#not her fault there’s no garbage cans in the crossroads

[spineless-lobster]

Chaos being confused about eris’ existence and then saying “oh well, we all make mistakes” is the single most insane fucking thing I’ve ever heard LEAVE HER ALONE WHAT DID SHE DO??? (Besides the killings but we can excuse the killings)

Between calling mel lame and eris a mistake they’re really pulling no punches this time around

[alarawriting]

52 Project #2: Changeling

Inspired by this story. Also by a number of well-known myths, but the central concept comes from @magic-and-moonlit-wings‘s story.

This falls into the category I call “altered tales”, which are retellings of fairy and folk tales and myths that are... not quite canonical.

***

Surely you have heard a similar tale before, of the mother who went to the crossroads by the light of the moon, pulling a wagon and carrying her changeling babe, to demand the return of her own child.

By the light of the moon she went to the crossroads, and she called out that the Faeries had stolen a thing from her, and that she demanded to see the King of the Faeries about the matter. And then, in the moment of an eyeblink, the grove she stood beside was full of faeries, some flying, some in trees, some standing, and all were very, very beautiful, but some were very, very strange. The King was the most beautiful, looking far too young to be the ancient creature he was, with black and golden hair long and wild on his head, and pale skin, and endlessly deep black eyes. “You claim that Faeries have taken a thing from you, but we never take without giving fair recompense. Are you calling us dishonorable?”

“Whether you considered what you left me fair recompense or not, you never asked me if I wanted to make the trade,” the mother said, and presented the changeling child. “You left this child in the crib my husband and I built for our babe, the one I carried in my body and birthed from my loins, and never did you ask me if I would take this one in trade for the one I spent blood on to bring to the world. You made the trade without asking me if this was fair recompense, or if I was willing to trade at all.” Then she laid the changeling in its swaddling down in the wagon, and stared a challenge at the King.

The King scowled, for the mother knew the laws. Faeries are bound to trade fairly. They will cheat if they can and take what they can and they will lie and cast glamours to make an item of trade look to be of more worth than it is, but when summoned by one they have tried to cheat, one who knows their laws, they must make things right. “Very well, child of Eve, we will return to you your babe.”

A bassinette was brought forward with a sleeping babe within. The mother removed from under her skirts a small bag, and in the bag was a small bottle, and in the small bottle there was a tincture of silver. She uncorked the small bottle and tipped it back into her eye, in front of the Faerie Court, so they would all see that she would not be fooled by glamours. Then she looked upon the bassinette with the untouched eye closed. “Yes. I see clearly, this is my child.” She lifted the bassinette and placed it in the wagon. “You have returned what you took unfairly, so I will take my leave now,” she said, because you cannot thank Faeries. They consider it very rude.

“Wait,” the King said. Now he was glaring. “Do you think we deserve no fair recompense? Return to us what we paid you.”

The mother raised her eyebrows. “Paid me? You paid me nothing, for I made no trade. You gave me no recompense, for I never agreed to sell my child. Instead you gifted me a babe, without conditions, on the night you stole my own. Now both of them are my children.”

Storm clouds gathered over the grove as the Faeries chattered to each other about the insolence of the human woman. “You cannot have it both ways! Either the child we gave you was fair recompense in trade for your babe, or you want your child back and are bound to return ours!”

The mother’s eyes were very hard. “You threw your child away. You left your babe to a human woman, knowing that humans sometimes burn changelings with iron to tell if they are human or not, knowing that humans have burnt and drowned changeling children. You did not ask my permission, so you made no trade at all. You stole from me at the same time as you discarded something you considered worthless. If you throw your trash in my yard, it is mine. It’s not payment for stealing my hen’s eggs or my apples to give me trash you care nought for, without my permission or acquiescence to the trade.”

The changeling spoke in a trembling voice. “My lord, you told me I was banished to the human world, to play the role of a human child. You never said I was of value; you only meant to trick my new mother into thinking me to be her own babe.”

“You are my own babe, for the faeries abandoned you to me, and I adopted you,” the mother said. “That makes you my own, just as much as the one who came from my loins is my own. You will be sisters and twins together and you will both be mine.”

“You think to make demands of the Faerie King?” the King demanded. “Who do you think you are?”

“I am a mother, and a woman. No more and no less. And I will not leave this place without both of my children – the one you stole and the one you discarded.”

“I do not think you will,” the King said, and sneered. “For we do not interpret the law the same way as you do. By our interpretation, you are attempting to gain something for nothing.”

“For nothing?” the mother snapped. “I have fed this babe milk from my own breast. I have warmed her with blankets I wove myself, or the blankets my mother and grandmother wove for my birth, that they gave to me. I have paid for this discarded babe by caring for her when you did not.”

“But you have paid us nothing,” the King said.

“Why should I pay anything to one who steals from me and leaves something he believes worthless in trade for it?” She softened. “But, I can offer you a gift. Even though you discarded a babe you cared nothing for and thought to be garbage and left it in my home for me to care for, I find value in her, and I can give a gift to return value for what has worth to me, even if it had no worth to you when you threw it away.”

“What gift can you offer to Faeries?” The King stood, and the clouds above became thunderclouds, as his brows drew close with his anger.

“Each year, on this night, so long as I live and am hale and hearty enough to make the journey and to speak and tell, I will give you a story. If I am giving birth, or I am ill, or one of my children is and I must care for them, or if I am trapped away from home and cannot make the date, I will return within the month with three stories to pay for the delay. In exchange, I will take home the babe from my womb and the babe you left in my home, and you will trouble neither of them again.”

