#anyway I think I know how to use the moss texture on this bark to add lichen and other mosses to the rocks I made yesterday :3

[phoenixiancrystallist]

Month 4, day 11

Bark! Bark bark! Bark bark woof!

Also I made a tree bark texture :D

[thedevillionaire]

Illusionary

Cerberus, Kia, domestic bedroom snz scene with a little magic, little romance? Hmm, yeah, sounds like me. 😏 --- Wrapped in a full-length darkest burgundy dressing robe, feeling somewhat refreshed but still more than a little coldhazy, Cerberus emerges post-shower to the sight of Kia, changed from her earlier black velvet bodice and jeans into a burnished deep gold satin negligee, lying on her stomach across the bed, head resting on her hands, attention fixed on the Testing papers in front of her. He pauses at the threshold, leans against the door frame to simply look at her awhile, silently enraptured, a soft smile on his face.

:Just so you know, babe,: Mindsends Kia, keeping her eyes on the papers, :it’s not possible for you to enter a room and not be noticed.: She glances back over her shoulder at him and grins wickedly. “You’d be a terrible spy.”

Cerberus chuckles, walking over to settle beside her on the bed. “Hard to argue given the circumstances, I suppose.” He toys with her hair, looking down at the papers. “Which Level are you applying for?” A light sniffle, and he frowns slightly, rubs his nose against an irritation rising anew.

“6.” Kia sighs. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I can get that, but…I don’t know, I’m not…evenly skilled across the options or something.” She rolls over to sit up, cross-legged. “There’s a bunch of stuff I can do really well, and some other stuff I’m…just not very good at, I guess.” She gives him a rueful smile. “But I think if I maybe…”

“What is it you’re not sure of?” Cerberus reaches across her and picks up the papers, flicking through them as he moves to sit leaning back against the bedhead, rearranging the array of pillows and cushions to suit. Another sniffle, more sharply this time and he recognises the battle as lost, his focus dissolving captive to undeniable need, and he turns from Kia in surrender to an adversary already his conqueror many times over today. “HHAHTSSCCHU! Damn it, I swear Healing deal in placebos. Comple…ehh-HH ..completely…hh… Ahh-HEHTSSCH-uu!” He sniffles again and fixes Kia with a look conveying irrefutable vindication, raises an eyebrow. “*snf!*Hm? As evidenced. Completely ineffectual,” he states with authority, and takes several tissues from the box on the bedside. “Excuse me a mome… hh-HH... Oh, for f… HHAHTSSCCHU! Ah, gods. *SNF!* Pardon me, love.” He blows his nose in an attempt to stop any further irritation, at least in the short term, though he holds very little faith in that regard, and incinerates the tissues in a flashblaze of aetherfire.

“Bless you, sweetheart,” Kia says, gently strokes his forearm. “I’m fairly sure the meds have helped a bit, though,” she suggests. “Compared to earlier, at least.”

“Oh, well, yes, I’m sure I’ve had at least ten minutes respite here and there,” mutters Cerberus sardonically, though he concedes to his bonded’s wry smirk quickly enough, places a kiss on her forehead. “Ah, I’m sorry, darkling. It’s just that as a rule, I’m rather fond of breathing.” Resting back against the pillows once more, he sighs again, absently rubs his nose, and returns his attention to the papers, making a quiet hum of thought as he flicks through them, in consideration.

“Sweetheart?” Kia, curious, shuffles up along the bed a little more to kneel beside him, resting her head on his shoulder, trying to read what he was reading. “What are you doing?”

Cerberus points to the skillset of Illusion, listed as a subcategory within Hypnotics, several thick and emphatic lines scrawled beneath it. “This is underlined because…?”

Kia scoffed. “Because I suck at it,” she says, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, I can do the basics, but…” She looks up at him, nestling into him, trailing absent patterns across his chest with her fingers. “It’s just…it’s like…you have to sort of direct what someone else sees, so it’s…putting your images into their eyes without actually seeingthrough their eyes, so you don’t know if it’s actually working, you just kind of have to hope for it, and I can’t figure out when it is working so then I get distracted and the whole thing pretty much falls apart.”

“It’s a skill Demonics covers as well.” Cerberus kisses the top of her head, draping an arm across her as he drops the papers in his lap.

Kia stares at him, taken aback. “You can do this?!”

“Well, I don’t use it widely, nor is it my forte, but…”

“Oh, oh, oh! Want to take my Test for me?” Kia gives him a playful entreating look. “Just, I don’t know, shapeshift or something. Is that a thing? You can do that, right? I’ll let you wear whatever you like. Oh my god, I bet you’d be super-hot as me.”

Cerberus collapses into laughter, and she laughs with him, her heart warming as it always does when he loses himself to delight, and particularly now, with him unwell. She repositions herself to settle beside him, kissing him tenderly as she does so, and picks up the papers in one hand, resting her other hand on his thigh. “Alright, alright, okay, I know. I’ll take my own stupid Test. It’s mostly Vampirism specific, anyway. But still…” A devilish grin darts across her face and she bats her eyelashes at him with exaggerated flirtation. :Super-hot.:

Smiling, Cerberus looks down and shakes his head in an ill-advised move that brings about yet another stark reminder of the throbbing sinus headache he’s only just managed to almost forget. He winces slightly and does his best to ignore it. Claiming the honeyed tea from the bedside tray, he reheats it with a touch, and takes a sip. “Well, darkling,” he says, “perhaps not quite that, um…absolute, but I certainly owe you any favours I can offer at this point, so if you’ll allow me—” He kisses her forehead. “—to revisit a request that you once asked of me… Drop your Protect.”

Kia’s eyes widen and she looks up at him, confused, curious. “Why? Do you even need me to?”

“No, love, technically I don’t. But I’d prefer to have your consent, if you’ll give it.”

“For what? I mean, sure, of course, babe, but…”

And then Kia loses her words, struck voiceless, astonished, and reaches her hand out to feel for a bed that is no longer there, finding instead only the soft moss and verdure of a rainforest glade, the gentle sensation of vivid greenery under her touch; lush, thick and rampant plantlife above her, beneath her, beside her, in sensory undeniability. She turns rapidly, looking everywhere around her, unable to comprehend what’s happening even as the very atmosphere changes, the dark, thick, wet scent of fernery, pines, rich soils, and peat surrounding her, immersive and entirely real, solid, incontrovertible. The sky darkens to gunmetal greyblue, stormclouded and windswept, and the crash of distant thunder seems to vibrate the air itself. Sky? But there can’t be sky. Where’s the…where’s the ceiling? What…

“Honey?” she asks, questioning, her own voice feeling like a foreignness, seeking her love who isn’t where he had been mere seconds ago, and she runs her hand along the bark of a nearby tree, one of several, the texture rough and actual, definite. She pushes it, pushes harder; it does not yield. The thunder echoes again, muted but resonant, a certainty, and the heavy cloudcover darkens with it, bringing further shadow to the dell. Shifting her position and reaching for familiarity does nothing to transform the verdant rolling hills back into the furniture she knows so well – oak and cast iron and ornate fabric lost to, consumed by, this wilderness she’s breathing. The landscape stretches out endless and impossibly vast; bedroom walls stay invisible, dissolved. There are no hard angles. No corners. Thunder once more but softer, as if moving away. Wisps of phosphorescence dartdance across thickets and brush, phantasmal. She curls her toes against some lichen at her feet.

:Know this, love,: Cerberus Mindsends almost as if in echo, in memory, to the bone, and Kia spins around to face him, seated beside her but on the opposite side to where she last saw him, dressed as if for a fog-covered moorside in a thick cable-knit sweater and fleecelined suede coat, which she knows is not possible this is not possible it cannot be possible how can he do this how can anyone oh my god definitely not reality but still the only tangible perception she can make, and she isn’t at all sure she can speak to him and she tries to see what she knows to be real, where she knows she must be sitting, but she simply can’t, and she plucks a honeysuckle flower off a nearby creeping vine that has to be fictitious and yet it somehow isn’t, marvelling as she turns it over in her hands, touching its petals, breathing its sweet perfume.

“You’re extraordinary,” she whispers, tears in her eyes.

:Close your eyes a moment, darkling, and immerse. Remember this. Understand this.:

And feeling the reassuring touch of his hand on hers, she closes her eyes as requested, reopening them after just a brief time to see again the bedroom that she’d logically known she’d never left, only then consciously recognising that he could not have taken her hand in that way from where she’d thought she’d seen him last, and she gazes up at him, open-mouthed in astonishment, for the shortest of moments before reaching up to trace her fingers along the contours of his face, almost as if to confirm his existence. “How are you even…” she murmurs in wonder, before calling herself back to reality somewhat.

She takes a moment to rebalance, breathes deeply, recentering. “Okay.” She exhales slowly. “Alright. Okay, that was…wow, that was completely amazing and… I love you but that was… If that’s what I’m meant to do… I mean, I could feel it. I held a flower. Fuck, babe. I have enough trouble even getting an image to form. A single image. You��you made a world. There’s no way I can do that.”

“You most certainly can, love,” counters Cerberus, “and, in fact, will. Should bring you up to a Level 8 grading, I’d imagine.” He presses his index finger then the back of his hand against his nose, frowning a little at a building itch, sniffling. “Excuse me. You just, um…recall the memory, enter in and redirect, adjusting for context. You’ll only be working with mortal capacity for resistance, also, if I recall the Vampirism protocol for this sort of thing correctly, so it sh…should be…” His breath hitches, the returning urgency stealing his sentence; he excuses himself with haste and turns from Kia, succumbing desperate, heavy, absolute. “AhhHEHTSSCHuu!”

“Bless you!”

He raises an index finger and gives the briefest shake of his head, brow creased, and frozen in thrall to the crescendo of oncoming need; he takes an imposed moment, expectant, and another, inhaling shallow scissored twice and over, then deep, deeper still.

And again.

“hh-HH… Hh-TSSCHhuu!”

And oh he does not want to concede, but again.

“HMPTch! HHKTchu!” His attempt at resistance proves no contest against the still insistent, overwhelming tickle, and he gives over completely this time, abandoning any further fight. “Hh-TSSCH-uu! ah-hh… AHHTSSCHUU! Ah, gods.”

Kia’s own breath comes a touch uncertain too as she purrs a honeytoned, “Bless you, sweetheart.”

Cerberus exhales tiredly, pushes silken ebony disorder back from his face with one hand while claiming several tissues with the other. “Thanks, love,” he murmurs, adding a sotto voce curse or two about the entire situation. “Pardon me.” He blows his nose, a little more gingerly now, sniffles again and sighs, repeats the process. Ridiculous.

A thought suddenly occurs to Kia that piques her interest far too much to not to ask it. “So, um…what would have happened if you’d sneezed during that whole…you know, ‘the bedroom is a forest now’ performance?”

Cerberus wipes his nose a final time before vaporising the latest used tissue collection. He chuckles quietly, clears his throat. “You’d best tell me, I think.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t, though. I would have…” Kia breaks off, examines her beloved’s expression with wary sidelong glance, considering whether there was any chance of...

No. With a faint scoff, she rejects the possibility, positive, confident. “No, you did not. There’s no way I don’t hear that.”

“If you say so, love.”

She frowns. “You’re right here. I am next to you in the bed.”

“Yes, it’s wonderful.” He flashes her a candid, disarming smile. “My favourite thing.”

Laughing, Kia pushes him in play. “Well, mine too, sweetheart, but that’s not what I meant and you know it,” she says before returning to her point. “You did not sneeze during that, though. No way. It just isn’t… Nope. You’re teasing me.”

“Well.” Cerberus once again brings newly steaming heat to the cup of tea with a touch, the very slightest of smiles crossing his face. “I admit that thunder is rather a cliché, but I didn’t have a great deal of time to consider intricacy of plot.”

“You di… But…” Kia stares at him in complete bafflement. “How?!”

“Illusion, darkling.” He stretches an idle arm across her shoulders, presses a kiss to her temple. “This is how it works.”

“Are you serious?!” Kia shakes her head in amazement. “God, do I even know what reality is?!” She gives a half laugh of incredulity, simultaneously astounded and utterly unsurprised at the variety of skills her beloved seems able to just call to command at will. “Okay, okay, and…so now because you…set me up, is that right, I can just, what, do that now? Oh. Ohh, whoa now, wait a second. Hang on.” She gives him a sly look, comprehension dawning. “Did you just do my homework for me?”

Cerberus laughs softly, a little darkly. “Consider it a crash course. Anyway, I know that you are in fact highly skilled in…not unrelated areas. I certainly know you can direct events. Your truly…outstanding talent with Immerse and Possess proves it. I suspect you just weren’t sure where to begin in this case.” He gives her a gentle smile. “You have an advantage, love. You should use it.”

Kia smiles back. “Oh, I’ll use you alright. I mean, use it.” She winks, laughing again. “I liked your mountain man look, by the way. Do you even have a cable-knit sweater?"

Cerberus raises an eyebrow. "What? You dressed me in a sweater?"

“I dressed you? What?"

“My direction only goes so far, darkling. Illusion involves a great deal of obfuscation, but it’s not a complete taking over. Some parts of it are nothing more than guidance, suggestions. And certain aspects are – I assure you – entirely of your own creation." He looks at her in nonplussed bemusement. “Really? Cable knit?”

“Navy blue, with a tan suede jacket,” Kia specifies with haughty precision before dissolving into laughter anew and doubly at the expression on his face. "I guess that’s what you get for setting everything in a forest. Come on, I was thematically accurate, at least.” She wipes away tears of laughter before meeting his gaze with conviction, points at him as if delivering an unarguable truth. “You looked hot as fuck, incidentally."

“I feel I’ve learnt something entirely new about you tonight,” Cerberus remarks, smiling briefly at her before suddenly turning away again, a couplet of fierce, unstoppable sneezes almost catching him unprepared absolutely, and he apologises with haste. “Hh-TSSCHH-uu! Ah-TSSCHH-uu! Goddamn it. *snf!* I have had more than entirely enough of this.” He sharply pulls another pair of tissues from the box, blows his nose again, immolates them afterwards with a burst of flame rather more emphatic than required.

“Aw, bless you, hon.” Kia tuts softly, strokes his hair back from his eyes, moves to sit across his lap, facing him. She traces a finely manicured nail down his neck, across his shoulder. “You know,” she nearwhispers, her tone softly teasing, “it wouldn’t kill you to wear a sweater once in a while.”

“I’m really not…”

Kia leans closer, purrs as if sharing the wickedest of secrets. “Denim jeans too.”

:Gods, love, who are you?: Cerberus Mindsends in shadowsnarl as he wraps a strong arm around his bonded and draws them together, claiming her mouth and kissing her with fire palpable.

:You know me, sweetheart.: With deft touch and feline grace, slightest shrug, Kia allows her negligee to smoothly fall away, returning her beloved’s kiss perfervid, wanting, infusing her reciprocal Mindsend with the same.

:Your favourite thing.:

----

[the-mandalorian-clone-lover]

Aces in Spaces Chapter 4

Me: *comes in from armor painting and sits at my computer for an hour trying to remember what I told myself I needed to do on it* *Remembers its Monday two hours later* SITHSPIT

SO here it is!!

Erica and Roman have been dating about two months now Roman has not been to the support group yet but that’s coming next!!

Tags: @rentskenobi @sunshinepascal @princessxkenobi @maybege @obaby-wan 

If anyone wants to be added let me know!! :D (previous chapter links are at the end this time)

2 months dating

They’d met up at a local park for lunch today, Erica texted him saying she’d packed an extra sandwich if he wanted to join her for a walk, at Butch’s direction he’d offered to bring a blanket and a side (Butch also had to give him a crash course on picnic food, they had very different ideas, he’s hoping Cheetos are safe, though he grabbed an apple on the way out, because Erica likes the green ones, he knows because of a random ice breaker she’d done with the team when she’d joined). It turned out to be a great choice because she absolutely beamed when he’d gotten it out, mumbling a small ‘you remembered’ and he’d smiled, handing it over with a ‘of course I did’. Butch also managed to talk him into jeans again and despite how deeply he’d sighed at the suggestion, they are comfortable, he’ll, grudgingly, admit.

They’ve finished now and he stands and offers his arm to help her up, she’s tucking the bags away in her purse before she glances up and smiles. She takes it, standing next to him before reaching down to shake the blanket out, pausing a moment before swinging it around her shoulders like a cape. He chuckles but she simply shrugs at him.

“Capes are the best, and I’m cold anyway”

Now he wishes he’d brough that leather jacket Butch offered instead of sticking to a T-shirt.

He reaches to rub her arms over the blanket starting a slow up and down motion before pausing at her forearms, “I’d have brought a coat but I didn’t think of it being cold.”

She shrugs again “I run cold. Honestly, I can get cold under three blankets in the middle of July its wild.”

Despite the adjective she uses, her voice remains monotone and he laughs despite himself.

“Well maybe the walk you mentioned would help with that?”

She smiles, “Yeah”

They start off then, she takes his arm again, other hand clutching the blanket (though its so thin he doubt it helps much) and nudging him in the direction of a worn path that she explains is a circle around the park, this way they can loop back to the car in time to get her back to work. He asks about her work, how the older gentleman at the bookstore is doing, and he ends up hearing all about the man’s grandchildren, latest favorite book, and small cat that also graces the bookstore with her presence at times (he makes a mental note to see about cat-related Christmas presents for the man, he’s taking such good care of Erica after all). When they started seeing one another, Erica had suggested she take leave from the syndicate until the relationship was more settled (working for her boyfriend hadn’t seemed right to her) and Roman had agreed, feeling it created an imbalance that could be hard to work around in the future. Enter the kind elderly gentleman (who she said was also a family friend) who offered her a job at the bookstore and though they haven’t been together long, Roman knows she likes it there. Maybe more than she did working for him. He smiles at the thought, it brings an element of normality to their relationship, both having “normal” working hours (which is really him organizing his schedule to leave the most time for her) and planning their dates around them like any regular couple (as if he wasn’t rigging it, Butcher always adds).

“Oh look!!”

He startles at Erica’s exclamation and by the time he’s turned his head to her she’s slid from his arm and skittered away off the path, squatting down and gasping softly before reaching out to something he can’t see. Walking to her and pulling his jeans up slightly before bending he frowns, raising an eyebrow.

“Moss?”

“And the orange mushrooms!” She amends excitedly, pointing just beyond her treasured moss to the foot of a tree. She looks to him in wonder before taking in his confusion. “Here, you can’t just look at it.”

She takes a hold of his fingers and drags them down to brush against the moss, before whispering a hushed

“See?”

He frowns harder but doesn’t pull his hand away.

“It feels, nice.” He finally says, ‘Not as nice as you do�� his mind adds un-helpfully and he swallows it down. He’s decided quite firmly that if there’s any advances in their relationship to be made it will be mostly Erica who makes them, and then, only with clear consent, him.

She smiles softly, “I had a back injury in high school.” She starts, “I’d loose feeling all over without any warning, it was really unpredictable. Sometimes people could touch me and if I hadn’t seen them do it I’d have no way of knowing.” She takes a deep breath, eyes still on the moss. “Makes me really appreciate textures now that I can.” She reaches up to drag her hand along the bark of the tree, “Each little indent.” her hand drops to fan across the sparse grass, “Every individual blade.” Her eyes find their way back to his, sighing softly,

“I know it’s not for everyone.”

It does give him an out, but it’s not apologetic, and he likes that. That she has things she loves and refuses to be ashamed of them. He smiles, genuinely, and looks back at the moss. Brushing his fingers across before turning his hand and dragging his knuckles across it too.

“It really is nice. I’d never thought of it like that.”

She hums, nodding and taking a deep breath before standing slowly. “Should we head back?” Roman stands and nods to her, turning with her to come back the way they came, making another mental note to come back another day when they have more time.

They walk in silence this time and Roman can’t stop thinking. What would he do if he couldn’t feel anything? Or, by extension, anyone? It seems a horrible thing to endure and some how he feels privileged to be privy to this part of her past. It doesn’t necessarily explain anything, but it is a piece of the puzzle and he files it away for later. He’s pulled from his reverie by what sounds like a sharp gasp and a hand at his wrist, stopping immediately he turns, had he been wrong to ask Butcher to hang back? He finds Erica biting both her lips and looking at his arm, his own eyes fall to the connection point where her hand is now tightly clasped, before sliding back up to hers in question.

“Um” She starts, haltingly, eyes never leaving his wrist, “I-- I was trying to reachforyourhandandImissed”

The end leaves her mouth in a rush and he leans the slightest bit forward in confusion before his brain processes and he grins, sliding his arm up in her grasp and slotting their fingers together instead.

