#like no she was not a burden that her /poor/ mother and teacher suffered through lol

[fromtheseventhhell]

Do you ever think about how Arya being left-handed most likely had an impact on her needlework and other tasks? And how she needed special attention not only because she wasn't as naturally gifted as her sister but because the way she was being taught fundamentally didn't work for her? And how instead of being given the attention she needed she was instead held to an unfair standard by her teacher and used as a measure for bad behavior? And how this all impacted her self-esteem and her views on being a Lady?

[arclantis-blog]

Who Is Fighting Poverty, Meaning Helping the Poor?

GFA World is working to end the worldwide cycle of poverty, meaning we are meeting people’s physical needs and showing them the love of God. GFA’s Child Sponsorship Program works to enroll children, giving them vital assistance like education support, required school supplies, and nutritious food, alleviating a burden for families, and opening prospects for their futures. Not only that, but we provide food, water, healthcare, basic sanitation facilities, recreation and community service opportunities for the kids. All of this helps break the cycle of poverty; education is one of the best ways to overcome poverty, and right now, there are about 2000 kids waiting for sponsors through GFA.[1]

Ashima was one little girl who had a bleak future before joining a GFA program. Sometimes, her teacher would scold her and make her stand outside the classroom because she didn’t have the needed supplies. When Ashima came home and told her mother, she was scolded again. Because her father didn’t provide enough money to buy the supplies, her mother couldn’t do anything. Ashima often skipped class, preferring to avoid the scolding and spend time with her friends.

According to one GFA program staff member, at least 40-50 percent of the children in Ashima’s village dropped out of school around fifth or sixth grade.[2]

Surveying the village, the workers met many children; some of the kids had very few clothes, and they did not care when approached by the GFA workers since they were living in their own little worlds. The workers did not find many adults to interview the first time they visited either. Many of the fathers in the village—including Ashima’s—turned to alcohol, causing massive strain on their families. GFA World eventually established a center in the village, and less than a year later, Ashima’s whole life had changed. She was getting supplies her family couldn’t afford, nutritious meals and special help at school every day.

“My future ambition is that I want to become a medical doctor,” Ashima said. “Especially I want to serve the poor from our society … I also want to help and serve all the poor children and poor people who are suffering.”[3]

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[timebird84]

🎄 PotO Advent Calendar 2020 🎄

By @paperandsong​

Feast Your Eyes

Gifted to @shinyfire-0​

Happy Christmas everyone!

     Christine rose from her bed long before sunrise and padded sleepily into the kitchen. She lit the oven and pulled down an old recipe book from a shelf. She cracked it open to a page marked with a red ribbon; recipes for Luciamorgon, written by the hand of Maman Valerius’ own mother, and brought from the old country long ago. Its tattered pages were heavy with the nostalgia of mornings past and the expectation that such traditions will go on forever. 

     She did not need the book; these were recipes written across her own heart. But she liked to trace the handwriting with her fingers, smudged with ancient butter and flour, and to stir up her own memories. She liked to think that her late mother had also woken up early on December thirteenths to pull out the same ingredients and to follow the same steps. The echo of this ritual was a comfort to her.

     She yawned as she set the kettle on the stove and pulled out the sugar, the butter, the flour, the yeast, the eggs, the milk. She reached far into the back of the pantry for a little bottle of saffron threads, neglected all year long until this dark morning. A sprinkle of cinnamon, a crush of cardamom. For the lussekatter buns, she steeped the saffron in milk, she kneaded the yellow dough, and shaped it into buttery swirled S shapes, pinned with currants on either end. She pressed an angel-shaped metal cutter over the thinly rolled pepparkakor dough, inhaling the ginger and clove with deep satisfaction. As the buns and biscuits baked in the oven she went back to her room to dress. 

     She struggled to pull her arms through the tight sleeves of the same white dress she had been made to wear since she was a just a girl. She had grown considerably in her bust and hips since it had first been made for her; she did not bother to try to button up the back. It was impossible. Maman Valerius knew it was impossible. But it so delighted her to see Christine wear that same dress, year after year, that she wouldn’t dream of complaining. She dutifully tied the red sash around her waist. The white of innocence, the red of martyrdom. 

     Just moments before dawn, Christine arranged the cat-eyed lussekatter and angel-shaped pepparkakor on a tray along with two cups of coffee with milk, and a small lit candle. She lit another four white candles and carefully set them in the wreath of evergreen she had woven the day before. She settled the glowing crown into her halo of loose and unruly hair. She delicately lifted the tray, careful not to tip her flaming head too far forward. She glided across the floor as lightly as a snowdrift, making her way to Maman’s room. She stood outside the door and sang, 

 Natten går tunga fjät rund gård och stuva; 

Night walks with a heavy step round yard and hearth;

      She nudged the door open with her elbow. The dim room filled with candlelight as she entered. There was Maman, sitting up in her bed, her long white braid hanging over her shoulder. She was waiting eagerly for this blazing vision of Christine. 

 Kring jord, som sol förlät, skuggorna ruva;

Around the earth, forlorn by the sun, shadows are brooding;

      The old woman clasped her hands together, her eyes glistening with tears. 

“Oh, Christine! You are an angel - truly, an angel shining on me from heaven!”

     Christine continued to sing, her voice high and sweet, as she used to sing when she was only a girl,

 Då i vårt mörka hus, stiger med tända ljus, Sankta Lucia, Sankta Lucia!

But there in our dark house, arising with her burning candles, Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia!

      She slowly walked towards the bed, allowing Maman to take in the holy sight of her. With each dazzling step she drove all darkness from the room. Truly, Christine was the daughter Maman had never had. And she had played this role of Lucia bride far longer than any other daughter would have tolerated. Perhaps somewhere in her heart, Christine knew this would be the last year. 

     She set the tray carefully on the bed. Maman pushed back the blankets and patted the place beside her. Christine first took off the candle crown and set it on the small table near the window. They had a laugh remembering the time several years ago when Christine’s hair had caught fire after wearing the wreath for too long. It took days to scratch out the melted wax from her scalp.

“Thank you, my child,” Maman said, nibbling on a lussekatter. “You are so good to me.” “It is you that are good to me,” Christine responded, kissing the old woman on the cheek. Tears rolled slowly down her wrinkled skin. “Maman! Don’t cry.”

“It is just - I can almost feel them with us. My dear husband, your dearest father.” “I know. I can feel them too.”

     Maman rubbed her eyes and shook her head with a sigh.

“It is almost seven-thirty! Shouldn’t you be leaving for the Opera soon? Won’t you miss your voice lesson? Won’t your teacher scold you?” She said ‘teacher’ with a knowing glance that made Christine's heart tighten in her chest. They both knew he was no mere teacher.     Christine blushed.

“I told him that I would miss my lesson today. You have me for the whole morning.” 

“Oh, I am sure he was not pleased to hear it!” “Why, Maman, he was very understanding. He finds it good and proper that a daughter should tend to her mother on this, the Feast of Saint Lucia.”

“It is a good and a proper thing, my child. The Angel of Music knows these things. Shall I read from my book? Hand it to me, if you will.”

     Christine went and found the ornately illustrated book of the lives of the saints, also brought over from the old country. Maman turned to the story of Saint Lucia and read aloud, as she did every year. Christine took a mouthful of pepparkakor and nestled deeper into her place in the bed. She tried to keep her eyes away from the brightly colored image of Lucia carrying her own eyes on a silver platter. 

      During the Diocletian persecution of the good Christians, there was a maiden of Syracuse by the name of Lucia. Even as a young girl, the light of Christ shined brightly within her. 

     As Lucia’s father had perished years before, the two women were alone and vulnerable in the world. Despite her faith, Eutychia arranged for Lucia to marry into a wealthy pagan family. Lucia wept with grief. No, mother, she cried. Let my dowry be distributed among the poor. I shall never marry here on earth for I am the bride of Christ and my husband awaits me there. Reluctantly, Eutychia agreed, for she could see the light that shined within her daughter. She gave Lucia her dowry, a host of riches and jewels. The maiden took to visiting the prison in the dark, to bring food and comfort to the men that languished there. She wore a crown of candles upon her head so that she might see through the darkness and keep her hands free to fill with alms.

     But gossip reached the ears of her jilted betrothed. He was told that Lucia had broken their engagement because she had found an even more wealthy patron of far nobler birth. In his jealousy, he denounced Lucia as a secret Christian to the Roman magistrate, Paschasis . Paschasis ordered Lucia to burn a sacrifice to an idol of the Emperor. To which Lucia replied, I would rather burn myself than to burn a sacrifice to a false idol. In his anger, Paschasis ordered the defiant maiden defiled in a brothel. To which Lucia replied, You could lift my hand and rub it against your idol and still I would be guiltless in the eyes of the Lord, who knows me and knows that you can defile my body but you can never defile my heart. 

     When the Roman guards came to take Lucia away, to have her maidenhead defiled, they found that she was immovable. Even when they tied a team of oxen to her waist by a rope, even then, they could not move her from her mother’s home. When they could not take her to the brothel, they decided to burn her. They built a pyre around her feet, but it would not light. In frustration, they gouged out her eyes - those eyes that burned with the light of Christ inside! They slit her throat, that throat as pure as that of any spring lamb. And so the virgin Lucia died a martyr for our Lord. The angels sang as she entered heaven and the good Lord restored her eyes, more beautiful than those she had possessed here on earth. For she was truly the light of his own eyes. 

      Christine hated the story. 

“It isn’t fair that she had to die,” she said bitterly, though her mouth was full of sugar.

“No. There is nothing fair about the lives of the saints. They have all suffered unjustly in one way or another. It is a great burden to be born a saint.” “I do not remember any male saints dying because someone forced them to marry some pagan princess.” “I am sure there is at least one.”

“But there are countless maiden martyrs. Do it please him, then? For us to suffer on his behalf?” “No, Christine. Our Lord suffers along with us. The tears we shed were his to shed first.” The old woman had become very serious. “No one is asking the Lucia bride to be a martyr. Only to carry light in the darkness.”

     Christine was chastened. She had not meant to antagonize. 

“I believe I am much like Lucia.” “Indeed you are, my child. The light of Christ shines brightly from within you.” “No, I meant only that I shall never marry.”

“Oh! You cannot mean that. Surely, you will find yourself a good husband. One who will love you as much as I do. For one day, I will no longer be here with you. No, no. Do not say that, Christine. You must find someone to look after you. What of the Vicomte de Chagny? Don’t you ever see him at the Opera anymore?” “Oh, I see him up there in his brother’s box. But he never looks at me. I do not believe he remembers me at all. But I could never marry him. I could never marry anyone. Then I would never hear the Angel again.” “Is that what the Angel has told you?” “Yes. He has told me that if I should ever marry, he would have to return to heaven and I would never hear his beautiful voice again,” she said sadly. 

     The old woman grew very quiet.

“Perhaps Our Lord has a greater calling for you, Christine, than to be a wife. Perhaps he intends for you to devote your life to music, and music alone. To be a bride to no earthly man, but the bride of music itself.”

“Do you think so, Maman?” Christine asked wistfully. She was excited by the idea that her destiny might be great and divinely written. 

“I think you should listen to your Angel. He will know what is best for you.”

          Christine changed out of her Lucia gown and went to the Opera later that morning so that she would not be late for rehearsals. A part of her wished that the Angel would come to her, despite that she had missed her lesson. When she stood in his invisible presence, he blessed her with a warmth she found nowhere else. She regretted even one hour lost. But he did not make himself known to her that day. 

     In the evening, Christine served mulled wine with dinner. Maman drank too much and retired early, but Christine took her warm and fragrant cup out onto their narrow balcony to watch the people walking along the street below. It was quite cold and she pulled her coat tight around her body as she leaned slightly over the railing. 

     Thoughts of Lucia and her bloodied eye sockets had haunted her all day. Christine wondered now how the saint’s story might have been different had Lucia agreed to marry the pagan bridegroom. Could they not have become friends, like Saints Cecilia and Valerian? Could she not have taught him the love of Christ better as his wife than as a martyr? They could have learned to love each other somehow. There had to be some way for Lucia to survive her own story. 

     Christine shook her head angrily. But why should any woman lose her maidenhead to a man on the mere hope that her love might be enough to save him? Why should she have to save him?

      Her ears pricked up at a sad sound in the distance. Music, from directly above, but far away, as if from the clouds. Or maybe only as far as the rooftop. She turned and looked up towards the sky overhead. The streetlamps dimmed the light of the stars, but she could just make out the westerly motion of Freya’s cat-drawn chariot. A violin whined a melody so faint it could not be named. Had her Angel come to say goodnight? Her pulse quickened in her ears. If she could have no earthly husband, might she really be wed to the music itself? She listened for a while and then the cold began to bite at her fingertips and the music faded away and it was time to go to bed. She looked into her empty cup and smiled. 

     Inside, she placed the last lussekatter and a fresh cup of hot glögg onto a small tray and took it out onto the balcony. She kneeled to place the tray on the floorboards and stayed there a moment to whisper a little prayer,

“Oh Angel of Music, sent from my father in Heaven, I do not know that angels take offerings in the way of the saints. An angel is not a saint. But I offer you these in thanks for your music. And for your lessons. And for your arrival into my life. I thank my Lord every day that you have finally come to me. Please, tell my father I love him.” 

     Christine tossed about in her bed that night, straining to hear movement on the roof or on the floorboards of the balcony. In the morning, she found the tray quite empty. The cup was dry. She turned her face to the sun and threw a small laugh of delight up to heaven.

[watayaaratamblr]

Arata is an unfortunate character.

No, he is NOT!

But if we wish to make him one, then we don't need one fifth of the effort put into making Taichi the "sad" character that most fans keep labeling as "Poor Taichi", and Arata would have been then the most unfortunate character in Chihayafuru. All we need is a good mangaka (Suetsugu is!) & the intention to make him draw sympathy (the whole point), simply because Arata’s story is well packed with good material serving the purpose.

Starting with the fact that he was an almost blind child … Like “looking through a magnifying glass”, hearing voices outside but being unable to see anything~ A child who had to wear glasses from the age of 3, any writer can make this a touching story if so they wished -But Suetsugu sensei did not want to.

Growing up as a weak boy who is a letdown in everything most boys do, crying alone when he fails to fit in, disappointing his father who kept pushing him to go outside and be “normal” like all the other children all while letting go of Karuta that he was confirmed to have liked since he was very young. Writing a bit of his struggles to find a place for himself within the norms could have made readers cry a lot.

His grandfather thankfully extended his hand to him, offered him a place where he can be himself; But that too, created a situation where he maybe had to take a side & deal somehow with the other side because his grandfather & his father had a fight and he can only be torn between them. I’m no writer myself, but I can make this sentimental.

Then his father took him away to Tokyo where he had to be a part of a poor family, and not only to cancel his needs & desires (like for example having different outfits for school instead of the few he will be noticed to wear frequently) but to also work sometimes to support his parents, to wake up before school time in the early mornings when other children are probably sound asleep in their warm beds, to go outside in the cold, to earn some cash and to give it to his parents … I read some real sad stories with this idea. So yeah, Arata could have been one of the saddest characters if Suetsugu wanted him to be.

And not to mention being bullied and laughed at for not only his impoverishment (which he can hope to change) but for his identity (as a boy from Fukui speaking a “weird” dialect). He received all this with lot of patience, and tried to comfort himself by himself with his grandfather’s “gift”, how it was a refugee for him.

Any writer can make a sob story out of Arata’s unspoken loneliness & yearning for home, his grandpa & for playing his beloved Karuta properly.

Or out the fact that he couldn’t make any friends in his new school either (he was confirmed to never have real friends since his childhood through the fact that he struggled to fit in + he stayed like that even after he grew up (like Murao said), and he is not someone who doesn’t care about having friends because he was confirmed to almost worship his bond with Taichi & Chihaya, Taichi specifically even though their friendship isn’t really a comforting one; he longed for friendship however it is!)

