. Budapest. Dayton. Munich.

It pings, here and there, everywhere, across a galaxy she does not see. Technology hides her. For now.

“Ima?”

Target acquired. The plea lands, detonates. It shatters Ziva into a thousand more pieces.

This is it. She mourns. Penance. She repents. She repeats.

“I cannot, tateleh.”

Ziva sounds broken. She feels broken.

Her daughter’s six earthly return falls on today but Ziva feels lately she no longer resides in earth’s orbit. Not now, not lately. She exists outside time and space and everything in-between. The months and days separating she from her and her from she feels heavy as it is tangible. She can no longer navigate this pain.

Her daughter’s broken sob crackles the line again. It sends Ziva flying out of orbit.

Ziva is here and then she is nowhere. For now, she cannot reach her.

Tali.

***

“Mazel tov, Ziva.” A cry. Then, a warm weight, suddenly squirming, searching against her breast. “You are an Ima,” Orli implores. Her face swims into view.

Ziva is so tired.

The baby blinks rapidly. Already seeing. Not yet knowing.

“Her eyes,” Orli murmurs. Hesitant. Then, “They are her fathers’.”

Sea-foam, Ziva thinks. A sharp memory breaks through her fog. Sea-foam green.

Ziva is quiet for a long time.

Her own eyes, Orli notes, gaze off across the room. She is so very far away.

.

Later, there is a day where Tali looks up at her. She is smiling. Always smiling. The smell of sunscreen, but also the fig trees growing in the meadow below the hill by their home. And something familiar. Something him.

There’s a toy she is waving. Chocolate smeared on her face. Ziva doesn’t hear the laughter. She notices the change then. She doesn’t hear anything for a few moments.

Her daughter’s eyes. Their daughter, she corrects herself. A daily reprimand.

When did they begin to turn brown?

Not for the first time, Ziva loses him all over again.

***

“Shteki!” A screech, echoing up and down the hallway. Then, “I hate you, Ima.”

She is twelve and this is her new mantra.

Ziva swears she’ll spend her lifetime chasing forgiveness.

Slow yet heavy footfalls reverberate down the hall. A drop of keys from the car they returned home in. A shiny new Volvo, all the amenities. Cautious and careful, the steps continue. Past the slammed door, the discarded school bag with a freshly minted preparatory boarding school’s logo stitched into the navy fabric. Ducky had recommended it. A fine school, indeed.

There’s a pause, a hesitant step over her just like new dress shoes.

Victoria never wore them. Breena had laughed that night, nudging Jimmy, a secret joke hidden in there, somewhere.

They used to have those moments; Ziva had mused. Those moments feel so foreign these days. Years.

Her time since returning home, to her, to him, to this, has been a purgatory if she is to ever know one. She is forever waiting for the other foot to drop.

When he reaches her, Ziva’s forehead has retreated to its resting place as of late; She cradles her head, knees tented and seated against the wall outside their bedroom. Thin, shaking fingers raised to cover her eyes.

Tony sighs as he takes her in. Her curls hide her face from him, anyway. But she must know she can’t hide her tears.

He hesitates, his own mantra on the tip of his tongue. It will do nothing to soothe her in this moment, but he’d be remiss if he didn’t try.

“It won’t be this way forever.”

Ziva’s throat closes, catching and releasing a sob too quiet for him to hear.

Her mantra.

She had said the same to their daughter all those years ago, a broken record on repeat.

Running, hiding. More Running. Her daughter employs her mother’s nature now. It was the only lesson Ziva’s unintentionally, unwillingly, unknowingly, imparted on her.

Ziva is not sure if her daughter wants to be found, least of all by her.

She knows the feeling.

***

“I-ma. I-ma. EEEE-MA”.

A gale of laughter. A first word. Followed by a second and a third. It’s preceded by her first taste of peaches and her first summer rain. It is simple and it is not. Her days are short as they are long. There is no sleep, but the laughter makes up for it, tenfold.

Ziva knows these are the days she will miss.

***

“Ima,” She giggles. “There is a boy.”

Her voice is cautious. A secret. There’s a smile on her lips. Ziva can tell, even over the phone. She imagines Tony’s smile and the dimple on her cheek – a tell of hers that has nearly always betrayed her when deception was on her tongue.

Tony’s eyebrows appear above the paper he, yes, still reads. Her finger pauses on her tablet, an article on Iraq’s rehabilitation comes to a halt at the end of her finger. He is sixty-two now but his hearing is most certainly twenty-twenty.

He reads Ziva’s look, a lifetime of intuition forged by partnership reprimands him even in silence.

A look of warning.

Her voice, nervous. Another giggle. “Do not tell Père. Not yet.” Now, Hebrew. “A secret.”

The papa in question remains silent. The paper has long been retired to his bedside table.

Smiling, Ziva plays along, whispering back down the line to her.

“Does a boy have a name?”

Heart imploding, head exploding, Tony manages a smile. He couldn’t help it. They finally made it here.