He holds their now connected hands up slightly, “Like this?” for some reason it comes out in a whisper.

Her eyes follow the movement before carrying on to his eyes and he realizes she’s released her hold on her lips, tongue darting out to soothe them before she’s nodding minutely, smile starting as she reaches her other hand to cover his.

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t let go the rest of the time they’re together, swinging their arms a little too enthusiastically, thumb brushing across her fingers every so often, squeezing her hand at random intervals, all in the quest to keep that smile on her face (though its shown no sign of fading since he started).

It’s when she gets out of the car to go back to work that she pauses, turning in the door to reach back into the car, extending a hand palm up and flexing her fingers slightly in request.

He obliges, placing his hand in hers, and she squeezes, smiling softly before breathing out a small, “Goodbye, Roman Stanton.”

“Goodbye Erica Justice.”

She smiles at her shoes at the use of her full name, squeezing again in farewell before she turns to close the door and nearly runs into Butch. He leans back, smiling at her before nodding kindly.

“Be seeing you Ms. Erica.”

She settles back into an easy smile and nods, placing a hand on his arm before turning to go into the bookstore, and somehow, Roman feels like everything’s changed forever.

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

Chapter 3 Chapter 2 Chapter 1

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Goretober Day 10: Woodskin

Prompt: Body Horror Fandom: Avatar the Last Airbender  Summary: In trying to burn the Foggy Swamp banyan, Azula angers the spirits. The punish her by entrapping her within a tree.

Azula doesn’t think that she deserves this. She confesses to herself that, perhaps, some comeuppance is overdue. But this? This is inhumane. Perhaps it is so because they no longer see her as human. Maybe they never have. Maybe no one ever has. She is a monster on the inside and they are making her one on the outside.

She knows her fate before they hand it to her. They lead her through a whole forest of them. She observes their faces twisted into grotesque and tortured grimances. They can still move their faces but their conditions leave their expressions perpetually horrified.

She can’t remember the last time she has cried so hard. She doesn’t think that she has ever been this shaky--trembling to the point she can’t even stand, let alone walk. They have to drag her along, through the mud and silt with rocks tearing lines in her bare knees. She has never once begged. Not for mercy, not for anything. She makes an exception for this. Pleading for another chance.

They insist that she has already been offered several and that the window is closed.

Rational gives way to emotion, desperate emotion. Her words become less coherent and jumble into screams. No one can hear them, she is in the Spirit World now. Those who do hear her, revel in her terror. Really they can do anything they please to her.

They lead her past a final tree and she manages to ask if they’ll ever let her free. She isn’t sure that her words were decipherable so she draws in a deep breath and says what she believes is the last sensible thing that she ever will. “You’ll let me out eventually right? I-I’ll have another chance eventually.”  She swallows hard, she already knows the answer.

“There is a chance, sure.” Says the spirit holding her. Its grip his stronger than anything she has felt before. This is despite it being unnaturally slender.

A creature that could be a primate if not for the twin faces on its palms. “But I have yet to see it work out for any one.” Speaks the face on the right hand. It’s voice is gruff but feminine. “They are too stuck in their ways.” Sighs a smoother masculine voice from the left hand.

“How?” She manages. She can’t coherently elaborate.

“Acceptance of atonement. Genuine sorrow.” Replies a third spirit. She has been quiet until then. She is a true spirit of the swamp with woodsy limbs and hair like banyan vines. “No one ever makes it past feeling sorry for themselves. They…” she gestures to the other imprisoned. “Think of themselves. Only of how they long for and deserve freedom. The tree knows when remorse is genuine. They know when to release.”

Azula wonders if the trees sense dread and feel sympathy. She wonders if they’d spare someone who has never shown it for herself. Her heart hammers. She resigns herself to what is going to happen and she shuts down. It is easier to shut down and let herself go vacant. To feel nothing at all. She thanks her father for beating that ability into her.

Even still she can’t block out sheer horror when she stands before the tree. It is an ugly thing, dead and withered, and overrun by mosses and fungi. Some of the familiar variety and some of the spirit. It looms over her with its sinister blackened bark.

She is unable to suppress another sharp and gasping sob. They turn her back to the tree and slam her into it. She expects the bark to simply close around and encase her. Or to pull her into it and consume her. Instead they turn her back around and rip a clean vertical cut along her spine.

The screech that tears from her throat is less human and more feral. It only grows more so when they peel back the flaps of her skin and hug them around the tree. Now it begins to consume her. Though consume is the wrong descriptor. It isn’t eating her nor pulling her into it. It is fusing to her, melding itself to her skin and making the two of them one single organic entity.

It is a fusion that doesn’t end with just the body; her head aches as the tree pumps its memories into it. Ages of pain in the physical world. Days where it had been struck by lightning, when it had been cut, and eventually when it had died. The day that human ambition sapped it of clean and nutritious water.

She can feel her own body dehydrating and shriveling. All the while it pumps sap into her veins. Sticky and thick, it clots her blood until it overruns it. Her veins feel congested, her heart sluggish and heavy. Her head dips. Only for a moment. The moment before her hair becomes tangled in the bark and, by it, her head is yanked back. She can’t feel her arms up to the elbow  nor her legs up to the knee. She can’t see them either, they have fused more or less completely to the tree. Exactly at her elbows and knees is where skin turns to bark.

Her breathing is heavy and panicked. Eyes frantic and tearstained. The tribe of spirits look at her with either indifference or conquest and satisfaction. She thinks that she may detect the faintest hint of pity on the face of the monkey’s left hand.

“D-don’t leave me here.” She manages to whisper. With the opening of her mouth comes a drool of sap. She can’t wipe it away. They don’t wipe it away for her. And they do leave her there.

They leave her there for a very long time. She loses track of just how long, but she is sure that it is years. It is certainly long enough for the fugi to grow.

The first two weeks were the the hardest. Those were the days when she’d still clung to the hope that they would change their minds or that they would come back and see how miserably she has grown and set her free. But they haven’t come back at all. She doesn’t think that they think about her anymore.

She had also yet to desensitize to her situation. Nourishing is the worst, she hates it probably more than any other aspect. When the tree forces a vine into her mouth and feeds her. It first gives her drink, a bitter juice that tastes like mud and worm and then comes the gunk. The horrible sludge that keeps her alive. It has a texture that excites her gag reflex, one that she can feel running down her throat like a thick mucus and tastes not only of worm and dirty swamp water but of death and decay as well. The tree doesn’t really have any regard for her limits and usually leaves her heavily overfed and with excess sludge dripping down her chin and an aching stomach. She thinks that it does this because feeding happens only once a month. It is as practical as it is cruel. A moment of discomfort to sustain her for many more of them.

She has grown used to it though and it doesn’t bother her the way that it used to. Her eyes sometimes water at the horrid taste and the scent lingers in her nostrils. On the worst occasions her gag reflex is stronger than anticipated. On better months the tree is careless and nearly drowns her. Though the aftermath is cruel as the hope of release is reaped from her.

She tries to distract herself through reflection. The kind of introspection that offers her a chance at freedom. But she finds that it is hard to detach from her real goal and feel truly sorry. More than anything she is still scared. And that fear makes it hard for any real reflection.

Her days are mostly monotonous now that she has grown used to the pain. To the feeling of the tree’s abrasive bark rubbing against the flaps of her skin. Now that she has come to expect the tree to creep and burrow further into her every now and again; she feels the bark pricking against the walls of her sides and the vines coiling around her ribs. Sometimes she sees the vines moving about and bulging under her skin. Yet she is still alive, it keeps her alive. It knows better than to puncture the organs. Unless of course said organs begin to fail. It intervenes then, subtiting her body’s natural tissues with its own. This doesn’t happen often though.

Even still, she feels more like a plant or an organism than a human being.

It is when the fungi and mosses grow on her face that it becomes hard for her to remember that she was ever human at all. The growths are the first things she has felt in a long while. A break to the months passed in uniformity.

They are a new kind of pain. An unfamiliar one. For the first time, she cries again.

The first colony of mushrooms sprouted on her shoulders. She’d first seen them as raised lumps. She hadn’t been sure what to make of them. Only that they throbbed and that the throbbing was terribly painful, and yet she had no free hands to cradle them with. And then the holes appeared in her skin, leaking a gentle flow of blood and pus. Within the day, the mushrooms burst up out of the holes, free then she’d ever be.

That was the first time she’d cried in a long time.

Now, the fungi clings to her like barnacles to a ship. Alongside moss that hangs like seaweed. The moss isn’t like the mushrooms. The moss is external and simply drapes itself over her as it does anything in its way. It lays over her eyes like a soft gauze and she can no longer see, everything is a shade of green. It rests over her mouth so thicky that she cannot open it anymore.

This is when she decides that she isn’t human anymore. She forgets what that means, much less that she was supposed to be feeling remorseful about something. Weeks pass and the droning toneless feeling as back. She is used to a new outbreak of mushrooms every now and again and finds herself thankful to see the feeding vine. Not only does it tell her that another month has gone by, but it clears the moss from her mouth.

Horror doesn’t return to her for at least a year. The trees around her are falling one by one. Bodies are halved and broken but they don’t bleed. Not red anyways. She can fully confirm that she is growing less and less human, seeing these former people ooze sap in stead of blood. Reandered stupid and emotionless by years of the same situation, their unbridled fear is much starker now that it has returned to them. Voices cry out in anguish.  They are still alive. Alive and in pain for the first time in years.

There aren’t many trees left before hers.

.oOo.

There is a chill running up and down Jet’s spine. There is something about this section of the swamp, something in the air of it that is oppressive and undeniably tortured. His team tells him that he is being superstitious and ridiculous and that they have a job to do so he better start swinging his axe.

He decides that it is probably because he had died. He had died and come back and has been left with a residual connection to the spirit world. He doesn’t know what he is dealing with, but each time he buries his axe into the bark he feels an overpowering guilt.

He comes up to his next tree, this one looks fairly young. He attributes this to his doubled apprehension.

“Go on boy. Chop!” Shouts a gruff voice.

He takes a deep breath and slams the axe into it. His stomach heaves; he has never seen a tree bleed before. He presses his lips together and takes another swing, they’ll think him mad. He thinks that he is mad, that the swamp is getting to him; he has heard rumors of it inducing strange hallucinations.

With his third swing, the blood is spurting furiously and Ghan is telling him to stop.

“What the fuck?” The burly man asks with a whistle. “In Agni’s name, I have never seen such a thing.”

“What are you talking about?” For his question, Jet receives a thump on the head.

“Don’t pretend like you ain’t see it.” Says one of his coworkers. “This fuckin’ tree is bleeding.”

Jet drops his axe and seizes the opportunity. “I told you that there was something wrong with this swamp. Can we get out of here?”

.oOo.

Blood runs down her mouth and her eyes grow glossy. It is unbearable and there is no release. Her innards have been severed in several places and her belly is open and weeping. Just like all of the others she is alive.

She can feel the tree working to knit her back together. It starts with her most vital organs. Working in and out of her. The vines bulge beneath her skin with more furry and wriggling than ever.

A week in and she loses track of what is going on inside of her entirely. Feeding is different too now that her stomach is in shambles. There is a vine buried deep in her neck and one fixed to her chest, ceaselessly pumping nutrients throughout her ravaged body.

She wants to go home. But she doesn’t remember where that is. She wants to feel loved and safe. But there is no one to love her nor protect her. She wants it to end. She wishes that she could yank the vines out of her.

She remembers a face. It is not her own. But it is like her own. And she remembers that she used to put fear and sorrow onto that face. Her heart pangs but she can’t quite piece together why. She doesn’t have a name for what she is feeling, but she likes it as little as everything else she feels.

She thinks that she wants to see that face again, but in person. Even if that face belongs to someone that she doesn’t particularly care for. She isn’t choosey about company anymore and maybe this craving is the last thread of humanity within her.

Maybe if she severs it she won’t be human. And if she isn’t human then maybe she won’t feel pain anymore.

But the face won’t go away. It appears in her dreams when she manages to sleep. It doesn’t leave her waking mind either. She doesn’t remember much but she remembers that she is a bad person and she supposes that no one should really feel bad for her. That she should stop feeling sorry for herself because she has earned her place here.

Her stomach is mostly mended and the tree is finally able to spare some bark and tissue for linking her calf back to the rest of her leg. She is so broken and in so many ways. She is able to cry again.

She is soon fully mended and the days return to their uneventfulness. It is the same old pain and the same helplessness. It is sometimes punctuated by a warmth, something that might be comfort. She can feel it more fully when she clings to that face and the idea of seeing it again.

She sees another pair instead. They are the first face she has seen in a while and she only dimly recognizes them. It is a spirit. They speak but she can’t remember how to decipher the language. They look mournful, the left face more than the right.

She tries to say something but her mouth feels as though it is swollen and stuffed with sludge. Mayhaps it is. The faces leave her. She is alone again and cries for another false hope. The next morning two more figures join the first. There is a spirit that looks like a tree. This one speaks to her again, but she doesn’t understand, and it puts fingers to her forehead.

Her vision begins to blacken and she smiles. It is finally over. She can finally die and have peace.

.oOo.

When she awakens it is in the hollow husk of a dead tree. She is shivering and naked, pale and gaunt. Coated in grime and a host to various forms of plantlife. She draws her knees up to her chest, unsure of what else to do.

She feels nauseated and confused. She is hungry and thirsty and terribly cold. She swallows a lump in her throat and tries to muster up the will power to rise and figure out where she is. But her brain has met its limit, she makes it only into a sitting positions and finds herself slumping over the rim of the tree.

Her head sags and her arms go limp. She can’t remember how she got there. She can’t remember who she is.

But she remembers that face. That scarred face.

The next face that she sees is somewhat similar to that one. They have almost the same hair cut but he is more scraggly and his eyes are darker. He mutters something that she can’t make out through the fog in her head and then he hoists her over his shoulder. She doesn’t fight him. She is too tired anyways.

This time her awakening is a little more pleasant. The man has her hand in his and she is laying upon something soft. It isn’t a bed, but it isn’t the ground. It takes her a moment to deduce that it is a sleeping bag and it is cozy. Cozy and warm.

“Here.” He offers when she sits up. He hands her a bowl, cups her hands around it. It is also warm.  She realizes that she is rather parched and that her stomach is lightly rumbling. She stares at the contents in the bowl skeptically. It looks too much like that goop.

“It tastes better than it looks, I promise.” The man flashes a smile and takes a spoonful from her bowl. She is still reluctant, but doesn’t decline when he brings the spoon to her lips. “I’m Jet.” He gives her another spoonful. “Who are you?”

She swallows. “I--I don’t remember.” Her voice sounds strange to her. She hasn’t used it in so long. It occurs to her to be relieved that she remembers how to speak and to understand things that are spoken to her. She thinks that she had forgotten for some time.

“Yeah, you were out there for a long time.” He cuts through her thoughts. “I think that I might know who you are.”

She tilts her head.

“A few years ago, someone went missing in the swamp. Someone important.”

“Important?”

Jet nods. “A princess.”

The word rings some bells.

“Fire Lord Zuko’s sister…”

The face comes back in her mind. She attaches the name to it. Things begin to fall into place.

“I think that he’ll be happy to know that you’re…”

She slumps over once more as too many images bombard her at the same time. Her eyes roll back and she collapses into Jet. She leaves consciousness with a sensation of him rubbing her back. She expects to come to in the sleeping bag again. Instead she wakes up cradled in Jet’s arms. He is delicate with her and it is very much welcomed after years of brutal touches.

Azula’s eyes sting with unshed tears. It is admittedly overwhelming to recall those nights spent tethered to and fused with that tree. She can’t entirely wrap her head around it. Can’t fully conceptualize that it had happened to her. That it had happened at all. She thinks that maybe she had been deep into the throes of insanity.

And then Jet mutters, “I thought I was going crazy when I saw those trees. I know spirits can do weird things but I’ve never heard of anything like this.”

“How do you know?”

“They keep finding body parts in the trees that we just cut down. You’re the only body that we found in once piece. And I think that Zuko will be glad to know it.”

Azula stares at her hands and notices for the first time that they are scarred. Ugly, raised, and with the texture of bark. These scars run up to her elbows. She doesn’t need to look to know that her legs bare the same ones.

“What did you do to make them so angry?”

“I tried to set the banyan on fire.”

“Like a banyan or thee banyan.”

She fixes him with a dull stare.

He rubs the back of his head.”Yeah, I guess that they won’t get that fussy over a regular one.” He interlocks his hands with hers, he doesn’t seem to mind the roughness. “How’d you get them to let you free?”

She shrugs. It isn’t that she doesn’t know. It is that she doesn’t really want to talk about this anymore. It is hard enough to admit to herself that she’d done a lot of things wrong. It will be harder still to admit it to Zuzu. She isn’t ready to tell Jet.

She feels his thumb stroking the back of her ruined hand. She is surprised that he isn’t recoiling in disgust at the texture of it. Now that she has taken notice of the scars and said texture of them, it is going to drive her mad. It looks gross and it feels grosser. It leaves her feeling sick.

The next day Azula conceals the scars with gloves and long sleeves. And she keeps them hidden for the longest time. Even with Jet insisting that it doesn’t bother him. And even, upon their reunion, with Zuko assuring her that he won’t judge her for them. He points to his own scar. But he doesn’t understand just how unsightly the raised and rough grooves of her skin are. Even if he could bare to look at them, he could never comprehend what they remind her of. How looking at that  bark-like texture makes her feel inhuman all over again.

For the longest time, Azula can’t stomach it. It is more than just the memories that the scars beckon to the surface. It is the appearance of them alone. They remind her of disease and decay. They remind her of old age and death. And it is more bitter still when she brings them to her cheeks and feels smooth skin. Her arms and legs used to be like that. Now they are damaged. She is damaged. Branded by the spirits and by the trees. She considers taking a knife and skinning herself or burning the flesh away so that it may grow back in a more savory way.

Jet always stops her. Eventually she takes to sitting with him and simply staring at her ruined limbs until she grows used to the sight. Just as she had gone numb to the tortures within the tree, she goes numb to this disgust that her arms instill within her.

Things become significantly easier from there. She begins to make amends. Things with Zuko mended themselves; how could they not when he had been so supportive of she and her recovery both physically and mentally?

It is no quick process and it spans another year or two. She relapses a few times. And on her worst nights. Nights when she is agitated or angry or spiteful. She thinks that the swamp is monitoring her. Mostly she is continuing making progress with her family and old friends. Mostly she is helping fix what she contributed to breaking. Mostly she is getting her life back together. Mostly it has improved. She feels happy. She feels...loved. She is starting to feel powerful and confident again. Like she is making something of herself and her life.

But she can’t allow herself to bask in it for too long because the swamp gets anxious when she does. She thinks that it is waiting for her to mess up and sink back into her old ways. And that it will be ready when she does. She thinks that she can still feel a small vine from that tree wriggling around inside of her, waiting to take root and mutilate her body.

She grips Jet’s hand tighter and he gives her a smile before leaning in for the kiss that will  make their marriage official.

For now, the swamp is quiet and content.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

BTHB: Touch Starved (Danny/Nate)

@badthingshappenbingo​ request answered! Anon requested: Would you be willing to write the ‘touch starvation’ prompt with Nate and Danny? Thanks!

I had initially thought I’d do a post-rescue piece, but this ended up going in a during-captivity direction, so if that isn’t what you wanted, Anon, I’d be happy to write another one, just send me an ask and let me know! Timeline: Late October the year Danny turns 25, so post-Happy Birthday.

Tagging the Danny people: @bleeding-demon-teeth​, @spiffythespook​, @special-spicy-chicken​!

CW: Implied/referenced sexual assault/rape, implied/referenced/visible evidence of torture and violent abuse, discussion of harm to animals (no animals harmed in this fic). Brief suicidal ideation (just a mention)

“How long is he going to be gone?” Danny asks, stopping by a large fallen log, dropping into a crouch to look at some mushrooms that were growing out of the decaying bark, a hint of green moss. He pulls at the rough leather collar around his throat, wincing at the always raw or half-healing skin underneath that stings when exposed to the air.

There’s a little padlock on the buckle now to make sure Nate won’t take it off before Abraham gets home. He used to, and Abraham caught him, once, when he was trying to rub antibiotic cream on Danny’s throat and Abraham came home earlier than they expected.

Now it’s padlocked on.

“He s-s-said three to f-four days this time,” Nate replies, standing a few feet away with his own eyes watching a little moth that had settled itself against a tree trunk, nearly invisible with wings the exact shade of the bark, with the same appearance of rough texture.