He enjoyed that friendship nonetheless, he might even have felt like he was compensated for everything he wished for through it but he was soon robbed of all of it as he was separated from these friends & while he could still enjoy a bit of it through correspondence (at least Chihaya kept in touch), he wasn't as untroubled as needed for that because he was about to lose his precious grandfather.

And the process of losing him wasn’t something to take lightly either. Having busy (or rather negligent?) parents made him (a boy not even 14 years old) a caregiver for an old man who suffered from paralysis on the right side of his body and later dementia, not as simple as that, he had to watch what his most beloved & respected person turn into day & night, when he worked “really hard” (as stated in the manga) with his rehabilitation exercises, when he helped him with his baths, he massaged his limbs, he fed him, constantly talked to him & showed him Karuta cards to “keep him” in this world. And when it's too much for him, he goes outside the room and cries bitter tears silently, all alone! There was this person who suffered from (PTSD) for years because their sick aunt didn’t recognize them (they were her favorite nephew before & they were 17 yo at the time), this person couldn’t visit her since & couldn’t see her before she died & they developed a fear of “getting too close” & of seeing sick people, they had to seek long & serious therapeutic help. And Arata actually suffered from PTSD for over a year & half, any psychologist can easily recognize that from the fact that he quit Karuta, refused to touch & hated to see the cards (I stress on this), how he answered Chihaya when she called him, how the calm & patient him (that we knew from his childhood) was agitated & treated her rudely when she insisted on playing a match. And it was all confirmed in Arata’s last words in the same chapter: “I wanted to see you, I always had, but I didn’t want you to see me like this” (in the official tr), he knew that he wasn’t himself (contrary to what Taichi thought, his friend who decided to abandon him instead of trying to help. Chihaya still had faith in him but Taichi was louder -ch10)

Still, thanks to Chihaya, Arata was back to his beloved Karuta, though we all questioned how much fun he really felt while playing again, how much of him was involved with the game now. And eventually, he himself expressed the pressure (not the fun) he felt while playing. What took his passion away, what turned the feelings of a Karuta baka into mere obligation, this also is good content for an emotionally charged story, it only needs the intention of the writer.

And he shone in the world of Karuta. YET he was never “proud” of it, that was never received as anything special. When he comes back home, none really cares (or at least, none shows any enthusiasm), he goes to the western-challenger qualifiers and his parents won’t even go watch, won’t even prepare some food for him, he comes back home late & finds none, and prepares everything by himself (apart from Yu’s help). His parents pray for his defeat, meaning that his DREAM to become Meijin/be strongest in Karuta doesn’t mean much to them, and he knows it, and he was never shown telling them the news like when you want to share a happy one. Arata’s mother -before giving up after acknowledging Arata’s dedication- wanted his defeat even though there was enough money to support him, the lack of money being the excuse she & her husband claimed to be the reason of their lack of support.

The support system Arata lacks isn’t only in his family. Since the death of his grandfather he seems to stand alone in Karuta too. Murao was the only one who spared some time for him but only after he realized how “alone” he was and took pity on him. Murao's realization implies that the training Arata was doing at the Nagumo society didn’t really count for what he really needed. Kuriyama sensei (being expected by fans to be the “Harada” in Arata’s side) was almost useless & he himself expressed his confusion about what to do with him & how to help him. We never saw him particularly guide him in any way either. "Experiences" & "taking chances" were two factors that helped Mizusawa members for example to grow a lot, but these chances are doors without knobs & we know that they were opened for them by adults who were taking care of them in a way or another + being friends ensured that they encouraged each other then proceeded with every idea they got to learn & experience more. Arata lacks both these sources (adults around him rather burdened him with their expectations) so he kept training on his own mostly & we saw how it felt frustrating to him to be relying only on his solo training & an "image" encouraged by a long-dead teacher, he realized the toll of lacking real opponents in practice with whom he can measure his abilities & correct his mistakes to grow stronger. Support can also be emotional. Did Arata ever receive particular emotional support? I can only remember panels where the people worried for him kept watching him from afar while he dealt with it on his own.

Yu was an exception but even her support was written in a way suggesting that Arata was prepared to go on without it. Because with time, Arata learnt to "not expect much" which is also a very interesting trope for a sad story.

And he was described as “a lonely player on top” but this was never elaborated to show how it felt like to be one for Arata himself. This idea is also brilliant for melancholy if the author wanted fans to sympathize with Arata but she didn't go beyond praising Chihaya who could somehow reach him & Shinobu chan.

And while playing on his own (or working part time to support himself), taking care of himself, he met his two precious friends again (they were the only selfish desire Arata has openly expressed throughout the series). But what he felt is that he was left behind & that he was the only one so far away. And he was. They got to experience so many things he didn’t, they made new friends & new bonds & he didn’t, they got closer to each other & he didn’t… At the end he went back to be the outsider & them the two old childhood friends. If the author wrote just a little bit more about these, if she highlighted these facts they could have made a good drama.

Love is the main reason Taichi is "felt for" (because he progressed in karuta but not in Love ..not yet at least). Arata is also a part of the love triangle in Chihayafuru, and if we try to summarize it with the intention of making it sad, then let's go, there is enough to say for that, we just need a good writer (which I'm not sadly). Still in short: Arata seems to have started to develop feelings for Chihaya a long time ago but he had to keep that in check because he thought she was dating Taichi & he kept his distance out of respect for that assumed relationship even though he craved at least connecting with his old friends. When he came closer, Chihaya was interested in him but he never knew, the enthusiasm she showed him was not different from how she is with everyone, no, Taichi received special treatment, while for him, every time he tries to say something to her he is cut off somehow. Everything seemed to be against them getting close. Later Chihaya seemed to have ultimate fun with Taichi too, maybe that was the only thing he thought he could give her, now she didn't need it. Maybe he had that thought again when she praised his game against Harada sensei that's why he confessed but soon, She is once again so far away, she seemed to need Taichi to function properly, he understood that & he used that to cheer her up in her most important tournament. He wanted badly to play with her again to only be totally iced, he couldn't even be seen by her, he was so far away, she belonged to where he wasn't part of (& even her friend kana found a way to express her disapproval of him) Can we not make a drama out of this? Or out of his stuttering, awkwardness & introversion? Or maybe the fact that his parents don't understand him? And did anyone alse feel that in most of Taichi's mother's appearances, we got this feeling that Taichi is a son who should be cared for while when Arata's parents appeared, many times, we can feel how Arata was used to highlight their feelings as individuals & he was drawn there as the member of the family who had to pay attention to that? Anyway, every single one of these points alone is very good material for a "tearjerker" so what about all of them combined? because they are all facts from Arata's reality.

Again, all we need is a good writer (we have it) & the intention to make it that way which isn't there. Suetsugu decided instead to put double the effort to make Taichi the "sorrowful/anguished" one because Arata is not a character written to feel sorry for or to commiserate. He is rather written for the most part of the manga as an inspiring one, an aspiration, to be a drive & a goal. So despite having all the above circumstances, he is instead written as a character who keeps to himself, doesn't complain, hides his hardships, makes it seem that he fine when he notices that someone is watching, tries to focus on what he has & be happy with it however little or simple. That's why it's easy for him to forget & forgive, easy for him to recover & stand up again because there are other characters who need him there as an example, who think that he is perfectly fine so they should only focus on themselves and thus, Bildungsroman can be used for them. And finally- wait, what were Taichi's problems again?

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

Writer adds:

[emisonme]

Lauren's anxiety.........

An Anon asked me if I could write something about Lauren's anxiety. My opinion on why she has it, how she chooses to handle it, and what I think are the root causes of it.

I thought on this for a bit, because I wasn't sure if I wanted to go that deep into Lauren's personal life. I decided to give it a go, but be as honest in my opinion, but also gentle with certain subjects.

I will start by saying, I'm not a professional anything. This is just my non professional OPINION. That being said, I think the root cause of Lauren's anxiety and depression is based in FEAR. Two fears in particular. Fear of disappointment and fear of abandonment.

Living with anxiety is a real pain in the ass. Lauren had anxiety BEFORE fame, or the X-Factor. The fame just exacerbated it.

What caused these fears of disappointment and abandonment? Expectations!!!!! She was the oldest of three children. Her mother is a school teacher. Her father had an unfulfilled dream. She took on a lot of responsibility of her younger siblings. The expectations she FELT were put on her, was weighing her down.

She also had to suffer, like a lot of children do, through listening to her parents fight about money. They weren't poor, but they weren't rich. She wrote in a tumblr post long ago, that her dream was to make a lot of money. (not be an recording artist) Not to be filthy rich, but to have enough so that her baby sister wouldn't have to grow up hearing their parents fight about money.

Lauren also put a shit ton of expectations and pressure on herself. I emphasized "felt" above, because she put pressure on herself to make her family happy and worry free, when she was a kid. It wasn't her responsibility to try and make sure their family had enough money to eat, pay the bills, and put all three of them through college. She put that on herself.

She was worrying about all this shit, as early as 14 years old. Probably younger, but she started her tumblr in November of 2010, so that's as far back as I could go. Also. I think 2010 is about the time she realized she liked girls.

Her mother was a teacher, so you know she put pressure on her daughter to put her education first. Lauren also put extra expectations on herself, because she wanted her mother to be proud of her. So, she made sure to keep good grades, even though she hated studying to keep them. She said it before, she loved learning but hated school.

There is no doubt Lauren loves her mother dearly...But I also think deep down she holds some resentment for feeling like she had to be perfect in her mothers eyes. The perfect student. The perfect daughter. The perfect big sister.

There is also no doubt, Lauren is a daddy's girl. She absolutely worships the ground he walks on. She couldn't handle the thought of disappointing her father, in any way. He also had a major passion for music. Lauren got her early passion for music from him. She was born with the talent, he encouraged her to use it.

That was evident at the X-Factor auditions. He was a proud crying father. She was thrilled to make him a proud father. She was on the precipice of fulfilling his life long passion, and her dream to make lots of money so her family wouldn't have to worry, or argue about that shit anymore.

She also put up a front in school, because she didn't want to appear as a "nerd". She wanted good grades, to make her mother happy, but didn't always act like she wanted the good grades. She wanted people to like her, because she couldn't take people not liking her.

She wanted to fit in with the "rich" well off kids, because she didn't want anyone looking down on her. She cared a lot about controlling how others seen her. She needed to be popular, without being a snob. She balanced her school image well.

Always trying fit a mold, and be someone other than your authentic self, creates a shit load of anxiety. That's one of the reasons she found going to school so taxing. She was constantly trying to control how others viewed her.

The fact she started liking girls, and feeling this deep need to hide it, made that taxing burden, even more taxing. She had to work even harder to control how other saw her. She couldn't be looked upon as a "disappointment" by those she loves, or worse, an "abomination" to (the organized religion) God.

She had to hide her true self to not only her family, friends, and school, but she had to hide her truth from HERSELF. If she didn't acknowledge that part of herself, it wasn't true...right?

Trying to live up to everyone's expectation, made her put even more, sometimes unreasonable, expectations on herself. Trying to be who everyone else wanted her to be, made her unable to find, experience, and love herself.

When you throw in the expectations of the Music Industry and the fans, and her undeniable attraction to her band-mate, Lauren began to lose herself even more. Her anxiety and depression began to really take control of her life, and her actions.

Lauren became ANGRY when people started to see through her facade. She thought she was better at hiding it, than she really was. It's easy to hide your truth from people who know you, and are around you all the time. It's a lot harder to hide your truth from strangers who pay more attention to your actual actions, and not just what you want, or tell them, to believe.

Here's the real truth!!! Lauren couldn't control how WE seen her, because she couldn't control her actions around a certain band-mate. She couldn't control her actions around a certain band-mate, because she is an empath, and KNEW EXACTLY how that band-mate truly felt about her. She tried to ignore it, but she couldn't.

FEELING Camila's truth, awakened that part of her she tried like hell to ignore and suppress. The energies between them, were to strong to be ignored....And it showed.

The more people began to discover Lauren's truth, the more she began to fear the people she loved discovering it, also. That fear is the root base of all LGBTQ+ kids' anxieties and depression. THE FEAR OF ABANDONMENT!!!

Lauren was scared to death, that if her loved ones discovered she was into girls, it would change their feelings toward her, for the worse. She feared losing the people she loved most, her family.

So yeah, fearing being a disappointment, and not living up to others expectations of her, lead to her fear of abandonment and loss. This, IN MY OPINION, is the root cause of Lauren's anxiety and depression. Just because she accepted her truth, and came out, doesn't make all the fears go away. She wasn't abandoned by her family, but the fear of disappointing them, is still there.

The controlling ways of the Industry didn't help, and neither does the ridiculous expectations of her fans. The ways Lauren chooses to deal with her fears, anxiety, and depression doesn't help either, but she's in the process of trying to remedy those choices, now. I wish her all the luck and love in her journey to discovering her truth and self love...WITHOUT FEAR!!!!!

[the-last-cuddlebender]

So you just refuse canon and bumi and Kya were lying or were just dumb not to realize what was really happening and perfect dad aang didn’t favor tenzin so much and he wasn’t the special one who got all the trips and time with him and was the favorite and every air nation person didn’t revere him and his mother didn’t adore the baby of the family who gave her grandkids and youre right I had to look it up but pema was o n l y 16 years younger and a man doesn’t leave a long term partner to hook up right away with a girl if there wasn’t something going on before even if maybe they didn’t get close to f#cking or maybe it was the worshiping from her that he liked and it was enough even if he really didn’t have anything going on with her but for you tenzin is this perfect victim who never done anything wrong like aang and who only suffered by everyone else being mean and wasn’t loved enough for your liking but this is your hc and to be fair you can have any you want. Bumi was the oldest and he was a non bender that must have been crushing but he kept being a good person and loving his family. Kya was the middle child who was gay and who probably was a bit confused and a bit lost and still was the most caring person ever to anyone and was always willing to help and who even went to stay with her elderly mother. tenzin was the miracle child who got all his parents attention, an island and grow up to expect to be special and a leader who was rigid on his teaching and rules and was also sort of a shitty teacher who also treated a girlfriend/oldest friend like crap not because of the break up but how he did it. That’s all tenzin not just poor baby defenseless never done anything wrong tenzin but if that’s what you want I’m glad he isn’t as loved as you think he should be because with the bits we got his siblings are much more interesting and even better people

(I assume you’re referring to this post about a previous ask, and I’m happy to discuss)

Hi, anon! There’s considerably more for me to unpack here, so bear with me. I’ll try to keep my response contained to a few points:

some child (< age 12) psychology

Katara and Hakoda’s relationship

some pretty dang neat-o history facts that explain more than you think (because my diploma has to be worth something lmao)

(I’m trying to be concise, so if I sound short, please know that’s not my intention. I just wanna save this from becoming a novel. I also just burnt myself with NaNoWriMo, so it may kindof ramble idk)

To start, I don’t refuse the “canon” of the Kataang family, so take that as you will. I gave my argument completely within the lines of TLOK canon because I figured that was what you were after. And I can make an argument for something while not arguing against the opposition. A good argument should be able to validate itself. I never went after Bumi or Kya, and I never would. I love their characters to bits. I was focusing on Tenzin.

Nowhere in my previous post did I say that Tenzin is a ‘perfect victim’ who never did anything wrong. I’m discussing the reasons why I think his character should be explored and appreciated more. He is an extremely complex character just like the rest of the cast. To box him in as “the favored one” is narrow-sighted at best. He’s human. There’s more to him. He didn’t ask for his lot, but he makes of himself what he can with it, just like Bumi and Kya. He by no means had a cozy time (and he has the stress-lines to show it).  