“I have a different thought,” the King said. “Why not a challenge, to determine which of us is right? We pick a contest, a champion of the Faeries against you, and if you win, you leave here with two babes, but if you lose, both shall stay with us, and you as well.”

“As the one who is being challenged, then, do I have the right to choose the contest?” the mother asked.

“Yes, of course you do.”

From within her skirts the mother drew a cast iron cooking pan. “Then I choose a contest of skill at cooking,” she said. “I have hen’s eggs in my right pocket, here, and I will build a fire and cook them, in this pan. Your champion will also cook eggs, in a pan, on a fire, without magic or glamour, else it would be no contest of cooking skill. Whichever of us cooks the most delicious eggs shall be the winner.”

Now the Faeries chattered in fear, and even the King drew back, for iron is inimical to Faeries, and if the mother used it as a weapon, she could harm or even kill the faeries in the grove. “No,” the King said. “No Faerie can touch an iron cooking pan as humans do.”

“Then you forfeit the challenge to me, and take my original offer, of the stories,” the mother said.

“Before we accept such an offer, let us hear one of your stories. We will judge whether they will be worth two children.”

“That is not what’s at stake,” the mother said. “You will judge whether they will be worth accepting my interpretation of your law, where a thing thrown away cannot be considered fair trade in any way for a thing stolen without permission.”

“Very well,” the King said. “Tell your story, and if we judge it of worth, we will accept your interpretation of the law and let you leave here with two babes.”

And so the mother told this story:

Surely you have heard a similar tale before, of a musician who descended to the Underworld to sing to the Devil and free a loved one.

It happened many years ago that a woman became well known as a troubadour throughout the kingdom, for her singing voice was beautiful beyond compare and she played the flute and the lyre so sweetly one would think her an Angel descended from heaven. But she was no angel. This woman with the beautiful voice and the wondrous skill at playing music was no better than she should be, and she lived the life of any troubadour – drinking, gambling the coin she earned with her music, and spending her nights in the beds of men, as she pleased.

As one would expect, in the fullness of time, she came to be with child. And while she tried to live up to a mother’s responsibilities, old habits are hard to break. No sooner was her babe weaned than she was back to her old ways. She loved her little daughter greatly, but she was not the sort of woman who was good at supervising a child. And so on the night before the little one was to take her first Confession and then Communion, the mother was drinking with her friends, and playing cards, and never noticed that her daughter had left their home to go down to the stream… until they found the girl’s body caught in the reeds and drowned, the next morning.

In grief the woman screamed, and tore at herself with her nails, for she knew that her daughter being old enough to take Communion, but not having had Confession yet, meant that she was old enough that while her original sins were washed away with her baptism, she had accumulated enough sin to go to Purgatory, rather than to Heaven with our Lord and Savior. Her daughter’s eternal soul would never know the glory of God, and it was her own fault.

So she conceived of a plan to go to Hell and bargain with the Devil for the return of her daughter.

What many priests do not tell you is that Purgatory is itself a ring of Hell, the uppermost one. It is the only ring one can be freed from. Prayers for the souls in Purgatory eventually lighten their burden of sin enough that they can go on to Heaven, but it can take hundreds of years, and the prayers of a holy woman are more valuable than the prayers of a woman who lives a life of vice and sin. The musician feared that her daughter would be damned to Purgatory for the length of her own life, or perhaps forever, with no one holy to pray for her. Instead, she would go to the Underworld, to Hell, and offer the Devil a bargain: she would sing and play for him if he would free her daughter.

It is not hard for a woman of loose virtue to find her way to Hell. More difficult when alive, perhaps, but not impossible. The musician brought her pipe and lute through the gates, where she was challenged by a ferocious hellhound with three heads, but she played a sweet lullaby and the dog calmed and went to sleep at her feet.

She found her way to the capital city of Hell, Dis, and presented herself to the court of Lucifer Morningstar, else called Satan, the Adversary of God.

“Why are you here, human woman?” Satan asked. “You’ll be here soon enough with the life you lead, but you’re still of the living, here and now. You don’t belong in Hell… yet.”

“I’ve come to sing for the return of my daughter,” the musician said.

Satan looked down on her, his face stern. “What makes you think you can win your daughter back? Death is final. You were careless and let her go to the stream unsupervised, and now your daughter is dead. What else did you expect?”

“I failed as a mother and I know that,” the musician said. “But I promise you, if you listen to me play, you won’t regret it. I’m the best musician on Earth.”

“I have all of the best musicians that ever were on Earth, before they died; are you so arrogant to think you are better than all of them?” Satan asked.

“Yes,” she said.

And then Satan laughed, for he loves the human sin of pride like none other. “Oh, very well! Entertain me,” he said.

And so she played. Now, I am no musician nor even a singer, to try to replicate her song, so I will just tell you what she sang. She sang a song of the Virgin Mary holding her baby Son, weeping because the angels had told her what His future held, in her dreams, and the love she felt for her Baby overwhelming her and bringing her to the depths of grief, crying out against a God who could be so cruel as to sacrifice His only Son someday.

Against his will, Satan was moved by the song. Before he was Satan the Adversary, he was once Lucifer, beloved of God, and the Virgin crying out against God’s plan woke the part of his heart that remembered being God’s beloved son himself… made, not begotten, as all of us are, but God’s son nonetheless, and the outrage he himself felt over God’s plan in the time before he turned against it, and against God. And as a former angel, even fallen, he longs for the memory of the beautiful music of the heavens, so much so that he is famous for appreciating good music.