.

The phone call ends some time later. He returns to the bedroom, previously vacated while secrets were exchanged, I love you’s whispered across a phone. A serene look adorns Ziva’s face.

“Hey, Ima,” His eyes twinkle. Her breath catches.

Even after all these years.

“You’ve done good”.

She smiles. She is forgiven.

Not Mossad, not on the run.

A retired investigator. A partner.

An Ima.

[delkios]

Undertow (ToV)

Some creative license regarding Zaphias's water system, particularly the canal in the Lower Quarter, otherwise this would be taking place in the river outside of Zaphias which just seemed unlikely.

Title: Undertow Fandom: Tales of Vesperia Rating: PG Word Count: 2582 Characters: Flynn, Yuri Summary: Though Yuri brought up the time Flynn was swept away by a river as a light-hearted story, it hadn't been nearly as amusing at the time.

(dreamwidth) (pillowfort)

Flynn gasped for air, kicking wildly to keep his head above water. The river was rough and swift but thankfully not enough that Flynn, being a fairly strong swimmer, thought he was going to drown. Unfortunately it took all his strength to keep it that way, unable to make any progress for the nearest bank. He wasn't even certain when he'd been swept out of Zaphias, only knew that he'd been pulled under for a moment and when he came back up he couldn't see any buildings or even the rings of the barrier. His arms and legs were beginning to ache and Flynn knew if he didn't do something soon, his strength would give out and there'd be nothing he could do to keep from drowning. Something flickered on the edge of Flynn's vision, moving crosswise against the current and too deliberate to be part of the rushing water. He managed to keep his head up and water out of his eyes enough to recognize the ragged fin of a merman and for one heart stopping moment, all Flynn could think about was how helpless and vulnerable he was in the water. Then he was overcome by a sudden, hot determination as a thought rushed through his mind: if he could grab the merman, maybe he could get out of the river.