You say that Tenzin was “expect to be special and a leader.” That alone makes me want to know more about him and how he grew up with that weight on his shoulders. That kind of expectation can destroy a person. It’s very a-la the pressures of the first-born in a monarchy crumbling under the stresses of learning to rule. Tbh, I think that’s why Tenzin was written as the youngest, so that the cliché wouldn’t be as obvious.

I have NEVER said that Bumi and Kya were lying or were dumb. I was discussing kid-Tenzin and how/why kid-Bumi and kid-Kya perceived favoritism (all while remaining within the lines of TLOK canon, too). Perception isn’t a bad thing. It’s just someone’s interpretation of the world. Idk if you think there’s a negative connotation to the word, but there’s not. Person A can look at the sky and see the moon and Person B can look at the sky and see a void that makes them feel small and insignificant. It’s just a difference of perception. Just because they’re different doesn’t make one or the other inherently wrong. Different truths are more than capable of co-existing.

FIRSTLY, about Aang passing:

Kya wasn’t the only one to help Katara after Aang passed. Aang left a void in MANY ways, both as a family man and the Avatar. Bumi, being in the military, guarded the world in his stead. Tenzin took up the mantle in the City and on the island. Kya took on the emotional safety-net.

Katara was Aang’s best friend, partner, and second-in-command. She was just as renowned as him. I can imagine the world expecting her to shoulder his burdens in the wake of his passing. She was the Mighty Katara, after all.

ALL of her kids helped her through his passing, in their own way. Being a shoulder to cry on is just one facet, and all three kids helped her beautifully.

Some psychology:

I’ll explain why I think Bumi and Kya perceived favoritism (which every kid does, myself included. It’s natural and somewhat instinctive for siblings) as best as I can. I’m not a psych major by any means, but I can lay down what I know and remember from my classes.

I’m not saying favoritism doesn’t exist in families. I’m talking about family dynamics in situations where favoritism is subjective because it objectively isn’t there. (Others might define favoritism differently, I suppose. But these are my thoughts)

Children (again, I’m talking <12 here) perceive the world differently than adults. They have incredible imaginations and a pretty tame survival instinct. Give a kid one of those mind-bender jigsaw puzzles, and they’ll have a higher chance of success solving it because their minds haven’t grown enough to be constrained by reality. They’re mad geniuses who haven’t been developed enough to be closed off from the possibilities. That’s what makes childhood so precious. 

That’s why even Gyatso wanted to wait until Aang was older to learn he was the Avatar. You have to let the mind grow and fall and dust itself off before you fence it in. This doesn’t discredit or underestimate kids, either. They are extremely capable. I’m just talking about their lesser known psychology.

“Developed” is also a word that doesn’t have negative connotation here. I’m speaking clinically. Some cognitive and executive brain functions aren’t developed until 25. It doesn’t devalue ability or understanding. It’s just a word.

Kids internalize things differently than adults, especially when it comes to interpersonal relationships. Perceived favoritism among siblings (in situations where there objectively isn’t favoritism, of course) is a classic example. Kids need only be a few years apart for this to be seen. If a two-year-old gets a younger sibling, they can regress to breastfeeding because of the perceived favoritism they see being given to the youngest. Mom isn’t going to let the other kid starve, but the kid doesn’t know that. 

This isn’t just in infants, though. And as it can be seen with the Kataang kids (they were all kids when Tenzin went on the trips with Aang, and kid-Tenzin is my focus here): Bumi and Kya don’t ‘know’ that Aang is saving time for them, too, when he isn’t there. All they see is Dad gone with Tenzin and leaving them behind. And by ‘know’, I don’t mean to insult their intelligence. They comprehend why, but their instincts don’t. Siblings have a lot of strange instincts, not just Cain Instinct. Object permanence is critical until critical and abstract thinking are properly developed. Before then, it’s a “I believe what I can see” mindset (in the simplest terms...I don’t wanna wax eloquent about the nuances of it rn. I can see people taking this as me discrediting kids, but I’m not. I’m just trying to explain the Point B missing between Points A and C presented in the show).

Katara:

Children don’t start developing abstract thinking until about age 12. It’s part of their cognitive development. That’s when they start developing critical thinking (and scientific method and etc.) and the understanding of relationships between verbal and nonverbal ideas. Before then, seeing dad take their youngest sibling on field trips would 100% feel unfair, no matter how the situation would be explained to them. They literally can’t understand it.

***Katara: If you want an example, look no further than when Katara confronts Hakoda in The Awakening. Katara knew Hakoda had to go when he did (2 years before the show, by the way, making her 12). She really, really does understand, even when she’s older. But it still hurts, and she doesn’t know why. That’s because the damage has been done. She perceived his leaving differently when she was younger and it internalized differently as a result. She feels a little abandoned even though she knows Hakoda didn’t and why he had to go. Its affects don’t go away, though (as seen in the invasion). 

I never said that Kya’s and Bumi’s feelings would go away or were untrue to begin with. It was real to them, and that’s all that matters, just like Katara’s feelings being real to her is all that matters. Hakoda understands that. Aang would, too.

Is that Aang’s fault? It depends on what your definition of a good dad is and whether or not you give him room to make mistakes. Personally, I think he’s a great dad to all three of his children, even in the canon of TLOK. He just isn’t given a proper analysis in the show. 

Time spent together does not equal time spent loved. Otherwise, school teachers would be more of a parent(s) to a kid than their actual parents.

The acolytes:

The acolytes of The Southern Air Temple being all “Avatar Aang had more kids?” and completely side-lining Kya and Bumi is not in any way a testament of Aang’s or Katara’s characters. That’s the acolytes’ characters. Aang and Katara have no control over what the acolytes do/do not want to believe or think, no matter how many times they would have corrected them. They fangirl over the airbenders in the scene you’re referring to. Even the fangirls in the comics completely side-lined Katara as Aang’s “first girlfriend.” Their behavior in TLOK never surprised me.

Teacher!Tenzin:

Tenzin being a poor teacher was a good thing. It meant he could grow with his equally-poor student so they would become something better together, as mentor and pupil. I found that idea for growth to be pretty darn cool.

Devaluing the opposition:

“The bits that we got his siblings are much more interesting and even better people” objectively, sure, I could agree, but if I met an interesting and awesome person for a short window of time, I wouldn’t believe they were interesting and awesome 100% of the time. Bits of a person do not define their character. Every person has a capacity for just as much good as evil—it’s a variable that stretches equally in either direction.

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History-fun-time with the-last-cuddlebender woohoooooo

(a.k.a. I’ll address my thoughts on the “Tenzin being given the temple” and Tenzin-Pema situations, as you’ve presented them, as delicately and concisely as I can)

Importance of different generations:

If we go on the theory that TLOK mirrors more than just the industrial shifts of the real-world at the turn of the 20th c., then the age difference between Tenzin and Pema isn’t abnormal. (It wouldn’t be abnormal until even the early 1990s.) I have to use some anecdote to explain this, so bear with me:

Their age gap is strange to us because we’re used to things progressing so quickly. History as it’ll be written about the generations from the mid-90s onward will be very, very tricky. Generations now-a-days aren’t as easily defined because of the colossal leaps in technology from the past twenty or so years. 

Loosely, a generation is a group of people defined by relatively the same “changes” that happened in their lifetime (or whose effects affected their early development). There have been way too many changes in technology (which we know has a much stronger effect on a person’s early development now than ever before) in recent decades for that formula to hold up anymore, otherwise there would be a new generation every 4 years. 

An age gap like Tenzin’s and Pema’s feels so much stranger to us because our generations are so tightly layered. 4 years could mean a world’s difference when, back then (and I explain what I mean by “back then” further down), it didn’t change much on the dating scene. Life was more or less the same as they both grew up. It was far slower to change. And everyone in TLOK was growing up in the void of post-war for several decades. The technology jump didn’t (arguably) happen until just before Asami (if still holding up the comparison to modern day), so an age gap even in-universe wouldn’t be abnormal at the time they were dating.

(Even my parents got married at almost the exact same ages as Tenzin and Pema, the only difference being that my mom was 26 not 25. Most people I know are in the same boat. It’s just a generational disconnect)

Kya, Bumi, and Katara weren’t kicked out so Tenzin could be “given” the island (needs time period explanation):

I know TLOK says it got its inspiration from the 1920′s (the inspirations are there), but, if I were to date it, I would say that it’s moreso set in the mid 40′s-ish. (Kuvira ESPECIALLY reminds me of a not-as-known-as-they-should-be person from that time).

Among others, the size of the radios and Tenzin/Pema sleeping in one bed are some easy hints to me about TLOK being set in the mid-40s (if we’re using New York City as the template for Republic City). 

Even in the time of FDR’s earliest Fireside Chats, the radios were monsters that had to be kept in the corner of the living room. Towards the mid-40′s, commercial radios were becoming compact, and the radios in TLOK are pretty darn small. 

The Cathedral Radio used in TLOK wasn’t created in mass in the real world until 1933, and people didn’t have the means or money to replace their massive radios with smaller ones until (arguably) after the New Deal (1933-1939). Thus, I say the 40s.

Tenzin/Pema sleeping in the same bed also supports this time period because it wasn’t uncommon for couples to sleep in separate beds leading up into the “I Love Lucy” era of the 50s (the separate beds were for too many reasons to talk about here because they were a fad--for even medical reasons--for about a century). 

^^^setting the time period is needed to prove why I think Kya and Bumi left of their own volition, why they would do it, and why it was actually quite normal

Kya and Bumi weren’t kicked out of the temple. In real life, it was a trend up until the mid-40s for families to stay in the familial home, some even long after marriage. After that, however, multiple factors encouraged the want and fostered the need for young adults to leave their home as soon as 18. Kya and Bumi would be influenced just the same given the parallels with the time period.

Not all families did. The big (mostly industrial) cities were the first to do this. TLOK mirrors this with Bolin and Mako’s family staying together. 

Republic City, like New York City, was years ahead of these kinds of changes, so they started the one-bed shift and kids leaving the home just before the 50s. (This isn’t to disregard the cultural influences bellying the four nations. I know that familial homes are a characteristic common to Asian cultures since the US is more oft to sending elderly into nursing homes and such--and I’m having a blast learning about Asian culture since my specialty in college was medicine in Europe and the West--, but, here, I’m working on the assumption that the world in TLOK is migrating towards a Republic City standard, and the comics seemed to be hinting at that from as soon as just after the war, not to mention in TLOK.)

Again, kids leaving the home at the age of 18 is a very new thing that’s pretty specific to the US (in the time the trend first started) because of the new opportunities that were so suddenly afforded to younger people post-war. These opportunities were in all areas of life, not just economic (economic arguably being the least contributing factor imo), but that’s a historical essay for another time. 

My point is, kids leaving the familial home began as a choice in a post-war (100-year war, in TLOK’s case) world that encouraged them to do so.

Bumi and Kya were not kicked out so Tenzin could be “given” Air Temple Island. Bumi joined the military, and Kya traveled the world. They CHOSE to leave because there was opportunity to do so (that hadn’t been there for 100 years). They wanted to find their own destinies (and be the nomads they were born as...I always found it to be a great irony that Tenzin, being the poster-child to carry the legacy of the Air Nomads, never really got the chance to be a nomad. It’s sad, really, and potentially another reason why Aang took him on one-on-one trips since he knew Tenzin would be stuck with his legacy?).

Katara (again): As for Katara leaving the island, I believe that, among other reasons, Katara left Republic City because the light pollution made it difficult to see the stars she had grown up with. In real life, the Milky Way used to be visible to the naked eye everywhere in the world, and I think that change would be reflected in TLOK by default. Katara would probably find comfort in something as consistent as the stars and the Aurora lights in her old age. Plus, the city was probably too loud for her, and snow muffles sound pretty darn well.

TO BE CLEAR: This is not a justification. This is an explanation. I’m taking no “side”, here, because I’m not invalidating the opposition to validate my own. These are just my thoughts for how I see Point A becoming Point C in a way that keeps in line with TLOK canon.

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

Final thoughts:

You and I “perceive” Tenzin and his family differently, anon, and that’s okay. That’s just our interpretations of the show. I’m not calling for Bumi and Kya to be torn down so Tenzin can be uplifted. I’m talking about Tenzin (kid-Tenzin) in particular. His character is his character, and his value shouldn’t have to proven by devaluing Kya and Bumi. Likewise, Kya’s and Bumi’s value shouldn’t have to be proven by devaluing Tenzin. Just because they’re “more interesting” than Tenzin doesn’t make them interesting people (meaning that line of logic is flawed. i.e. lesser evil isn’t good because it’s lesser; it’s still evil. They should be interesting if the comparison is taken away, and they absolutely are and for their own reasons). Their characters should able to stand in an isolated argument, and they absolutely do, make no mistake. I love them to pieces, and nothing I’ve said about Bumi and Kya has made them inferior. I love them to death and have written more about them than Tenzin. It wasn’t until I started thinking about Tenzin that I realized his potential.

Tenzin, Kya, and Bumi were never “given” anything, and I doubt they would ever want it to be. They all had it rough, and they all deserve love. Bumi fought for a name in the military. Kya carved out her place in the world. Tenzin dug in his roots and planted the seeds for a garden he thought he wouldn’t be alive to see grow.

Me believing Tenzin should be appreciated more does not mean I believe Kya and Bumi should be appreciated less.

...just like Aang giving Tenzin one-on-one attention does not mean he didn’t give Kya and Bumi one-on-one attention, too:)

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Again, this isn’t an attack on any character, person, or fandom! I’m not a psych expert, either, and I apologize if it sounds like I’m delegitimizing kids and their experiences. I’m trying to do the opposite. I can go more into detail about Kya and Bumi, but this post is a novel already and I'm too burnt out to add more.

I’m just trying to give Tenzin as much love as Kya and Bumi🥰 I love all the cloud babies equally (as I should😤), and I wanted to toss out my two cents for discussion because I don’t see the cloud babies being loved equally in fandom (kindof ironic)

If there is some hidden childhood!tenzin content please hmu I beg🥺

[silveranjyil]

It’s not about Right or Wrong

The biggest raging debate in the RWBY community is: who is right?  The lines are clearly split between team RWBY and co, and Ironwood, with many feeling that RWBY is being wrong and hypocritical. It is amazing to see that people are missing the point.

 Neither are wrong or right.  They are both being human—and actually, team RWBY is being more human that Ironwood right now.  This is on par with Magneto and Professor X from X-men.  Their goals are the same, but they are following vastly different paths towards that goal and their ideals are completely different based on their own experiences.

 I have done a whole expo on Ironwood and I don’t think I need to add to that.  But I do want to look at RWBY’s perspective in this.

 One thing that has been established is that team RWBY and the others are in the same boat as Ozpin: they want to protect the PEOPLE, and not just a few.  They have come to view life as precious and are not willing to throw it aside as the only way.  A lot of people cite the Apathy messing with their reaction to Jinn’s reveal of the truth, but they were too far from the farm town for that to happen just yet.  Their reactions were genuine—and human, but they did not let their emotions completely destroy their belief in saving people.  That was why they all signed up to be hunters and huntress: to make the world better.

 All of them have had their trust shattered and faced betrayal by people very dear to them, or by people whom they never would have expected.  Ruby saw a supposed huntress-in-training destroy her home, unleash Grimm all over Beacon, and kill one of her friends in cold blood.  Yang’s mother abandoned her, and later sided with the bad guys to get the relic, and Blake did abandon her at one point (seems like they are still working through that).  Poor Blake has been betrayed by her lover and her best friend. Qrow’s experiences are probably uncountable, but his sister was probably a big one.  The biggest one we have for team JNPR is Pyrrha’s death, caused by same reasons and Ozpin.  So to call them children, or naïve, is a disservice to what they have already endured up to this point.  They are still learning, bu they are no longer children, nor are they naïve.