“Good. I like when he goes for four days.” Danny just watches him for a moment, looking at the older man with his black hair a little shaggy, hanging down to his eyes, the stubble he lets grow on his face when Abraham doesn’t care if he shaves today. There’s a focus in those green eyes, as they watch the moth close its wings and then open them again, that Danny loves.

He wants that focus on him, but he can’t have that, because Nate belongs to Abraham and Danny’s not a person anymore. He’s not allowed to have things, to want things. To want people. He’s not allowed to want Nate.

He doesn’t even want Nate, does he? He just wants… someone. Anyone who isn’t Abraham Denner. Someone to care about him, to love him, to touch him.

No, it is Nate. He wants Nate to love him.

He wants Nate to care about him, because he can’t remember what it was like to be cared about in a way that didn’t involve… all of this.

I wish you would touch me, he thinks, and then banishes the thought and turns back to the moss, trying not to be all too aware of Nate’s shoulders beneath the warm, dusky blue cable-knit wool of his sweater, the way he stands in the loose-fit heavy khaki pants, the way Danny knows exactly how well they fit around his hips.

Walking traps is hard on Nate the last few weeks, the whole circuit takes a few miles when you do it all at once and having to step over the logs and tree branches and other things, following the marked trail from snare to snare, leaves him limping by the end, teeth ground together, jaw set. Danny’s not sure what happened exactly, only that Nate and Abraham had some kind of fight when Danny was last in the cellar, and Abraham came away with scratches on the side of his neck and the first bruise Danny has ever seen on him and Nate came away with a leg that got hurt, somehow, someway.

So the trail is harder for him, now, while it heals. 

But Danny’s not allowed to go alone, and he’s not allowed to help Nate walk, either, because that would mean touching him. No one but Abraham touches Danny now, except when Abraham thinks it’s funny to have Nate hurt him.

When Abraham laughs at his protests, looks right in his eyes, and then Nate can’t say no, just like nobody can say no, after a while. Nate turns white as a ghost after and drinks until he passes out and he probably doesn’t want to be anywhere near Danny anyway, it’s just that they’re the only people here who aren’t Abraham, they only have each other.

But Nate stopped touching him at all, after the last time Abraham made him do it. He thinks months ago, but Danny doesn’t know time as well as he used to, he forgets. Not too long after Abraham said it was his birthday, that he’s twenty-five now.

Not long after that, one night it was really bad, and Nate hasn’t so much as brushed against him since. Hasn’t snuck out at night to watch movies with him, invite him onto the couch, touch his fingers while they work together in the garden.

Nothing.

Nothing but Abraham’s hands.

It’s been so long and Danny just wishes, just for a second, that there was someone to touch him where it didn’t end in something else, something worse. He wants touch without shame, touch that isn’t forced on him or part of a barter, touch that doesn’t end in a knife or demands or orders or that barking high-pitched laughter that worms into his head and won’t stop.

He wants someone (Nate) to put a hand to the small of his back, just rest it there, and remove it again without having to trail fingers up his neck to the carved-in scarring of who he belongs to. He wants a hand in his hair that doesn’t pull until it hurts. He wants touch without pain, without the guilt in Nate’s eyes, without crying or exhaustion or being told what to do.

He can’t have that, though, and all he wants - all he wants in the whole world, now, a world that is narrow and caged-in - is just to hold Nate’s hand, maybe, just for a goddamn second.

No. Not allowed.

Wrong thoughts.

(who do your hands belong to? is this body yours, or mine?)

Y-yours, it’s yours, it’s not mine anymore, not my body.

(good boy)

He’s not going to think about Nate’s hands, calloused from when he chops wood, too, from the work he does alongside Danny in the garden during spring and summer. The way they went from looking almost delicate and meant for opening books, taking annotations and typing lectures, to roughened and coarse outdoorsman’s hands. He won’t think about the way Nate had brushed sweaty hair back from his face when he was sick and sometimes slept beside him on the floor.

He’s not going to think about the sweetness of Nate’s eyes on his, sometimes, when Abraham isn’t looking. He’s not going to think about how that stopped, too, after the bad night where Abraham had had a new idea and made Nate carry it out.

He’s not going to think about what he wants and cannot have.

He’s not going to think about any of it because it’s not for him.

He’s not going to think about how sometimes it’s not just his stomach that’s hollow, but his skin. His scarred-up worthless skin that feels hungry, for someone, for anyone who won’t hurt him. Right down to the tips of his fingers. He’s carved out into a yawning nothing that can’t stop craving someone, something else, something more, something better.

There is nothing better.

This is the best life will ever be again.

Don’t think about his hands.

Danny squints at the half-decayed hollow log, trying to distract himself. Did he read in one of the books they make you read in school that moss mostly grows on the north side of things? He feels like he might have heard that, once upon a time, in the life that he never lived, that doesn’t exist, because there was never anything before Abraham.

The mushroom cap gives a little under the touch of his finger, and he wishes he could feel it better, that his hands weren’t rough and calloused and half-numb after so long, the only part of him that never notices the cold. He wishes it was someone’s (Nate’s) skin. The moss he can kind of feel, a sort of soft brush of texture, and he looks at the deep dark green of it, smiling faintly. 

Moss only grows on the north side of trees. Wasn’t there a character in a book who got lost, and they remembered that trying to find their way home? Which would mean if he walked the other way, the way the moss didn’t grow, he would go south. South and south and south, walk out of the woods one day, cross the border, go home. Take Nate with him and then maybe one day ask if he wanted to, if he could-

Stop it.

This is home.

Don’t think about that, that belongs to Abraham now.

(you’re here until I’m done with you, little Red, and let me reassure you that you don’t want me to be done with you)

Besides, he didn’t know shit about moss. He’s not allowed to read the navigation parts of the survivalist books the body left behind in the cabin, Abraham ripped those pages out (“H-how fucking d-d-dare you, Bram, that’s a book, you c-c-can’t just r-rip apart books l-ike that! That’s like a fucking s-s-sacrilege!”) and left him only the cooking and the ways to make your own medicine. Danny only knows what he’s allowed to know, what it’s okay to know. He only knows what Abraham says he should know.

Everything else is buried in the pain, and he lets it stay there, down in the muck, like the animals in the tar pits Dad took them to see when they were kids (no he didn’t, you never did that, you’re making it up). Abraham is always telling him his memories are wrong, full of holes, fucked up beyond repair. That he shouldn’t try to use his mind or think, because thinking isn’t what he’s here for, is it?

(you’re here for me)

Yes, Abraham, for-… for you, I’m here for you.

(good boy)

Danny bites his lower lip, and thinks about the bruise on his hip, still aching and made of dark purples and blacks today, teeth marks in perfect half-circles on each side of where the bone stuck out under the skin, slightly scabbed. Abraham had drawn blood, last night, a gift to remember him by, since he was going on a supply run and leaving the two of them here.

A reminder, but it was still better than it used to be. He used to chain Danny up in the living room for supply runs, take the key with him. Nate would bring him food from the kitchen and he could reach the bathroom on the chain, so it was really okay, he didn’t mind, he didn’t.

Especially because when Abraham was gone, Nate would sleep on the couch out in the living room, or next to him on the floor, just a few inches away, and sometimes when he woke up Nate’s hand was warm on top of his.

Once - just the once - Nate had said he could sleep on the couch, too, and they’d taken the cushions off the back to make it bigger and crammed themselves onto it, Danny’s long body meaning he had his feet up on the arm of the couch with the chain running off the side, but Nate had been warm next to him underneath the blanket they’d stolen from Abraham’s bed, and he’d almost felt safe.

And Abraham never knew about those wrong thoughts, about that disobedience. He never knew.

Abraham didn’t chain him up any longer, because he knew Danny wouldn’t run away anymore. Where would he go? They were so far in the woods he couldn’t possibly know how long to walk to find another person, and he couldn’t really remember his directions any longer.

He’d tried to run away a few times, and the punishments when he was caught - and he was always caught - had made him shy away from even thinking about trying to run ever, ever again.

He didn’t need to think about anything but Abraham. What Abraham wanted, what would make Abraham happy, how to be good enough for Abraham. That was all he should think about, it hurt too much to think about anything else.

(nothing should live inside your head, little puppy, but me. what I like, how I take my drinks, what I want for dinner, whether or not I’m going to cut you up today, how to make me pleased enough that I don’t need to.)

Yes, Abraham.

(there is no life before me. just our family, Nate and I and our puppy)

Just our, um, our family.

Danny twisted his mouth into a mean little smile and stared fixedly at the moss, made himself think about before.

It might be the smallest rebellion, but he had been here for years and he had almost no rebellions left, and he had to cling to even the smallest unpunished disobedience to try and remember that he’d ever been anything other than this. It felt like defiance, like waving some kind of flag, just to let himself question whether or not moss only grows on the north side of trees.

Maybe Ryan read it in school, and told him, and that’s why he can’t remember the book. Danny’s throat catches, a drift of an image of his little brother’s face the night before he’d gone to see Nate and lost everything. They’d played video games all night long, just hanging on the couch in Danny’s apartment playing Halo and drinking, bitching about the way Halo 5’s storyline went, the way their parents had acted at Christmas around Ryan’s newest boyfriend (who they didn’t like, but not because he was a boy. At least Corrine and Patrick never gave a shit about that, because if Danny had to add being in the closet to the laundry list of bullshit he had to do because of his parents, he wasn’t sure he would even have made it to adulthood). He and Ryan had spent the night being absolutely perfectly normal people with no idea they’d never see each other again.

I wish I’d hugged him before I left the next day instead of telling him he was too sweaty coming back from the gym. I wish I’d said ‘I love you’, or something else nice, just anything, anything better than ‘I’ll be back late, wish me luck’ what the shit was that, like I was a fourteen year old with a fucking crush-

No, stop it. No life before Abraham. I’m a good dog.

Besides, who even knows if that happened? Maybe you didn’t play video games at all, maybe you had a fight and you just don’t remember it, maybe you did something to deserve this and that’s why it happened, maybe you’re making this bullshit happy memory up.

I’m a good dog, I want to be good.

Maybe you just don’t remember what you did to deserve this.

(you let this happen because you knew you were born to be mine)

Maybe Ryan knows what you did to deserve this.

Abraham always says they’re not looking anymore.

(don’t you ever fucking forget)

Maybe they know why this happened to you, and that’s why they’re not looking.

There is so little sleep, never enough to eat, sometimes Abraham puts stuff in his water or just lays a pill on his tongue and he doesn’t really know, anymore, what happened and what didn’t, beyond the days and nights Abraham wants him to hurt. He’s so good at hurting, is the thing. Abraham is always telling him it’s irresistible, finding someone like him. That you can’t just put a starving man before a buffet and tell him not to eat.

He’s good at jamming himself down deep into the tiniest places he has left, and Abraham turns the rest into Red, and Red is so good, Red wants to be good, to be try harder, to be a good boy…

Danny presses at the moss again, thoughtfully, and he almost asks Nate if he knows what direction moss grows, but then he keeps is mouth shut, because… what if it’s a stupid question? What if he’s wrong? What if it’s another memory that isn’t real, just like all the others? Danny remembers a lot of false things, now, and forgets most of the true ones.

It’s safer, that way.

(up above your head. perfect, that’s perfect, that’s my good boy, trying so hard for me. oh, don’t look at me like that, puppy. you’re the one who chose the knife)

“We’re g-going to be late coming b-back from traps if you k-k-keep staring at logs,” Nate says after a long pause. Danny jumps a little, startled out of his thoughts, and turns back to him with an apology on his tongue before he realizes Nate’s voice was teasing, not upset, that he’s smiling down at Danny with that odd look he gets sometimes, where he looks at him like Danny’s a book he’s always wanted to read but he doesn’t know how to open it.

He tries not to think about that look in his eyes too often, but sometimes it follows him everywhere he goes, makes him feel like he used to feel when he was a person, shivery and awkward and a little too big for his own skin.

He tries to stop himself, but sometimes Nate’s face, with that slight half-smile that pulls at the little scar in his lip, is all that sticks in his mind at all.

“Sorry, Nate. We’re almost to the first snare, let’s, um, let’s go ahead and get to it.” Danny jumps back to his feet, towering a little over Nate when he stands all the way up, rolls his shoulders, straightens his back. Being tall, though, means opening himself up to the breeze and he shivers a little as the autumn air cuts right through his T-shirt and pajama pants, the thin sneakers he’s allowed to wear already damp around all the edges, the wet soaking into his socks.

He’ll get sick again, and as long as he can keep doing chores it’s okay, but if he gets too sick for chores, Abraham will lock him in the cellar. Danny gnaws on a bit of chapped skin on his lower lip, rubbing his hands together. He has to not get that sick. As long as he can still do his chores, it’s okay, Abraham just laughs at him when he sees his brother and talks to him through the kitchen window, just laughs because if the dishes still get done, if dinner still gets made, it’s okay.

He won’t get hurt if he can still do his chores.

He makes elderberry syrup and fire cider, takes some of both every single day. There isn’t enough food (yes there is, there’s plenty, it’s just not for you) but Abraham doesn’t care if he drinks the medicines he makes out of the survivalist book, he doesn’t care how much he has of those. Sometimes he drinks the fire cider until the acid in the vinegar makes him sick, because at least then he doesn’t feel hollowed out and light-headed from hunger.

None of it helps the sense of emptiness under his skin, the wish for something gentle, and sweet, and soft in all the violence.

Danny can’t help the twist of sadness in his chest when he finds the rabbit in the first snare still alive, but exhausted and worn out from trying to get free, little chest heaving, just lying on its side. “I’m sorry,” He says, softly, under his breath, as he crouches next to it. Nate stands close by, hands in his pockets, watching him. “I get it, you know. I get you.”

(don’t tell me you’re apologizing to the goddamn prey, little puppy)

He always apologizes to the animals they catch, and Abraham laughs at him, laughs and says dogs hunt and only the dumbest puppy would stop to say he’s sorry before doing what comes naturally. But this doesn’t come naturally, it never has, he always worries about what the little animals think of him before they die.

Sometimes he wonders if they recognize him, if they see that he’s prey, too, that he’s in a snare like theirs, the leather around his neck just like the rope.

Danny shivers hard enough to rattle the little tag that hangs off his collar, then takes a deep breath and says, all at once to Nate like the whole sentence is a single word, “Please let me have your knife for a second.”

Nate pauses, then slips the little knife he’s allowed to carry out of his pocket, opening it up. It was one of his birthday gifts from Abraham, and it’s got a black handle with silver tooled into it in the shape of vines and a deer (it’s a fucking stag, puppy, get some goddamn culture - when I was little, I met a god with a stag’s head, you know) and even Danny could admit, when he saw it, that it was gorgeous.

Before Abraham forced Nate to cut him with it to show how sharp it was.

Nate’s a person, he’s Abraham’s true love and best friend, Nate is real and Danny isn’t - so Nate gets knives. Not that knives would do them any good, here, not with Abraham. And Nate doesn’t like the knives, anyway, because he gets cut with them, too. Once he was done cutting up Danny, after all, Abraham had cut him.

“F-figured you’d w-w-want me to slit its throat,” Nate says softly, the offer still there in his voice if not in his words, the compassion in his expression. He knows Danny hates having to kill them, to take the little lives away when all they did was be born in the wrong forest at the wrong time. Abraham always makes Danny do it, laughs at him when he hesitates, or hurts him if he refuses.

“I don’t want you to do it,” Danny says, fighting the urge to pat its sad, tired little head. It’s probably crawling in bugs, honestly, and it wouldn’t appreciate the gesture, but Danny wishes someone would pat him on the head with understanding sometimes, and not just because he’s the dog.

If only someone would touch him and it didn’t hurt. That used to happen, didn’t it?

(no life before me)

“I kn-know it’s your j-job, Red, but he’s gone, for f-f-four days, so it’s n-not like he’ll know. You kn-know I n-n-never tell him any, anything like that, about y-you.”

“I know, but I still don’t want you to do it.” Danny shakes his head. “This is mine, to do, this is my job.” He takes a deep breath, my name is Red, counts to five, exhales slowly I belong to Abraham Denner.

Then he takes the knife with a murmured thanks (be grateful for every gift you are given) and reaches out, cutting the rope and not the rabbit. He cuts the rope again a few inches further down, and then again. Again and again and again, until it can’t possibly be tied back together this way.

The rabbit doesn’t run. It just lays there with the broken shreds of the snare around it, too tired to escape, staring at him with one wide eye while its little body heaves with its breath. Danny reaches out one hand, slowly, and then pulls it back.

“R-Red, wh-what did you do that for?” Nate asks, his voice slightly faint. Not angry, not upset, just… curious. “Why did you cut th-the rope? If you c-c-cut them all… we’ll have to redo th-th-them before B-Bram gets back, you… you know that, right?”

“Don’t tell him I cut the rope,” Danny whispers, hugging himself, it’s so fucking cold already and it’s only going to get colder. “I’ll fix it later. Don’t tell him.”

Did the rabbit remember a family? Are there rabbits born in little burrows in the spring to this one rabbit, that grow up and then leave and does she (or he, he supposes) remember them? When they’re gone, are the babies remembered by someone? If they disappear, or they die, does someone know that they were ever around?

Do other rabbits look for the rabbits that disappear in the woods?

“I w-won’t, Red, you know that.”

Danny just watches the little rabbit breathe, the way it lays so still you’d think it was dead except for the occasional movements of its eyes, the quick, shallow, panicked little breaths that start, gradually to slow and to settle.

Do rabbits touch each other? They must snuggle up in burrows, right? And it doesn’t have to be anything more than that, more than being warm together, reminding each other they’re alive, still here, that they made it through one more day without the wolves getting tired of playing with them, without the jaws closing around their throat.

(how much blood do you think you can lose before you black out, puppy? let’s find out)

Wh, whatever you want, Abraham, I can do whatever you want-

(I know you can, and you will, because you’re my good boy, aren’t you?)

Pl-please, please, I don’t want to die, please, please don’t kill me, please

(you’re not going to die. not tonight, anyway. if you die, you stop being my good little pup, hm? so let’s hold still and focus on staying alive tonight, there, just like this…)

Eventually, the wolf’s jaws are going to close around his throat. Eventually, he��ll be just like the rabbit, and there’s no one here to cut him loose from the snare.

It’s just Abraham and Nate, a family all their own, with their puppy.

“H-Hey.” Nate shifts from foot to foot - his leg is probably already aching, it takes nearly a third of the marked trail to even get to the first of the snares. “R-Red, we need to get moving-”

“I-I know, I know we do, I just… I just don’t want to kill them anymore,” Danny says softly, and he doesn’t move from his crouch on the ground. “I don’t want to kill the things like me, I just want to let them go. I just want them to go home.”

“Red…”

“I know, I know how it sounds, Nate, I know. Just let me be sad, okay, just for now, while he’s gone. Let me, let me be, um, be D-… be, um, me.”

That’s not your name anymore

(this body doesn’t belong to you)

Stop trying to remember the old name, it’s not yours

“Just let me not be Red, for just a second,” Danny says heavily. “While we’re alone.”

Nate is quiet, then, for so long that Danny can’t stand it and jumps up to his feet, stalking back and away without looking at him, forcing himself past the markings along the trees, not even trying to be quiet. A bird flees his noise in a flutter of wings, and he stomps on the fallen leaves, the red and yellows rotting to browns and giving under his feet, the cold damp sinking further into his feet through these stupid fucking canvas sneakers and the socks.

That was stupid, don’t tell him you think things like that. That’s dumb. Rabbits aren’t the same as you, rabbits have a fucking chance to run away. Rabbits don’t wear collars, rabbits don’t get tied to the bed, rabbits don’t, they don’t, they don’t have to-

“Fuck!” At the sudden outburst, more birds light up and squirrels shift in the branches up in the trees, leaves falling down around him. He kicks at a bush, shoves a low-hanging branch that nearly snaps back to hit him in the face, stomps as loudly as he can.

Be good, god damn it

(puppies don’t get to be angry)

Stop it, Red, stop it!

(bad dog, Red)

I’m good, I can be good, I can stop

(very bad dog, Red, now you’ll have to be fixed again)

I can do better, I’ll try harder, I can stop

He can’t. He can’t stop it, it’s boiling up inside of him and it all comes out too quickly for him to stop it, and his heart starts to pound as he kicks again, kicks at nothing but leaves, watching them float uselessly into the air and back down, bashes his foot against a tree. He’s not allowed to be angry, but he can’t stop.

Somewhere, Abraham is driving, somewhere he’ll feel it, he’ll know Danny had wrong thoughts, and when he comes back the muzzle will come back out and Abraham will lick up the blood running down his neck and laugh in his ear.