The monster came at him, jaws first, and Flynn held his breath and stopped fighting the current, using instead to twist his body out of the way. His should bumped against the merman's rough side and he made a desperate grab at the creature's arm and missed and grabbed again, catching hold of the hook it held. It used its weapon to pull Flynn in, trying for another bite and Flynn lunged for its arm again. The top of its snout bumped against his chest, lifting him momentarily out of the water and landing on its back. He gripped the dorsal fin tightly and the merman rolled in the water, trying to dislodge him and, when that didn't work, tried scraping its back against the riverbed but Flynn clung too close, its fin dragging into the dirt and rocks. His lungs burning, Flynn kicked his heel into the merman's side, right in the gills as hard as he could and it made a choking sound, writhing for a moment before clawing at the riverbed and dragging itself toward the bank. Flynn gasped and coughed and his body wanted to drop to the ground but he knew doing so would basically be certain death. The merman let out a wheeze and tried to dig its claws into the leg that had injured its gills but Flynn swung it away and aimed another kick on its opposite side. It faltered again, stumbling further out of the water as it tried to swipe again at determined child clinging to its back. It wasn't able to grab him but it left three bleeding scratches over Flynn's side. He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the pain. Distantly he heard a voice say, "The hell? Is that a kid?" But Flynn was too preoccupied trying to survive the merman to give it more than passing acknowledgment. Despite his body's exhaustion and pain as the merman's claws continued to rake over him, desperation kept Flynn clinging to its back, twisting around to keep the monster from getting a grip on him while maintaining his own. It growled, like gurgling water, and Flynn could feel the noise vibrating through its back and it sounded frustrated as it kept trying to grab at him and Flynn could only be thankful its weapon had been lost down the river, otherwise he'd have surely been skewered by now. Which didn't help him get out of this current situation, but minor victories. "Kid! Get down!" His eyes snapped open and he saw four armed people charging toward them. Flynn's surprise loosened his grip just enough that the merman tossed him off with a harsh twist before noticing the oncoming rush. It froze for a moment before turning and diving back into the river. The group skidded to a halt, looking down at Flynn in various degrees of disbelief and shock. "Holy hell, kid- are you okay?" "Where did you even come from?" "Damn, that thing got you good." One of the men held out his hand toward Flynn. "Let's get you over to our caravan, okay? We can treat your wounds there." He coughed and nodded, breath having been knocked out of him when he hit the ground. The man easily picked him up and cradled Flynn between his waist and the crook of his arm. Flynn wanted to say that he could walk but now that the immediate danger had passed, his body was beginning to shake from the adrenaline crash. The caravan was one large cart hooked up to a couple quietta and on the side was a logo that Flynn recognized as Fortune's Market, the only guild allowed to work inside Zaphias. There the man sat him down on the cart steps and another came up with a canteen and rag. "Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?" He said with a friendly smile. Flynn nodded again and let the man get the work. He had to take off his shirt so the man to clean the scratches on his back and a woman with a hammer strapped to her back picked it up, frowning as she examined it. "I'd say this is a loss. Pretty sure we got something in the back that might fit ya." As she began to move off with his shirt, Flynn said, "Um!" "Hm?" "I don't have many shirts, could I keep that one, please?" It was bad enough he'd lost one of his shoes in the river. She and the man taking care of him looked at Flynn like he was crazy. Then their looks intensified and Flynn knew they were examining his threadbare clothing and gaunt figure and he tried not to shrink back. After a moment, the woman sighed and looked away. "I'm no seamstress but I've been known to wield a needle a time or two." Her large arms flexed, showing off a number of scars scattered here and there. "Still gonna find ya something to change into, though. Don't need to be sitting around in sopping wet clothes." After his wounds had been cleaned, the man pulled an apple gel from a pouch at his waist, piercing the gummy skin so he could rub it directly over Flynn's injuries, the pain dulling to a faint ache and skin beginning to knit itself up. Flynn changed into a shirt donated by the smallest member of the caravan- which still draped over him like a dress -and his clothes were placed on top of the cart with rocks to dry. "So?" The man that had carried Flynn asked, seemingly the leader of the caravan. "Where'd you come from?" "Zaphias," Flynn said around a piece of jerky he'd been given. He whistled. "That's a bit of a ways. How'd you end up all the way out here?" "I fell into the river." He looked around, trying to find a hint of Zaphias's spire but the caravan was in a bit of a valley. "I don't know how far I went before I grabbed the merman." Around him, the guildmembers all stopped. "Wait- you grabbed the merman on purpose?" "Yeah." His teeth clamped down on another bit of jerky, sucking on the taste before chewing it. "I might've gone all the way to the sea otherwise." "Kid," the woman said, "that thing coulda killed you." Flynn shrugged. "Least I got outta the water." They stared at him for a long moment before breaking out into laughter. "Kid... I don't even know what to say. You are something else." He flushed, pleased but embarrassed. After all, he just wanted to survive. "Well, lucky for you we're headed to Zaphias ourselves though we're probably not going to make it before they close the gates for the night." The man chuckled, shaking his head. "What's your name, Kid? You got the devil's own luck and I'll bet it'll be interesting to see how you grow up." He beamed brightly. "Flynn Scifo!" ~*~*~*~ Yuri woke up with a headache, clogged nose, salt on his cheeks and his eyelashes sticking together. He felt, quite frankly, awful. Not just physically but he felt sick in his stomach and his heart. Hanks had taken him in last night after all of Yuri's screaming and struggling made it obvious someone would have to make sure he didn't go running off trying to look for Flynn. He'd meant to pretend to sleep and wait until Hanks slept himself before sneaking out but, as he lay in the big empty bed that once belonged to Hanks's now-grown-son, Yuri couldn't help the desperate, crushing loneliness that seized him and he'd started to cry. Quietly at first until it grew into great, heaving sobs that left him choking into the pillow, burrowing into the blankets to hide from the world. Yuri had never cried so hard in his life. At least not that he could remember. Not even when Flinath or Charla died, one after the other, but the thought of losing Flynn, one of the few good things in Yuri's life, the only thing Yuri really considered his, felt like the whole world was coming to an end. He'd sobbed even as Hanks gathered him up in his arms and Yuri was equal parts mortified and grateful for the comfort the man offered. Yuri had fallen into a dreamless sleep and woken up with the sun brightly streaming into the room and Hanks sleeping in an uncomfortable looking position against the headboard. Very carefully, very slowly, Yuri crawled across the bed and quietly lowered himself out. He could hear Hanks's wife bustling about in the kitchen. If he could sneak passed her, he'd be able to go on the search he'd meant to go on last night. Slowly he eased the front door open just enough to slip through and just as quietly eased it closed. He sat on the front steps to stuff his feet into his boots and laced them just enough so they wouldn't fall off. It must have been mid-morning, the first rush of the day giving way to a steady stream of people moving about and Yuri knew it was only a matter of time before he was noticed. He made it about two blocks down when he heard, "Yuri? Does Hanks know you're out?" He ran. More people were calling out his name but Yuri ignored them and kept running. If no one had found Flynn yet, he must have gotten swept out of Zaphias. Yuri didn't know where the canal emptied out but he was sure if he circled the city wall once he was out he'd come across it eventually- "Yuri!" He came to such a sudden halt that Yuri tripped over his own feet. He scrambled to his hands and knees, shoving the hair from his face and saw, next to a Fortune's Market cart, Flynn. Something in Yuri's chest twisted and he barely recognized the high pitched whine coming from his own throat and he hurtled himself towards his best friend, all but tackling him in a bear hug and raining kisses on Flynn's face between garbled, unintelligible words. "Yuri," Flynn wriggled in his grasp, "c'mon!" "You're okay!" Yuri eventually managed to choke out. "Yu-ri!" He'd finally managed to get his hands between them, not pushing Yuri back out of reach but far enough that he could give his best friend that ridiculously bright smile Yuri had almost thought he'd never see again. "I'm glad that didn't turn into a big deal." Yuri reared back and punched him in the face. "You JERK!" ~*~*~*~ Having sent Karol ahead, because no doubt someone would suggest celebrating Flynn's victory, Yuri turned back to Flynn and scowled. "What's with the shit-eating grin?" Flynn wasn't really grinning, breathing still heavy from his marathon battle, wiping the sweat from his face and neck, his hair even more tousled than ever. But it was all in the eyes, the sharp, knowing look and subtle shift of his lips shaping them just so. "Just thinking of all the details of that story you neglected to mention." Yuri crossed his arms and tossed his head as if he had no idea what Flynn was talking about. "Everything was the truth." Flynn shifted his head to the side and Yuri could practically hear him think 'more or less'. Then he looked back Yuri and the specter of that shit-eating grin grew into something a little more prominent. "Perhaps you just 'forgot' about how you cried when I came back?" Yuri tsked- as much as he enjoyed using their shared past to needle Flynn, it was annoying that it went both ways. "Or that you kept kissing me and refused to let me go for more than a minute at a time? And that you made me swear for a week that I'd never leave you behind again?" "Or the reason why Zaphias has grid iron grates in the canals is because of you?" "Or that you demanded to bathe with me to make sure I wouldn't fall in the drain." Yuri scoffed. "You say that like I'd have a problem sharing a bath with you now." Though, from the slide of his gaze, it was obvious that he meant for very different reasons. To his delight, instead of getting flustered or annoyed, Flynn full on smirked. "Are you that eager to scrub the new champion's back?" "Old news," Yuri's tone was dismissive even as he pulse kicked up a notch, "I already beat you in Aurnion." As hard as he fought, as tired as he must have been, between the fire in Flynn's eyes and the color still flushing his cheeks, Yuri knew Flynn's blood was still singing and that, far beyond any of the others, that was Yuri's favorite look on Flynn. The deep, intense gaze, the heat and tension in every strong line of his body, the way he moved so purposeful and wanting with eyes that could only see Yuri. It never failed to make Yuri want to be wild and reckless in ways that decency laws would absolutely not approve of. They stood chest to chest and it took far more willpower than Yuri would ever admit to not grab a fistful of Flynn's hair and have him right on the coliseum floor. "Do you really think you'll win a second time?" Flynn asked, anticipation shivering over Yuri's spine. "Always up for a rematch with you." Flynn leaned in closer still, lips just a hairsbreadth from brushing against Yuri's. "Then let's see who comes out on top." ~*~*~*~ (optional skit) Estelle: Natz said he made a reservation for us to celebrate Fynn's win and- hm? Where's Flynn and Yuri? Karol: I thought they were coming right behind me. Raven: Oh, I'm sure they are. Karol: Should I go get them? Judith: It's fine. No doubt they're celebrating in their own way. (reaction shots) Estelle: O-Oh... Rita: Ugh! I didn't need to know that! Karol: Huh? Raven: Well, no sense letting that reservation go to waste. Let's go on ahead. (all but Karol moves off) Karol: I don't get it. What are you talking about? Guys? C'mon!