 The headmaster at Haven was the final straw to break any illusions in that.  They trusted him, as did Qrow, up until things started falling into place.  By the time they get to Atlas, face off with a pompous official, and nearly die a few times, they get it.  The world is not perfect, it isn’t a fairy tail, and they can not trust everyone. But they want to.  They really want to trust Ironwood, to have someone with experience in being an authority take the reigns and let them have a break.

 When the team arrive in Atlas, they discover that there is a military-enforced curfew.  People are afraid, hungry, miserable, and restless.  That would be my FIRST red flag that something is not right with the person in charge.  If you want to know what kind of person you are dealing with, look at the people around them and the consequence of their actions.  Ironwood said he wanted to help protect the people, but how was he SHOWING that?

 What makes things even more conflicting is that Ruby and Yang remember the General as someone who supported them and encouraged them: he praised Ruby during Dance Dance, somewhat tried to listen to Yang after her encounter in V3 and even sent her a new arm.  But the town was not how it should be, even Weiss commented on how this “wasn’t right.” In other words, it had never been like this before.  The people had freedom to move around and no curfew, no binge drinking in the streets, etc. How is this protecting the people?

Ironwood greets them as a host—but it seems off.  Him hugging Qrow, for one.  Qrow and he were always at each other’s throats for differences of opinions.  I admit, he probably was glad to see a familiar face, but…

 In any case, Ironwood gave them a LOT of things.  Made them official hunters and huntresses, top of the line training grounds, returning the lamp to them.  He assigns them to his Right-hand Yes-men, not to earn trust, but to sway them.  The Ace-Corps is always talking about how they need to follow orders, that emotional connections and such are unnecessary, etc.  Did you see the reaction from RWBY and team?  Winter is also in on this as well, but we see this mostly with Penny.  Weiss has already heard all this before during her training to control her semblance, after all.  Ironwood was a wonderful host who was trying to lure them into his side with “gifts of gold and jewels”. But he would never listen to them.  He would not consider their ideas, opinions or fears, and the people were still suffering.  And THEN they meet Robin, who gives them a little bit more of the picture.  Why isn’t the wall being repaired to protect the people? Why all the secrecy?  They kind of understand, but things are not adding up.

 You see, a long time ago, in Volume 3, Ironwood gave them a choice.  Fight to protect your school, or protect yourselves. The teams are starting to see that Ironwood is leaning more to the latter, and it bothers them.  We are seeing a dynamic clash of perspectives here, and Ren acts as the gateway to show how both sides could be right.

 But here is the thing.  Here is where we talk about why it isn’t about right or wrong, but about being human. In Volume 3, Ozpin shows both remorse and apprehension about utilizing Pyrrha as a guinea pig to possibly save the powers of the Maiden from the corrupt hands of Cinder.  He weighs everything meticulously, admits to his faults, and you can see the burden of time on him.

 Ruby and her teammates also show this same heavy burden.  They are conflicted about the hard choices they have to make, talking to each other and trying to figure it out.  They don’t try to justify it, either.  They WANT to trust and tell him, but experience has been a cruel teacher to them.  Weiss and Penny show true human feelings about what the plan is for the Winter Maiden, especially Penny.  They have always recognized and felt that just because it was logical did not make it the best path, or even the right path.  They questioned it, but they were always shut down.

 Ironwood has no qualms about this.  He does not show remorse, he does not show apprehension.  He had walled up his heart a long time ago.  He says do it and he expects his soldiers to comply.  And none of them can speak up against him, despite their feelings.  They try to crush their own emotions as well.  1 death?  1000 deaths? The general ordered it, so be it. They have fallen to the mantra of “the greater good”.  What is really interesting is, in a real world sense, there have been some studies that suggest that emotions are CRITICAL in making logical decisions.  Too much logic and reason without the support of emotion tends to make things worse, actually.  Spock was proven wrong many times in Star Trek, despite his “logic”, and this was also explored in that movie “I Robot” where the Robot logically chose Smith over the little girl, even though emotionally and species-wise, the little girl would have been the more appropriate choice to save.  I love how in this volume, they really outline how useless logic is without emotion, and they use Penny as a pillar for that exploration.  Anyway...

 People will say that Ruby should have told him earlier, before things got out of hand. Based on previous evidence in an earlier post, I can guarantee the result would not have been any different. He had already written off half the world.  And the funny thing is, the only result would have been a brief window of safety for himself and maybe those closest to him.  None of his actions would have saved the world or many people, only a select few.

 As team RWBY began to understand this, see it play out, it was too late.  He had already cut off most of Mantle and was preparing to sacrifice them.  For the “greater good” of course.  The fact that Ironwood had NO intention of talking to Robin in any way showed more of how untrustworthy he was.  Robin was fighting for the people with the knowledge she had.  She would have been an invaluable ally to them and would have been able to help in managing the people and the resources.  But Ironwood knew that he would never be able to control her.  She would question his authority.  He can not have that.  That is why Yang and Blake disobeyed him.  They had presented this possibility, and he had shot them down like a bullet train.  He was keeping his secrets until HE was ready to release them.  Any loss of control was unacceptable to him.

 If it hadn’t been for Penny, Winter or Cinder would have gotten the powers. Winter would have been nothing but a puppet for Ironwood and would eventually be responsible for more deaths under his watch.  We already know what Cinder would do.

 I will be honest.  Had I been in Team RWBY’s shoes, I would have done the same thing.  I wouldn’t have told him until he proved that he was trustworthy.  Kicking the people down like he had been doing since before we came would make me less likely to trust him.  The fact that he could have had a very good ally, but he wouldn’t accept it at all would also make me hesitate.  Anyone giving me all this good stuff--upgrades, licenses, etc—for almost no reason would make me question their motives.

 But RWBY not telling Ironwood is no worse than him not telling him many things.  He did not share all of his plans, only the highlights.  Enough to keep them content.  We all have to be mindful of the words we say and to whom we tell them to.  And RWBY technically did not lie to Ironwood.  It was a small scene, but the point where Nora and Ruby were discussing the possibility that she might be killable in another sense from Ozpin’s question means that they haven’t lost hope yet. They believe that they will find a way, somehow, but they do not know where to start.  There is also the fact that they know Ozpin has been fighting this for a long time, and somewhere in his past he might have tried some of these things.  If he isn’t doing that now, it was probably for a reason.  Team RWBY are not as dumb as people would like them to be, and they are being cautious, which is a necessity in these situations.

 If they had come out and said that they would do everything they could to kill Salem, etc—THAT might be lying, but they didn’t.  They just asked how they could help him.

 Fear is a cruel master.  Team RWBY have worked through some of their fears, and part of that was probably thanks to the Apathy that magnified their emotions and doubts.  Ironwood has allowed his fears to consume him.

 And by the way, Ironwood did mention how sometimes certain things still held you from long ago during his pep-talk with Yang after she was framed for busting Mercury’s legs.  Something tells me that was a precursor for this as well.

 Anyway, those are my thoughts on that.

[screamingatanemptyroom]

I Can’t Eat Love pt 18

New part here, life moves on after the engagement is broken. 

Master post linked here

Enjoy!

_______________________________

“Well, people are definitely still talking.” Rig leaned back in his chair, placing his feet on top of my desk.

I glanced down at them, trying to decide if I cared about the papers beneath his shoes enough to tell him to move. I didn’t. Shrugging it off, I focused on his words instead.

“Let me guess, it’s not very flattering to me, right?” I smiled grimly, remembering the backlash of my previous life.

_______________________________

“You can’t go outside!” My mother screeched as soon as she saw me enter the outer hall. “Get back in your room!”

“But… I…” I hesitated, unsure. It had been a week since Ronan had broken the engagement and announced that he would marry Edith. I hadn’t heard anything from the queen since. I had thought to go try to see her. Seeing my mother’s expression, however, I second-guessed myself.

“Do you know what people are saying outside?” She laughed bitterly, pouring herself another drink. “They’re saying that you were either too incompetent to be queen and he had to break it off... or that you were unfaithful.”

I stopped in my tracks. “That’s ridiculous! I had passed the Queen’s training AND I’ve barely even left this house other than to go to the palace, much less spend time with another. When could I have been unfaithful?”

“That’s not what they’re saying out there.” Mother tossed back her drink in a single shot, wincing before pouring another one. “Apparently you were going to the Royal Gardens to meet other men fairly regularly.”

“But I was with Edith the whole time! She’ll vouch for me!”

She smiled at that. “Will she?”

_______________________________

 “Quite the opposite, really.” Rig laughed. “The Queen stepping forward when she did helped quite a bit, and apparently your teacher Mrs. Rendler has been telling anyone who will stand still long enough that you were the best student she had ever had, a genius.”

A broom swung down at his propped-up legs, swiping them off the desk. Rig’s feet slammed to the ground and he looked up, insulted, at his attacker. Hallers, clutching the broom, a self righteous expression on his face, didn’t respond, only cleaning off my desk and sorting the papers quickly before stepping back towards the wall.

Rig frowned, but didn’t put his feet back up on the desk. “You already have a great reputation within the duchy, due to the reforms you’ve done with the government, as well as financing so many to go to school and learn a useful trade. Most of the families here feel that they personally owe you, and word has spread that you would have been a perfect queen.”

I shuddered at the thought. “And marry that idiot? I’d rather shovel manure.”

“And that’s what everyone else seems to be thinking as well.” Rig’s grin widened. “There’s even a song that street performers are playing called ‘Ronan the Ridiculous.’ It’s about an idiot who cheats on a wonderful woman, drinks himself silly and falls into a latrine pit.”

I couldn’t help but laugh out loud at that. “What? It’s only been a week! How did they write a song so fast?”

Rig shrugged. “I don’t know, but it must of come from either a very creative, or very vindictive mind. It’s an extremely catchy tune, and the nickname for the prince is becoming more popular by the day.”

From behind me I heard an evil chuckle. I turned around to look at Hallers, but he only smiled very professionally at me, with no sign that he had been laughing at all. I ignored the small suspicion building in my mind and turned back to Rig. 

“I’m happy of course that I’m not considered a failure, but I worry about what kind of backlash we might see from the palace, given how much ridicule the prince is suffering.”

I thought again of the smile the king had at the party, and how nervous it had made me at the time.

“Well, the Prince left a hunting trip right after his party and has been gone for the last week. He may even be unaware of how poor his reputation is right now, but I doubt that will last long.” Rig smiled viciously. “He’s coming back today, and my sources say that the King has already arranged to speak to him privately later tonight before he retires for bed. “ 

He started to lean back and prop his legs up again, but after a sharp glance from Hallers, he sat back up with a sigh. “I would love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation!”

“… Do you know where they are meeting?” I asked, my mind racing.

Rig looked confused. “Well, apparently in the King and Queen’s visiting room?”

“The one that connects the two suites?”

“Yes…. Why?”

I gave a devious grin. “Rig, how do you feel about a field trip tonight?”

_______________________________

I gave him instructions about where to meet me, and a short while after the spy had left, Hallers knocked, announcing that I had another visitor.

For a moment I thought it might be Nate, and I strangely, I found myself smiling. I hadn’t seen him since the party a week ago, which I thought was odd. I had a lot I wanted to discuss with him…

“Introducing Lady Erica.” Hallers stepped aside to show the lovely young woman from the party. I felt a pang of disappointment, and shook my head, confused. Why would I be disappointed? How foolish.

 I stood up to greet her with a smile. “Lady Erica, what brings you here?”

“Can we speak privately?” She looked around, clearly nervous. 

Studying her for a few short moments, it was easy to recognize a familiar air about her.  I had probably looked very similar in my previous life multiple times. 

She was desperate. 

“Let’s take  a walk in the garden.” I led the way, and she silently followed behind me.  

As we entered the flower garden, I heard her take in a deep breath. “Wow, this is very beautiful, you must have a wonderful gardener!”

I looked around at the thriving flowers surrounding us with a smile. “Nope, that’s just Henry.”

 “…The Duke’s heir?”

“Yep. That’s him.” I found a few benches, sitting down.

She sat down as well, staring at me. “He likes flowers?”

“All plants, actually. But he took one look at my pathetic attempts of a flower garden and banned me from meddling.” I sighed. “It’s beautiful, of course, but it’s a little insulting to not have any say in my own garden.”

Erica laughed, the first happy sound she had made since arriving at my home. She seemed to catch herself, falling into silence. Letting her think through things at her own pace, I simply enjoyed watching the flowers, knowing she would speak up when she was ready.

It didn’t take long.

“I need your help!” She clasped her hands together in her lap, they were trembling. “I know you don’t know me very well, and have no reason to help me… but I heard that you help others and I didn’t have anyone else to turn to…” Erica was babbling at the end and I held up a hand, stopping her stream of anxious words.

“What do you need?”

Her face turned bright red. “So… I’m in love. But...” She hesitated again, looking at me pleadingly as if hoping I would know without her saying 

“It’s with the Captain of the Eastern Guard, rather than your earl fiancé.”

“H-how did you know?” Her draw dropping in shock, she visibly gathered herself together. “I hope you won’t tell anyone…”

I permitted a small smile to cross my face. “You would be horrified of the secrets that I am privy to, Erica. Yours are comparatively a light burden to bear. Now, you’ve been in love with him for years, what’s the issue now?”

“I- well, I…” She shook her head. “I think the Earl of Beral has known for a while, he seemed to make a few attempts to discredit my Robert, but somehow those charges always ended up going away.”

The earl certainly hadn’t done much this lifetime. In my last, Erica’s love had been ruined and had “disappeared.” She had been forced to marry the Earl of Beral a few weeks before my engagement was broken. This time he seemed much more distracted…

It’s probably because mother’s spending all her time away from home. 

I chuckled quietly at the thought. I had seen or heard very little of her since our confrontation. She came for birthdays and other major events as instructed, but otherwise was staying in one of the earl’s homes. 

It would explain why there was not as much rush from his end to force his young fiancé to marry him.  The few rumors he had paid to start about the Captain stealing money from his troop were easily dispatched with by Rig and his group. I had thought we were in the clear now that the time of their wedding in the last lifetime had passed.

But perhaps that wasn’t the case. 

“Lately… things have gotten worse. Robert was attacked by some thugs on his way to his post several days ago. He fought his way out and escaped, but he thinks they were too well armed and prepared to be simple thieves. He thinks they may have been hired to kill him.” Her knuckles whitened in her lap. “I’m so scared for him!”

I studied her carefully. “What do you want of me?”

“Well, I heard that you have a few schools where you teach others to become seamstresses, and then help find them work.”She stared down at her hands as she spoke.

That surprised me. “Are you looking to be a seamstress?”

Finally she looked up, a determined light in her eyes. “I am a skilled at sewing, one of the best. I want to run away with Robert and start a new life. But to do that, I need to have a job.”

“Well, points for having some practicality.” I stood up, pacing as I thought. “If Robert leaves… he’ll be charged with desertion.” 

“Yes.” She didn’t flinch away from the word.

“You’ll have to leave the country, otherwise they’ll find you two and you’ll be much worse off than you are right now.” I muttered as I walked back and forth, my thoughts racing. “He’s a skilled guard… and you can sew…” I looked up. “Are either one of you skilled in numbers, would be able to look after the books, run a business?”

Erica looked confused. “I know Robert manages the money his troop receives so that his men get paid... but neither of us have business experience.”

“Not ideal, but you can be taught the rest…” I stopped in my tracks, smiling. “Okay, it’s decided.”

“What is?”

“You and Robert work for me, now. I have been looking to open up a new branch of Prosperity in a nearby country, and you two may be just what I need. You will take orders and sew, Robert can guard the shop and help with the accounts.”

“Wait, what?” Erica’s face fortunately had no trace of resentment on it for me planning their lives, and only showed bewilderment, “You own Prosperity?”

 I paused. “You didn’t know? I thought that’s why you were asking for a job.”