When her song had ended, the musician bowed. Satan, hiding how much the song had moved him, said gruffly, “Very well, you’ve proven your skill, and it’s not as if I won’t have you eventually. The soul of a child in Purgatory isn’t worth very much to me… not so much as the guarantee that you will be here with me when your time comes.” He smiled thinly at her. “Do you pledge your eternal soul to me, then?”

“As you said, Lord Satan, I am probably destined for your halls anyway,” the musician said, “but when the time comes, I won’t seek to fight you or confess my sins and fling myself on God’s mercy, if you give me back my child now.”

“Go out the gates of Dis,” Satan instructed. “Walk out through the ring of Purgatory, out toward the gates of Hell, and pass through them. Follow the path upward through the mountain, in darkness, without torch or lantern to light your way. Your daughter will follow behind you, but do not look back until the sun shines on the both of you once again, or she will fall back into Purgatory and you will never see her again.”

“She is my baby,” the musician objected. “I should carry her.”

Satan chuckled. “She’s no babe in arms; she was about to take her first Communion when she died. You don’t need to carry her. She can walk.”

And so the musician left Dis, and passed out through Purgatory as she was instructed, and did not look back. Purgatory is a place of fog, and ghosts. The musician kept thinking she saw someone she knew appear in the fog, but she didn’t dare to turn and look, lest the Devil call that looking back, for she knew he would try to trick her. Nothing exists in Purgatory but what its denizens can imagine, and being shades in Limbo, they have little imagination. In that dreary place, they slowly forget their memories of their lives on Earth, and become nothing more than hollow shades, drifting patterns that were once a living soul. The musician encountered nothing as she traveled; no one spoke, no footfall resounded in that place of emptiness and silence.

She reached the gates of hell and began to walk up the path through the mountain that conceals the gate to Hell. When she had come down this way, she had carried a torch for light, but Satan had told her she must not carry light on her way back. So she traveled up the path, one hand trailing on the cave wall so she would not lose her way or her footing, in complete darkness. And still she heard no sound, no footfall or whisper of breath, from behind her.

Satan has tricked me, she thought. There’s no one behind me. My daughter is still in Purgatory. Her fear and paranoia grew, and she longed to look behind and tell for sure… but she knew she had been told she could not look back until the sun shined on her and her daughter again. It’s a trick to make me look, she told herself, over and over. She’s there, but she won’t be if I look. And if she’s not, if Satan lied, I’ll go back down and wake the dead with my music until he’s forced to return her to me in truth. Besides, how would she be able to see the shade of her daughter in this darkness?

She traveled upward in darkness, and it seemed that the path went on and on, far longer than it had taken her to travel down. It’s a trick, Satan will never let me out into the sunshine. I’m dead already and my punishment is to walk this dark path upward forever, she thought. But what choice did she have? If she gave up and returned down the path, she would surely be trapped in Hell, and her daughter in Purgatory. Of course it seems longer; it’s dark and it’s uphill, she told herself, over and over. And it’s always easier to descend to Hell than to rise up from it. What else should I expect?

But finally, after what seemed like days of travel, she saw the light of the sun up ahead. She quickened her pace, though her legs burned from the long journey, knowing that as soon as she was within the light of the sun, she would be able to behold her daughter – or know if she had been tricked. “Only a little ways longer, my baby,” she crooned to the child she hoped was behind her. “Just a few more steps, and we’ll be in the light.”

And then she was at the mouth of the cave, and the sunlight shone down on the land right outside. She bounded out of the cave, and spun to behold her daughter—

--whose shade was not yet clear of the cave, not yet within the sunlight. She saw a look of anguish on her child’s face, saw her lips form the cry “Mama!”… but there was no sound, and then her daughter’s image faded back into the darkness.

“No!” the mother cried, and ran back into the cave to try to touch her daughter, to catch her before she disappeared completely… but by the time she was in the cave, her daughter was nowhere in sight.

She screamed in rage and grief. And then she marched back down the path again, without a torch, in the darkness, to find her daughter.

Though she was foolish in her recklessness, she knew better than to think she could find her daughter in the fog of Purgatory on her own. So she marched back into Dis and confronted Satan again. “You tricked me!”

Satan shrugged. “I gave you clear rules. You broke them. There’s nothing I can do.”

The musician narrowed her eyes. “You, the original rebel, must follow rules? Are you master here or not? Do you still have to obey rules imposed by your Father, or are you your own being?”

Satan’s face darkened with fury. “How dare you?!”

“What more can you do to me? Trap me in Hell? I’ll be here anyway. Take my daughter from me? Oh, you already did that!” She poked a finger at him. “You can choose to break your own rules, if you like. They’re your rules. You made them; you can choose not to follow them, if you wish.”

“Very well, then. I choose to follow them. You were told what you needed to do to save your daughter from Purgatory and restore her to life, and you didn’t do it. Why should I break my own rules for one who couldn’t be bothered to follow my instructions?”

“Because if you don’t, I will wake the dead and raise them up against you,” the musician said. “Dis is right outside Purgatory and your demons do not go there. They’re too busy tormenting the truly damned.”

Satan sneered. “I don’t fear a mortal musician, woman. Many, many musicians reside within Hell and Purgatory. What makes you so much more than they are?”

“Because I am alive. And because I am a mother, fighting for my daughter,” the musician said, and began to play.