[menachembluming]

Menachem Bluming Muses: Why Smash a Glass Under the Chupah

Question from a groom: 

I understand the reason we break a glass at a wedding ceremony is to commemorate the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem some 2000 years ago. This indeed was a significant event in Jewish history, but it doesn't seem to have any personal relevance to me. What does a destroyed building have to do with my wedding?

Here’s a Wedding/ Tisha B’Av thought:

The destruction of the Temple has extreme personal relevance. It happened to you. The shattering of the glass commemorates not only the fall of Jerusalem, but also a cataclysmic shattering that happened to your very own temple, your soul.

Before you were born, you and your soulmate were one - a single soul. Then, as your time to enter this world approached, G-d shattered that single soul into two parts, one male and one female. These two half souls were then born into the world to try and find each other and reunite.

At the time, the split seemed tragic. Half of your soul went missing. What was once a peaceful whole had become fragmented and incomplete. Why would G-d do that to you? If you and your soulmate were meant to be together, why didn't G-d leave you together?

Only when standing under the Chuppah do you find the answer to this question. At the wedding, these two halves are becoming whole, reuniting never to part again. And you can look back at the painful experience of being separated, and actually celebrate it. For now you realize that the separation brought you closer. Only by being torn apart, living lives away from each other, were you able to develop as individuals, mature and grow, and then come together in a true relationship, a deeper oneness than you had before, because it is created by your choice. Had you never been separated, you would never appreciate what it means to be together, because it wasn't earned. At the wedding you realize that your soul was only split in order to reunite and become one on a higher and deeper level than before.

And so we break a glass under the Chuppah, and we immediately say Mazel Tov. Because now, in retrospect, even the splitting of the souls is reason to be joyous, for it gave your connection depth and real meaning.

So you see, your personal story and the story of Jerusalem's destruction are inextricably linked. The shattering that happened to Jerusalem happened to your soul; and the joy you are experiencing now will one day be experienced by Jerusalem too.