“I thought you might have connections because you always have such beautiful dresses!” She shook her head. “I never suspected…”

“Well, now you know.” I patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll arrange the paperwork for you to cross the border, and for somewhere for you to stay while you set the shop up. But you’ll need to leave soon… will next week work?”

She stood up as well, smiling. “I’ll talk to Robert, but I can’t see us getting a more generous offer.” Throwing her arms around me, she gave me a hug. “Thank you!”

I waved a hand, dismissing her words. “Don’t worry, I needed to open a new branch store anyways, so it’s to my profit.”

“Still…” She looked unconvinced.

“I’ll contact you in a few days once arrangements have been made, but first...” I stopped, feeling the need to change the subject. I looked around as an idea struck me. “Let’s get you a flower to take on your way!” 

 I made the offer and bent over a bush with large yellow blooms. But just as I reached out to pick one… 

“HOLD IT!” Henry rushed towards us, his face as angry as I had ever seen. “Why are you touching my beautiful geraniums?!”

I stepped back, holding my hands up to show they were empty of flowers. “I was just…”

“Just tearing out one of my prized blooms as a present?!” He sighed. “Have I taught you nothing, cousin?”

“Fine!” I rolled my eyes. “How do you propose we give her a flower then?”

Erica looked between the two of us, her eyes wide. “I don’t need a… 

“Of course we’re giving you a flower!” Henry snapped. “Everyone should have a flower! It just has to be done right!”

He then proceeded to carefully dig a flower out of the dirt, preserving it’s roots and replanting it in a ceramic pot. He then lectured the poor girl extensively on the proper care of the plant before gently placing the pot in her hands.

Hallers saw the slightly confused Lady Erica out, and I turned to walk back to my office. But Henry patted my arm, stopping me.

“Oh, cousin, before you go… this was mixed in with the letters I received today.” Henry reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a letter. “It’s addressed to you.” 

Curious, I opened the seal, and read the words in the letter:

_______________________________

To the Lady Lenora:

I apologize for communicating through this letter, but I wanted to assure you I wasn’t dead or run back to my country without saying goodbye. 

Your former fiancé dragged me along for his birthday hunting trip. We’re returning today, but I worry that I won’t be back earlier enough to be able to visit.

If you permit it, I would like to stop by your home tomorrow. I greatly miss our talks together. If nothing else, it will be a reprieve after a week spent in Ronan’s company. If I hear one more comment about how wonderful his horsemanship is I may be physically ill.

I look forward to seeing you, and hope to find you in good health and high spirits.

Yours truly,

Nathaniel.

_______________________________

“Good news?” Henry asked.

I realized I was smiling as I read it, and wiped the expression from my face as I folded the letter once more. “No, nothing important.”

I felt a pain in my stomach again, and rubbed it absentmindedly.

_______________________________

Later that evening I snuck out of my home again, meeting Rig at the usual spot. 

“So what’s this about, girl?” He grumbled, looking tired and stretching as he spoke.

 I grinned. “We’re going to spy on the king.”

That caught his attention. He paused mid-stretch, his mouth wide open in shock. After a few moments he recovered, and dug a finger into his ear as if trying to clean it out 

“Sorry, I think I misheard you… What are we doing?”

I laughed. “We’re sneaking into the palace, and we’re going to listen in on that conversation between the Prince and the King.” I looked up at the sky. “Before the king retires to bed was when they arranged to meet right? We should be right on time if we leave now.”

Rig stared at me. “You’re crazy.” He sounded impressed.

“I am, but not about this.” I grabbed his arm, pulling him along. “Come on.”

“But… how…”

“I know how to get in, AND a secret passage behind the visiting room.” I felt a moment of anxiety, trying desperately not to think about the LAST time I had been in those tunnels.

“It’s risky, girl.” He shook his head, even as he followed behind me, making no other sounds with his movement. 

“It’s necessary.” I thought once more to the king’s cold stare. “I need to know what they’re planning.” 

“Well, if you say so.” Rig shrugged. “You only live once, right? Might as well make it interesting.”

Smiling I pulled him along. “Not exactly true for all of us, but still, let’s go.”

[super-optimisticgentleman]

Replay

Yamada Hizashi has been missing for fifteen years after a night out on patrol. Though his body was ever found though most suspected the Voice hero to be deceased until......

*Fifteen years ago, Aizawa Shota married Yamada Hizashi.

*The two of them had an argument one night (caused by Shota's self-doubts or something) which results in Hizashi leaving for patrol. (I love you," The Voice Hero smiled softly at his husband, hoping his words would reach the other and smooth his doubts, but silence was his only answer. It's crushing, but he keeps his smile in place as he leaves; the door softly clicking shut behind him. )

*Hizashi never returns from his patrol. (They never found his body. The only thing they found of the Voice Hero was his shattered speaker splattered with the blond's own blood.)

*Eight years later, a young blonde named Hitoshi Zashi takes the AU entrance test with his adopted bother/best friend: Hitoshi Shinso.

*Hitoshi Zashi is Yamada Hizashi. He doesn't remember anything before being found half dead by a younger Shinso.

*Both end up in Class 1A. (Rescue points for Shinso and Battle Points for Zashi as they worked together. Zashi destroying the robots and Shinso saving anyone caught in the crossfire.)

*Aizawa Shota refused to believe Hizashi is dead and is haunted by his own past decisions/regrets while searching for his husband. He can't help but begin to lose hope of ever finding Present MIc alive after ten fruitless years until Hitoshi Zashi walks into his classroom with a familiar face, familiar smile, familiar glasses, a familiar quirk.

*Shota tries to get closer to Zashi (certain the other is somehow connected with the disappearance of his husband) but Shinso is constantly throwing his efforts as he doesn't like the desperate look their teacher is always granting his (in his own opinion) obvious brother.

*Zashi is a genius and not nearly as Obvious as Shinso thinks he is though where Shinso sees desperation, Zashi sees a soul-numbing sadness that his presence seems capable of lifting; so he tries to reach out so to help ease Eraserhead's burden. (After all, what type of Hero would he be if he didn't at least try to help?)

*USJ still happens though Zashi ends up sharing a hospital room with Shota due to him slipping pass 'the creepy mist dude' and Shinso to chase after his teacher despite being ordered to flee with the others. ("What were you thinking?!" "Honestly, I don't know. I had planned to follow the others," Zashi spoke as a bright familiar smile found its way onto the blonde's face, ", but the moment you jumped my body just moved to follow you instead.")

*Zashi begins to have nightmares/dreams he can't fully recall after the USJ incident. Shinso is worried/overprotective.

*Recovery Girl makes a discovery while running test to ensure here two patients have a clean bill of health and delivers startling news to the faculty of UA. ( The old woman cleared her throat as she stepped forward until she replaced Nezu at the head of the room, "Due to the USJ Incident, I found myself running some basic test on the samples collected by the students caught within the crossfire. By doing so I have unearthed a discovery of most importance," She took a moment to breathe as her eyes slowly drifted the room's occupants before locking onto those of Aizawa Shota as she knew this would affect him the most, "According to the databanks, Hitoshi Zashi has a 100% DNA match to one Yamada Hizashi.")

*The discovery brings about utter Discord.

*Shinso begins to notice the looks the other teachers are granting Zashi and assumes the worse. He's fully convinced AU is full of child predators who are solely attracted to his brother. Shinso finds himself desperate (He can't always be with Zashi and every time he turns his back one of them seem to be trying to make a move on his poor obvious brother) for help and begins to recruit others to his cause.

*After careful observation of their teacher's interactions with Zashi, Class 1-A becomes the 'Hitoshi Zashi Protection Squad' and starts to recruit the friends Zashi made outside of Class 1A to their cause.

*Zashi has a talk with Katsuki Bakugou (The two of them have formed a surprising 'Business Agreement'-coughFriendshipcough- while tutoring each other in subjects they need help with that the other excels at. Bakugou: English, Zashi: Combat experience.) about what he can recall of his dreams. (Zashi doesn't tell Shinso about them as the other seems overstressed lately and he doesn't want to make things worse by dropping his problems on his brother.)

*After a bit of accidentally eavesdropping (If the teachers didn't want to be overheard they shouldn't be talking so loud outside.) Bakugou begins to make a connection between Zashi and the assumed dead Voice Hero: Present Mic. He eventually comes to the conclusion Hitoshi Zashi is Present Mic under the effects of a quirk that was probably meant to kill him instead of dealing him and leaving him amnesiac. Unfortunately, due to not fully overhearing the conversation, the explosive blond also comes to the conclusion the teachers are out to finish the job. ("-after that, Hitoshi Zashi will die and cease to exist.")

*Bakugou becomes an overprotective guard dog to a slightly confused by happy Zashi while reaching out to Mei Hatsume (having been introduced to him through Zashi) for a private commission.

*Moving into the dorms both simplify yet complicates matters.

*The Zashi Protection Squad hold a meeting while Zashi slips away from his current guard: Mineta only to run into Aizawa Shota, Iida Tensei, and Kayama Nemuri. The three end up at a Cat Cafe where the three heroes tell stories from their Highschool years in hopes of jogging the other's memories lose. After the Cafe, the four of them end up at an arcade and to no one's surprise: Zashi is still the DDR King.

*Bakugou, meanwhile, is pissed at the grapefucker as he, Shinso and the rest of Class 1A search for the missing Blond. Said group almost suffers a massive heart attack seeing the blond being 'shepherded' into a deserted, filthy back alley by three people- two of which they're certain are out to kill said blond. (The real reason they were heading that way was due to Shota seeing a stray cat sleeping in said alley and wanting to pet it for a bit.)

*Zashi is confused (He's certain his classmates are lying as he didn't have anything planned with them today), the Heroes a bit confused (All their students keep looking at them as though they were about to murder someone) and suspicious at their student's behavior, and Class 1A is relieved/terrified to how close Zashi came to certain death the moment they looked away. Many of them begin to understand Shinso's desperation.

*The teachers hold a conference back at UA. Most are confused noticing their students suddenly shift in behavior (expect Nezu who knows about the misunderstanding going on the whole time.) and try to figure out what has caused it. (Nezu finds the whole ordeal amusing. )

*THE SPORTS FESTIVAL.

*Bakugou and Mei bequeath Zashi with dimensional speakers identical to the one's Present Mic owned (Both of them agree, that with them Zashi would be capable of protecting himself for a bit without needing a constant guard dog/extra shadow always by his side.).

*Zashi can use the speakers at the festival due to a loophole. Due to the speakers, the dreams and extra training with Bakugou, Zashi makes it into the top three at the end of the festival. (Aizawa and Ms. Joke are the announcers. )

*Zashi finally(!) get some time to himself without his classmates or brother all but suffocating him with their presences. Wanting answer, Zashi leaves UA and follows an invisible path he could recall from his dreams. At the end of the trail, he finds a strangely familiar house belonging to an elderly Mrs. and Mrs. Yamada. (He shouldn't have knocked, Zashi knew that; but at the same time he felt like he had to. He wanted to. He needed to see whoever was behind this door and he needed it yesterday.)

*Mrs. and Mrs. Yamada recognize Zashi for Hizashi instantly. (Maybe he should have panicked- the woman had practically suffocated him with her hug before rushing him inside of her home and bolting the door shut- but for some reason, Zashi didn't feel threatened. Instead, he felt safe. Even as the woman's crying and screams drew out another woman with beautiful cyan-colored hair.)

*Zashi has been missing for a week, the UA Faculty and the Zashi Protection Squad panic. Meanwhile, Zashi learns about the reason for the attack that resulted in Yamada Hizashi becoming Hitoshi Zashi. (Yamada Hizashi was attacked on patrol, not because he was Present Mic; but rather due to his parents- One by blood and one by choice- being Hunters. Aka: Heroes who hunt other Heroes that had betrayed everything they stood for, drowning in blood they'll never be able to wash away, and can only be saved/stopped by death. His Death was meant to be a vengeance killing against his parents by the Kin of one of their targets. He had only survived due to sheer luck and one Hitoshi Shinso. His attackers weren't so lucky once his parents sunk their claws into them. )

*Despite having searched, his parents don't know a way to reverse the effect of the quirk- they didn't really ask before doing away with what they believed to be their child's killers- nor a way for Zashi to fully remember more than what he dreams about.

*A wild Eraserhead appears in the dead of night.

*Deeming UA unsafe by both himself and Hizashi's parents, Shota finds himself in a difficult position. ("E-excuse me?" Shota stuttered slightly certain he had misheard his mother-in-law. "I said," The blonde meet his eyes head on, "I want you to take Hizashi and leave the country." )

*Shota has to make a decision.( Does he take the mostly amnesiac child that is his husband and abandon everyone else to keep him safe or does he stay and risk endangering the most amnesiac child that is his husband to protect everyone else? )

*Right or Wrong, Shota makes his decision.

 That's all I got right now. So, here is the main question: Should I make a story out of this, leave it as is or see about making it a comic?

[ampsuniverse]

Looking back to what I have endured , sexual abuse, pysical abuse, verbal abuse, I remember being 5yrs old, standing online in the playground with a big welt across my face , I must have wet the bed that morning I remember two women asking me what happened and I said what I was coached to say "my sister hit me with the belt on accident". I wonder till this day if they believed it. I remember we had  coat room, it was terrifying  to go in there, I was probably 7yrs old Wearing a skirt and we had a classmate who had a habit of lifting our skirts and sure enough it was my turn. I remember screaming so loud that the teacher came running but I didn't tell on him. School was supposed to be my safe place and that boy took it away from me This is why we teach our boys from a young age to be gentlemen. I realize now I didn't speak up, because I was enduring sexual abuse at home. I knew I would somehow get blamed so why tell.

  As I got older it got worse all those years not one teacher questioned why I wore the same outfit Monday through Friday or why I was so quiet, why I couldn't make eye contact, i'm sure if they would've lifted my shirt or had taken  my pants off they would've seen  all the belt marks, all the child abuse I was going through, but not one teacher questioned me. I remember my first grade teacher Mrs.Kabaki, I guess she thought I was poor because she would bring me bags of her daughters clothes that no longer fit her it was embarrassing but I also appreciated it.

I remember the verbal abuse, “you're going to be a slut like your mother”or it was” the whores are home from school” but that didn't break me it made me stronger, you see it was just a current of events. All these things had to happen to me to mold me into the person I am today. If you are wondering how   I endured all this at such a young age, I prayed a lot, I talked to my Father, my creator, I won't lie there were times where I thought of killing myself, I stood in tears in front of the bathroom mirror holding a razor to my wrist looking for pills in the medicine cabinet, I just couldn't go through with it. I think I heard one time that if you committed suicide you would never go to heaven.  That was not an option for me, I remember counting the years I needed to be 18 and could move out, thinking I would then have my happily ever after, little did I know this was just the tip of the iceberg.

I look back at that little girl the hurt, and pain she feels  all alone, darkness surrounds her.  She counts the years to when she will  be free. It seems so far away still there is an easy way out, to end all the pain, the guilt, the suffering.. I stand there and I can't do it, not because of the pain, just a voice,  "you will never see me". God  was there, I felt this amazing connection I talked to him, I cried, I prayed. With all the beatings, all the humiliation,I still remember those harsh words  you'll be a whore just like you're mother, you look like a giraffe, nappy head, bed wetter. Those were just a few things I heard on a daily basis now I can see why I hated myself, I hated the way I looked it would be years and years before I could see how beautiful I really was.

I also remember constantly being hungry we were fed yes, but sometimes it wasn't enough,  I couldn't say I was hungry or go to the fridge, so I picked scraps out of the garbage. I was too embarrassed to ever share this, but the power of my God is so amazing, all those things had to happen, it was part of my destiny. You see the woman that adopted me was a woman of faith she prayed, we had a Jesus statue and I can remember every detail so vividly, long brown hair to the shoulders, beautiful grey piercing eyes. She also had a big brown  crucifix on the wall, I prayed to both, cried and  kneeled before them   one thing she didn't know is that she was giving me the best gift possible, she taught me about my Heavenly Father. She was a vessel, part of the plan that would save me. One day I was listening to the song Cinderella,and it speaks of the love of a father and the love for his daughter, as she transitions from a child into a woman, and I felt sad that I never had that, I imagined what it would be like to have a dad, someone to protect you, to be the light of his eyes, and guide you through life then I realized I did and do have it, just not in human form.