You have never heard music like this, o Faerie King! In her hands, the lyre screamed her fury, and the song she belted out was louder than anyone would imagine a mortal voice could sing. As I’ve said, I am no musician, so I cannot sing or play her song for you, but I can tell you of it. It was a song of purest rage, that mortals must die, that we are all of us condemned for a choice made so long before we were born, that we have the freedom to sin and that Hell even exists. She sang her anger at the concept of death, and the shades in Purgatory heard her song, and it awakened their memories of life, their own anger at their deaths, at themselves for being sinners and God for allowing them the freedom to sin and the Devil and his minions for keeping them there in Purgatory. Their imaginations responded, and shaped Purgatory to be what they wanted. Those who’d been musicians in life took up their own instruments and joined the mother in her song. Those who’d been warriors took up swords and shields, daggers and bows with quivers of arrows.

And Satan saw that the dead were responding to the mother’s song, and feared that she could lead them against Dis and overthrow his rule, or that she could lead them out of Purgatory and up the mountain again and out into the land of the living, where the presence of such terrifying shades would surely drive the frightened living into the arms of God. “Take your daughter and go! You daughter of a dog and a whore, know this; I am taking from you your death. Never will you come here to Hell again, nor to Heaven, no matter how you should plead with The One Whose Name I will not speak. Wander the Earth forever and never know rest, and call yourself happy for winning back your daughter’s life… but she will die again, eventually, as all mortals do, and you will be parted from her forever then!”

“I can live with that,” the musician said, and left Hell.

And this time, when she crossed the boundary into sunlight, she waited until she heard her child’s voice, until she felt the touch of a small hand on her skirts once more, before she turned and scooped her daughter into her arms, and wept like a babe herself.

***

The mother of the two babes bowed as her story finished. “That is the end of my tale,” she said. “Does it suffice to allow me passage back home with both my babes, Your Majesty?”

“Where is that woman today?” the King asked.

The mother shrugged. “That tale, I don’t know. The last I heard, she was headed to the town of Hamelin. She had heard that the priests of that town, rather than being the holy men they should be, were corrupted by the lusts of the flesh, and misuse children for dark purpose, and the elders of the town allowed it. But I do not know what happened then, nor where she is now.”

“Find her, and bring her to us, and we will consider your debt paid in full,” the King said. “Every seven years we must pay a tithe of our people to Hell. A musician who can wake the dead and terrify the Devil might free us from our terrible burden.”

“If I see her, I will ask her to come to you,” the mother said, “and if I hear tales of her, I will bring them to you at the appointed time.”

“And if you have no tale of her, you will pay us with a different story,” the King said.

“Indeed I will. So do we have a bargain, Faerie King?”

“We do,” the King said. “Go from this place, human woman. Take both your children.”

On the way home, the changeling child said, “Mother, I want to be baptized tomorrow. I wish to have an immortal soul like you and my sister.”

“If you can want a soul, you have one,” the mother said. “And you need no baptism; you do not carry the taint of original sin as humans do. But if you want to be baptized to acknowledge your savior as Lord Jesus Christ, I will do so, but it will most likely take from you all of your supernatural memories, and bind you in the form of a human child.”

“That is what I want,” the changeling said. “You bargained for me, to be my mother and to love me and care for me. All I want is to be your babe in arms in return.”

“Then that is what we’ll do,” the mother said.

“But before that, can you tell me… you have some connection to the musician in the story, don’t you, Mother? Who is she to you?”

“She is your grandmother,” the mother said, smiling. “I am the child she rescued from Hell. The Faerie King should have known better than to threaten me. I have none of my mother’s gift for music, but I have never forgotten that my mother challenged the Devil for me, and won. How could I do any less for my own children?”

And then the babe born human woke and began to fuss. The mother pulled the wagon that carried them to a meadow, and sat on the grass with them, her breasts bared to feed both, as she watched the sun rise.

[porcelain-wraith]

Ranting. You can ignore me.

So, I’ve spent a good amount of time ignoring my feels and repressing all kinds of garbage... I could be doing all kinds of productive things right now, but instead all the feels kinda just came flooding back.

I’ve been at a crossroads for awhile... to be completely honest, my dad’s side of the family is pretty fucked and I don’t like to talk a lot about how awful I really feel about it. So why not post it for anyone who wants to read it so complete strangers can witness the train wreck that is my brain.

For a bit of backstory, my parents have been divorced since I was 2 or 3 and my dad always refused to talk to my mom unless he absolutely had to. There came a time in my childhood where he told her to fuck off and mind her own business because “the kids can call if they want to see me”... I was probably 4 or 5 and the only phone numbers I knew were my own and my grandma’s. My dad never wanted to put the effort in because he was so bitter towards my mom, therefore he never called... he didn’t really do much in lieu of child support either.

Ever since I’ve been old enough to start thinking on my own, I’ve come to the realization that my dad has always put his own wants and needs over that of his kids, and as a result we, and our relationships with him have suffered tremendously. I used to have him on a pedestal and thought that he was the best dad ever, but over the years he has increasingly fallen down, piece by piece for each piece he broke off of me.

He would always put on a show, getting drunk and crying about how much he loves/misses his kids (us), but the more I grew up, the more I realized he was only paying lip service. I’ve watched him rip my brothers to shreds, talk down to them, and at times he’s even threatened to hit them... my entire life, I’ve had to listen to him degrade my mom in front of his friends and of course, his kids. On top of that, he’s made a habit of degrading me. He comments on how I should lose weight, how he doesn’t like my hair, my language, my beliefs... he continuously ignores how I feel and disrespects myself and my beliefs.