The Temple was not a mere building, it was the meeting place of heaven and earth, ideal and reality, G-d and creation. When the Temple was lost, with it went the open relationship between G-d and the world. Our souls were ripped away from our Soulmate.

The only antidote to fragmentation is unity. And the deepest unity is experienced at a wedding. Every wedding is a healing, a mending of one fragmented soul, a rebuilding of Jerusalem in miniature. Our sages teach us, "Whoever celebrates with a bride and groom it is as if he rebuilt the ruins of Jerusalem." When soulmates reunite in holy marriage, an energy of love and oneness is generated, elevating the world and bringing it one step closer to mending its broken relationship with G-d.

And one day soon, when the Temple in Jerusalem is rebuilt, our souls will reunite with G-d, our Soulmate, in a true relationship that we built ourselves. We will no longer mourn the destruction, but looking back we will finally understand its purpose, and we will celebrate. Then, even the shattering will deserve a Mazel Tov.

Mendel (Menachem) Bluming and many other sources

[tumblueberry]

Tagged by @erasedcitizen2​! I had to skip the many songs with 0 lyrics I got tho.

Rules: Write the first 10 songs that come up on shuffle (no skipping) and quote your favorite lyrics from each song, then tag 10 people.

1.  The Real Folk Blues from Cowbow Bebop, by Yoko Kanno. Despair filled with hope And this chance with a trap set What's right or wrong? It's like two sides of a coin How long must I live till I'm healed.

2. Si no puedo amarla (Spanish version of BatB’s If I can’t love her) sung by Javier Ordinas.  No existe belleza, no queda grandeza  que me hagan cambiar si no puedo amarla. ¿Quién puede ayudarme, quién puede enseñarme cómo he de ganar su corazón también? Si no es ella ¡no habrá quién!

Tiempo atrás debí saber todo cuanto pude ser si yo hubiera sido bondadoso... I love how the melody changes in this part.

3. Orion by Kenshi Yonezu (translations from Japanese are weird, man). You spoke in a voice Like pure-white porcelain... The smell of winter.Within my heart, a silently raging storm Rose up, along this darkened path. Then twinkling stars fell down from overhead... So immersed in them, I was nearly brought to tears.

4. Deliver us from Prince of Egypt, that masterpiece. [YOCHEVED] Yal-di ha-tov veh ha-rach Al ti-ra veh al tif-chad My son, I have nothing I can give But this chance that you may live I pray we'll meet again If He will deliver us [SLAVES] Deliver us Hear our prayer Deliver us From despair These years of slavery grow too cruel to stand Deliver us There's a land you promised us Deliver us Out of bondage and Deliver us to the Promised Land.

5. Fire by BTS. Hey, burn it up Like you’re gonna set everything on fire Hey, turn it up Until the dawn is gone It's ok to just live because we're still young Who do you think you are to say otherwise Stop comparing, I'm just human (So what~)

I leave BTS on when it plays on my YT mix because their songs are usually full of energy and it wakes me up xD I had no idea what the lyrics said until now.

6. Honeybee by Steam Powered Giraffe. You didn't have to smile at me Your grin's the sweetest that I've ever seen But you did. Yes you did You didn't have to offer your hand Cause since I've kissed it I am at your command But you did Oh, Turpentine erase me whole I don't want to live my life alone I was waiting for you all my life Oh Why Set me free, my...honey-BeeHo-neyBe

7.  Mob Choir 99, cover by Jonathan Young & SixteeninMono If you can't see you're all alone The answers you might one day know I know that you will suffer through the strife and hate Your life is yours so live each day And it's okay if you run away As long as you are capable It's no mistake If everyone's not special then Maybe you can be what you want to be I know that you will suffer through The joy and pain Your life is yours, so live each day But if you are no different Then that's okay You're searching for the answers You will find them all In time.

8. Blackstar by David Bowie. How many times does an angel fall? How many people lie instead of talking tall? He trod on sacred ground, he cried loud into the crowd (I’m a blackstar, I’m a blackstar, I’m not a gangstar).

Talk about weird lyrics. But the melody is amazing imo.

9. Uprising by MUSE. Interchanging mind control Come let the revolution take its toll if you could Flick a switch and open your third eye, you'd see that We should never be afraid to die (So come on)

10. Un poco loco, from COCO. I love the beginning because I always smile when I recognise the song xD Also gotta love the mexican accent that they kept in both the original and the Spanish versions :_) QUE EL SIELO NO ES ASUL AY MI AMOR, AY MI AMOR. QUE ES ROJO DISES TÚ AY MI AMOR, AY MI AMOR. VES TODO ALREVÉS AY MI AMOR, AY MI AMOR. CREO QUE PIENSAS CON LOS PIES AY MI AMOR, AY MI AMOOOOOOOR. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So that was LONG and took a lot of time because my internet is being an ass this week so I couldn’t check the lyrics properly and yeah, it was a frustrating process. I hope you enjoyed seeing how full of east asian stuff is my YT mix these days xD PS: Please check out Jonathan Young’s covers, btw, he is amazing. Tagging whoever wants to do this, my brain is too angry to think and I’m to hungry to stay here a single second more :*