(I know everything about you. I know everything inside of you. I know every thought, every feeling, every neuron that fires inside that pretty, useless, broken little brain)

Abraham will come back and he’ll know, and there will be more hands, there are always, always hands but they never, they’re never hands that just want to hold him, it’s always hands that hurt. He’ll put the muzzle on and the headphones in so he can’t go away, so he can’t be someone else, so Abraham can watch him cry.

(god I wish I could bottle those fucking tears, puppy, you taste so good)

He screams, wordlessly, an animal sound of fear and rage and his hate for himself, the shame that he can’t run anymore, he doesn’t even want to. Where would he go? There’s nowhere, no one is looking for him, no one will ever find him here. Abraham is right, he’s right about everything, people like Danny were made for this. Only this. Forever this, until Abraham gets tired of him.

He screams, and he screams, and he screams because when Abraham comes back he won’t be able to scream anymore. He screams himself hoarse and Nate doesn’t stop him, doesn’t even move, just watches him and Danny can feel the eyes on his back.

“What did I fucking do?” He screams into the woods, his voice ragged and broken, and the trees don’t answer, and the birds don’t answer, and the animals don’t answer. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve this, but it must have been horrible, it must have been worth hell, because hell is what he’s living in, and he’ll be here until he dies.

When Nate grabs him by the elbow he spins around too fast and makes himself dizzy, stumbling to try and catch his balance. He wants to hate Nate Vandrum - the person, the true love, who gets to sit on the couch and sit at the table and eat all the food he wants, Nate who gets to be human - but he can’t, because what he wants more than to let the anger inside of him take over is for someone, anyone, to help him stop it; to stuff it back down where it’s safe, where Abraham can’t cut or burn or bleed it out of him again.

“R-Red,” Nate says, softly, and his grip on Danny’s arm is firm but it doesn’t hurt, and it’s been so long since anyone but Abraham touched him, really - even when Nate does it’s because Abraham tells him to, and that’s not the same, that’s just an extension of Abraham’s hands, wearing a different face. “Red, please-”

“I’m sorry I did that dumb thing with the rabbit,” Danny whispers, throat aching, eyes hot with tears but they don’t fall, he won’t let them, he keeps them glittering against his eyes, blurring the vision of the older man watching him, so he can’t see his face. “I’m sorry. I know I’m not allowed to be angry, I know I am, I know… I’m so sorry-”

“N-No, it’s okay, I, uh, I l-liked that you d-d-did that thing with the rabbit. That you let it go.” There’s a note to Nate’s voice, something he knows but doesn’t know, it’s been so long since he’s heard it.

Danny rubs the back of his hand against his eyes and blinks, looks at Nate more closely. The green eyes are warm, on his, and he swallows hard against a sudden awareness that Nate’s eyes are always warm when they look at him, aren’t they?

“You did?” He doesn’t mean his voice to come out so soft, barely above a whisper, but it does. Nate’s other hand moves, jerks a little, like he wants to do something with it but he doesn’t know what. “You’re not mad that I got angry? Puppies aren’t allowed-”

“I’m not mad. And you, you’re, you’re n-not…” Nate loosens the grip on his elbow, and he doesn’t want him to but he has no idea how to say it. Please, you haven’t touched me in weeks, please, I need touch that doesn’t hurt me. “We h-h-have plenty stored up. It’s f-f-fine. You’re right, th-they should get to go home… the rabbits.”

“I want them to go home,” Danny says, a little miserably, and sees the depth of understanding in Nate’s eyes and he clings to it, to the shred of being a person that Nate still seems to see in him. “I don’t want to see them in the snares anymore. I just want them to go home, where-… where there aren’t any people like, like us - like him - where there aren’t any… hands, that won’t stop, I just…”

I want to go home.

There is no home but here.

I want to go home.

“I kn-know,” Nate says, softly, and he takes a step closer, and then another. Danny can feel him, almost, the way he’s warm when everything else is cold now. “I know. I w-w-want them to go h-h-home, too. Y-you can go back to the cabin, if you w-want, I can walk the traps the r-r-rest of the way by myself.”

“No,” Danny says softly, and he can’t stop looking down at Nate’s hands, which he’s not supposed to think about. How they’ve changed since they got here, gone all rough and so have Danny, just in a different way “I don’t want to be by myself right now.”

“A-Are you sure? You c-c-could sit on the couch. He wouldn’t know. You kn-know I don’t tell him anything ab-about you, or what you say to me.”

“Does he ask?” Danny takes a breath, watches Nate step even closer, close enough that Danny can smell his cologne, the bottle Abraham buys him for Christmas each year. The forest around them seemed quieter now, just the usual rustle of leaves in the slightest breeze. “What I tell you, what I talk about?”

Nate pauses, watching him thoughtfully, and then he nods. “He d-does.”

“You tell him anything he wants, when he looks right at you,” Danny says, but it’s without a hint of blame. He was angry, at first, that Nate gave up and gave in so easily. He understands, now. You can’t do anything else, if Abraham looks at you long enough. You can’t do anything but what he wants, what he tells you to do.

He’s close enough now that the change in the air is real, the hint of another person’s presence, someone he isn’t afraid of. The only person left he isn’t afraid of. Nate swallows hard, in a way Danny can see shift the muscles of his throat the faint lines of pale circled scarring there from his time with Abraham before. “I d-don’t have to tell him about y-y-you.”

It’s an admission, Danny thinks, some kind of confession, but he’s not sure to what.

“What does that mean?”

“I d-don’t know. Just that it… doesn’t always w-w-work, when it’s about y-you.” Nate looks him over again, licking at his lips nervously, pressing them together in this habit he has that Danny has seen, over and over again, while they’ve been here. “It d-doesn’t always… I’m sorry.”

Danny laughs, bitterly, hands slowly going up over his face, blocking out the world around them. “I’m fucking sorry too, Nate. I’m so goddamn sorry, and maybe when I’m dead I’ll get to say I’m sorry for whatever I did to, to earn this, to make this happen to me. Maybe when he gets tired of me and I’m dead-”

“You w-won’t die here.” Nate grabs him by the arms, and Danny stumbles forward until Nate is holding onto him, arms so tight around him, and Danny’s knees nearly buckle. “N-not you, Red, n-n-not you, I won’t let you die h-here…”

He hasn’t been touched in so long like this, just held, just hugged and held onto, and he drops his head down, curving over himself until his head is on Nate’s shoulder.

Scratchy sweater fabric against his cheek, against the itching, healing muzzle scars, and Nate’s hand is in his hair, and Danny doesn’t cry but he feels the scream still bubbling in his throat, trying to make its way out.

“You n-never did a single fucking thing wrong, Danny,” Nate whispers, fiercely, and Danny’s eyes close at the name, the name he only thinks to himself sometimes just to try and remember that he used to have one, a person’s name, a people name, that he was something better than this, something more.

“You h-h-have to c-call me, call me Red, Nate,” Danny whispers. There’s a pause, and then he puts his arms up around Nate, too, slides them around his waist, and he knows this waist so well for so many terrible reasons but for just now, right now, he tries to know it for a good one.

“I don’t. I can c-c-call you whatever I want, r-right now, when he’s not here, and I w-w-want to call you Danny, so please, please l-let me, just for n-now, just for r-r-right now, please,” Nate whispers against his ear, and holds him like he’s real, like he deserves it, and Danny can’t let go of him.

“Why did you stop touching me?” He asks, and he keeps his head buried against Nate’s shoulder so he won’t see his face at the question. “It’s been weeks, I can’t live with only him touching me, why did you stop?”

“He m-m-makes me hurt you,” Nate says softly back. “I, it’s so hard to, to think that I h-h-have to hurt you all th-the time, and then I thought you m-m-must hate that someone who h-hurts you would be anywhere near, near you, I just… I just th-thought you wouldn’t want me to.”

“I do want you to,” Danny says softly, lips moving against the fabric of his sweater, feeling the warmth of it, the warmth of his body through the fabric, the strongly muscled shoulders, the rough hands that slide up into his hair but that’s all they do, they don’t pull, they don’t hurt, they’re just… there. “I want you to. I want something good, too, I can’t-… I can’t be in the snare alone, I can’t, I n-need you with me, too, Nate. Please, please, please don’t stop touching me, don’t, don’t make his hands be the only ones I remember anymore, please…”

“Sssshhhhhh. I’m right h-here with you.” Nate presses a kiss to the side of his head, just something gentle and reassuring, and Danny moves back to look at his face. Nate swallows, hard, taking the movement as rejecting the kiss, as not wanting it, and starts to pull back from him. “S-sorry, Danny, I’m sorry, I sh-shouldn’t have, I-”

Danny leans down and kisses him, all at once, a press of his cold lips to Nate’s warmer ones, the barest brush. When he pulls away Nate doesn’t go after him, doesn’t force him back down, doesn’t get angry. He’s not going to be hurt for that, or by it. That kiss was… safe.

Nate looks dazed, like maybe the book he wanted to read opened all on its own, and he’s not entirely sure what he’s going to find in there.

“Don’t stop touching me,” Danny says softly, and grabs Nate’s sweater with both hands, pulling him close, leaning down to kiss him again.

This time, Nate’s hands go up to his arms, curve around his shoulders. Danny moves in stumbling steps until his back’s against a tree, and Nate’s chest and stomach are pressed to his, the pressure of hips against his own is safe and nothing bad will happen to him here.

Nate’s mouth is gentle against his, the hands don’t move from around his shoulders. They don’t roam. They stay right where they are, and the buzzing despair and Abraham’s voice in his head goes quiet, goes silent, and all he hears is the birds and the breeze in the trees and Nate breathing, the soft sound of their mouths together.

“Danny-” Nate whispers against him. “Danny, is this r-r-really what y-you-”

“Shut up,” Danny whispers back, slides his hands up behind Nate’s head, kisses him again and again and again, and none of it hurts. “Call me Danny again.”

“D-Danny,” Nate whispers, and kisses the corner of his mouth. “Danny,” and a kiss to the scar along his cheekbone. Another whisper, another kiss to his cheek, then one to his jaw, then one to his neck just above the red skin rubbed raw by his collar, back up to his mouth. Everywhere his mouth skims Danny's skin it lights up - the way it used to feel when boys kissed him, when he kissed them, when it used to be something he wanted. It's something he wants, now. “Danny. You’re sure?”

“For now I am,” Danny says softly. “While he’s gone.”

“Okay,” Nate says, and presses one more kiss to his mouth, looking up into his eyes. “For now. Wh-wh-while he’s g-gone.”

Danny gives him a lopsided grin, slides arms up around his shoulders, and holds onto him for dear life.

This is the best life will ever be again.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: Lonely, Dark and Deep - ao3 link - Chapter 6

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Madara/Tobirama, background others Summary:

Hashirama was always going to have to leave Konoha behind one day, but no one was expecting for it to happen so soon.

Tobirama falls apart without his brother.

Madara, mad and bitter and preparing to leave himself, finds that he’s now without his best friend and responsible for a village he’d just about given up on.

And now it seems like there’s something not quite right with the forest…

———————————————————————————–

I’m sorry, Madara.

Tobirama can’t help but think of it that way, oddly enough. He wouldn’t have thought that that’d be the thought that keeps plaguing him, but somehow, it is.

Madara, who tried so hard – who helps when he can, doing whatever he can – doing far more than Tobirama ever expected, really. Someone to help with the paperwork, someone to share the burden, someone to keep him company, even a body to warm him at night…

It really has helped.

Tobirama would have been dead without him.

It’s not – it’s not a brother, no. But it’s something.

To Tobirama’s surprise, it’s more than the stopgap he initially assumed it would be.

Indeed, now that Madara is not insane, not driven mad by pain and anger and loss, not burdened by the curse of hatred, Tobirama can see why Hashirama liked him so much. Clever and creative, with a wit biting almost to the point of pain; compassionate, in his own way, behind the mask of a misanthropic grouch he likes to cart around – fond of children, who are fond of him in return now that he no longer looks on the verge of murder.

Exceptionally devoted to the village he named.

(Just seeing Madara reminds Tobirama of the best parts of his brother. To watch Madara walk through the village is to see Hashirama do the same, a missing shadow, and Tobirama thought that would hurt, but – it doesn’t. It makes Tobirama feel like Hashirama's only in the next room hiding away from them, fearful of the paperwork they’re going to make him do, and pretending that that is the case makes the days just barely bearable.)

Maybe if Izuna’s death didn’t lie between them –

But no.

It does, it’s there, and for all that Tobirama has retroactively learned regret, sometimes plays with seals that verge on breaking the flow of time itself if only he could go back to fix it, he can’t. He will always be the man who murdered Madara’s brother, and he can’t change that.

He can’t make Madara forget it, and that means it’s pointless to hope – to dream that they could ever be more than they are.

More than just a stopgap.

Maybe things would be different, if they were more than that – but they’re not.

And so the decision is easy.

Easier than it should be.

I’m sorry, Madara.

Tobirama promised the man that he would never to turn his sword against himself, and he intends to keep that promise – but there are times when a sacrifice is called for, and Tobirama would never sacrifice his students if he could sacrifice himself instead.

They're all exhausted by now, running on empty. Kiri has sent so many more shinobi to ambush them than they'd ever anticipated could be possible‎.

They've left a mountain of corpses behind them, but there are still more - the strongest ones, the most ruthless ones, the ones who are waiting until they've been worn to nothing before striking, the ones who will undoubtedly boast about having caused the demise of Konoha's best even as they stand on the shoulders of all who came before.

They're so tired - and no one is more tired than Tobirama.

He's been tired for so long. Nothing has mattered since Hashirama died, not really - he loves his students, he loves his sister-in-law and her children, he loves his village, but it's not enough‎.

Nothing is enough.

Even Madara, Madara and their half-unspoken thing, their stopgap, their it-might-have-been-if-things-were-different –

Well, in the end, he's not enough, either.

Tobirama misses his brother.

He misses his brother so much.

He misses Hashirama’s enthusiasm and his charisma, the way he saw the future of their village, of peace, like it was a physical thing. Tobirama’s nothing like that – for him, though he tries his best, trying to create a peaceful future is like walking through a fog following a map you’ve only ever heard of second-hand, now that the one who could see the way is gone.

His guiding light is gone.

He wants, more than anything, to see his brother again.

Tobirama wants to be clear, though, that no matter what Madara heavily implies (and sometimes states outright), he is not actively suicidal, or at least he’s not anymore. He hasn’t made any concrete plans to kill himself – and anyway, he can’t; he knows that, now that his mind is clear.

Hashirama entrusted the village to his hands, and he would never reject any gift his brother gave him, no matter how heavy the burden falls.

He will not let him down. He will not let the village down.

(He might let Madara down.)

So, he’s not suicidal. And if he sometimes wishes there was a jutsu that could simply make him not be anymore, without causing any inconvenience to anyone, well, that’s his own business.

It doesn’t matter as long as he doesn’t do anything about it.

But when he and his students agree that the only way for most of them to survive is ‎for one of them to act as a lure, even knowing that whoever volunteers for that will not come back alive –

The choice is easy.

It isn’t really suicide if it’s for a good reason, surely, and what better reason than to save his students’ lives?

(He knows he’s lying. He knows exactly what he’s doing, but – he’s so tired. He’s tired, and he misses his brother.)

His students look at him with hurt eyes, mouths shaping around cries of "no!" and "it's too soon!" in just the way his own did when it was Hashirama’s turn to leave him behind, but Tobirama knows that ‎they'll be fine without him.

They’re strong and skilled, and he’s taught them everything he knows; they’ve been refusing to take the graduation exams despite his occasional hints that they were more than ready, but he suspects that has more to do with wanting to keep him as their teacher than anything else.

And as for the village, well – Madara will be a good Hokage, and, if he refuses, either Sarutobi or Kagami would be eminently suitable to stand for election, and he tells them as much.

They will tend carefully to Hashirama's village, make it prosper, and they will live, and that's all he really cares about now, isn't it? That's all.‎

He can die easy, knowing that everything that really means something will be taken care of.

(If he feels slightly bad about dying before helping Madara complete his Rinnegan project, well, at least they’ve made some progress; Madara can surely finish the rest himself, if at a slower pace. Maybe that will help compensate Madara for losing the only thing between him and the role of Hokage, which Madara – although eminently suited for – very loudly does not want.)

It won’t be a bad death.

He can die easy‎ - and surely, surely if he dies in the forest, defending his brother's village and its children, then fate will not be so cruel as to deny him the chance to see Hashirama one more time.

Surely.

The decision made, Tobirama sends his students away and turns to face his enemies, dropping into a ready position. He may not have anything to live for, but he is as stubborn and spiteful as he has ever been, and he will not simply give in and let them kill him.

He'll make them pay for the privilege in blood.

‎The ensuing fight is long and painful - the Kiri nin are cautious of him, even in his drained and weakened state, even with a stab wound in his side inhibiting his movements, even with his sword arm partially dislocated, rendering every strike agony. They hang back, slicing at him from a distance, and he's not fast enough right now to avoid them.

Death of a thousand cuts, he thinks at one point, nearly delirious from blood loss. And I won't even be able to see the last one coming.

A nasty strike to his head has rendered him nearly blind, blood gushing out to drip into his already poor eyes; he's been using some of it to form bullets or dragons, red and fierce as iron, but his chakra is low, too low, and he can't spare the energy to wipe the blood away, much less heal himself.

He's going to die.

It's so close, he can almost feel it - he even imagines he can feel Hashirama's so-familiar chakra, rich with growth and tasting of green, rough-textured like bark and soft as moss. It's all around him now, warm and welcoming.

No, death won't be so bad, if it means he gets to see Hashirama again.

Not so bad at all...

"This won't do, Tobirama," a voice says, welcome and beloved, and Tobirama recognizes that voice.

How could he not? It sang him to sleep as a newborn; it was by his side his whole life; it has been so notable in its absence these past few years that just hearing it again is enough to send Tobirama to his knees, tears welling in his eyes and bile on his tongue.

It cannot be.

It cannot be.

And yet – who else could it be but him?

Who else, but –

"Hashirama," he croaks.

As if summoned by his words, the forest springs to life around him, roots and branches becoming weapons, the trees themselves reaching for the Kiri nin who blanch and try to run.

Try, because no one ever escapes the Mokuton when Hashirama is really trying.

Tobirama can't tear his barely-seeing eyes away from his enemies as they die, the familiar sight of trees given life by Mokuton too dear a sight to miss. He can't bring himself to turn his head to look at his brother - his wonderful, beloved, dead brother, who remembers his name and remembers he loves him and whose presence is so much everything that Tobirama wants that he's suddenly convinced that he's been trapped in the most terrible type of genjutsu.

‎He can't turn to look, because what if it's not him?

What if it's a dream, a delusion, genjustu or even a henge – a pale imitation that's stolen his brother’s voice and power and is using it only to distract him?

Tobirama couldn't bear it.

If the Kiri nin wanted to make him die by his own hand, that would do it; they wouldn't need anything more than that. To give him the hope of Hashirama, and then to find out it was all a lie -

Even Madara in the worst of his madness would not have been so cruel.

Out of the corner of his eye, in the last dark blurry bit of vision he has left, he sees a shadow of something in the wood, large and overgrown and old, but before he can even wonder about it his senses are flooded with familiar chakra.

His brother’s chakra – his brother, unforgettable, vast and overwhelming, a little different perhaps than exactly what he remembers it being but still unmistakably Hashirama’s –

The next thing Tobirama knows he's being gathered up into Hashirama's arms, just the way he remembers from when he was just a toddler - lifted up in arms far larger than his own, surrounded and encompassed and protected by the feeling that has always meant safety.

No one could mimic that chakra, that feeling, not from such close range and against a sensor as strong as Tobirama, no one.

He’s overwhelmed by a wash of relief.

It’s not because he’s alive.

It’s because Hashirama is.

Somehow, impossibly - he's alive.

Tobirama opens eyes that he must have closed at some point to look, terror gone and replaced by a budding sense of joy, suddenly eager to look - ‎

Except it seems he didn't close his eyes after all. No matter how he tries, he can’t see anything at all, the blood loss turning the world around him into vacant blackness as his consciousness leaves him.

But ‎he can still hear.

"Sleep, Tobirama," his brother croons. "I'll take care of you - and I'll be here when you wake up."

Hashirama has always known exactly what to say.

Sleep snatches Tobirama away.

[finalfantasyxivwritings]

Honest Pay for an Honest Job

AO3 Version

Relationship: Samilen Jawantal (OC)/Reader

Rating: General Audience

Summary: You're an immigrant to the continent of Eorzea, looking for work where there was little where you came from. You settle in Gridania in the hopes that you'll be able to find a job, but quickly realize that most folk aren't too kind to outsiders. 