Example: my entire life, I’ve asked him to not slap my ass... his response has always been “I’m your dad, I’ll do what I want.” Or “you make it seem like I’m some sort of pervert.” One day he had done it so many times, no matter how many times I asked him to stop. He got really drunk that night and did it again... I asked him politely to stop, then shit got real. He called me an over dramatic bitch and told me to get over myself. I sheepishly tried to explain myself and how I was feeling to him (which was a big mistake since he was drunk) and he brushed me off like I was nothing. I had finally had it with him brushing me off, so I grabbed him by the shirt and demanded he listen. He raised his hand at me and told me that I’d better let go before he hit me... I never thought I’d be on the receiving end of that sort of threat... he screamed at me more, in front of my uncle and with my step mom in the next room... nobody came to defend me. I was 17. I locked my door that night, sobbing myself to sleep as I heard him trying to pick the lock followed by him saying “fuck it, your choice.” I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared in my life. The next day I woke up to my door open and a bunch of his friends outside my door talking loudly... I left to go find somewhere to be alone and wound up running into my step mom. She told me it was my fault that he reacted that way and that I should’ve done better or been better... his friends agreed. I felt so disrespected, stupid, overlooked, etc. And he never brought it up... acted like nothing happened and like everything was okay. This was 4 years ago and it still fucks me up to think about.

Over the past few years, one of my brothers has decided not to have a relationship with my dad, and the other one doesn’t bother to make an effort anymore because all my dad amd step mom do is disrespect and abuse him... so I’m what’s left of his kids. I consistently ignore his texts unless I have to reply, or pretend I don’t get them because I can’t bring myself to talk to him. There are some days where I’m so guild ridden that I’ll reply and tell him what he wants to hear so that he feels better about himself and because I can’t handle confrontation.

Back to the crossroads...

That was only one example of the shit I’ve gone through with my dad... the only time he brought up anything about that night was when he ridiculed and judged me for hurting myself after I locked myself in my room.

The crossroads is this...

For whatever fucked up reason, I still talk to my dad. Partially because I feel like if I tell him I’m done, he’ll disappear out of my brother’s life too, and my brother doesn’t deserve that.

I don’t know how much longer I can pretend that things are okay and that I want him in my life.

I can’t count the amount of times I’ve cried myself to sleep because of the things he’s said/done to my brothers or myself... I can’t count the amount of times I’ve begged him to reach out and call me because I so badly wanted a dad that thought I was worth the effort... his excuse was always that he didn’t want to talk to my mom... Even after I got my own phone.

Words can’t do justice the pain I feel because the one man in my life who is meant to love me unconditionally, teach me things, and treat me with respect doesn’t seem to think I’m worth it.

My heart breaks every time I think about the pain he’s caused my brothers... especially the one who’s dad let him get adopted by my dad in hopes that my dad would do better by him... my brother deserves so much more than this, they both do.

My heart breaks for my mom who fought to keep our relationship with him... who never badmouthed my dad to us, even though he did a number on her too... who always told us to love him for who he is and not for who we wanted him to be... and lastly, who still beats herself up because she wishes she could’ve done better.

Isn’t it fucked up? How does one person have such a big impact on my life? How does this one person have the power to break me so badly? I don’t get it.

I know I’m rambling, but I don’t know what else I’m meant to do... my brain won’t stop.

I want to be done, but I don’t want to hurt anyone. I also don’t want to jeopardize the relationship he could have with my brother.

I’m genuinely so sorry for putting this all out there, I honestly may delete it later.

I guess the fact that he hasn’t really made an effort to talk to me in about 6 months has me fucked up... and anytime he wants something, he never talks to me. Instead, he gets lucky wife #5 to talk to me for him.

I know that this probably isn’t even all that bad and that others have it so much worse, but I guess it’s kinda just hitting me hard tonight.

I find it hard to talk to people when I’m feeling my feels, and I think writing it out is a lot more effective for me.

I’ve made a habit of telling people I’m fine all the time, even when I’m not... I guess this is me admitting that I’m not.

I’m finding it so taxing and exhausting to keep up with this facade, and I’m at a point where I don’t know that I can keep it up for much longer.

To anyone who has made it this far, I’m so sorry you had to read my ramblings... I’m kind of a mess right now.

This has been on my mind for awhile, as well as the fact that everything else that can possibly go wrong right now seems to be doing so.

I clearly have some choices to make, and they won’t be easy ones.

Thank you to anyone who has made it to the end of this, and once again, I’m very sorry that you’ve endured all of this. I guess I just felt like I needed to get this out.

Deuces ✌🏻

[conflictpredicted]

“Jackal Kraus, how are you today?”

“About the same”

“Do you think you can proceed with your appointment?”

“Yes”

he sat in an office in the northern wing of the base, he went there a few times a month. A middle-aged lady with a long figure dressed in a suit displaying a military crest sat behind the desk, her hair was pulled tightly back in a bun and while she looked intimidating, she had a kind face. She leaned in closer to her desk with a pen and paper and smiled at him.

“You said that last time too”

Jackal straightened up in his chair even more “no I think I can” his eyes averted to the corner the book shelf in the corner of the room “sometimes it’s just hard to tell if I can until I start talking”

The woman grinned “that is very true.” She flipped to a new side of paper in her notepad “Now, if it’s okay to begin. How is Anjie?”