[shefa]

Walk a Mile in My Shoes

WALK A MILE IN MY SHOES SERMON FOR KOL NIDRE 5778 -- 2017 Rabbi Stephen Weiss, B'nai Jeshurun Congregation

Well here we are on Yom Kippur eve, Kol Nidre, the most solemn day in the whole Jewish calendar. So, I want to begin this evening by invoking the King. No, not the King of Kings, but rather the King of Rock and Roll. And I’m going to ask you to help me out, by clapping along with me, and singing too if you know the words:

If I could be you, if you could be me for just one hour If we could find a way to get inside each other's mind If you could see you through my eyes instead of your ego I believe you'd be, I believe you'd be surprised to see that you've been blind

Walk a mile in my shoes Walk a mile in my shoes Yeah, before you abuse, criticize, and accuse Walk a mile in my shoes

Now if we spend the day throwing stones at one another ‘Cause I don’t think ‘cause I don’t think or wear my hair same way you do O well I may be common people but I’m your brother And when you strike out to try hurt me, it’s a hurtin’ you

Walk a mile in my shoes Walk a mile in my shoes Yeah, before you abuse, criticize, and accuse Walk a mile in my shoes

Now there are people on reservations and out in the ghetto And, brother, there, but for the grace of God go you and I If I only had the wings of a little angel Don't you know I'd fly - to the top of a mountain and then I'd cry, cry, cry?

Walk a mile in my shoes Walk a mile in my shoes Yeah, before you abuse, criticize, and accuse Walk a mile in my shoes

Sing it with me!

Walk a mile in my shoes Walk a mile in my shoes Yeah, before you abuse, criticize, and accuse Walk a mile in my shoes

I’ve been humming that Elvis Presley song a lot lately, because after all, this day is all about shoes. What kind of shoes are you wearing today? Running shoes? Crocs? Dress shoes with a rubber sole? Probably not blue suede shoes. We don’t wear leather-soled shoes on Yom Kippur because leather is understood by our sages as a sign of luxury and comfort. Our sages did not want us to get too comfortable in our own shoes. They wanted us to step outside our comfort zone, to get inside someone else’s skin, their heart, their mind, to experience life through their eyes, to learn what it’s like to walk a mile in someone else’s shoes. To experience empathy. Because only through the experience of empathy can we both change ourselves and change the world around us.

Let me share with you a story about such a change. In 2012, Csanad Szegedi was poised to lead Jobbik, an ultra-nationalist neo-Nazi, racist, anti-Semitic political party in Hungary that garnered 20% of the vote in 2014. Jobbik consistently accuses the Jews of being at the center of a cabal of western economic interests seeking world domination.

The opposition research from Szegedi’s rivals revealed the surprising news that Szegedi’s maternal grandmother and grandfather were Auschwitz survivors. It was true. When his mother was fourteen, her father told her the secret but insisted that she never reveal it to anyone. And she didn’t, not even to Szegedi, who was shocked by the news.

When Szegedi first admitted the truth about his Jewish ancestry, one party leader urged him to shoot himself. Another urged him to make a public apology. It was this comment that made him say, “Wait a minute, I am supposed to apologize for the fact that my family was killed at Auschwitz?” When he stepped out of his comfort zone and gave a speech in support of Israel, skinheads and neo-Nazis showed up at his home chanting “Death to the Jews.” He was forced to experience what Hungarian Jews had experienced at the hands of his Jobbik party, at his hands as a Jobbik leader. This changed him forever. In response, he devoted himself to defending human rights. He says, “I am aware of my responsibility and I know I will have to make it right in the future.”

Having learned the truth about himself, he resigned from the party, went to visit a local rabbi, studied Torah and underwent circumcision. Dovid, as he is now known, became a religious Jew, keeping kosher and observing Shabbat, studying Torah and Talmud and davening regularly. And this fall he made aliyah to Israel.

Walk a mile in my shoes.

Szegedi had radical empathy forced upon him by circumstance. But empathy can be a force in our more mundane everyday lives as well.

Let me give you a simple example. It happened once that a young girl’s friend lost her favorite doll which she’d brought over to play with. She was heartbroken. She sat on the steps and began to cry. When the first little girl’s mother came outside to check on the girls, she found them both sitting on the step sobbing. She asked what was wrong, and her daughter told her through her tears that her little friend, Suzie had lost her favorite doll. The mother looked puzzled for a bit, then asked her daughter, “did you lose your doll too?” “No”, the daughter sobbed. “Then what’s wrong with you?” asked the mother, “Nothing” she sobbed. “I’m just helping Suzie cry.”