It brings to mind when I was a little girl, my sisters dad was out of jail for who knows how long this time. His brother the monster slapped my sister across the face like he'd done a million times before, but this time her father was there, I remember him jumping in his brothers face threatening him " if you ever touch my daughter again!” I think that was one of my happiest moments as a child I saw that monster turn into a coward that day.  I wished in that moment that he was my dad as well, finally a defender, no more beatings, imagine if he knew the whole truth, of what was happening to his daughter, he would kill him! But poof just like that he was back in jail, and the beatings, and abuse continued.

Our childhood was stolen from us, our innocence was shattered, the sexual abuse continued. Decades later I had a freak accident that left me paralyzed and as I was laying in ICU I felt so violated all over again, every morning for three weeks, I had a sponge bath at 5am, when it was time to turn me they always called a young man named Ricky, he wasn't a nurse, maybe a nurse assistant I don't know, all I remember was how humiliating it felt.  I was intubated so I couldn't speak it brought me back to feeling violated all over again, as a child I never enjoyed my showers, I jumped in and jumped out as quick as I could, sometimes if there was a knock, I wouldn't even dry myself I'd put my clothes on as quick as I could to get out, you see the monster always had an urge to use the bathroom when we were showering and him being the golden boy of the house we had to let him in.

 I remember one day in particular I can't remember how old I was but at most I could have been ten he knocked while I was still in the shower, I tried to jump out and dry myself but he just kept pounding at the door so I had no choice but to open I remember wrapping the towel around me and feeling really scared up until now he had never tried anything with me.  I was as thin as a rail and not developed at all and this time I was trapped, I just knew it was my time when he ordered me to lay on the floor, he got on top of me I remember he kept trying but for some reason he could not penetrate me, the only pain I felt was a head of a nail that was sticking out of the floor and digging into my lower back, it hurt so bad but I didn't dare say a word, I was terrified of this man and after trying for what felt like an eternity he gave up and never tried again.  I still remember the scab on my back from that nail. I was thankful but I knew that it left the burden on her. We never talked about it, I never told my sister about that day, I never even told her about the night I was five years old and her grandfather was trying to force himself in my mouth,  it must of been dawn I remember it was still dark, there was a spare bed in the room I slept in, where he would go sleep if he was drunk. One night he grabbed me out of my bed took me to his bed, pulled out his penis and guided my head down towards it, I pursed my lips as tight as I could ,and I kept running back to my bed, where he repeated to carry me back to his bed until his daughter walked in.

She took me upstairs to where her brother and wife lived. they sat me down at the kitchen table and poured me a bowl of Lucky charms. His wife came from downstairs and asked me what happened, everyone seemed  so concerned. It was weird it felt so good to get so much attention like they all cared, but once I was alone with my grandmother she scolded me and made me feel like it was all my fault. I can't remember what age I stopped wetting my bed, by then the name meonsita, which is pee pee girl in Spanish became my nickname, I don't know why they thought shoving my face in the toilet would teach me not to wet the bed. My bed time prayer to God was please don't let me pee on myself tonight. It didn't always work but still I continued to pray and so the years would pass, and that would be my norm eat, sleep, wet the bed, get a whooping and repeat!

[darknessprinceofasuretha-blog]

The Seamless Boy Born In Blood

Notes: my soul intent is to horrify everyone who reads this but if it’s not scary to you? Oh well I tried my best to scare people. I hope you are disturbed too. This is what happens when I’m allowed to write whatever I want and I’ve been reading too many stories of horror and murder and this happens.

⚠️ Trigger Warning: this contains four semi detailed death scenes, mentions of suicide, Murder, insanity, profanity ! Tread carefully, if you have a weak stomach I do not suggest reading ! ⚠️

The boy sat in his parents blood, his cheeks tear stained and his hands bloodstained he had been sitting in his parents blood for hours days even and no one has yet to find him, how fitting for him, don’t you think? His eyes are blue his hair light pink, his mother's hair red and his father’s white. He was the direct result of his mother and father trying desperately for a baby and mother was so happy when she figured out he was coming and he was healthy unlike his miscarried siblings who lived for a max of thirty minutes or less after birth.

The boy had a perfect life now it meant close to nothing because of the fact that both of his parents were taken away from him so brutally and he hopes that he will be able to recover from this tragedy but who knows it basically depends on who took him in. it was seeming to get darker and darker and darker, as footsteps and worried voices grew louder, louder, louder. Though he had not the energy to care he had been with his parents rotting corpses for five days now, the smell was rancid.

The boy you will know as Reimlas Dorlana, five days ago witnessed his parents being brutally murdered in front of him. His mother sawed in half and then chopped into little pieces to be fed to fish though they beheaded her and kept her head, his father torn apart limb from limb and also cut up into tiny pieces that they were going to try and make the boy eat, they took his father's head too, even went as far as cutting out his tongue and digging out his eyes. Though why did they leave him alive? To suffer the burden of knowing the murderers of his parents? They were close friends they were jealous of his mother, so they killed her, though the behavior leading up to them killing his parents didn’t surprise him.

The boy was so weak he wouldn’t make it if paramedics didn’t show up soon. The door slammed open to reveal the face of the young man who lived next door but he couldn’t do anything at that point he then blacked out and he couldn’t remember what happened after that he woke up in a hospital bed. The next thing he knew he was being towered over by an extremely kind nurse who tended to his wounds, he too got wounds for trying to protect his mother which resulted in him getting hurt.

She could not yet fathom the psychological horrors that he just went through, she never will until she watches her parents torn limb from limb, tongue cut off and eyes dug out, just to be squished under a shoe. Oh, evidence the clothing would be burnt by now. That alone will put him through years of therapy, though even that will not ease the pain of seeing his parents murdered in front of him.

Every time it seems he has something good he seems to just lose it. Just like his sanity he’s begun to question it, he has lost all feelings, maybe it’s for the best, if he did feel things maybe he would act a bit more normal? Reimlas didn’t know nor did he care, he can’t seem to care about anything anymore other than his cat.

Yet the thought still is chilling when his mother died she smiled as if she knew it was coming, yet she didn’t care? Maybe but the motive for her and her husbands murder is unknown to the police but Reimlas knew everything he would not be mocked by the details so he simply just left he did not care for what the police found for they would mock him. But he was not of age to leave on his own, having both of his wings broken he was given to his grandparents and they were murdered too. The same way his mother and father were they were beheaded though this time grandma was just torn to shreds intestines everywhere blood was dripping from the ceiling, the intestines hung up as if a child was going to swing in them. Grandma had her eyes in her mouth and tongue cut down the middle and put in her eye sockets, that alone made Reimlas throw up. Though you didn’t see what happened to grandpa they broke his neck hung him and disemboweled him, he was in one piece other than grandma.

It was sickening he knew who did it but he couldn’t do a single damn thing, or they’d kill his cat, If they killed his cat the last thing tying him to his sanity will be gone and he will go f*cking insane, also he didn’t want his cat to be dead too so he kept quiet on the sidelines and it just never gets better. He’s slowly going insane, he can no longer take the mistreatments he’s done with it all. At this point to Reimlas he thinks that these people think it’s a game, who will become insane first?

Apparently it would be himself. Because if he told a single soul he would become labeled insane that’s how this world works if you say something someone else doesn’t believe they will fight you over it. But if you say something that is right, people have enough money then you will be the insane one. But that’s what the world has come down to, if you have money you will survive if you don’t then you’re irrelevant. It’s almost like saying only the fittest survive and the weak die, but that wouldn’t be the case at all.

Reinmlas was so done with the world what could he do? Slit his throat and die? No he isn’t going to go insane that’s what he thinks anyways and the thought just never seems to be getting better, it just seems to get more distorted. Reimlas woke up and seen his cat was dead, hard in his arms and he went out to bury mittens and said goodbye. Something seemed to break inside of him and he gently grabbed some of his pink locks and pulled starting to laugh maniacally, tears of sorrow, joy, and laughter he was breaking, he was finally going insane.

You know that moment when you’ve held something secret for so long, it’s starting to break you? That’s what Reimlas was experiencing at the moment he was going insane because he kept the truth from everyone now the only things that he remotely cared about are dead, but now it’s time to reap what had been sown Mr. and Mrs. Johnsonis.

Mind you Reimlas has went through multiple courses of study throughout the years so it wasn’t just that, he’s now a young man, he is a forensic scientist and he has a lot of degrees in the specific fields, his teachers even said they wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled off the perfect murder one day and that’s saying something sadly. Reimlas hasn’t been the same after that day, his emotions are all faked because he just doesn’t feel anything, gratification for his work does nothing either.

Reimlas was going to murder the Johnsonis, but he had an even better idea. Though at this point he wasn’t even human anymore, he murmured to himself as he twirled a scalpel on his gloved finger. “I am a monster..born in blood but something oddly reminds me of home, the place my parents were murdered, though something doesn’t feel right, I don’t think I’m even human anymore, though life doesn’t have to be fun, I suppose it only has to be lived and that’s the end of it.” Reimlas said throwing his scalpel and it shatters a pot. “The guilt of what they have made me will be enough to eat them alive.” He’s right if someone feels guilty enough for what they have done they will try and repent for said sin. “Though this game is over now... I win.”

Reimlas had a horrific smile come across his face as he started to laugh manically again. He broke completely, not even looking at the deep cuts on his wrists could get him to stop and even when looking at them he laughed harder. “Weakness is a sin, it’s top to stop being weak HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.” Reimlas started twitching as he laughed, he reached into his pocket to grab his freshly sharpened scalpel and drove it into his leg, it cut into him like butter like he anticipated, he didn’t scream or cry he simply just stopped laughing.

Reimlas let the blood on his fingers fall to the ground as he held the wound he created it wasn’t that deadly. He lifted his hands to look at them and he immediately got flashbacks of that small room he was crammed in with his parents dead and rancid smelling bodies, he was crying, traumatized.

Reimlas got up and wrapped up his wound and headed towards the door with his keys in his hand and gloves on, a smirk on his face. It’s time to pay the Johnsonis’ daughter a visit. Reimlas got in his car loosened his pink locks opened the mirror and then did his make up and grabbed his guitar, the Johnsonis Family think that Reimlas has forgotten the crime they have committed against him but no he hasn’t in fact he thinks it’s fitting to say, an eye for an eye.

Reimlas closed the mirror and the thing it was on before starting his car and backing out of the driveway. Reimlas still lives in his grandparents neighborhood so he didn’t exactly go anywhere the house his parents got murdered in still belonged to him, people were fighting him over the house and losing terribly. Reimlas sighed he needed to put on an emotional mask real quick which he achieved by smiling to the old lady that’s just a hag and then he waved to the newly married couple who were watering plants together up each other’s ass.

To be clear the neighborhood that Reimlas lived in is for the rich people to live no poor people or middle class allowed here. Giant houses and mansions anything you could think of is probably here. Reimlas dodged a cat with his car that he almost hit and killed, he would have tried to be upset if that happened because that’s a normal response to killing something. Reimlas pulled into the driveway of the Johnsonis house and got out grabbing his guitar he made his way to the front door.

He rang the bell three times to have the door answered by the youngest daughter, Lola, Reimlas leant in and kissed her lips, her parents were home but were passed out. This is what he has to endure for five more seconds before she takes him up to her room. It’s very girly and pink, neon fucking pink. And he hates her room so much but he never says a word.

‘Think like a forensic scientist on a crime scene what am I looking for?’ Reimlas thought before he covered Lola’s beautiful blue eyes and pushed her down on her bed, he had blind folded her, made her move into a comfortable position and told her an extremely sad story, his backstory and made her cry.

He still had gloves on as he seized the scalpel he had earlier sharpened but he didn’t use this one to stab himself, he made her take the scalpel she didn’t realize what it was and he told her it would check her heartbeat it had to be jabbed onto the place where her heart was.

She was stupid to believe it, killed herself instantly because she made her own heart burst. ‘That will be ruled a suicide.’ Reimlas said in his head and then he got up making sure no evidence was left behind and then he grabbed his guitar and casually left the room.

The brother how did he take care of him? He gave him a drug that makes you claw your own eyes out and itch until you bleed, the dude just shot himself in the head. He found the easy way out of the suffering and Reimlas smirked. ‘Two suicides that must be linked to something don’t you think?’ Reimlas thought grabbing his belongings and leaving. ‘Nothing extraordinary needed to happen just revenge and it feels good, I hope you guys like being childless. Like I liked having no mother and father.’ Reimlas thought as he walked out and laughed running a hand through his pink locks and then he left before the neighbors seen him.

[kelisidinaa]

The New Story of Ah Q

This is a story about my friend Ah Q. His name may remind you of the True story of Ah Q by Chinese writer Lu Xun, and yes, my friend's name does come from this story. I heard that this nickname was given to him by my friend's father. Ah Q's father is an illiterate farmer, so he has never read the original text. Ah Q's father only heard such a famous novel occasionally, and the pronunciation of Ah Q sounds very cute to him, so he started to call his son Ah Q. But Ah Q himself suffered a lot from the name when he was young. I remember Ah Q and I were still in high school at that time. One day after school, the school's exit was crowded with students and parents who had come to pick them up. His father waved and shouted "Ah Q, Ah Q, Dad is here!" When Ah Q heard his father's call, he blushed and walked through the crowd, held his father's hand and hurried away. From that day on, almost everyone in the school started calling him Ah Q, even the teachers. Ah Q hated his father for giving him such an embarrassing name. Ever since people around him started calling him Ah Q, he could feel that people would rather see him as the poor, self-abased and slightly rogue Ah Q in Lu Xun's story than as who he really was.

Fortunately, Ah Q was a forgetful man. I often feel that forgetfulness should not be seen as a shortcoming, because one often suffers from remembering too much. Ah Q got so used to his name that when he introduced himself to people he just met, he would say, "You can just call me Ah Q. Yes, yes, the same name as Ah Q from the True story of Ah Q." Some people laughed their heads off after hearing his self-introduction, and Ah Q laughed along with them. Of course Ah Q laughed not because he really liked his name, but because he realized that his name could bring so much joy to others. Ah Q was going to tell his dad that he actually thought it was a good name, but now he won't get the chance because his dad died two weeks ago.

Ah Q's mother left him soon after he was born, and it was said that his mother ran away with another man. From then on, Ah Q's father changed. Every day, he worked in the daytime and drank at home at night. Sometimes he would beat Ah Q for no reason, and sometimes he would cry with Ah Q in his arms like a child. At that time Ah Q thought that his father was a fake, and he believed that his mother took his real father with her when she left. But it doesn't matter to Ah Q whether his father is real or not now. Everything that has life will come to an end. Ah Q thought as he looked at his father lying in a coffin in the middle of the funeral home. Relatives lined up to place flowers on his father's body one by one and then nodded to him. Each of the relatives wore a sad face, and some even wiped their tears with a napkin in their hand. And the people who should cry the most didn't. Ah Q didn't even have a tear in his eye. He had never cried at anyone's funeral, not even his own father's. Although Ah Q also thought that death is a terrible thing, it is something that everyone must face without exception, so why feel sad when death comes? He believed that death was something that everyone should be prepared for from birth, to prepare for the death of loved ones and the death of oneself.

According to Chinese custom, the relatives of the deceased need to invite all the people attending the funeral to dinner. Ah Q thought it was troublesome, but it was better to follow the custom so as not to be pointed at behind his back, so he finally did it. During the banquet, a distant cousin of Ah Q walked over and sat down beside him.