In desperation you travel to Quarrymill, but along the way you meet a rather peculiar miqo'te named Samilen Jawantal. He is sweet, though a little awkward, and helps you find a place for yourself in the settlement. 

It just so happens that you two become friends along the way.

Note: If it helps, this is the outfit and general scenery I had in mind while writing Samilen ;3c

When warned that the Black Shroud could be difficult to navigate, you assumed it came only from a place of misunderstanding. The guards who had offered such cautious words saw you as but a newcomer to the lands of Eorzea--and likely assumed everywhere would be hard to navigate. Though it may be true that you'd been on the land for only a scant few weeks before venturing outside the city of Gridania, you're certainly no child--how confusing could it be to find your way around?

In short: extremely.

The Black Shroud was not named such without reason. It felt very much like a shroud of trees hanging over you, being hard to navigate and harder still when there wasn’t any sunlight to keep the path visible. It felt very much like a maze. Everything from the trees to even the animals seemed happy to taunt you at every step.

From the main city-state of Gridania, the small town of Quarrymill didn't seem very far. A full day of walking at most, since you couldn't afford a chocobo porter or had the luck to come upon a passing wagon.

Of course, a day of waking seemed naught of risks when planning it from behind safe walls and surrounded by multitudes of people.

You're edging on terrified. The sun is perhaps only an hour from dipping out of the sky and leaving the Black Shroud very fitting of its name--already you've lost sight of the dirt path once beneath your feet, and with darkness closing in you'll have even less a chance to find it.

All you wanted to do was look for work.

It's why you came to Eorzea in the first place, as you wanted no game or overwhelming fortune, no recognition beyond a pocketful of gill to earn you a pillow beneath your head and food in your belly. Be it fate or sheer dumb luck, your heart couldn’t bare the thought of getting caught in such a dismal situation after working so hard to get here.

There’s a map rolled up and hidden somewhere in the bag slung over your shoulder, but it’s long-since lost usefulness to someone who can scarcely read it. It wouldn’t matter anyway as direction is not the issue at hand--all you’ve got is to follow the southern pathway--it’s your speed that bothers you the most. A couple wrong turns had cost almost two full hours. If you’re lucky and keep a swift pace you may get to Quarrymill sometime after dark, but…

There’s little use thinking about it. You’re beyond the point of being able to turn around.

The noises of the forest have almost become pleasant. From the insects to the wind and trees to the animals hiding out of sight, it’s almost like white noise. Considering that you had been listening to it since the first footfall outside of Gridania’s main gate, it doesn’t take very long for you to realize a new sound drifting through the air.

It’s odd enough to give you pause, actually stopping yourself so that your ears have no extra footsteps to listen past--and yes, there it is, a sudden noise differing from the others. It’s off to the right of the path a ways, distant in the way that all forest noises are but close enough that you feel compelled to get closer.

A man? You think it’s the voice of a man echoing between the trees, but it’s hard to be certain if what you’re hearing is cries of anguish or something else completely--and you have already heard a plethora of odd noises proven rather innocent in but your first several days in Gridania. It only takes one time to mistake the shrill cry of a opo-opo as a young child for you to learn that the forests are not to be underestimated nor disrespected.

Even so, the noise lingers for long enough that your feet start to move before your brain has time to think the decision over. By the time you’re off the trail and quickly stepping around various rocks and underbrush, the noise has shifted ever so subtly so that you can make out words.

“For Twelvessake,” you hear the voice echo through the air. “Stop shaking! You’re not gonna make this any easier on ‘ya by moving around like that.”

You get nearer to the source, keeping far from the swing of low-laying branches as you push them out of your way. A couple of them still hit you regardless.

“You know I’m helpin’ you, just….stay still….”

The voice gets clearer in as many moments as it takes footsteps before you finally catch the source in your vision. There’s a small break in the trees, not so much a clearing but a small patch of land where none seem to grow outside of thick grass and moss covering small rocks.

You stop off the edge of the trees, feeling a burn in your lungs from the running and a curiosity swimming in your mind. This would be the first person you’ve met after hours along the trail--perhaps they may be able to aid you in some way.

A treant stands tall in the center of the clearing. The beast is mighty in size, but not nearly as large as you imagined they could be from the stories murmured by the Gridanian guards. It stand at but the height of a man and a half, it’s form reminiscent of a tree that has uprooted itself and begun to walk about. Its limbs are long and many in number, face almost indiscernible from the bark-like texture of its body.

Perhaps this one is young? You know too little to be sure, though your eyes flick to the next thing to catch your attention before an answer seems important enough to consider.

There’s a man tangled in the treant’s branches, a man whose voice rings out as the very one you were following but a scant few seconds before. He seems to be reaching for something, an item also tangled well within the leaves and vines that must make up part of the creature’s body.

You find yourself staring at the scene for a few moments before you realize that the item is a net; the mesh is thick and broken in places, but a piece of trash tossed aside by some careless hunter.

It seems to make movement difficult for the young treant, something that the man seems keen to change despite the fact that he too seems almost as entangled in branches and vines of the creature’s upper form.

You have heard poachers were common in the Black Shroud. You heard talk about them amongst several of the guards, often with venom lacing their words, but had the luck not to run into one just yet--the forest alone seemed to be intimidating enough without a morally-dubious individual in your way making things worse.

You take a few steps closer and manage to catch a steady glimpse of the man, enough to realize that he’s a Miqo’te and, if going by his hair and complexion, a Keeper of the Moon.  

In fact, if it wasn’t for his long silvery hair, you wouldn’t even be able to make out the shape of him dangling in the treant’s branches.

He reaches out, fingertips just barely curling around a few threads of the net, and tugs a part of it free. The creature seems to offer a bittersweet cry of relief, leading to the Miqo’te finally being able to crawl closer to the object of it’s disdain and more properly begin untangling it.

It takes only a minute or two once he had a proper reach, and you merely watch as the broken mess falls in a heap to the ground, followed quickly by the much more elegant thump of the man as he lands in a crouch and all but glares at the object in obvious disgust.

The treant shows only the barest of thanks in simply not attacking the man, instead waddling off with heavy footsteps deeper into the thickets of the forest.

“Now I have to haul this thing to Quarrymill,” the Miqo’te mutters to himself, one hand dragging over his face, the other perched on his hip. “Just fuckin’ fantastic. I’m a botanist, not a-.”

The snap of a twig beneath one of your feet silences any words following, and instead catches his attention with the quickness of a lightning bolt.

His face turns instantly towards you, eyes wide for a moment in shock as his thoughts seem to catch up with the revelation that he is not the only person in the clearing. Not alone at all.

You expect him to say something to you, perhaps even laugh and ask something like ‘what are you doing here?’. You expect nothing specific in all honesty, but you at least ready yourself for some sort of question from him.

You get none.

For all that you heard him cursing up a storm but a few moments before the man is now discernibly more quiet, not a single noise falling from his lips even though it’s obvious you took him by surprise.

At least you’re able to get a better look at the man now that he’s not buried in branches and leaves.

He’s short, at least for a man, with a dark complexion that reminds you much of a shadow. His eyes and hair stand in stark contrast however, with the golden hue of his gaze earning the most of your attention. Silvery locks are pulled back into a braid, though the rest of it hands over one side of his face.

The man is dressed well, thick leather jacket probably protecting him from most of the cuts and scratches he’d otherwise have earned from the treant’s branches. He at least lacks much of the armor and gear you’d expect of a poacher, though he’s not nearly geared well enough to be a Gridanian guard of any sort.

“Um,” you find yourself feeling a bit unnerved beneath his gaze. “I’m actually heading to Quarrymill myself and uh--I heard you were going that way yourself, sir?”

He says nothing, though at least now his gaze has left you and falls instead to the pile of broken mesh netting. After enough time that you’re beginning to think that he’s outright forgotten you and your question, he finally turns back to look at you with a perceivably softer look on his face.

And then his hands move.

Not so much in simple gestures, but movements reminiscent of something more; a communication that takes but a few short moments before you realize the motions as handspeak.

It seems a little odd for him to use such a form of nonverbal conversation since you had heard him speak and curse just a few moments ago, but your brain jumps right over the curiosity and instead begins to decipher his words without delay.

‘What’s someone like you doing out here in the forest?’ he asks, movements sharp and practiced--indication of experience, fluidity and perhaps even a tinge of annoyance within the words.

You begin to move your hands in answer, but the man quickly shakes his head.

‘You don’t need to do that,’ he gestures to his ears as if the notion had been obvious, though a flush of color over his cheeks keep the gesture from seeming too aggravated. ‘I can hear you just fine.’

After a moment of continued confusion you finally offer the man your name, trying to be as polite as possible in fear that the very help you sought for would slip between your fingers and, honestly, you did come upon this man a bit suddenly.

“I’m looking for work in Quarrymill,” you explain, hoping such fear would not leak into your words or tone.

‘Refugee?’

“I prefer the word ‘traveler’.”

A twitch of amusement pulls at the corner of the man’s mouth as one of his hand perch on his hip again, stance turning casual.

‘It all means the same to most folk in Eorzea.’

The sentiment is honest and nonthreatening, which is admittedly a breath of fresh air when compared to many others you’d spoken with in Gridania. Though you hold little knowledge of the continent’s history or cultural perspective outside of what you’ve heard in your travels into its borders, you know enough that many of her people don’t take kindly to foreign souls--or perhaps that just might be the scarce few in Gridania that a lack of luck forced you to meet.

The man’s eyes linger on you through the thought, golden and heavy in weight--there’s thoughts behind that gaze, ones you can’t hope to decipher.

‘My name is Samilen,’ the man finally signs, spelling his name with deliberate motions to make sure you understand before hurrying on. ‘Consider this your first job offer.’

He didn’t need to elaborate for you to understand what he meant by it, having just enough time to understand his words before Samilen turned and started pulling some of the thick netting into his arms.

You catch a glint of an axe on his back. There’s ornate symbols etched into both the wood of the handle and the wrought-iron metal blade--all of which look foreign to you, but it catches your attention and interest all the same. A woodsman? Did he live out here?

His eyes flash back at you before your thoughts can linger much farther into question, spurring you forward to try and pull the other half of the heap into your arms.

The netting is scratchy against your hands, biting into your skin by its own weight alone, but it’s easy enough with two people that you can ignore it and focus more on the shuffle of your feet so as not to trip on an errant vine.

“So,” you start, feeling a little awkward in the sudden silence between you and the stranger. “You live around here?”

Samilen looks at you after a moment, one brow perked and lips pursed together.

“I mean, I’m not trying to assume anything,” your words feel like they’re starting to press together, little more than a mush of noise leaving your mouth as you try to fill the air with noise. “Lots of people said Quarrymill was full of jobs for physical labor--in need of lots of building supplies, they said--and I noticed you’ve got an axe and, well, maybe y’know some people and...”

You almost have to force yourself to stop talking, flashing a gaze and forced smile to the Miqo’te in hopes that you don’t sound as awkward as you feel. Samilen blinks at you after a moment before making a gesture with his arms still holding the net. The movement is muffled, but otherwise able to get the message across as hot embarrassment fills your cheeks.

Of course.

“Ah,” you say, quickly taking the lack of speech from him as something running deeper than mere preference. “Understood. I’ll uh, ask you when we get there.”

You expected for the ‘when’ to be far after the sun had disappeared from the sky and the moon taken its place. If you were being at all honest with yourself, in fact, you would have worried deeply about finding yourself in the forest at night, surrounded by trees and underbrush that you could scarcely navigate during the day.

Samilen didn’t seem to share this same worry as you.

He paid the setting sun little mind as he directed the both of you onward through the forest, making odd twists and turns against the dirt path--if he didn’t have such a firm, assured look on his face, you would have questioned the man as being as lost as you had been by yourself.

And it’s a good thing you didn’t question him, for as soon as the sun’s last trickles of light hid themselves from the sky you found yourself stepping into the settlement of Quarrymill, among the bustling merchants and other travelers who were also hastily trying to get find safety within it’s tall, sturdy walls.

Even so, Samilen carefully directed the two of you into the small outcropping of homes and stalls, weaving through people and chocobo-drawn carts of goods.

It isn’t until you’re able to drop the netting beside one of the many merchants’ stands that you realize how sore your arms have grown, muscles aching and burning from the weight, the strands of the mesh having started to dug into your arms that there are marks (however temporary).

You gaze down at the pile. What use could it have for anyone now, you wonder, curious if Samilen had something in mind to make him want to bring it here--or perhaps it was an action out of concern. After all, you had seen the damage the abandoned item had to but one young treant--if the man was indeed a local, a woodsman at that, you can understand why he’d feel obligated to remove the mesh from the forest.

You tune back into the world just as your attention cycles back to Samilen.

Some fulms away he stands in front of the merchant’s stall where you both had left the net, conversing with a woman on the other side. His expression is soft and his motions languid--there’s familiarity in it, as in the way she regards him in kind.

“Y’know I can’t pay you fer’ it,” the woman says gently, gesturing towards the broken pile of mesh beside her stall. “Ain’t in the business of dealing with junk.”

Samilen smiles widely, as if at some unknown joke between them, and signs something too quick for you to catch.

The merchant laughs makes a waving gesture with her hand towards the net.

“Always makin’ a compelling offer, Jawantal. I guess I can’t say no to somethin’ free.”

It’s only then that the woman’s eyes flash in your direction, interest as obvious as the half-cocked smile over her lips.

“Oy, makin’ new friends are ya?”

Samilen blinks, then looks to you in but a flash of surprise (or perhaps embarrassment?) before realization dawns over his features, seemingly having forgotten you were still standing there.

‘We were both heading to Quarrymill,’ he signs after a moment, looking back at the woman. ‘I wasn’t about to carry that thing by myself if I could help it.’

The woman hums, leaning forward on the edge of the stall with eyes that seem to wonder more than what she asks.

She gestures for you to come closer and so you do, figuring that it’s not exactly proper to hold a conversation from a distance. It’s not as if you can feign disinterest or even unawareness of the conversation anymore.

“I’m a traveler,” you say at last in desperate hopes to set off on the right foot, stepping up beside Samilen and offering the woman your hand and name in the same breath. “Got a little lost getting here from Gridania, but I suppose I’m lucky enough to have run into Samilen here.”

She takes your hand with a smile, grip firm but not painful, and gestures towards herself with an almost trained motion.

“The name’s Edith Cater. I run this fine little establishment right here-” she knocks her knuckles against the surface of the wooden stall, then gestures to the small home behind her tucked against the cobblestone wall protecting the town. “-been sellin’ fish in Quarrymill for as long as I can remember. Y’might see my wife runnin’ around and cursing her luck at the fishes in the rivers--Svana is her name.”

The friendliness of the conversation is different from what you’ve grown used to, a difference that comes like a breath of fresh air after several stays of taking in nothing but fumes and smoke.

Edith hums and, glances towards one of the nearest entrances to Quarrymill, her eyes laying firm on the guards switching their shifts on either end of the large archway of stone and wood.

“Couldn’t have gotten here quicker either.”

You see a motion from the corner of your eye as Samilen signs something to her--a question, given his confused look, but too quick for you to decipher plainly.

Edith crosses her arms against her chest.

“I’m surprised you haven’t noticed yet--them kedtraps have been gettin’ mighty ornery the past several suns. Makin’ it real hard for anyone past sunfall.”

After a moment, the woman chuckles. “-Well, harder than usual. Not like they’re known fer’ bein’ nice.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“Kedtraps?” the question rolls from you lips, too quick for your mind to wonder if it’s a stupid question. “I’ve never heard of something like that before.”

Samilen gestures for your attention, grabbing your gaze to fall upon him as he turns to face you, half-leaning against the stall.

‘They’re a type of seedkin,’ he signs, looking pensive in his motions. ‘Dangerous if you can’t avoid them. Very aggressive. And annoying.’

He repeats the last motion with a grave seriousness, then drops his hands with a sigh.

He sounds tired, as if the news had done enough to pull what little energy was left in his body.

You got your answer as Samilen turns to Edith and purses his lips.

‘I’ll take care of them in the morning, I might know what’s causing such a swell in their numbers.’

“I’m sure the guards’ll thank you for it plenty,” Edith says with a quirk to her smile. “I know it’s been makin’ it a challenge for anyone to get here safely coming from the West and South, Hurtin’ business something fierce for everyone.”

The sky has grown dark by this point, the sky dark and painted with stars that seemed to grow more bright by the breath. There would be little use to do anything now, leaving questions and curiosities best to be taken up again when the sun has risen.

“Is there any sort of inn around here?” you find yourself asking, caring little if it’s Edith or Samilen who has an answer for you.

Edith as it turns out is the first to do so--and her answer is merely laughter. She chuckles with a hand over her mouth, obviously taken for surprise by her own amusement and tries her best to stifle it back down.

“Oh dear, I’m sorry--” she glances about the town, bustling with its array of people, many native and so few travelers. “--you picked the worst time for that. There is a little place across the way, just over by the Northern entrance, but it’s been full-up every night for the last couple weeks.”

You follow her gesture towards what you assume is the building she’s talking about.

It’s small, easily missed if you weren’t already looking that way, and there are already several people hustling in and out of the front door. There’s a gentle billowing of smoke coming from the top of a chimney and the lights are already bright from inside.

It hardly looks as if it could room a dozen people.

You feel your heart fall into your stomach as you hurry away from both Edith and Samilen, only vaguely remembering to thank them for their time as you quickly move out of earshot to whatever they say after you.

It takes a few minutes to get through the small crowd of people bustled around the building but you eventually get inside.

The inn’s front room is neither spacious nor claustrophobic, but settled rather comfortably in the middle of the two. For being in a small settlement in the middle of the Black Shroud, it’s surprisingly well-kept; there’s a fire going in a fireplace against one wall and a collection of wooden chairs surrounding it. A rug decorates the floor beneath your feet in vibrant colors and designs that must have took a person weeks to make--perhaps even months.

At the center of it all lays a desk, a single elezen man manning it.

He has a book in-hand, a title you don’t recognize, and reads lazily over the pages with tired eyes behind messy brown hair.

He looks at you as you approach.

The gaze doesn’t last for more than a scant few moments, but it’s long enough that you almost feel...awkward. He looks you up and down before his eyes finally meet yours once more.

You’re unsure if you need to say something first or if it can simply be assumed you’re here for a room--it doesn’t seem to matter either way as the man already interrupts any greeting you have with a sudden, distasteful tone.

“If you’re here for a room,” he says, finally looking back to his book. “I’m sad to say that there isn’t another one available; we’re booked up for the evening. You’ll have to look elsewhere.”

Your stomach twists at the words; he doesn’t sound sad at all, rather disinterested and eager to have you leave.

“There surely has to be something available.” There just has to be, you tell yourself. “Even the smallest room or just a bed, I have the gil to pay for--”

The sound of a finger tapping against the counter between you stops the words before they start tumbling from your lips.

“What part of ‘none available’ do you not understand?”

For a moment you stand there, silent, his of annoyance hanging over you even as he looks back to that stupid book in his hands. When you don’t immediately leave from both the front desk and his sight, the man even gestures a hand as if to wave you away.

“No loitering. Go find charity elsewhere.”

For a moment, you wonder if he can tell that you’re not from Gridania. Perhaps the worry is silly, perhaps it’s far-fetched to consider, but you have the inkling in the back of your mind that he’d have a far more positive response if you were perhaps someone else. Someone native to the area.

The hardest part is that you can’t tell for certain--at least in Gridania people were far more open about their discrimination so it was easy to tell in but a single conversation who was friendly and who was not.

Angry, biting words settle in the back of your throat at the thought. There are plenty of things that you can say to the man, plenty more you could argue about, but none of them really matter--the last thing that you want or need is to pick an argument with someone especially as you know there’s nothing to be won.

You turn on your heel to leave.

Before you have the time to take even one step, you’re stopped immediately by a pair of hands as they come to rest on your shoulders. You’re moments away from apologizing to whomever it is that you’ve nearly run into, but their familiar face stops the words before you speak them.

It’s Samilen standing in front of you, his hands warm over your shoulders and expression stoic and calm. You don’t recall him following you in your haste to get a room, but he looks at you with gentleness in his golden eyes.

Don’t leave, the expression seems to say.

So you don’t.

Samilen steps around you after a breath, approaching the front desk with a level of care in each step. He starts to sign silently just as you turn to watch the scene unfold. The man behind the desk seems more attentive to the miqo’te, actually setting down the book as he watches Samilen’s motions.