Helping Suzie cry. You see, that’s what real empathy is. Empathy is feeling what another person is feeling. It is the art of stepping imaginatively into the shoes of another person, understanding their feelings, their experiences, their perspectives, the way they see the world, and using that understanding to guide your own actions.

Walk a mile in my shoes.

Empathy is not sympathy. Sympathy is when I feel for you. Empathy is when I feel with you. Sympathy is when say “I know you are hurting.” Empathy is when I endeavor to feel and understand your hurt from your perspective. When I hurt with you.

Imagine that someone has fallen in a deep dark hole in their lives. And they shout out “I’m stuck, it’s dark, and I’m overwhelmed.” Sympathy is when you look over the edge of that hole and you look over the edge of that hole, and you wave down there and you say, “Wow. That looks really bad.” Empathy is when you climb down into the hole. You stand with them, and you say: Hey, I know what it’s like down here. I’ve been down here. You’re not alone.”

Moses climbed down in that hole. The midrash tells us that Moses among the slaves in the field and put his shoulder to the grindstone. He felt others' pain as his own, and helped alleviate their burden.

Rabbi Israel Salanter, the great 19th century founder of the Mussar movement, also climbed down into that hole. The Jewish community of Kovno operated a homeless shelter which fell into disrepair. Despite various appeals, the community failed to fix the facility. So what did Rabbi Israel Salant do? He went to sleep in the broken-down shelter. And he vowed to continue doing so until proper repairs were made.

The Baal Shem Tov, the founder of Hasidism, taught that a tzaddik – a righteous person – must go down into Gehenna – to Hell – himself to be able to raise up souls. Not to sin with them. Not to castigate them. But to be with them empathetically and experience their pain. If you cannot experience someone’s pain, if you cannot identify with them, you cannot help lift them up.

Walk a mile in my shoes.

The amazing thing is that we are hard-wired for empathy. Scientists have discovered that some 20% of the neurons in our brain are what they call “mirror neurons.” These “mirror neurons” fire when we see someone else doing or feeling something, and they allow us to participate with them in a kind of virtual reality. You’ve all experienced it: When you see a scary scene in a movie, and you jump just as the actor who is scared jumps. When you are with someone who is experiencing pain and you wince. When you see a face that looks sad and it makes you feel sad. That’s our “mirror neurons.” It’s as if the barriers between us dissolve, as if our minds and our bodies become one.

That’s what eastern religions teach, and that’s what Judaism teaches as well. Kabbalah – Jewish mysticism – tells us that all the distinctions between us are illusory, that in truth we are all part of one unity. You and I, the chairs on which you sit, the trees and grass outside these windows and the air we breathe are all a part of the flow of Gods energy and spirit. That’s the meaning of the Shema. Not just that there is one God, but that God is the singularity of the universe, that everything is contained and unified within God’s spirit, forever connected. To understand this is to understand the true meaning of empathy. It is the God-given ability to dissolve the barriers between us and become one with each other.

Empathy enables us to feel connected to and supported by others. It is a cornerstone of our emotional intelligence, contributing to both our humility and our self-esteem. It opens our minds to new landscapes and challenges us to grow in new directions. It should come as no surprise then that empathy contributes to our emotional wellbeing and our happiness.

Philosopher Mary Gordon points out that at the Nuremberg trials, one of the judges pointed to the war crimes of the Holocaust as a “failure of empathy.” She goes on to say that “Empathy is integral to solving conflict in the family, schoolyard, boardroom and war room. The ability to take the perspective of another person, to identify commonalities through our shared feelings, is the best peace pill we have.”

Walk a mile in my shoes.

And yet it seems that lately we have lost touch with this unique gift that God has given us. Instead of breaking down barriers we seem to build them up, drawing ever more distinctions between “us” and “them.” We live in a world marked by a hostile disregard for the ‘other’ whether that ‘other’ is someone of a different race, religion, gender, orientation, or political persuasion, or a different segment of society. We especially seem to demonize those who hold different opinions from our own.

Indeed, we suffer from an empathy deficit. Studies show that empathy levels in this county have dropped by nearly 50% in the last three decades. The most dramatic drop has been in the last ten years. Why is that?

First, we must acknowledge that feeling empathy is hard for us because it requires us to feel vulnerable and out of control. Feeling someone else’s pain may open up wounds of our own that we have managed to suppress and feeling emotions we may not want to feel. Looking at things from another person’s perspective may challenge our own beliefs and assumptions.

We also suffer from an increasing focus on ourselves. The 90’s was the “me” generation. The millennial decade has been the “I” generation. For decades, our psychologists have told us that if we want to solve our problems and to feel contentment in life we should look inside ourselves to resolve our issues, instead of telling us to look outside at the world and those around us. You don’t believe me? Just go to the bookstore and see how large the “Self-Help” section is. Then do me a favor. Go find the section labeled “Helping Others.” Of course, you won’t find it.