“She’s stable” he stopped for a moment and began to play with the button on his jacket and then looked back up at her “she loves board games and adores my friend Tobas. She laughs all of the time and last week she even tried a cooking class offered by the hospital” he continued on with full expression “and well she says she is not sure if she’s the greatest cook considering she spilled most of the ingredients on the counter-” he stopped himself “sorry that’s not what you wanted to know, is it?”

The woman still held her pleasant smile “That’s okay, I’m glad to hear.”

He was quite nervous and started to feel sweat on the back of his neck.

“Anjie seems like quite the happy girl, compared to you.”

Jackal looked away, he couldn’t stand coming to terms with his real self.

“it would help if you opened up to me.”

Both sat in silence for a few moments before she started speaking again

“Jackal, please look at me. You have experienced trauma, no doubt, and you are doing the best you can. But you have pretended as if nothing has happened for over a year now. It isn’t healthy.”

Jackal finally looked at her again, wearing a disheartened smile “I guess I can’t proceed with the appointment today” he let out his signature light laugh “sorry” and left the office. The woman remained in her seat and watched him walk by the blurred window, she sighed and felt confounded.

While more than half of the base was in Liastein, the upper ranking officers thought it would be a great opportunity for the remaining squads to do an “area scope” whilst cleaning. Tobas groaned he couldn’t believe he wasn’t chosen to leave, it was his hometown and he hadn’t visited in months. Watching everyone get on trucks and leave the base only made his homesickness manifest more. He pouted on the stone wall outside, moments later sen appeared and searched around for the rest of the group

“Where’s Sina and Jackal?”

Tobas turned away, he did not want to talk nor look at him. Sen was used to this behaviour and while it was annoying it didn’t get on his nerves too much. Tobas finally jumped off the wall and walked up to him with his arms crossed

“You did something.” he said accusingly

Sen didn’t know what he was talking about and walked around to see if sina or jackal had arrived until he was stopped by Tobas who grabbed his shoulder “What was that look general gave you last night”

Sen removed his hand from his shoulder “I don’t know, he just looked at me”

Tobas’ eyes were pointed and gleaming, “You know I don’t believe a word you say” he said through his teeth

“then why are you asking me a question if you won’t believe it anyway” tobas balled his hand into a fist and as he was about to swing it Petar walked out the entrance of the base

“Wow you two, am I going to have to break you up?” he came over to see what was up and tobas released his hand and shoved it back in his pocket “No, sen over here is just being smart”

“hmm” Petar said assessing the situation with his shifty hazel eyes, sen shrugged with both hands it was the most animated he ever got aside from combat and eating bread. He stepped back and sat on the bench taking out his pocket watch to check the time, petar brushed his bangs from his face, he usually kept them held back with a few pins but forgot them today. He looked to sen “You know Jackal and Sina are cleaning out the compost over there.”

he looked up “really?”

“yeah they have been for about 20 minutes now”

Sen felt a bit foolish since he had been waiting for them to begin todays duties and to find out they had started without him. Petar looked obtusely at the two of them and wondered if they ever really functioned as a team, before offering to reunite them.

The three of them walked through the soggy field in their boots and full uniforms, although they were only cleaning it was still considered an official duty. The sun beamed down, for a February day it was almost like spring and the grass let off a peaceful earthy smell. They came upon a concrete platform which led to the sorting facility enclosed in a fenced off area, it no longer smelt like spring but now awful. Sina and Jackal were there working away and wearing masks on their faces to block out the smell. Sina dropped her bag and waved at Petar, Jackal lifted his head up and waved as well. Sen didn’t look pleased with the situation their squad was assigned, he knew that it was probably his fault though. If sen wasn't pleased then tobas was a hundred more times discontented, looking more than unwilling to step foot through that gate.

The two of them came out smelling strongly of rotten banana peals mixed with spoiled milk, they took off their gloves and breathed in the fresher air for the moment. 

“its not as bad as it looks” jackal assured, mostly speaking towards tobas who carried a pretty boy complex.

Petar was in a daze and still smiling at sina, she said nothing and continued to return it back to him. Sen rolled up his sleeves, took off his nice white gloves, and stuffed them in his pocket. After putting on the rubber gloves he proceeded through the gate before the others. Jackal followed behind him shortly.

“sorry you have to do this, I would help out but my team and I got assigned the lounge.” He patted sinas head and said his goodbyes

Tobas smirked at her “Is that your boyfriend?” sina looked at him with a look of dismay

“No we’re just friends.” She stated firmly.

“oh~ he would feel miserable to hear that” chuckled tobas

Sina expressed confusion

“Petar has it hot for you”

Sinas face flushed red, scrunched her nose up, and joined jackal and sen.

Jackal held the bag open so that sen could pour one of the bins into it. Behind them sina was knelt down sorting through cans, she ripped the labels off them and placed them in a separate pile.

Tobas sat on the ground against the fence, to him he was in hell. He sighed his head back and forth repeatedly while watching the three of them touch garbage

“I could easily get a girlfriend you know”

Jackal glanced over and gave him a funny look. Sina increased her concentration at the can sorting.

“I’m serious, I’d say I get asked every week” tobas went on, none of them knew what he was going on about.

“what about you Jackal, you’re pretty good looking yourself” he winked. \jackal tied the garbage bag and chuckled “am I? I don’t know about that”

Sina looked up at him “People admire you Jackal”

He rubbed the back of his neck bashfully “well that’s good to know” then he wondered “why do you bring this up, Tobas?”