“Oh! Mr. Jawantal,” there’s an obvious shift in tone in the man’s voice as he regards Samilen. “Are you turning in for the evening? Sergeant Dreyeux said you’d be staying again tonight--said he needed to speak to you about a kedtrap issue as well, if you’d seek him out--the room of course is ready for you, as always.”

When Samilen doesn’t respond after a few long moments, the elezen finally seems to get the hint to glance over behind him--to see you still standing there. He blinks, a moment of confusion passing over his face as he looks back to Samilen.

“Did you...bring a guest?”

Samilen nods.

‘They are with me,’ he signs, motions quick and almost too sharp to catch from behind him. ‘I didn’t realize you treat some travelers like that. It seems I have more to talk to the Sergeant about than just the kedtrap problem.’

He lets a moment slip by in stillness, as if contemplating a thought before continuing the motion of his hands.

‘...perhaps Quarrymill isn’t a place for me to frequent if you’re prone to discriminate others this much.’

“Sir, we don’t have room for just anyone to stay here,” there’s a stumble as he responds, his voice sounding weak and insincere in simply how sickly sweet it falls from his lips. “I’m charged with ensuring the rooms are available only to hard-working travelers and merchants who bring gil to Quarry-”

‘So you mean to tell me you could tell that by only a glance?’

Samilen’s motions are growing a little forceful and jerky. You can almost feel the aggravation in even his silent accusation.

“I mean--Mr. Jawantal you must understand that they're simply not the sort we need at Quarrymill, they look-”

‘I understand that I have not lived my life as a proud keeper miqo’te with constant discrimination from men like you-’ Samilen all but stabs a finger towards the man and, if you listened hard enough, you may even hear a low growl rumbling through the air. ‘-to stand by and let you shame someone who is willing to work an honest job for an honest pay.’

“I don’t think you understand, sir, you’re much different than others.”

‘Different?’

Samilen lets the word sit. Anger emanates in thick waves from the miqo’te; you can feel the tension in the air growing taut--the question only remains is if it will snap.

‘...I forget some people choose to see me as equal only when I am useful to them. Thank you for reminding me of that fact so I may bring it up to Sergeant Dreyeux on the morrow.’

The room falls into a cold silence as Samilen’s hands finally fall to his sides. He lets it sit like that for a breath, letting everything sink in before finally motioning a simple question,

‘Is there any available rooms or not?’

The elezen’s eyes break from the other’s gaze.

“No,” he says after a few moments. “They actually are all filled tonight.”

The way he says it confirms your suspicions of before, even if it means there’s nowhere for you to stay. You’re about to drop your gaze and leave the inn to move on to form a new plan of action when a motion from Samilen catches your eye, though it takes an extra second for your brain to make sure you read his words correctly.

‘They’re staying with me tonight then--mark down for one more in my room.’

The rest of the following couple moments is a bit of a blur, as in one you’re standing in the front room with Samilen a few steps in front of you, and in the next he has his fingers wrapped around one of your wrists and gently tugging you behind him.

The elezen at the front desk is saying something or another but you’re at a loss to hear the words--the blood thumping in your ears is loud enough to drown everything out that hasn’t already been numbed by the thick tension of the last few moments as Samilen had argued for you.

The rooms are located off to the left of the front desk, down a long and narrow hallway. There are doors lining up either side, with little numbers painted over the top of the entrance in dark script. The two of you step past all of the doors. Samilen instead moves to the last one, at the very end of the hallway, quickly opens it and gestures for you to go inside.

Whether it’s confusion or an instinctual need to follow the unspoken command, you step inside the room regardless. Samilen steps in behind you and closes the door with a click.

As the man takes a moment to close the door, you have the moment to take in the room itself.

It’s not a large space, certainly when compared to the room you had while in Gridania, but it’s not too small either; you have enough space to stretch out your arms at least three times over in both directions; a small cot sits in a corner of the room, covered in a weathered rucksack filled near-to-bursting with items you cannot guess.

A bow also rests near the bed, coupled with a quiver that looks filled with arrows if the feathered tail-ends are anything to go by. (Was Samilen an archer?)

There’s a set of clothes hanging from what must be fishing line, and a pair of leather boots set with some semblance of care below them.

It’s a humble room, but one that looks lived in; as things would seem, Samilen has been here for several nights already--though if from the gist of the conversation he had with the elezen manning the front desk, that may not last for much longer.

...Speaking of, you slowly realize that Samilen has been very quiet behind you, not even having tried to tap at your shoulder or even moved from the doorway.

Fear starts to bubble up in your stomach from the man’s lack of movement or touch upon your shoulder, so you spin on your heel to get a look at the mute man’s face for some sort of understanding of his thoughts and--

He looks...terrified? Worried, more like, his expression tense and his eyes looking at nowhere in particular for a breath.

He finally looks at you with a form of realization dawning on his face as the situation finally seems to sink in--the realization of what he’s done in but a haze of impulse upon witnessing your mistreatment and obvious need for aid.

The realization that he’s taken you to his own room in the inn and otherwise called you his guest for the evening.

And, in the span of a breath, he looks young. Unsure of himself.

Awkward.

“I uh,” you start to say. “Thank....you? I think? Are you...letting me...stay….with you?”

Samilen himself in the moment is certainly no help to your confidence. His expression remains tensed and screwed up, as if he’s made some sort of mistake--he looks about ready to knock his head against the doorframe.

He eventually gathers himself up, closes his eyes and knits his brows together.

‘Forgive me,’ he signs at last, looking exhausted in the motion. ‘ I…’

His motions pause as he searches for words.

‘...you can stay with me for tonight. Take my bed.’

“And what about you?”

‘I’m no stranger to sleeping on a bedroll.’

You can’t help but narrow your eyes at him, brows tight and expression bouncing between confused and angered by the suggestion.

“This is your room!” the exclamation rings a little in your own ears. “I can’t sleep on the bed while you sleep on the floor!”

Samilen stares at you. His golden eyes have lost the enigma, they are now just the eyes of a nervous man, a man who looks from you to the bed, then back at you again.

‘Ah,’ the word rings more on his face than in his hands. ‘I see, I forgot that might be uncomfortable for you.’

He takes a moment to reassess the situation, looking pensively around the room with one hand up to his chin in thought.

And then, as if with a rapturous idea, his ears prick up and he signs, ‘Then it’s settled: I’ll just sleep outside.’

You feel your face scrunch in confusion even stronger than before.

“What?” the question tumbles from your lips before you can stop it. “How is that any better? Why would you sleep outside?”

‘I was under the impression that you were uncomfortable with me sleeping in here with you.’

It’s as if he’s unsure what to do, and barely able to hide that insecurity from sight, if going by how it’s painted across his face.

“If this bothers you, why did you do that for me?”

Samilen blinks and then, after a moment, he finally looks assured of himself again, perhaps even a little curious at being asked the question itself--the same man you met before.

‘Because I couldn’t stand and watch that happen to you.’

He pauses, and for a moment you’re curious if there’s a soft flush of color darkening his cheeks.

‘...I got caught up in the moment and I apologize. I don’t….normally…invite people…..here. With me. Ever.’

Each word is signed with a pause between them, a trailing sentence that Samilen doesn’t seem to know the end of. He lets his hands fall to his sides as he sighs, finally collecting himself from the moment and all of the confusion that came with it.

For all of the oddity of the last few minutes, you find it rather endearing; he holds onto that stoic mask rather well, but it’s obvious that few people seem to be able to get past it. The two of you stand in silence, waiting for the other to come up with something to say.

You’re the one who eventually breaks it, hoping to turn the situation into something better.

“I did want to thank you for helping me get to Quarrymill,” you say at last, feeling a soft smile on your lips. “I don’t know what I would have done if I was still out in the Black Shroud after nightfall.”

Samilen mirrors the smile, only then remembering to make himself comfortable; he removes the axe hanging off his back, tucking the leather strap and holder onto a hook near the door. His top, revealed to be a jacket, follows it--he’s left wearing a simple hempen undershirt that hugs his upper body more, but not to a level that you feel uncomfortable in it.

‘You don’t need to thank me,’ Samilen signs before stepping over to the bed to remove the rucksack. He turns to you and gestures towards it--you can sit down. ‘Consider it repaid by helping me carry that net here.’

You take the offer after a moment, feeling the cot dip beneath your weight.

“Well, I’m still in your debt now--” your hand gesture around you. “How much does one of these rooms cost? I can pay you for this, just name a price and I’ll-”

Samilen waves his hands furiously in rejection as he finds an empty spot on the floor to sit. The offer earns a brief but strong look of disgust from him, the very notion off putting.

“Are you sure? I can give you-”

He still shakes his head.

‘I did this out of kindness alone, impulsive as it was. I’m not….good...with people like this, I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable,’ Samilen sighs and runs one of his hands through his hair, pulling out the tie holding the braid together so that it falls unbound over one of his shoulders.

“I’m...not uncomfortable,” you speak gently. “I’m just...confused? I’m not quite used to people sticking their neck out for me like this.”

If anything, Edith’s kindness was enough to surprise you. For Samilen to stand up for you AND then let you stay in his inn room? That was beyond surprising--that was downright confusing , as if the kindness was far beyond what your mind can handle.

Samilen shrugs, looking young and awkward again, as if he truly doesn’t know how to account for the warmth of his action other than something he just….did.

‘I guess I’m used to my people being discriminated too,’ he finally signs, finally gesturing towards himself. ‘Miqo’te aren’t native to Eorzea; it wasn’t long ago that we were seen as beast tribes. The Keepers especially are still often seen as poachers and leeches in Gridania.’

It explains a lot. His words. Where you had seen his actions as simple kindness, you can see it now as something more--a kinship, in a way, someone who can empathize with the hardships of being seen as an outsider.

‘I’m a really talented crafter in Gridania and I’ve done a lot for the botanists’ guild but...sometimes I wonder if that’s the only reason they treat me equally. Because I’m useful.’

It’s in that moment that you see Samilen for who he is, even if it’s only a glance. Even if it’s just a snippet, you feel warmth blossom in your belly at the chance to know someone in a place still so foreign and scary.

It’s comforting.

But, as the silence rolls on from there, it does give you a few moments to ponder over the situation.

“You said you were going to take care of that kedtrap problem tomorrow, correct?”

Samilen perks at the question, though flashes you a confused look.

You smile and feel confidence grow as you speak, hoping that the idea doesn’t come across as fantastical or silly than how it sounds in your head.

“Do you need any help in that? I am looking to get familiar with the area and well, I see it only appropriate to offer my hands however you need them in the endeavor.”

Samilen’s eyes start to narrow and his hands move in what you assume is already a rejection--most likely, as you’ve seen, because he doesn’t want you to offer out of a feeling of obligation or debt.

You don’t give him a moment to say much, as you are quick to remind him his own words.

“I am looking for honest work for honest pay, after all.”

That seems to get his attention.

‘...what are you suggesting?’

“I help you out with the issue tomorrow and you pay me for that help,” you say, hands starting to fiddle with themselves in a growing worry. “And, y’know, if there’s other tasks you need help in, then you certainly know someone who’s happy to help you with them--for a price.”

Samilen doesn’t look like the type of man to take people’s debt. It’s only at the mention of him paying you that he seems to consider it honestly, bringing a hand to his chin and letting the prospect roll around in his head.

You watch his expression shift. From stubborn denial to consideration, consideration to mulling, mulling finally to satisfaction--all of it within a couple seconds, ending with him glancing up at you with a quirked brow.

‘If you’re willing to learn some new things along the way--because the jobs I take aren’t always easy--’

“I get the feeling few things you do are all that easy.”

‘--then consider it a deal. I’ll pay you to work for me until you decide to find work elsewhere.’

The two of you exchange soft smiles as the situation seems to fall nicely into place. There may be loose ends and people to deal with, but at least the air isn’t awkward and your worries uncomforted. Samilen and you speak together late into the night, bouncing casually from one topic of conversation to another--awkwardness, if any, becomes something endearing of him.

It’s not a perfect start to your new lifetime in Eorzea, but it’s certainly more than what you’ve ever expected to find.

Because as it so happens, this is not just how you find work or even how you and Samilen meet as employer and employee. No, it’s more than simply that:

It’s how the two of you become friends.

[rainbowcolouredstudies]

How to get out of a phase of depression/burnout after studying too much

So I got an ask about this recently and I thought I would turn my answer into an organized post for y´all!

What I am talking about

I am not talking about chronical depression or a full-blown burnout diagnosed by a professional. In these cases, please get help from a professional and not on tumblr.

I am talking about working really hard all the time and then suddenly being exhausted all the time. Your motivation is gone, you are tired all the time, you feel like shit and your emotions, your mental health, goes down the drain as well as your physical health. But you have to get out of it because you still have to learn so much, you have finals very soon, a portfolio to finish, whatever. You cannot stop studying for a longer period of time now, but taking a day of simply does not help either. This is the situation I am talking about here and here is what I personally find helpful:

What not to do

Do nothing that harms you in any way. Self-harm is obvious but what I mostly mean is, do not force yourself to study if you feel really depressed. Do not work the whole night, do not skip hours of sleep, don´t start drinking large amounts of coffee just to be awake and being able to focus. (Huge amount of coffee actually can harm your stomach and heart permanently so please always be careful with that!) Don´t forget to eat regularly and at least kinda healthy (you can eat sweets and you don´t have to eat mostly fruit and vegetable and nuts, but don´t eat only junk food), don´t forget to go outside, move around. If you can do sports that would be the best, but if not, go for a walk. Don´t start laying or sitting around all day.

What you should do

Basically you have to leave this phase of depression behind you. This can be really tough and everyone needs different things to manage it, but over time you will figure out what helps you.

You have to start with little steps, you can´t just leap forward back into being hyper-productive. It won´t work and if it does, only for very short and afterwards you conditions will be worse.

I personally feel like there are three phases when recovering from these feelings:

Phase 1

Basics: Consciously decide that you now take some time for yourself. Don´t make any plans regarding studying. Here are some suggestions what you can do to start feeling better. You can do all of them as little first steps, or you can choose one of them or some of them and if that was effective, go on phase 2.

If you have missed a lot of sleep during the last weeks, sleep for as long as you can. Chose a day when you don´t have to get up at a certain hour, and don´t set an alarm. When your mind tells you to get up and work, but you still feel tired, keep sleeping. If you can´t sleep anymore, lay in bed, try to turn off all your thoughts and soon your body will win over your mind and you will sleep on. Really take the concious decision that it is ok for you to sleep as long as you need that day, or you´ll feel guilty and stressed and it wouldn´t help.

If you like music, and have the possibilty, go to a concert you like. Let yourself fall into the music, the lyrics, the beat. Scream and sing from the top of your lungs, jump and dance, forget about everything else, cry till you have no more tears, laugh till your body hurts. Experience yourself, the event and the emotions to the fullest. It will have a cleansing effect on you and you will feel so much better afterwards. (Of course this might be impossible to do that spontaneous, but you can book a concert ahead of time next time. Chose one that is during a stressful phase and really force yourself to go there. If you like concerts, you will not regret it, despite the loss of studying time.)

If you can´t go to a concert, or you don´t like them, but music and the lyrics mean a lot to you. In this case you surely know an artist, an album, a playlist, with songs that help you. That make you think opitmistic, that pick you up when you are down, that make you dance or at least want to move. (I don´t know about your music taste but for me The Cruxshadows are simpy the best in these situations (but only their new stuff)!) If you know the lyrics, sing to them. If you feel way too down to identify with the positivity of the songs, but you once did identify with them, force yourself to listen to them anyways. Sing along, as much as you can. If you don´t know the lyrics, listen to the songs on repeat, move to them, dance. You might feel like they don´t work because this world of positivity and light and hope and happiness is far away from your own world, but your subconscious will register them, and they will start to work in your subconscious. It may take time till you notice it, but it does work.

One important question is, if you still feel emotions? I´ve experienced two kinds of depression in such situation, one where I could cry all day and about everything, and one where I feel nothing at all. Another tip with music for both cases

 a) constant despair, panick, crying all the time: Of course under the assumption that you love music and that lyrics or songs can help you in hard times. Sort your bands/songs into three kinds: 

Sad, total despair, perfect for crying and being down and depressed.

Not really positive, but also not really negative. They are not really optimistic but there is some hope in the lyrics, or something that gives you a bit hope.

Optimistic lyrics, with lots of hope and light and happiness and positivity in them. 

Now start with number 1. Cry all your tears out, but make sure you know why you are crying. Think about what makes you cry. Is it the stress? Is it fear of not passing your finals? Is it something else that tears you down? Focus on these thoughts and cry until you don´t feel the need to cry anymore. Get up, wash your phase, chose songs from number 2. Search for songs that feel right in that moment. Search for songs that give you the feeling it can slowly get better. Listen to then, for hours, maybe days. Let the songs slowly be more and more optimistic,  but don´t overwhelm yourself because then you might feel you can never reach your goal. Once you feel like it, listen to number 3. Do this as much as you can. Now, this suggestion may take some days time so I would advise you to use one day for step 1, after you stopped crying use the time for yourself, don´t force yourself to study. Just make sure you are listening to bands from step 2. Starting with the next day, try to slowly start studying again during step 2 and 3.

b) In case you don´t feel anything at all: You have to start feeling again. WITH THAT I DON`T MEAN YOU SHOULD HARM YOURSELF. Just to make this clear: this is NOT the right way to start feeling again. But there are two healthier ways to start feeling emotions again:

You can try to trigger sadness and despair with songs from number 1. Find a song that truely breaks your heart. Or a movie, a book. It may sound brutal but it can really help you out of this apahty and tiredness. Then do the same as described about, let out all the emotions and then go to number 2 and 3.

Or you can try to trigger happiness and hope (which is way harder but it can work): Look at pics of your greatest memories, remind yourself of something beautiful in life. Watch your favorite music video, hug a loved one, stroke a pet. Just try to get a happy emotion.

If music is not so much for you, try something more physical. Go for a walk, do some sports, like yoga or running or whatever feels good to you. Make sure you are not to hard on yourself, your goal is not to work out really hard, loose weight, build muscles. Your goal is to get in touch with your body again. Start with short work outs and stop before you are totally exhausted.

Go out in nature and experience everything totally conscious. Breath in the air and feel how it fills your lungs. Breath out and focus on the feeling of the air leaving your lungs. Try different breathing rhythms, deep and long breaths, short and shallow, till you can really focus on your breathing. Feel the ground beneath your feet, the asphalt beneath your shoes, or the grass, stones, earth, moss. If possible, go into a forest or somewhere else calm and natural. Listen to the sounds of nature, focus on them. Listen to birds sing, or to a stream, to the wind, to the sounds of footsteps in snow, or the sound of leaves in a soft wind. Focus on them. It may make you cry or sentimental, but it will also help you. Touch as much as you can, grass, leaves, bark, cold water, snow, ice. Focus on the sentation, the texture of what you are touching, the feeling it leaves behind on your skin once you break contact.

Do something creative. I don´t mean you should decorate your bujo! This work related again and therefore the wrong thing. Draw, write, play an instrument. Not with the goal to be good, but with the goal to relax, turn off your thoughts, focus on the process of creating and that process alone.

Eat avocados. May sound weird, but they help against depression.

Drink green tea. It wakes you up and brightens your mood. But you should never do only that, do it to support other steps you chose or it will just be a short-time solution.

Phase 2

Basics: So you feel a little bit better now, more in touch with yourself, a little more hopeful. You now want to start studying again but not to much and not to stressful. Go easy about it.

Break down what your tasks are. Write everything down, every little detail, no matter how soon or how late you need it. Everything you don´t need very very soon, like within a week, you put away for now. What is left is what you have to do soon.

Make a list till which day the tasks are due. Write every little task down. If they are big tasks, like “I have to learn 3 chapters of maths till Wednesday”, break the chapters down into smaller parts. Start doing small, short tasks that take you only some minutes. Afterwards, tick them off, cross them out, realize you actually got something important done. Take a break, do something for yourself, like listening to music, dancing, some sports, going for a walk, reading. Don´t take too long, but make sure to take these breaks.

Once you feel you´ve been productive, try to do bigger tasks, focus longer. Slowly increase the amount of work you do and don´t overwork yourself. Don´t stress, don´t skip meals, don´t work late into the night. Make sure you take of yourself or you soon will have a relapse again.

Phase 3

Basics: You want to go back to normal studying, with hours of productivity each day, but without having a relapse.

Face your long-time goals again, but this time, try another perspective. I don´t know that much about school systems from other countries, but in my country it is like that: if you fail a final, you can try again 3 or 4 months later, and you have 3 of 4 chances.