"I'm sorry about your father, Ah Q. " Said the distant cousin.

"No worries."

"You don't look sad at all, do you? Your father's death wasn't a bad thing for you. It's hard to support yourself on your little salary as an insurance salesman , and now your father is dead. That's one less burden for you, isn't it? " Said the distant cousin, with a smirk on his face as he played with his car key.

Ah Q said nothing but smiled and nodded to his distant cousin. There are many such people in the world. They are a group of people who have no ego, so they like to provoke conflicts with others, and then confirm their existence in the victory of conflict again and again. What a poor man, Ah Q thought. He felt a sudden sympathy for his distant cousin. Ah Q's silence made his distant cousin angry, so he stayed for a moment and then went away disappointedly. After that, Ah Q had to deal with relatives and friends who came to talk to him, until he received a text message telling him to return immediately. After several hours on the express train, Ah Q finally arrived at his company in the city from the countryside.

When Ah Q walked into the boss's office, the boss was sitting in his seat smoking. The boss pointed to the seat in front of Ah Q and let him sit down. Ah Q bowed respectfully to his boss and patted the dust off his legs before sitting down.

"I heard you wanted to see me, boss? "

"Ah Q, did you know you only sold two policies this month? And your contract clearly states that the company has the right to fire you if you don't sell 10 policies in a month. Do you know what I mean? "

"Well… I'm fired?"

The boss touched his chin and sighed. "Ah Q, I always think highly of you. You have been working here for nearly two years. How about I give you another chance? In fact, the easiest way is to sell it to your relatives and friends. Why don't you just get one for your father?"

"I just came from my father's funeral." Ah Q said, looking the boss straight in the eye.

"Oh, forgive my damn memory. But if you had bought an insurance policy for your father earlier, wouldn't you have earned it now? Think about it, or I won't be able to keep a useless person in the company."

"I've decided."

"What? " The boss asked.

"I have decided to resign now." Ah Q raised his voice.

Ah Q bowed to the boss again and walked out slowly. His colleagues looked at him with a look of surprise, while angry noises occasionally came from the boss's office. This scene inexplicably gave Ah Q a feeling of pride in his heart, he walked out of the company like a victorious general.

On the way home Ah Q thought to himself, what should he do then? He remembered that his father had left him a piece of land in the countryside, and suddenly he felt an impulse to go back to the countryside and farm. The golden fields of wheat, the sound of insects in the night, and the memories of his childhood began to come to him. "Useless man! " he repeated in his mind what the boss had just said to him. A burst of anger arose from his heart and he kicked all the cans he saw along the road before he slowly calmed down. The anger was followed by intense silence. Before he knew it was dark and the cold wind was beating against his cheek, he suddenly realized that he was almost cut off from the world, and that the only person who could connect him to the world was his girlfriend Lee. Ah Q loved her too much, and he believed that she loved him too.

Before long, Ah Q returned to the narrow and old basement. He took off his shoes, hung his coat on a rack, and took a deep breath. "ok, Ah Q, talk to her." Ah Q said to himself, then went to the living room and hugged Lee who was watching TV.

"Did your father's funeral go well?" Lee said as she changed the channel with the remote control in her hand.

"Not bad."

"Ok."

"Well, I have something else to tell you."

"What? "

"I quit my job today."

"What! Why did you do that? " Lee finally turned to Ah Q.

"Because I didn't like it anyway."

"Sometimes people have to do things they don't want to do to make a living. Why are you still acting like a kid? Have you thought about the future? I mean our future."

"We can go back to the countryside, where my father left me a house and a piece of land. If… "

"If that's what you really decide, then let's break up. I don't want my friends to know that my boyfriend is a useless jerk."

"Useless jerk." Ah Q repeated it and then laughed. The laughter made an eerie echo in the bleak basement.

The next day, Lee had gone, and there was only one in the basement. Ah Q felt more calm than he was when he resigned, and bought a ticket to the country with his only savings. Once again, the endless wheat field began slowly in his mind.

The next day, Lee was gone. But Ah Q felt an unexpected peace of mind, then he used his last savings to buy a plane ticket to the countryside. The endless fields of wheat spread out in his mind again.

"It's another form of relief, isn't it?" Ah Q thought as he lay in bed. "There's nothing bad about living an isolated life in the countryside, as many of the world's great people do. Zhuangzi, Diogenes, Nietzsche…..countless great men. Aristotle said that 'Whosoever is delighted in solitude is either a wild beast or a god.' I don't look like a beast, do I?"

[shimmersing]

Something Better

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Chapter 1: The Unaccounted-For Child

“Younglings, this way! Hurry!” Jedi Master Faron called, sweeping the children past him into a small classroom. His five – no, four - young charges scampered through the open door and darted into the shadows, feeling their minder’s urgency. Master Faron glanced down the hallway before silently closing the door behind him. Children scrambled under tables and behind benches as the Jedi Temple quaked around them.

“M-m-master Faron?” a wavering voice called.

“Hush now, younglings. We must be silent,” Faron shushed, reaching out in the Force to brush each young mind reassuringly. In return he felt fear, confusion, and anxiety, though it calmed minutely at his touch. Beyond their tiny study room, there was even worse: pain, anguish, and… death.

“Little ones. Listen to me,” the minder whispered, “Search your memories. Find the very happiest one you know and meditate on it. Live in that memory.” Faron closed his eyes, an instant of regret, an instant of concern. Then he detached his lightsaber from his belt.

Master Faron hadn’t powered on the weapon in more than twenty years. He carried it as the symbol it was: to demonstrate that he was a member of the Jedi Order. He’d never had to kill, only rarely had to defend himself even at the worst of times. The empath had spent much of his time as a Jedi training initiates like himself, some of the most vulnerable of Force-sensitive children.

He continued to observe his young students, settling into peaceful meditations as he’d asked. He projected one last soothing aura and then left the room in silence, lightsaber gripped in his hand. They were coming.

Sith.

Master Faron ignited his lightsaber: green, traditional for a consular. He gazed into the blade’s bright glow for a moment, and then the attackers swept around the corner. The sage found himself recoiling from the aura of dark side energy surrounding the three Sith who approached.

“Well, well, well, my friends. What is this now?” The closest – human, barely more than a girl - sneered, whipping the ruby blade of her lightsaber around in a lazy circle. Master Faron shifted to a defensive stance and remained silent.

A Zabrak female, her horns tipped in black, sniggered. “A minder? Like a nursemaid?” She edged up behind the leader, leering. “Obviously he’s protecting some little innocent Jedi younglings around here.”

Master Faron stiffened, a shock of panic racing up his spine. He felt one of his students falter in his blissful meditation, surprised and curious. The final Sith, a rangy human, lightsaber unlit, pushed past the other two and stood face to face with the consular.

“We aren’t here to play games, you two nitwits,” he hissed, circling to Faron’s left side, away from the classroom door. The Jedi followed his movements closely, keeping his lightsaber as a ward between himself and the Sith, between his charges and the darkness.

“Fine, then, if you’re going to be that way about it. He looks too soft for me, anyway,” the first replied, shrugging and deactivating her lightsaber with a snap. The Zabrak giggled again, no mirth in the sound at all.

“You can’t protect them, you know,” the man said. The gaze of the Sith was tinged with red, just the slightest glow marring otherwise perfectly normal human eyes. Faron shook his head.

“It is not whether I can or cannot, Sith. It is what is determined by the Force. You cannot understand.”

The Sith smiled maliciously, his eyes blazing brighter for a moment. “It’s not that I cannot, poor Jedi. It’s that I simply don’t care.”

And then he attacked. Master Faron blocked the first two blows, but a third seared deep into his shoulder, a jolt of fiery agony that left his weapon hand numb. His lightsaber dropped from nerveless fingers, the blade sizzling out instantly. A vast roar sounded, the rumble of stone and mortar breaking apart. Dust fell between the two opponents as they glared into each other’s eyes. One of the younglings in the classroom screamed.

“See, Master Jedi? There is nothing you can do. We will tear this temple down atop you; it will be your tomb. The Jedi are finished.”

Jedi Master Faron straightened boldly, facing the Sith. “Our work is never finished, young man. The Jedi live on. The galaxy will see peace again.” He paused, reaching out to his initiates, a final touch of calm and… love. “You cannot win.”

The Sith smiled bleakly, shook his head, and raised his lightsaber. “On the contrary.” His blade struck-

Aitahea shot upright, grasping the sheets to her throat. A cry was trapped in her chest, binding her heart into a knot, painful and tight. Where am I?

The room was shadowed and unfamiliar. The viewport across from her opened onto star shine. Ah, yes. She was on the Luminous, the ship entrusted to her by the Council upon her departure from Coruscant. They were en route to Taris, fearing that a Jedi studying the planet was suffering the same malady as Master Yuon. With a heavy sigh, Aitahea touched a hand to her brow, feeling the weight of Yuon’s shielding in her mind. The burden was worth it.

She looked to her left in the faint light, eyes drawn to the metallic cylinder of her lightsaber hilt on the bedside stand. It lay there solid and real, and she reached out with a trembling hand to touch it, to feel the reassurance of cool metal and crystal. Her fingers curled around the weapon and she pulled it into her lap, the comfortable weight soothing.

More than ten years later and the Sacking of Coruscant still haunted her. She had been only a child, an initiate, when the tenuous peace began in the wake of the Sith Empire’s attack – Aitahea now held the power and prestige that could have saved them all. Her fellow younglings and Master Faron, all gone, and only she remained.

Wakeful but now calm, Aitahea considered the vision, taking it to pieces and examining each part without emotion. Part dream, part memories that were not her own, shared through the Force. She hadn’t been in the Jedi Temple when was attacked and couldn’t know of this specific event. Saved by a twist of fate, a simple scheduling occurrence that had placed her safely elsewhere on Coruscant as the temple was razed. She was the fifth youngling, the unaccounted-for child.

An exceptional empath, young Aitahea hadn’t needed to be near the temple to feel the suffering of her friends and teachers. Aitahea and her younger sister sat on either side of their father, gleefully watching as their mother was honored for her work as an educator. Aitahea had gone rigid and white as snow when the Sith attack on the Temple began. The young initiate had gasped like one drowning, and moments later the doors crashed in. Imperial soldiers had flooded into the academy, weapons aimed and ready.

Though they weren’t Jedi, it was Aitahea’s parents who saved everyone that day. After calming the audience, Aitahea’s mother negotiated a detainment period for the faculty and attendees of the academy in attendance that evening. Rather than the devastation that could have occurred, the Daviin family kept their precious community calm, and two days later when the Treaty of Coruscant was passed, all the captives had been released unharmed… including Aitahea, her Force-sensitivity and Jedi training carefully hidden.

And she knew she owed everything to them. Her parents, who continued to teach. The remaining Jedi who whisked her off Courscant and continued her training. Her master, her friends, and those who had perished at the hands of the Sith.

When Aitahea dreamed of the Jedi Temple, all her trials, all her knowledge, all her triumphs against the Sith felt small next to the sacrifices of those who had come before her.

There was no point in lingering on the sadness of the past; that way lay the dark side. With a sigh, the consular set her lightsaber down again and rose from her bed, smoothing back the soft coverlet before tapping the control pad to brighten the room. Her quarters on the Luminous were austere but comfortable in typical Jedi aesthetic.  It was even starting to feel a little like home.

She plaited her ashen hair into a neatly woven braid coiled around her head, then dressed in the earthtone robes of the Order. She wore almost no armor, relying instead on more peaceful methods of interaction. When diplomacy failed to diffuse a dangerous situation, the light tunic and robes allowed for the agility and speed she preferred. She’d just slipped into the subtly-patterned chestnut cloak when the comm in her room pinged.

“Master, are you awake?” A robotic voice called across the connection. It was the ship’s droid, fretfulness pitching his vocalizations higher than expected. “I’m deeply sorry to disturb your rest, Master, but we’re coming up on Taris.”

“Thank you, See-Two, I’ll be out in a moment.”

“Of course, Master.”

Aitahea smiled at the earnest voice, then ran a hand lightly over her hair one last time, smoothing a few strands back into the coronet. She left the hood of her cloak down and clipped her lightsaber to her belt before exiting her quarters. The Luminous hosted not only herself and the fretful protocol droid, but her friend and pilot, Prelsiava Tern. Sia, as the Mirialan liked to be called, had joined Aitahea during her visit to Coruscant as she quested for a cure for her Master, Yuon Par.

Fortunately, Yuon’s cure had indeed been found. Aitahea had sought out the Noetikons scattered throughout the capital world and brought them together, making a dangerous journey to the demolished Jedi Temple to learn their secrets.

The visit to her childhood home would have been unsettling enough but having to set foot in the shattered Jedi Temple after so many years stirred emotions in her that she’d thought resolved. Perhaps that had been the source of her lurid vision… of course. It was only an ordinary dream, her unconscious mind simply sorting out her feelings as she slept.

In the main room, Aitahea shook her head before activating the holocomm, stepping back to see Syo Bakarn. “Master,” she acknowledged and offered a respectful bow.

“Aitahea, it’s good to hear from you. The Council has sensed your arrival on Taris. An intriguing world.”

“It is, Master. I reviewed the history while we traveled. This is the site of Bastila Shan’s escape from the Empire, if I’m recalling correctly.”

“That, as well as being a world much like Coruscant, before Darth Malak caused the destruction that reduced them to poisoned swamplands.” Master Syo continued, giving Aitahea the details of her mission on Taris while she made notes on her datapad.

“I’ll do everything I can for Master Tykan, and I’ll be watching for evidence regarding the creator of this plague.”

“Thank you, Aitahea. It may be possible that your skills will be required for other tasks on Taris. Assist where you can, but do not tarry. We will be waiting on your word. Good luck.”

“The Force will be with us, Master.”

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[newstfionline]

How Syrian refugees strain--and strengthen--Jordan

By Taylor Luck, CS Monitor, October 22, 2018

AMMAN AND MAFRAQ, JORDAN--Down to one janitor, four administrators, and a handful of teachers for more than 1,000 students, administrator Manal al Adwan says she is fighting “an uphill battle” each day to keep Al Hussein Secondary School running.

Children from 7 to 17 swarm the narrow hallways, whose purple paint has faded and chipped; groups of girls clog the stairways as young boys burst into classrooms mid-lesson.

The school used to have 700 students. It now also copes with 500 more--refugees from Syria--and Al Hussein has been forced onto a two-shift system, rotating Jordanian and Syrian students in and out in half-days to relieve the overcrowded classrooms.

With only one day off a week to set their syllabus, grade papers, and invent ways to educate Syrian children who have been out of school for years, teachers are exhausted.

“We spend every spare second to come up with ways to counsel traumatized children and teach students who don’t even know the letter A,” says Yasmeen Shalash, who teaches religious studies at Al Hussein. “We barely have time to see our own families.”

The strain shows in the school’s fabric too. Desks are cracked, chairs are broken, faucets in the bathrooms leak.

Al Hussein is typical. The influx of 1.3 million Syrians since 2012, including 130,000 students, has put Jordan’s cash-strapped schools, hospitals, housing, roads, and water networks under tremendous stress. And international donor fatigue is leaving the kingdom to face these challenges alone.

But despite cuts in services and increased competition for jobs, Jordanians have until now remained sympathetic to their neighbors’ plight, carrying the added burden with few complaints.

And in Al Hussein’s noisy hallways and crowded classrooms, something else is happening. Jordanian and Syrian students are bonding through sport, studies, and music. Students no longer ask each other “where are you from?”

“Teachers and students here treat us as if we are part of Jordan,” says Haya al Qarah, a 17-year-old at Al Hussein studying for her university entrance exam. Haya, like many girls who arrived from Syria’s rural south, comes from a family that expects girls to leave school at the 10th grade and marry.