Tobas expressed a half-twisted grin “Petar is hot for Sina”

Her face again flushed red in both embarrassment in anger she violently started ripping the labels off and digging loudly through cans, sen peered down at her confused. Tobas turned his head and watched her attentively “I think love is what we need during this dark time, I say go for it sina”

Jackal continued to rub his neck, he wasn’t sure what to say, he could feel her embarrassment and could see the fun tobas was having.

“Don’t listen to him, he just likes to poke fun at whatever he can, Petar seems nice though. So, if you like him don’t be ashamed”

Followed by his comment, Sina made the biggest racket, now avoiding any contact with jackal and tobas. Sen changed the subject to work “Lets just finish cleaning so we can get out of here” the smell was starting to become nauseating. When the work was done they were all so relieved but badly needed a shower, except tobas who did close to nothing. Despite that he rushed off to the showers anyways, sina waited until sen could tell them ago, for she respected him to that extent. Sen dismissed them, and she hurried off partly because she was still flustered and so she could get a shower as well.

It was nearly lunchtime and sina was starving. Fortunately, ever since she saw crow her nightmare had stopped, and she was able to focus during the day now. This had her feeling mentally good. She caught sight of jackal who was walking back with sen. Behind her was petar  from the other direction, jackal did a small salute to him, in which sina looked behind her shoulder and spotted him. It caused her to blush and that made her anxiety exceed levels. So she decided to rush off and enter the cafeteria by herself. Petar watched her leave in confusion. Momentarily, a few of Petar’s squad members showed up, including tera the snippy one.

“shall we eat, I think we worked for it” he said inviting Jackal and Sen to join them.

Tera plugged her nose “Oh my, do I smell trash?” then laughed as she continued to enter the cafeteria.

 Petar sigh “sorry about that, she’s not that bad” then whispered, “all of you actually smell quite nice” sen didn’t know what to do with that information and waited for jackal to say something, which surely the polite guy did “Well, thanks” he replied lightheartedly.

Petar eagerly looked for the table Sina was at, ever since yesterday he hasn’t stopped thinking about the times they’ve spent together. He was dying to confess his feelings but was at a difficult crossroad with himself. They had hung out with crow alone many times in the past, she knew his father, and they got along well. Everyone gathered at a table in the middle of the room, sina felt uncomfortable when everyone abruptly sat around her talking loudly. She wasn’t expecting all of the company and had taken 3 portions of food for herself. She quickly pushed a cheesy baked potato at sen, who had a plain one without butter. He looked down at it and then at her puzzled, she gave him a desperate look that read “please just go along with it” he nodded at her and pulled the cheesy potato closer to him. Petar looked happily at her and asked how the cleaning went, she gave him a thumbs-up but didn’t feel like talking. She never liked talking during meals because she was so focused on the meal in front of her.  

Suddenly an alarm went off, it was so startling a piece of potato fell from her mouth. Everyone looked around, everything seemed to be okay until smoke started billowing from the hallway

“What is It a fire?” Jackal questioned in a panic

Moments later an announcement over the PA was made “everyone take positions, at this time the situation is unknown, prepare yourselves for potential combat and take positions. I repeat prepare yourselves and take positions”

Sen’s and Tera’s communication devices started beeping like mad both of them answered and there was shouting at the other end of them

Tera shouted back into hers “what’s going on, please calm down!”

The voice at the other end said

“w-we’re being attacked!”

[girishprb]

Montana 1: Adventure begins

A memorable trip in Colorado back in 2016 Labor day weekend ensured that we do something similar or even better in 2017. A separate blog post will be dedicated to that trip! Patience please :) There was a lot of back and forth while deciding the location, which started with Alaska and eventually settled down to Montana and its crown of the continent - the majestic Glacier National Park. To get a head start over the regular long weekend crowd, we planned to reach a couple of days early with no specific plan in mind. Wildfires and frequent updates ensured that we plan nothing whatsoever and do everything in the moment, which I think was a blessing in disguise. Saved on a bunch of planning, we did not really have any timelines or expectations and the randomness made it much more beautiful and satisfying.

The only planning we did do was a couple of days before to make sure we carried all the important stuff and that we did not duplicate key items. For future camping trips, and for all who do read my blogs, hope this helps :)

[x] Brush [x] Toothpaste [x] Hand sanitizer [x] Toilet paper [x] Facial wipes [x] mug(steel preferred) [x] Vessel/saucepan to cook (3 ppl) [x] Milk powder [x] Tea, coffee, chocolate powders [x] First aid kit [x] Water purifier tablets [x] Spoons n forks [x] Knife [x] Fire starter kit [x] Lighter, matches [x] Propane cylinders, stove [x] National park permit [x] Offline maps [x] Ponchos [x] Hydration bladder [x] Sleeping mat [x] Dry fruits [x] Pasta, Maggi, Spanish rice packs [x] Thermals? [x] towel [x] Energy bars [x] Power bank [x] torches, lanterns [x] chappal [x] mouthwash [x] bear spray [x] Garbage covers [x] Batteries [x] Tent