Some of this decline in empathy is also from compassion fatigue. We are flooded daily with news of catastrophes so overwhelming and so frequent as to make us numb: Harvey, Irma, Jose and Maria, the tsunami in Asia, the earthquake in Mexico, refugees from Syria, the genocide of the Rohingya, terror attacks in Israel… it’s just more than we can absorb.

Some of this decline in empathy may be technology itself making us less empathetic. Not just being on our computers, tablets and phones all the time, but technology’s very presence in our lives. Did you know that studies show that if there is a phone just sitting, turned off, on the table between two people, those people listen less to each other? Isn’t that fascinating?

Our resistance to empathy also comes from being in a state of denial. Perhaps we feel shame or guilt that by contrast, we live such privileged lives. Perhaps we turn away because we don’t want to admit that we might be somehow responsible. So we tell ourselves that our actions won’t really change anything.

And if we are honest, some of our resistance to empathy comes as well from our own prejudices that make it difficult for us to appreciate the humanity and uniqueness of other people’s personal stories.

Walk a mile in my shoes.

So how do we regain our ability to empathize?

It starts with the most basic tool: listening. Really listening. What is commonly called “active” or “empathetic” listening. That means that when you speak, I am fully focused on being present with you rather then caught in my own reaction or preparing my response. This is an exercise that I make every couple practice in the months before their wedding. I see some of you in the sanctuary tonight. You can vouch for this! Listen to your partner and then repeat back to them exactly what you believe you heard, without commentary or response. Check in with them: did I hear you correctly? Only once they confirm you heard them fully and correctly do you respond.

Couples are surprised how often they don’t hear each other correctly. And couples find this exercise terribly awkward at first, But those who persist find it becomes natural, a part of their everyday life and relationship. And do you know what? Studies show that active listening increases the chances of a marriage’s success. And it’s not just for our personal relationships. One recent study showed that when corporate management and unions used empathetic, active listening, the time it took to negotiate a contract was reduced by 50%. In his famous treatise I and Thou, Martin Buber taught that we can become fully human only when we have “genuine conversations” that try look at the world through the other person’s eyes and to comprehend their thoughts and feelings. In that book he described what that process was like for him. He wrote: “I imagine to myself what another man is at this very moment wishing, feeling, perceiving, thinking. . ..” He went on to write that the “inmost growth of the self is not accomplished, as people like to suppose today, in man’s relation to himself, but in the relation between one and the other, between men.” It’s only in that dialogue – in the listening – that we can discover each other.

A second tool in regaining empathy is to humanize those hidden individuals in our lives, those that we benefit from but we take for granted. Commentator Karen Armstrong suggests we try this exercise:

“When you get up in the morning, remember those who planted, picked and spun the cotton of your sheets and who collected, treated and exported the beans you grind for your morning coffee. You enjoy their product,” she says, “so you have a responsibility for them, especially if they were working in poor conditions. As you set off to work, reflect on the thousands of workers and engineers who maintain the roads, cars, railways, planes, trains and underground transport on which you rely. Continue this exercise throughout the day.”

A third tool to help us regain empathy is what one social philosopher calls “the character game.” When you see someone who you might treat as other, someone who is different than you, try instead to imagine them in a more human guise. When you see someone on the street who you think looks dangerous, looks different, makes you uncomfortable, or just seems worth your time and concern, try to imagine him playing hide and seek with his child or singing to her elderly mother to cheer her up. In this way you can give people a human face, break through our stereotyped views of them, and open us to new opportunities for connection and conversation.

Finally, we have to be willing to set down our worldview for a moment and put on someone else’s glasses. We must allow ourselves to see the world through their eyes, to experience what they experience, to feel what they feel, to know their truth, and to understand that their truth – whether we agree with it or not, whether we like it or not – exists in the world beside our truth, and that we have to support them in it.

If we want to regain our sense of connection to each other, if we want to heal as individuals and as a society, this is where it all begins: We must learn to walk a mile in each other’s shoes. To learn to humanize the other. To have genuine conversations in which we seek to see the world from their perspective. To understand and accept without judgement what someone else is feeling and be able to be with them in their pain. To let down our guard and allow ourselves to be vulnerable, to be changed by those around us. To break down the illusory barriers that we think divide us and see how much we share in common and how good it feels to be in one unity.

This is the meaning of the words that we sing so often that come from our sacred texts:

Hinei ma-tov u-mah na’im shevet achim gam yachad. “Behold, how good it is when we – brothers and sisters, the children of the One God – can dwell together in unity.

So this Yom Kippur, we know what we need to do. Sing it with me one last time:

Walk a mile in my shoes Walk a mile in my shoes Yeah, before you abuse, criticize and accuse Walk a mile in my shoes

May we all learn to walk a mile in each other’s shoes every day. Amen

[magicmetslogic]

And so, the last bits of Growing Pains have been published! This epilogue is just one long party full of fluff and spans from chapters 20-22.

Thank you everyone who’s followed this fic for the past one and a half years; every single comment you guys have left has given me life beyond measure. And, once again, happy reading! Written by myself and @skywardheroine