Realize that you don´t have to get only As. You don´t even need good grates, as long as they are positive, everything is great! Remember, your own health is more important than your grades and more important than your reputation at school. Don´t think about people that might me better than you, or a teacher that might be diasppointed in you, if you don´t get straight As. Focus on your own health. Even if you don´t pass all your finals…what do you loose? Some months. Some months of probably 80 years of life-time. Some months, in which you can study without stress, without harming your own health. Some months, that might actually benefit your mental in physical health, if you don´t put too much pressure on you. Just because you failed a final, does not mean you are a failure or you will fail in life, fail when you try again or fail other finals. Accept the possibility of failing and put it into perspective with life. It really is not that tragic,although it might seem to you that way.

Now go to work again with a whole different mindset. You hopefully now overcame this phase of depression, but you have to be careful or you might have a relapse soon. If you realize that you start feeling worse again, stop immediatelly with the preassure and take some time for yourself. Maybe go back to phase 2 or even 1 if you need to.

You now might be studying many hours a day again but there are still some things you should include in your every-day life:

Eat kinda healthy. Eat avocados (not every day of course, but regularly)

Listen to music that helps you.

Remember to take breaks and use these breaks for yourself. Not for studying with a friend, not for your bujo or organizing something.

Make sure you always stay in touch with your body and your feelings and emotions. Let fresh air in and breath it consciously.

Go for walks regularly. Being in nature or if you life in a city, even out of your school, house or flat can help a lot.

Do sports, yoga, stretches, or dance to music.

Go to bed at a reasonable time. Reasonable does not mean when your work is done, but when you need to to live healthy.

Don´t block out the people around you. Talk to friends, not about school but about other stuff. Talk to family, spend some time with them, even if its only a phone call.

Let noone stress or preassure you. Tell them to stop if they do, or don´t listen to them.

If others are further in the process of learning for a subject, don´t let this get to you. You don´t need to be as good as them at school, you don´t need straight As, and everyones learning process and pace is individual. Don´t compare yourself to others but focus on making process at your own pace.

Don´t forget to reward yourself for the work you´ve done. This can be your favorite sweets or favourite food, a good movie or a nice book. This could be meeting friends or maybe just some alone time.

Don´t forget to track your progess. Just because you are in phase 3 and more or less back to normal again does not mean you can´t break down your work into small pieces when writing them on your lists. You can do more several small tasks in a row, and then tick off quite a lot at once.

Realize what you got done when the day comes to an end. Don´t focus on what still needs to be done, but focus on your progress.

And most importantly, believe in yourself and that you can do it. I believe in you and you should too! ✨

Another thing you can do, but only if you think it could help you and if you are fully comfortable doing this, you can go to the teacher you trust most and talk to them. I actually did this in my last year of highschool and she helped me so much!

[kiraririn]

Common Route: Scene 3 - Meeting Clarke, 1334 words

[first] [previous]

Scene 3C – Meeting Clarke

WHITE

FOREST EDGE

It takes a while for my eyes to finally adjust, but once they do, I’m met with breathtaking scenery. I take one look behind me and see that I’m at the edge of the Primordial Forest, the cave I emerged from hidden by the sickly trees.

I look back at the field before me, and the contrast is immense.

I can’t help but amble about in wonder.

What I understand to be trees tower over the grassland with branches, adorned with emerald leaves, expanding from the trunk. Colorful flower bushes dot the landscape, and I crouch up to one such bush. I slide one petal between my forefinger and thumb to feel the smooth texture.

I finally approach a particularly large tree, and run my palm against the rough bark and the moss growing on the trunk in tactile ecstasy.

??? “Hey.”

A sudden unfamiliar voice causes me to jump and whirl around in alarm, my back pushing against the tree I was examining. I reach for the dagger I had concealed earlier.

A tall man in leather armor stands one step away from me. He waves his hands as if it’s all a big misunderstanding.

??? “Calm down. I’m not here to hurt you.”

I narrow my eyes in distrust.

Mc “What do you want from me?”

??? “You’re not from around here, right?”

Mc “…”

??? “Right...”

??? “Well, I just wanted to warn you about the Dark Forest there yonder.”

He points at the direction I came from.

??? “If you value your sanity, you should steer clear.”

He’s not wrong. The Primordial Forest, or as the surface dwellers call the “Dark Forest”, as it seems, is a source of danger for people who don’t belong to one of the elder races that were gifted both light and darkness by the Old Gods. A subterrestrial, terrestrial, or celestial, essentially.

Yonar, the God of Darkness, has been sealed deep within the forest, formerly a place of serenity and beauty, after it lost the war it waged upon the other Gods long ago.

It slumbers to this very day, and its mere presence has corrupted the forest over time. Its dark influence that permeates the forest is so great that merely entering the forest can cause madness to the unenlightened.

Mc “I know what I’m doing.”

I admit, I’m a little defensive. Some unenlightened wretch thinks he knows more than I do?

??? “Just be careful, alright?”

He’s a little too close for comfort.

Mc “Can you back off a little?”

The stranger nearly jumps at that request. He quickly takes a few steps bad and appears apologetic with a hint of embarrassment.

??? “Sorry!”

Clr “Anyway, I’m Clarke. Lancaster.”

Clarke’s head cocks to the side inquisitively.

Clr “What’s yours?”

Mc “You may call me Claudius.”

The young man’s eyes widen in wonder as he repeats the name to himself.

Now that I know for certain that I’m in no danger, I release the hidden blade I thought to use and decide to politely offer my hand for a handshake, now that we’re acquainted.

Clarke appears to be caught off guard. He gingerly accepts my hand with his, and I give his limp hand a confident shake as per custom. In all honesty, it’s as if this is his first ever handshake. Yes, it was that bad.

He quickly rescinds his hand, eyeing it. After a brief pause, Clarke speaks up.

Clr “Claudius, huh. That’s so foreign. Where are you from?”

Think quick, Claudius! I reply in the most offhanded way I can as to not rouse suspicion.

Mc “I’m from the south. Far south. You wouldn’t know.”

All technically true!

Clr “You good with directions?”

Mc “No- well, why do you ask?”

Clr “I can take you to the nearest town, Lanerfield.”

That is indeed where I need to go, but can I trust him? He’s overtly friendly, nothing like the people back home, with Cornelius as the sole exception, of course.

My inner doubt has surfaced subconsciously in the form of some type of body language it appears, as Clarke makes an effort to dispel the doubt.

Clr “Uh, there’s no catch. Doing this out of the goodness of my heart – and free time.”

I truly am terrible with direction, so I don’t have much of a choice.

Mc “I would like that.”

The corners of Clarke’s lips tug to create a radiant grin. I must admit, it’s a good look. He should wear his smile with pride more often.

Clr “Then it’s decided! Follow me.”

With long strides, he leads me in the opposite direction of the forest at a pace that is easily followed. He looks behind at me from time to time as if I could disappear in any second.

Looking clr “…”

Neutral mc “…”

It’s somewhat strange.

Clr “You know, it’s not every day I get to run into a stranger such as yourself.”

Mc “You sound happy about that.”

Clr “It’s nice. Everyone around town are….”

Clr “Well, never mind.”

Silence falls. It will probably take more time to get there.

CHOICE

[STAY SILENT]

I stick to silence. I have other things on my mind like what to do once I arrive or speculation about the exam proctor I am to meet.

[ASK MORE ABOUT CLARKE]

I might as well ask some questions about Clarke. Anything to pass the time, really. Who knows, maybe something of interest will come out of it. He’s anything but normal.

Mc “So, what do you do around here?”

Clarke turns his head to look at me in surprise.

Clr “Me?”

Mc “Yes, you.”

It’s not like there is anyone else here.

Clr “Well, uh, I just do odd jobs here and there. Go hunt game. The meats and pelts puts food on the table. Otherwise I like to keep to myself.”

Mc “Keep to yourself, huh?”

Clr “Usually.”

END OF DIVERGENCE

Shack

We pass by a dilapidated cottage, and I slow my pace to take in the haunting scenery.

When I look back at the guide, I see that he has advanced quite quickly, his speed now much faster. I begin to trot behind him to keep up.

Flustered mc “Hey, what gives?”

Without looking or slowing his pace, Clarke speaks sternly, devoid of any of the softness from before.

Stern clr “We shouldn’t be here.”

Conviction mc “And why is that?”

Stern clr “Just take my word for it.”

I would be lying if I were to say I wasn’t put off by this behavior. The mysterious, sudden change in mood keeps me wondering as I stare at his broad back.

Village

Before long, we reach the village, Lanerfield as the sign says, and the mood is not as tense as before. I look to the sky to determine the time with compass in hand.

Solemn mc “(How did it go again? Up is midday, east is dawn, and west is dusk... Right?)”

With a knowing smile, Clarke opens his mouth, a pocket watch in hand.

Pleased clr “It’s early evening, five past noon.”

He pockets the watch and frowns at the surroundings.

Neutral clr “Where are you headed to? An inn?”

Indeed so, according to the written instructions I had read earlier during my trek in the cave. My proctor is apparently the proprietor of an inn.

Neutral mc “Yes, it’s, um…”

I pull out my map and point out my destination and read the name off the map.

Neutral mc “The Blue Sparrow Inn.”

Neutral clr “Sounds about right, the only inn in town.”

He gives me directions and turns to leave.

Solemn mc “You’re leaving already?”

Clarke pauses to stare at something behind me before leaving at a brisk pace.

Stern clr “You’ll be fine.”

I look behind me and notice apprehensive villagers staring daggers at Clarke. By the time I return my attention to Clarke, he is already long gone, now a shape in the orange horizon.

[overhaulbids]

Liftoff Simulator Pine Valley Track 01

$(document).ready(function(){ $(".accordion-toggle").on("click",function(){ var th = $(this); th.toggleClass("expand"); th.find(".plus-sign").toggle(); th.find(".minus-sign").toggle(); var th = th.next().slideToggle(); }); $(".accordion-toggle").each(function(){ var th = $(this); th.prepend("<span class='plus-sign'>+<span class='minus-sign'>-"); }); }) Advantages of Long Leaf Pine Straw in your landscape: It provides the best level of level of acidity for your plants to absorb maximum soil nutrients It does not drift and wash away and breaks down more gradually, so it does not have to be reapplied as regularly as other mulches It is much easier to handle and lighter per cubic foot than other mulches: one large bale can cover as much location as 30 cubic feet of many mulches the cost per square foot is competitive with other mulches It breathes much better, does not compact, and enables much better water infiltration It is simple to use: just unroll the bales and scatter by hand It doesn't attract termites It adds natural material and nutrients to soil and reduces weeds The consistent color and fine texture of pine straw draws out the color, contrast, and texture of your landscape You can use it for erosion control where yard will not grow to hold soil, even on hillsides and paths Frequently Asked Questions

Ants Are Invading My House... Any Tips Or Solutions? My Husband And I Live In Central Fl. We'Ve Been Having Thousands Of Ants In Our House. I Clean The House Twice A Week, And I Don'T Leave Any Food Around. We Live In A Mobile Home, And I Have A Feeling That The Problem Started After We Put Pine Straw Around The Front Of The House. Could That Be The Problem? If So, I Want To Clean That Up Completely... And I Was Wondering What Kind Of Product We Could Use To Spray Around Our House. We Have 2 Dogs, And I Didn'T Want Anything To Poison Them. Also, What Can You Suggest For Covering The Area Around The House Where The Pine Straw Is Now? (Rocks Are Expensive...) Thank You!

When ants decide to go into a home they go in. They even go into million dollar spotless houses. The first ants leave a scent trail for the other ants to follow. They are looking for food to carry to their nest which is the source of the ants. Yes, the pine straw collects moisture that attracts the ants. And spiders love it. There is something called Textraw that does not collect moisture. It is used around businesses and other places. Terror gel is for ants that like sugar. Combat gel if for ants that go for meat, greasy foods. They come in syringes that makes them easy to use. The ants eat this and get it on them and carry it to their nest. It kills the queen and the ants there. In a short time you will see less and less ants.

How Can I Decrease My Gardens Ph? I Recently Got My Garden Tested For Ph Which I Used Last Year And My Neighbors Garden Which He Is Just Starting This Year, Both Came Out To 7.5 Alkaline. We Probably Shouldnt Have Been Surprised Because The Valley We Live In Actually Long Ago Used To Be A Limestone Quarry. Our Gardens Are About 10,000Sq Ft. Mines In A Square And His Is In A Rectangle. He Used To Have Cows And I Still Have A Few Llamas So We Both Have What Some Might Some Consider Fresh, And &Quot;Aged Manure&Quot; Although I Would Think &Quot;Aged&Quot; Means In Some Drying Area But We Dont Do That. Anyways We Are Working Together On This And Sharing Equipment And Work So We Can Both Feed Our Families. We Are Looking For Some Way To Decrease Our Ph To About 6.5 Or 7 Would Be Good, Because Thats Where Our Plants Like. I Grew Some Food In Mine Last Year But It Could Have Done Better Which Sounds Consistent With Being Outside The Ideal Ph Range. I Have Heard Of Aluminum Sulfur Or Something Like That And We Really Dont Want To Use That If Its A Chemical Thats Not Natural. Also We Looked Into Composting And That Was To Confusing And Time Intensive Especially On Our Scale Which We Mostly Do By Hand And Tractor But Fixing Tractors Takes Time And Money, So We Try To Limit Our Use Of Those. Anyways We'Re A Month Away From Planting Which I Know Is Not Ideal But Is There Anything We Can Do To Start The Process Of Changing The Ph But Still Be Able To Plant? Any Idea Will Do. Oh I Also Heard About Manure Tea And Pine Needles. And He Has 50Gallon Drums And I Have A Few Hundred Feet Of Pine Trees. So Thats A Option To If We Need To. Let Me Know What You Guys Think, Thank You!

I use aluminum sulphate, although you can acidify your soil with sulfur, oaks leaves, pine bark and needles, peat moss, and use of an acidified fertilizer, etc. Your local garden center can recommend the best thing to use. If you want to go strictly organic, peat moss is your best bet. Aluminum sulphate is being used for my blueberries. It has done a good job.

How Would I Do This? I Want To Litter Box Train My Rabbit But I Dont Know What To Use For Litter Or What Kind Box A Cat Box Or Do They Have Ones For Rabbits And I Wouldnt Know How To Go About Doing It Please Someone Help Me

heya i think i have given you advice before, So is your rabbit indoors i asume get your rabbit to do its business in its cage you dont really have to have a litter box my aunty did't but here is some advice from someone with a bit more exsperiance in rabbits then me:Rabbits usually take well to litter training, although some flexibility may be required by the owner. Rabbits naturally pick one or more toilet areas, and owners can take advantage of this in litter training. First a suitable litter is needed. You rabbit will probably like to lay in the litter box and may even nibble on the litter, so something absorbent and safe is necessary. Rabbit urine also has a strong odor, so something that absorbs odor is ideal. Do not use clay or clumping litters, or cedar or pine wood shavings. Organic or paper-based pellets and litters are a good choice (brands include Critter Country, Eco-Straw Pellets, Gentle Touch, Cell-Sorb Plus and Yesterday's News - see Top Alternatives to Cedar and Pine Shavings for more options) Some owners simply use rabbit pellets as litter. These are economical and safe, but are not a good choice if your rabbit continually eats extra pellets from the litter box and/or is overweight. For litter pans, cat litter boxes work pretty well, although smaller pans such as cake pans may work for smaller rabbits. If your rabbit tends to back right up to the edge and deposit outside the box, some creativity may be required. A covered cat box is a good option, or a dishpan that has higher sides can work as well (an lower entry can be cut into one side). The larger size of corner litter boxes might work well for smaller rabbits too, as these usually have fairly high backs. If your rabbit tends to tip the pan or kick the litter out, try a heavier litter. To start, confinement and supervision is the key. If a rabbit is allowed to urinate and defecate wherever it likes from the beginning, it will be much harder to train. At first, keep your rabbit primairly in his (or her cage), which should be fairly small at first, with a litter pan. Place a litter box in the cage, and note where you rabbit eliminates. He (she) may start using the box, or may be pick another corner of the cage as a toilet. If this is the case, then move the litter box to the area your rabbit seems to prefer. Flexibility on litter box placement may be necessary both in and out of the cage. Once your rabbit is using the litter pan in the cage, allow the rabbit out of the cage in a limited area. Provide a litter box within this area, and perhaps make it enticing by placing a a treat or favorite toy in the box. Watch your rabbit for signs he is about to urinate or defecate (they usually back up and lift their tail slightly), and try to herd him to the box immediately (if your rabbit is very calm about being picked up it should be okay to place him right in the box). If your rabbit uses the box, give the rabbit a treat (food, toy, petting, or praise) right away. If you notice your rabbit tends to head to one area to do its business, consider putting the box here. Accidents will happen, and punishment has no place in training a rabbit. Your rabbit will absolutely not be able to make a connection with physical punishment and elimitnating outside the litter box. If you catch your rabbit in the act calmly and gently take him or her to the litter box immediately. But, if your don't physically catch your rabbit urinating or defecating, it is too late for your rabbit to make the connection. Just clean up and watch your rabbit a little more closely next time (clean the spot diluted vinegar, or a commercial pet stain/odor remover). The key is to get your rabbit to the box before he goes, so a trip to the litter box every 10 minutes during playtime can be helpful. Over time, your rabbit will probably develop a preference for using the box, and amount of freedom you give your rabbit can be increased. You may need to provide more boxes as you allow your rabbit acces to more space (rabbits may not go far in search of a box so have them handy). Again, if your rabbit repeatedly chooses one place in he room to eliminate, consider putting or moving a litter box there. Try to work with what your rabbit naturally wants to do, but if the location they "choose" is inconvenient, you can try putting a litter box there for a while and then gradually move it to a better spot. Sometimes, placing a bowl of food where you don't want them to go works too. The process sounds daunting, but usually goes pretty smoothly as long as the owner works with the rabbit's natural tendencies and provides undivided attention to the rabbit during it's free time in the beginning. Establishing a routine with your rabbit will also help. Sometimes a previously trained rabbit will get a little careless, and this usually means backtracking and restricting freedom until your rabbit is trained again Hope this helps x

How Do I Mulch Tree/Shrub Beds? I'M In Southeastern Va. Thanks.?

Spread mulch (what you use depends on your personal preferences and what you have growing - pine straw around pines, tec.) from 2 to 4" thick in the beds and nearly up to the trunks of the tree/shrubs, but keep the mulch at least 2" away from the trunks to avoid rot and insect damage to the plant.

Whats The Best Way To Control Weeds In A Vegey Garden? I Have A Small Garden With About 60 Or So Plants Mostly Peppers Tomatoes And Mellon Plants Ever Day I Go Out And Pull The Weeds Is This My Only Option Its My First Garden And I Just Learned About Weed Guard So Its To Late For That What Should I Do Keep Pulling?

I remember my first garden. The first thing I learned was a lot of respect for farmers and for my mother. Now I have a garden probably a tad smaller than yours. Here in the Northwest, where we get more rain than sun, weeds are a problem. Keep pulling, don't let the weeds get a good start. At one time I thought that being on my hands & knees pulling weeds & mucking in the dirt was good therapy after a day in an office. I still believe that but after I reached senior citizen status my back disagreed with that notion. Next year try mulching with bark or sawdust or leaves (never tried newspaper but I'll try it). DO NOT use pine needles for mulch. Tried that one year and found out that they are highly acidic and my veggies hated it. Try to use little or no chemical bug killers. Liquid fertilizer is a good idea. Soon you will be harvesting and will be really proud of your efforts. Enjoy, there is nothing better than a home grown tomato.

Liftoff Simulator Pine Valley Track 01

Visit Our Local Pine StrawCity for information ondelivery and installation

Goose Creek

[rainbowcolouredstudies]

Hello, I need advice. Do you ever feel so sad and discouraged that you need a break? Everyone on tumblr says it’s fine to take care of yourself and chill out from time to time. But what if the excessive amount of bad days stops me from being productive? I’m in the last year of highschool so passing the finals is my top priority, but that is often too stresful to bear. What if my mind just figures it’s best to be depressive cause that means leisure?... Btw I’m so glad I’ve discovered your blog!💗

Hello, thank you for your question, I am truly honored that you came to me for advice! ✨ 

Okay so when I read your question, I literally thought this could be written by me. 2017 was my last year of highshool and now am studying at a university. Both when I was 16, 18 and now 19 I experienced what you describe so I totally understand how you feel.