But after five years in Jordan, where women’s education is part of the culture, Haya and her teachers helped change her family’s mind. The teenager is now set to become the first woman in her family to go on to university, where she hopes to study literature.

That success comes against the backdrop of considerable hardships for Jordanians, who face an 18.7 percent unemployment rate and a rising cost of living. Many say the influx of Syrians, who now make up about 15 percent of the population, is to blame.

For gynecologist Anwar Malkawi, the sudden influx of tens of thousands of Syrians into northern Jordan has meant three things: longer night shifts, longer day shifts, and more difficult cases. The Mafraq Women’s Hospital where he works near the Syrian border has seen its patient roster increase by 50 percent since refugees began arriving from Syria.

“You have to give priority to the urgent and difficult cases, which are most of them,” the harried Dr. Malkawi says between rounds. Treating pregnant Syrian women with complications due to physical trauma or malnutrition, infants with severe birth defects and other cases, Malkawi says he is working in “emergency mode.”

Jordanian public hospitals treat Syrians just as if they were Jordanians. Citizens of both countries can see a doctor and fill a prescription for a few dollars. But with hospital beds filled with Syrians--and surgery waiting lists stretching months into the future--Jordanians who cannot afford to go private are not being treated as well as they once were.

“Poor Jordanians have suffered a lot,” admits Dr. Mabrouk Saraheen, director of the Mafraq Women’s Hospital .

“Sometimes a doctor would have to tell a Jordanian that he could not admit his wife. They would shout, ‘I am a Jordanian, this is my right!’ “ Dr. Saraheen says, shaking his head. “But we had to give preference to the most severe cases and first cases we saw, no matter their nationality.”

Despite multiple reasons for resentment, it is difficult to detect envy in Jordanians’ voices when they recount their problems.

“May God heal these Syrians and help them,” says Um Khaled, a mother of four. Despite having previously been turned away for a check-up at Mafraq Women’s Hospital, she says she does not hold it against the Syrians.

“These people are coming from war, and we are blessed with security and stability. We should share our blessings,” she adds.

Where does this remarkable tolerance come from? Many Jordanians say their hospitality stems from their Bedouin roots and ancient desert customs, which dictate that a tribe must take in a weary traveler, no questions asked.

In the harsh desert plains where water is scarce, this hospitality can make the difference between life and death.

United Nations officials say Jordanian’s empathy is rooted in more recent history; refugees have played an integral part in the creation of modern Jordan, and many present-day Jordanians are themselves descendants of waves of Circassians, Armenians, Chechens, and Palestinians who fled to the kingdom in the first half of the 20th century.

“You see the solidarity from Jordanians as they have lived through or witnessed wars and displacement,” says Stefen Severe, UNHCR representative in Jordan. “They share the plight of their neighbors and they feel for them.”

However, aid agencies and UN officials warn that this hospitality has its limits, as they cut their aid to Jordan nearly by half in the face of budget crises brought on by donors losing interest in a conflict nearing its eighth year.

“We must not take this harmony and hospitality for granted,” Mr. Severe says.

[247krp]

— Rejoice, little lambs! We have recovered our own Oh Heejun, spotted prancing about in the Northeast Side. I don’t remember seeing him with any clique back in high school, but I’m not here to spill yesterday’s tea. So straight to the rundown: can you say ambitious and kind? Apparently now he spends time as a waiter at Nocturnal Music Club, student and a forensics investigator in training, and keeps skeletons buried at Banjeom Apartments, 501. But those won’t stay hidden for long, if you and I have any say on it. Welcome back, Lilac; we missed you so.

TW: mental disorder, mention of death

In case you don’t remember the devil’s name, here’s to refresh your memory:

Heejun has always been a bookworm, a helpful and optimistic boy. He took extra classes in high school, and advanced science classes, falling in love with chemistry. Although people liked to be around him, either to take advantage or actually be his friend, there were some who hated his guts. One of them was certainly GG, who had to search every unwanted corner to find something negative about a predominantly positive person. Heejun admired their perseverance in a way, and never spoke ill about them. After months, they finally found some old records from Heejun’s therapy sessions. Those described his memory loss, his hard condition at home and between the lines, his mother’s disappearance. Heejun’s subtle but strange obsessions led GG to think that he suffers from a mental disorder due to his memory loss, and poverty. She called it OCD, and because of his obsession with lilac, she gave him that name. The rumours affected some of his relationships at school, people started to be more careful around him, some dissing him because of his so-called disease. But Heejun never got affected by it, not even when his P. E. teacher shamed him in front of the whole class. He wore his smile, and kept his mind occupied with things he loved, like chemistry. Strangely, his teacher disappeared two weeks after the event, and his words were soon forgotten. He graduated first in his class, and got the chance to obtain a scholarship at a renowned University.

Nevermind the memory lane though, the present is always the ripest fruit:

Heejun is still a student, but he has a bright future ahead. He is admired by his teachers, he works extra hard to enter the field he desires to work in. Luckily, a forensics investigator decided to help him train for the field, thing that has gained Heejun quite a respectable reputation. However, his financial situation is still shaky, so he has to work in order to support his studies. His grandparents can only give him this much, they are both old and only his grandmother still works. Heejun’s dream is to earn enough to help his grandparents, as he owes them his life. Once he has a stable job, he can start to pay for his therapy sessions, and finally pay for a way to meet Morphius. He keeps his life private, and nobody he knows seems to care too much, especially because his kind personality overshadows all negative things that might lurk beneath the surface.

But we are nothing if not open books – my job is to ensure you get to the best pages:

Touched by the heavy wings of fate, Heejun was born in a poor house, barely surviving his first winter. His mother carried him at her chest from house to house, imitating the Christmas story, until she laid down in the snow and cried. He was all she had, the only reason she kept going, the only reason she was still trying. And in a flicker of hope, he found her, on the streets begging like Maggie for a new home. Heejun scarcely remembers his rough features and stern voice. Although she fell in love, the boy never approved of his presence. He would cry crocodile tears whenever he stepped closer, and for some unknown reasons he always reacted violently. A part of him blames him for her disappearance. However, his other voice screams that her disappearance just happened. Everything after the age of three until his early teen years was just a blurry past. He had no recurrence of any event, something his doctors called selective amnesia, and his psychologist an awakening. It felt like waking up from a long dream, with no mother, no father, and in the care of two loving grandparents. No event made sense for a long time, he had no idea why he had to go to therapy, no idea why his mother was missing. One thing was, however, certain: at one moment during that period Morphius was born. One single moment determined his decay.

Morphius is what his doctor called his alter ego. Heejun never met him, but he always wanted to. He does not know who met him, he cannot recall anything his alter ego did. For him, it feels like pieces of his memory were intentionally taken out. Nevertheless, the big changes that occurred were in his personality. Despite going through hard times, Heejun remained an impossibly optimistic boy, always smiling and looking for what ifs, for a better solution, for ways to help everyone. Naturally, people took advantage of him, but he never gave up. His quick-witted personality, and abnormal life drive impressed nearly everyone he came in touch with. He has been admired and envied for his motivation and intelligence. Not even the nasty rumours about him brought him down. However, he always feelsan indescribable darkness live within him. Most of the times he chooses to ignore it, for the sake of his sanity and health. He cannot explain it, he cannot explain his violent art. Heejun, the nerdy boy with glasses, the straight A student, would never hurt anyone. But he ‘wondered’ if Morphius would. This question remains ‘unanswered’ for Heejun, and answered by everyone who met Morphius.

Lilac was Heejun’s first coloured pencil, and Morphius’ first victim. A girl in his neighbourhood, who dared call his mother ugly. Morphius was quite active at the age of six, and once Heejun’s parent was shamed, he stepped in. He feels morbidly attracted to his positive alter ego, seeking to touch his reflection, the embodiment of purity. Yes, he is a narcissist, and a protective ‘friend’. He buried the girl under the family’s lilac tree, Heejun’s favourite flower. He knew Heejun will appreciate the disappearance of that annoying burden. He was satisfied, for a while. But Heejun never found the body, Heejun kept ignoring him, Heejun wasignoring him. Morphius felt neglected. His positive alter ego never patted his head and told him sweet nothings. His alter ego never acknowledged him. Youexpect him to be nice? No. From age six to age twelve was show-time. After Morphius got rid of all things that could distract Heejun, he disobeyed all rules. Mentally he was about twenty at that time, despite his small frame and childish smile. Once Heejun woke up, he found the notes he left behind. The only records Heejun actually has, the proof of Morphius’ existence. He hides them, because he does not know what to make of them. Pages, and pages of graphic descriptions, deranged comments and the ending note of I love you, friend. Like most negative things in his life, Heejun put that aside. But if someone would find those, his whole life might and would crumble before him. He lied about them. Yes, Heejun actually lied. Whenever he was asked: Do you remember?, he would answer no. But the pages he has, those are his memories. He just refuses them.

[orbemnews]

Brooke Baldwin: These women inspired me in the year since Covid-19 knocked me flat Ha. Through all the body aches and sweat-soaked sheets and golf-ball sized glands, I learned a lot about vulnerability and connection. Being sick and weak was awful, but it did give me clarity about what I value in life. I also considered myself one of the lucky ones — I never struggled to breathe, I had access to great medical care and would ultimately come through without long-term health effects. I never had to add to the stress of the doctors and nurses in hospitals doing heroes’ work. And I am very aware of my privilege as a White woman, in a country where communities of color are disproportionately affected by this awful virus. But there was something in that essay I left out, and now I’m coming clean. One of the reasons I was able to kick Covid-19’s ass was because I had a support network of women, a sisterhood — or what I call a “huddle.” Let me back up: The year leading up to my getting Covid-19 I had been crisscrossing the country on weekends interviewing trailblazing women for a book. (It’s called “Huddle: How Women Unlock Their Collective Power.”) Part journalism, part memoir, it examines the way women team up to give one another the support, strength and inspiration they need to meet the challenges of daily life — and to change the world. It’s a special kind of bonding and empowerment that I call the huddle. As someone who was very lonely in my 20s and into my 30s, I learned to huddle by activating my own small tribe of women who stood with me every step of the way. They were with me (virtually) during Covid-19 as well. I knew, as I fought that virus, that all of these women had my back and that I was truly never alone. After I recovered and got back to work, the pandemic raged on and I paid extra close attention to women. I started to see how women, and especially women of color, were disproportionately affected by this deadly virus. I noticed that women of all races, ages, classes and backgrounds were carrying a great burden in getting us through the pandemic. They were mothers, caretakers, breadwinners, school teachers and (suddenly) homeschool teachers, nurses, doctors, essential workers and activists. And even as women are going to bat for our entire country, more than two million of them have lost their jobs or been forced to leave their profession to school their children and care for their families. Many are less able to care for themselves: According to a report released earlier this month by the Kaiser Family Foundation, more women than men are skipping their health care services and getting sicker as a result. Yet even in these dark circumstances, women are holding one another up. They are huddling. One need not look far to find them. The bold circle of women who drew up the Marshall Plan for Moms are advocating for direct monthly payments to mothers to compensate them for their unseen, unpaid labor. And women everywhere working on the front lines of our national crisis are becoming especially vocal about the mandate to take care of one another. I checked back in with nurse Emily Fawcett at Lenox Hill Hospital. I’d interviewed her the very week I got sick, and she shared with me the incredible demands she and other nurses have endured throughout the pandemic. Nurses are what Fawcett called “natural huddlers.” So together they confronted, for example, the day that the hospital oxygen supply ran low and they had to race to every room to switch out oxygen tanks. And the day Fawcett witnessed five patients die alone — without family members allowed in the room. “Some days I felt so isolated and overwhelmed, but my huddle of close girlfriends truly gave me the strength, courage, love and support to keep going,” Fawcett told me. They gave her daily moral support via group text, and made sure she didn’t have to go to the grocery store a single time for three months, even regularly providing lunch for all 30 of the hospital staff members on her floor at work. Meanwhile, mothers all over the country have borne the brunt of school closures and domestic caretaking — but in so many cases it did not stop them from helping each other. Loraya Harrington-Trujillo, a South Orange, New Jersey, mother of two young children was struggling to homeschool her kindergartner, manage a 3-year-old and help her live-in mother care for her father, who suffers from Parkinson’s disease — all while working from home at a full-time job on the leadership team of a startup. It didn’t take long for her situation to become untenable. “Something had to give, and it couldn’t be my family,” she said. She made the painful decision to leave her job, knowing how difficult it would be to reenter the job market. “I never expected to be someone who stepped back from my career,” she explained. Like so many other American women, she had no choice. In Suwanee, Georgia, Shanita Cooper, mother to a 6-year-old, lost her job as a nurse just before the pandemic began when the small home-health-care company where she worked folded. As someone who always “makes a way out of no way,” Cooper poured money and energy into her wedding décor business until she could find another nursing position. But when schools closed, Cooper found herself in an impossible situation. She had to be available all day to help her daughter with virtual homeschooling, which meant she couldn’t possibly take on long nursing shifts. With large gatherings suddenly restricted by the state, her wedding business went under. “I grew up poor in rural Georgia, the oldest of six children, but this was one of the hardest moments of my life,” she said. To add insult to injury, she was denied unemployment benefits, due to her status as an independent contractor and because she had submitted her application for assistance during the summer months when school wasn’t in session for her daughter. Devastated and depressed, she found support from the other “mamas” in her circle. “A lot of us had to step away from work. We were all struggling together and helping each other,” she said. “If someone had a job interview, someone else would babysit her kids. If someone needed gas in their car, someone else would give them $20.” When Cooper was featured in a Vogue article in March about the invisible crisis among mothers during the pandemic, she read about Loraya Harrington-Trujillo, whose story was also featured in the article. The two women formed a connection and Harrington-Trujillo activated her huddle to help lift up Cooper. “After reading the Vogue article, so many friends reached out to me and said how unfair and terrible [Cooper’s] story was,” Harrington-Trujillo told me. “I texted them all back and said what are you willing to do to help?” In the days that followed, Harrington-Trujillo rounded up more than 50 people who sent money, news about opportunities, networking connections and moral support to Cooper, allowing her to catch up on bills and renew some of her nursing-related certifications that had lapsed during the time she had been unemployed. Harrington-Trujillo, who has spent her career working for companies that bolster women and girls, told me that “investing in women will pay tenfold into their communities.” To her point, while she was rounding up support for Cooper, Cooper was busy offering help to other women across her state who shared her frustration with navigating the complicated system for applying for pandemic-related unemployment assistance. Cooper started a Facebook group to share what she’d learned, answering questions and advising other women who were experiencing similar difficulties. And even though Cooper has yet to receive any much-deserved assistance from the state, she has helped countless other women successfully apply for and receive their benefits. Of the common ground she found with Cooper, Harrington-Trujillo told me: “We are both beneficiaries of women who have invested in us — through sponsorship, donation and emotional support — and we’ve both been actively reinvesting in others as well.” This kind of huddling, I learned, is not something we women do only in times of crisis. Huddling is also a part of our legacy — a secret to our success in the workplace, the source of historic changes in society and the place where we derive so much joy. As I interviewed all the other extraordinary women for my book, they often generously asked me about my own life, career and voice. It was a great blessing but also a painful challenge because I realized I couldn’t hold space with these women and not be as brave as possible in my own life. As dearly as I’ve held onto my platform (and really, dream job) at CNN, I’ll be leaving CNN in a few weeks. Now that it’s time for me to take a leap, I realize how a year after feeling so terribly vulnerable, I’m now bolstered by — and have drawn courage from — the women across the country who shared their brave stories with me. How inspiring it is to know so many of us have each other’s backs. Source link Orbem News #Baldwin #Brooke #BrookeBaldwin:ThesewomeninspiredmeintheyearsinceCovid-19knockedmeflat-CNN #Covid19 #flat #Inspired #knocked #opinions #Women #Year