Prepare for a long answer, because first of all I tell you what not to do, because these things really make it so much worse over time and I am speaking from experience…

Do nothing that harms you in any way. Self-harm is obvious but what I mostly mean is, do not force yourself to study if you feel really depressed. Do not work the whole night, do not skip hours of sleep, don´t start drinking large amount of coffee just to be awake and concentrate. (Huge amount of coffee actually can harm your stomach and heart permanently so please always be careful with that!) Don´t forget to eat regularly and at least kinda healthy (you can eat sweets and you don´t have to eat mostly fruit and vegetable and nuts, but don´t eat only junk food), don´t forget to go outside, move around. If you can do sports that would be the best, but if not, go for a walk. Don´t start laying or sitting around all day.

Basically you have to leave this phase of depression behind you. This can be really tough and everyone needs different things to manage it, but with time you will figure out what helps you.

You have to start with little steps, you can´t just leap forward back into being hyper-productive. It won´t work and if it does, only for very short and afterwards you conditions will be worse.

1. Suggestions for first steps (”phase1″) (you can do all of them as little first steps, or you can choose one of them or some of them and if that was effective, go on the “phase 2″)

a) If you have missed a lot of sleep during the last weeks, sleep for as long as you can. Chose a day when you don´t have to get up at a certain hour, and don´t set an alarm. When your mind tells you to get up and work, but you still feel tired, keep sleeping. If you can´t sleep anymore, lay in bed, try to turn off all your thoughts and soon your body will win over your mind and you will sleep on. Really take the concious decision that it is ok for you to sleep as long as you need that day, or you´ll feel guilty and stressed and it wouldn´t help.

b) If you like music, and have the possibilty, go to a concert you like. Let yourself fall into the music, the lyrics, the beat. Scream and sing from the top of your lungs, jump and dance, forget about everything else, cry till you have no more tears, laugh till your body hurts. Experience yourself, the event and the emotions to the fullest. It will have a cleansing effect on you and you will feel so much better afterwards. (Of course this might be impossible to do that spontaneous, but you can book a concert ahead of time next time. Chose one that is during a stressful phase and really force yourself to go there. If you like concerts, you will not regret it, despite the loss of studying time.)

c) If you can´t go to a concert, or you don´t like them, but music and the lyrics mean a lot to you. In this case you surely know an artist, an album, a playlist, with songs that help you. That make you think opitmistic, that pick you up when you are down, that make you dance or at least want to move. (I don´t know about your music taste but for me The Cruxshadows are simpy the best in these situations (but only their new stuff)!) If you know the lyrics, sing to them. If you feel way too down to identify with the positivity of the songs, but you once did identify with them, force yourself to listen to them anyways. Sing along, as much as you can. If you don´t know the lyrics, listen to the songs on repeat, move to them, dance. You might feel like they don´t work because this world of positivity and light and hope and happiness is far away from your own world, but your subconscious will register them, and they will start to work in your subconscious. It may take time till you notice it, but it does work.

d) One important question is, if you still feel emotions? I´ve experienced two kinds of depression in such situation, one where I could cry all day and about everything, and one where I feel nothing at all.

Another tip with music for both cases:

constant despair, panick, crying all the time: Of course under the assumption that you love music and that lyrics or songs can help you in hard times. Sort your bands/songs into three kinds:

1. Sad, total despair, perfect for crying and being down and depressed.

2. Not really positive, but also not really negative. They are not really optimistic but there is some hope in the lyrics, or something that gives you a bit hope.

3. Optimistic lyrics, with lots of hope and light and happiness and positivity in them.

Now start with number 1. Cry all your tears out, but make sure you know why you are crying. Think about what makes you cry. Is it the stress? Is it fear of not passing your finals? Is it something else that tears you down? Focus on these thoughts and cry until you don´t feel the need to cry anymore. Get up, wash your phase, chose songs from number 2. Search for songs that feel right in that moment. Search for songs that give you the feeling it can slowly get better. Listen to then, for hours, maybe days. Let the songs slowly be more and more optimistic,  but don´t overwhelm yourself because then you might feel you can never reach your goal. Once you feel like it, listen to number 3. Do this as much as you can. Now, this suggestion may take some days time so I would advise you to use one day for step 1, after you stopped crying use the time for yourself, don´t force yourself to study. Just make sure you are listening to bands from step 2. Starting with the next day, try to slowly start studying again during step 2 and 3.

In case you don´t feel anything at all: You have to start feeling again. WITH THAT I DON`T MEAN YOU SHOULD HARM YOURSELF. Just to make this clear: this is NOT the right way to start feeling again. But there are two healthier ways to start feeling emotions again:

You can try to trigger sadness and despair with songs from number 1. Find a song that truely breaks your heart. Or a movie, a book. It may sound brutal but it can really help you out of this apahty and tiredness. Then do the same as described about, let out all the emotions and then go to number 2 and 3.

Or you can try to trigger happiness and hope (which is way harder but it can work): Look at pics of your greatest memories, remind yourself of something beautiful in life. Watch your favorite music video, hug a loved one, stroke a pet. Just try to get a happy emotion.

e) If music is not so much for you, try something more physical. Go for a walk, do some sports, like yoga or running or whatever feels good to you. Make sure you are not to hard on yourself, your goal is not to work out really hard, loose weight, build muscles. Your goal is to get in touch with your body again. Start with short work outs and stop before you are totally exhausted.

f) Go out in nature and experience everything totally conscious. Breath in the air and feel how it fills your lungs. Breath out and focus on the feeling of the air leaving your lungs. Try different breathing rhythms, deep and long breaths, short and shallow, till you can really focus on your breathing. Feel the ground beneath your feet, the asphalt beneath your shoes, or the grass, stones, earth, moss. If possible, go into a forest or somewhere else calm and natural. Listen to the sounds of nature, focus on them. Listen to birds sing, or to a stream, to the wind, to the sounds of footsteps in snow, or the sound of leaves in a soft wind. Focus on them. It may make you cry or sentimental, but it will also help you. Touch as much as you can, grass, leaves, bark, cold water, snow, ice. Focus on the sentation, the texture of what you are touching, the feeling it leaves behind on your skin once you break contact.

g) Do something creative. I don´t mean you should decorate your bujo! This work related again and therefore the wrong thing. Draw, write, play an instrument. Not with the goal to be good, but with the goal to relax, turn off your thoughts, focus on the process of creating and that process alone.

h) Eat avocados. May sound weird, but they help against depression.

i) Drink green tea. It wakes you up and brightens your mood. But you should never do only that, do it to support other steps you chose or it will just be a short-time solution.

Phase 2

So you feel a little bit better now, more in touch with yourself, a little more hopeful. Break down what your tasks are. Write everything down, every little detail, no matter how soon or how late you need it. Everything you don´t need very very soon, like within a week, you put away for now. What is left is what you have to do soon.

Make a list till which day the tasks are due. Write every little task down. If they are big tasks, like “I have to learn 3 chapters of maths till Wednesday”, break the chapters down into smaller parts. Start doing small, short tasks that take you only some minutes. Afterwards, tick them off, cross them out, realize you actually got something important done. Take a break, do something for yourself, like listening to music, dancing, some sports, going for a walk, reading. Don´t take too long, but make sure to take these breaks.

Once you feel you´ve been productive, try to do bigger tasks, focus longer. Slowly increase the amount of work you do and don´t overwork yourself. Don´t stress, don´t skip meals, don´t work late into the night. Make sure you take of yourself or you soon will have a relapse again.

Phase 3

Face your long-time goals again, but this time, try another perspective. I don´t know that much about school systems from other countries, but in my country it is like that: if you fail a final, you can try again 3 or 4 months later, and you have 3 of 4 chances.

Realize that you don´t have to get only As. You don´t even need good grates, as long as they are positive, everything is great! Remember, your own health is more important than your grades and more important than your reputation at school. Don´t think about people that might me better than you, or a teacher that might be diasppointed in you, if you don´t get straight As. Focus on your own health. Even if you don´t pass all your finals…what do you loose? Some months. Some months of probably 80 years of life-time. Some months, in which you can study without stress, without harming your own health. Some months, that might actually benefit your mental in physical health, if you don´t put too much pressure on you. Just because you failed a final, does not mean you are a failure or you will fail in life, fail when you try again or fail other finals. Accept the possibility of failing and put it into perspective with life. It really is not that tragic,although it might seem to you that way.

Now go to work again with a whole different mindset. You hopefully now overcame this phase of depression, but you have to be careful or you might have a relapse soon. If you realize that you start feeling worse again, stop immediatelly with the preassure and take some time for yourself. Maybe go back to phase 2 or even 1 if you need to.

You now might be studying many hours a day again but there are still some things you should include in your every-day life:

Eat kinda healthy. Eat avocados (not every day of course, but regularly)

Listen to music that helps you.

Remember to take breaks and use these breaks for yourself. Not for studying with a friend, not for your bujo or organizing something.

Make sure you always stay in touch with your body and your feelings and emotions. Let fresh air in and breath it consciously.

Go for walks regularly. Being in nature or if you life in a city, even out of your school, house or flat can help a lot.

Do sports, yoga, stretches, or dance to music.

Go to bed at a reasonable time. Reasonable does not mean when your work is done, but when you need to to live healthy.

Don´t block out the people around you. Talk to friends, not about school but about other stuff. Talk to family, spend some time with them, even if its only a phone call.

Let noone stress or preassure you. Tell them to stop if they do, or don´t listen to them.

If others are further in the process of learning for a subject, don´t let this get to you. You don´t need to be as good as them at school, you don´t need straight As, and everyones learning process and pace is individual. Don´t compare yourself to others but focus on making process at your own pace.

Don´t forget to reward yourself for the work you´ve done. This can be your favorite sweets or favourite food, a good movie or a nice book. This could be meeting friends or maybe just some alone time.

Don´t forget to track your progess. Just because you are in phase 3 and more or less back to normal again does not mean you can´t break down your work into small pieces when writing them on your lists. You can do more several small tasks in a row, and then tick off quite a lot at once.

Realize what you got done when the day comes to an end. Don´t focus on what still needs to be done, but focus on your progress.

And most importantly, believe in yourself and that you can do it. I believe in you and you should too! ✨ 

Anonther thing you can do, but only if you think it could help you and if you are fully comfortable doing this, you can go to the teacher you trust most and talk to them. I actually did this in my last year of highschool and she helped me so much!

This kinda turned into a masterpost but I hope I could somehow help you and I wish you all the best for your finals and that you will feel great again soon! ✨ 

If you need help again, feel free to send asks again or message me ✨

[overhaulbids]

Pine Needle Basketry Introduction

$(document).ready(function(){ $(".accordion-toggle").on("click",function(){ var th = $(this); th.toggleClass("expand"); th.find(".plus-sign").toggle(); th.find(".minus-sign").toggle(); var th = th.next().slideToggle(); }); $(".accordion-toggle").each(function(){ var th = $(this); th.prepend("<span class='plus-sign'>+<span class='minus-sign'>-"); }); }) Advantages of Pine Straw in your landscaping: It supplies the best level of acidity for your plants to absorb maximum soil nutrients It does not drift and remove and breaks down more gradually, so it doesn't have to be reapplied as frequently as other mulches It is simpler to manage and lighter per cubic foot than other mulches: one large bale can cover as much area as 30 cubic feet of many mulches the expense per square foot is competitive with other mulches It breathes much better, does not compact, and enables much better water seepage It is easy to use: just unroll the bales and scatter by hand It does not bring in termites It includes natural product and nutrients to soil and decreases weeds The consistent color and great texture of pine straw highlights the color, contrast, and texture of your landscape You can use it for disintegration control where grass won't grow to hold soil, even on hillsides and courses FAQ

How Do I Get Rid Of Unwanted Foliage? I Have An Area In My Backyard That Is Kind Of Like A Mini Pine Tree Forest And, Instead Of Fighting The Pines, I'Ve Decided To Put Pine Straw Under The Trees. My Concern Is The Little Plants That Grow Up Through The Pine Straw. I Stay In A Very Rocky Area So I'M Not Too Concerned About Grass Sprouting Up But I Do Want To Get Rid Of Those Little Plants? I Heard That If You Salt The Ground, Nothing Will Grow There For Months But I Really Want A More Permanent Solution And I'M Concerned About Hurting The Pine Trees. Any Suggestions?

Hey Cabsmommy, Landscape cloth will work for about 3 months, then the weeds will begin to put their roots through the cloth and be more difficult to pull. Clemson Master Gardner's courses recommended that we not use that. Salt is a bad answer - it will also hurt the pines, since it is on top of the roots of the pines. So, if you can build up 4 inches of mulch, bark chips or some other mulch, that will be the best. You have to weed this area occasionally, or you can spray a Selective herbicide. You spray it on the leaves of the weeds, and do not over spray. The weeds die down to the roots, and the herbicide becomes ineffective when it hits the soil - perfect solution.

Where Do Pine Needles Tend To Fall Off Of Douglas Fur Or Spruce Trees?

I'll pass over the fact that fir or spruce trees are going to shed fir or spruce needles, not pine needles. The needles always fall off when they get to a carpeted area where they're hard to clean up, that is, the ones that didn't already make it into the carpet in your car. I thought everybody knew that.

More Rabbit Questions? I Asked A Few Questions About A Rabbit Hutch And Stuff A Few Days Ago. Our Rabbit Is An Outdoor Rabbit (But He Might Come In For The Winter). I'M Building A New Hutch Tomorrow And Wanted To Attach A Run So He Can Run Around And Stuff. For A Medium Sized Rabbit How Large Of A Run Do You Suggest? I Was Thinking Of A Frame Made Out Of 2X4s With Chicken Wire And Probably Also Some Leftover Stock Fencing To Keep Him In And To Keep Things Out. The Hutch Will Be Placed At The End And Enclosed By The Run With A Ramp Going Up Inside. How Big Should I Make The Run? Any Other Ideas On How I Should Build It? Also, What Should I Look For On The Label When Choosing A Food? What Kind Of Supplementals Should I Give Him Like Veggies And Hay? Is Alfalfa Bad For Rabbits, Is Timothy Hay Okay? For The Hutch I'M Adding An Enclosed Space Where He Can Get Away From The Wind. Other Than The Door, It Will Be Sealed And He'Ll Be Protected From Rain And Wind. The Hutch Will Be Covered On The Sides And The Back As Well. What Kind Of Pet-Safe Bedding Can I Add In The Little &Quot;Den&Quot; I Want To Add To The Hutch? Should I Use Pine Bedding Or Should I Give Him A Blanket? Will He Destroy A Blanket?

if he's not going to get 4-5h a day outside of his hutch/run, then it's recommended he have 60+ square feet of space to run around in. it can be smaller if he gets supervised free-run time each day. depending on what your weather is like/where the run is placed, you might consider solid roofing (if you get snow, if it rains a lot, if you get hot weather and the run would be in sunlight, etc.) so that he can always get his exercise even when the weather's not great. if you get a lot of wind in the winter, you might even consider making two sides solid as well to block off some of the wind. I know he's got the hutch to hide from the elements, but some rabbits will stand out in their run anyway instead of taking shelter. someone found this video and passed it along on the bunny forum I frequent - it looks like a pretty sweet set-up for outdoor bunnies - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eXKe5tuw4... with food, you want low protein (14% or less) and high fiber (mid-20s% or higher) with nothing in it but plain pellets. the best food (by far) that I've found is sherwood forest rabbit food - it's all natural and doesn't have any added sugars or molasses, which all other foods seem to. https://www.naturalrabbitfood.com/rabbit... (you can get a sample for just the cost of shipping) my bunnies didn't like it at first (who could blame 'em for not preferring the "junk food" type pellets) but after about a month of picking at it they were diving right in like they did with their old pellets. if you switch brands, be sure to make the transition gradually over the course of a week or two. not sure how old your bunny is... 7 mos - gradually transition from alfalfa to timothy or other grass hays (orchard grass, coastal, bermuda, meadow, oat, etc.) the reason alfalfa's only for babies is because it has higher protein and calcium than grass hays (alfalfa's actually a legume hay) and that can cause health issues in bunnies who are no longer growing. pine bedding is a big no-no with bunnies; it can cause serious health problems (source: http://www.rabbit.org/care/shavings.html ). as far as blankets go, fleece is by far the safest as the fibers are very short and won't cause an obstruction if he accidentally ingests a little bit because he decides to rip it up. it's also pretty resistant to destructive bunnies. in the winter, you can also provide extra hay (or straw) for bedding in addition to the stuff for munching. if you have more rabbit questions, I highly recommend http://rabbitsonline.net/ - it's a great forum; very active with lots of helpful members!

What Do I Do With My Azaleas? So I Purchased A Pot Of Azaleas But I Have No Clue How To Take Care Of Them Nor Do I Know How To Care For Flowers In General ): I Want To Keep These Beautiful Cuties In Good Condition But I Lack The Skills To. Anyone Have Any Tips On How To Keep These Beauties Healthy? Are They An Indoor Or Outdoor Plant Because I Have Them Inside For The Time Being? How Much Water, Etc?

Generally azaleas are plants for a dappled shade situation though there are some sun tolerant varieties. Some of the old fashioned ones do well in the full sun. Climate has quite a bearing on this too. Areas with mild summers allow for growing in sunnier locations. However, moisture is imperative as is an acid soil. (certainly not alkaline). They often do well under conifers and deciduous trees and love a mulch to protect the very fine, surface feeding roots from drying out. Where I live in Melbourne, Australia, they do very well outside but from what I understand some varieties do not like extremely cold climates with severe frosts. Likewise, intensely hot climates also may pose a problem especially with the formation of fungal infection and drying out. In hot climates avoid planting near concrete paths or brick fences which absorb and then radiate intense heat. This can kill the plant. I plant them out with a mixture of old cow manure and peat-moss and mulch with anything from pine needles to old compost. The addition of plenty of well composted organic matter to the soil before planting is beneficial. They have a shallow root system so deep soil preparation is not essential. Drainage is required as soggy roots will rot. Avoid using chicken manure as this will end up being detrimental. When keeping them in tubs (as they keep well in tubs outdoors) use a potting mix specifically for azaleas and avoid using concrete pots as they often leach lime into the soil and can kill the azalea.(Though I believe a paint sealant is available to stop this from happening.) Azaleas may be brought inside for a short period of time during flowering but are essentially an outdoor plant. Watch out for Red spider mite that causes an unsightly sandblasted appearance on the leafs and may even kill young plants. Spray with a systemic spray if it appears. Feed bushes after flowering. If the azalea stays in a tub then best to use a slow release fertilizer to avoid burning the sensitive root system. If in the ground then use an Azalea/Camelia fertilizer but use sparingly. I have made the mistake of over feeding resulting in a dead plant. Pick of dead flowers as this keeps the plants looking neater and helps avoid the formation of fungus. Azalea respond well to pruning and shaping as well as standardizing on a single trunk. All to be done after flowering. All the best!

Winterizing My Seabright Bantams!!!? I Recently Purchased 15 Seabright Chicks To Be Delivered Tomarrow. Since My Purchase Ive Discovered They Are Not Cold Hearty. I Live In Oklahoma Where The Winter Temperatures Can Be Extreme. Other Than Building A Coop In House, How Can I Keep Them Warm Enough?

I live in Ohio, and I think our winters actually get worse than yours (two years ago we had -25 for a week at a time!) But I know lots of people who keep seabrights and they do just fine. They do need to be kept inside a barn or coop, but you don't necessarily have to have a heated building. With 15 birds, they will huddle together for additional warmth when sleeping. What I do for my bantams is hang a 250 watt brood lamp over their nest boxes and another over their waterer. This keeps the sleeping area warm and the water from freezing. I will also run an oscillating heat fan, but if you are using any type of heater, make sure it is BARN SAFE (has an automatic shut off if tipped or overheated) and away from where your animals may brush against it and singe feathers. You can also put their nest boxes up on a pallet to keep it from losing heat through a concrete floor or through the ground. We keep a heavy layer of pine shavings on the floor and extra straw or hay for nest bedding. Our birds free range but won't set foot in the snow. Feather legged bantams tend to have snow collect on leg feathers and this can result in freezing and frostbite. To keep them from getting bored, I make sure they get a daily treat of scratch grains or scrambled eggs scattered on the floor. It gives them something to hunt for all day and gets some extra nutrition into them when they've been used to hunting bugs all summer long. Our barn is poorly insulated and unheated (it's a 120-year old building original to the property here), and I've never lost a bird during the winter. On the contrary, my little silkies actually hatch chicks during the winter if I don't keep taking their eggs away. Big surprise when you go out to break ice in water buckets and have to stuff chicks into your coat pockets. Laundry rooms can convert to brood pens when needed!

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