On the day of the departure, I had an adventure of my own. To start off with, I had 3 flights in total - RDU -> Newark -> Denver -> Missoula. God knows why I booked a flight with that route (probably has something to do with money). Also, gate closing time at RDU was 3.45 pm! That meant I had to leave office post lunch and be at the airport by 3. To add on to this, I was just back from a trip to Seattle for a week and my feature had a major release in the coming week. Somehow working late nights, I and my colleagues made sure we were in good shape just before I went off on this vacation. I left the office at 2.10 pm, had to still buy a tent from REI (12 mins drive from the office in the opposite direction). And possibly go to Indian stores to buy instant tea powder because I knew there were no Indian stores in Missoula or en route to GNP. At 2.45 pm, I was at the crossroads, I had to decide whether I go to Indian stores which will delay me by at-least 15 minutes or go home, pack, call UBER and hope to make it to airport by 3.15 pm. The logical and sane option was to do the latter, but, what’s the point of camping and backpacking when there’s no Girnar’s masala chai early in the morning :P I chose Indian stores, but to save on precious 10 minutes wait for UBER, I called my roommate to come home and drop me to airport. Thankfully he did this great favor and took me through a new and arguably faster route to the Airport( He is amazing!). I reached the airport at 3.20 pm with tea and bunch of snacks other than Maggi since I was assuming that Manasi was getting it. In our previous group chats, she gave us the impression that she was the one and only wholesale distributor of Maggi to the North Americas. In all this hurry I missed out on a text message from Manasi asking me to get Maggi and she used this a response to everything I said later! (You did not get Maggi!!!)

At the airport, I directly wanted to go to the United counter and check-in my backpack (Osprey Aether 60 L) as I was already late, but one smart-ass agent asked me to first go to the kiosk and enter my details. Reluctantly, with an exasperated expression, I did that as arguing would delay me further. To nobody’s surprise, it displayed a warning message stating that I cannot check-in my baggage since it was less than 45 minutes to departure. I called the same guy again and triumphantly asked him what should I do now. It was his turn to give me the exasperated look as he requested me to talk to an agent at the counter. She was partly annoyed as well and I don’t blame her. The fault was entirely mine. After glancing at the system and her watch multiple times, she finally decided to let me check in and try my luck catching the flight. She literally said, “Good luck, hope you can make it”!

Usually at RDU, one can breeze through the security lines within 5-10 minutes. My personal best was probably a minute or less than that when I caught a flight to SFO, the last flight for the day. They had to start the scanner machine just for me! This day wasn’t a usual day! there were quite a few people, already in the holiday mood. The time now was 3.32 pm. with 13 minutes to board my flight, I actually started thinking if the tea packet was really worth it :P (it was) I cleared the security at 3.41 pm. Ideally, in this situation, it would have helped if my boarding gate was as close as possible to the security checkpoint. But when the universe conspires to make your life miserable, it always does a pretty darn good job. My boarding gate was the furthest possible from the security checkpoint. My half marathon training finally paid off as I sprinted across the terminal amidst the amused glances from random strangers. Thankfully, RDU is one of the smaller airports where I can do all this bullshit and still get away with it. I made it to the gate at 3.43 pm, but without a proper breakfast, without lunch and with 10% charge on my totally unreliable Nexus 5. Why do I still own it? excellent question. I shall write a blog about that as well :P

As luck would have it, in the flight, the 2017 August edition of United airlines magazine was about Montana. The editor wrote about his 3-day experience in Montana. This is where I first got to know that huckleberries are found there in abundance. Mark Twain’s Adventures of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry fin were some of my earliest novels that I had read in my school days. I mentally made a note to make sure I try the famous huckleberry pie no matter what! And I did try most of the huckleberry delicacies, more on that later. In this process, I probably did annoy Shruti and Manasi because they could not understand my obsession with huckleberries. I am not really sure either, but, with the hunger pangs and given the fact that these berries are not found everywhere and their delicacies are part of ‘the’ Montana experience, I wanted every bit of it :)

[necro-romantic]

hi just a rando follower here. for the oc ask game: 1, 5, 43 or 50, whatever u'd like to share I guess. nice blog btw

1. Your first OC ever?

I had a warrior cat oc, i don’t remember her name but that’s the first one i remember, i wrote a whole story about her and her clan that was in like, 5th grade

5. If you could make only one of your OCs popular/known, who would it be? 

Nathan Mills, my sweet sweet garbage boy, i love him he is the first “Real”(tm) character i made and the main character of the first book i really finished, i love talking about him i know so much about him

43. Do you have any certain type when you create your OCs? Do you tend to favour some certain traits or looks? It’s time to confess

I like to make garbage characters, just, 6908 flaws, and i always end up with at least one pompous asshole per story, just, love me some terrible narcissistic trash. that’s my type. just. pretentious egomaniacs. i wonder if there’s a reason for that.....

50. Give me the good ol’ OC talk here. Talk about anything you wantIf you want, you can tag your ask answers with #yetanotherOCmeme so I can check them out too `v´9 

oH boy, 

well, im gonna keep talking about nathan, who is my firstborn

imma give a brief summary of his life

he moved to nyc in 1917 because he wanted to hang w/ the Big Boys in the theater, but then he got all angsty because his friends kept getting killed because they were in The Movement so he abandoned all social issues and also decided to just, stop talking to people so he couldn’t get sad when they died so he just kinda locked himself in his apartment and drank a lot for a couple years and moped around like a bitch. 

then he got an eviction warming and was like “i gotta get a job” 

so he was like “wow boy howdy im a lazy asshole i’m gonna cheat my way into getting what i want” so he goes down to the crossroads and sells his soul to be supernaturally charismatic and goes and gets a job at a theater, and is like “mayhaps life is not so bad”

and he makes some friends and gets his shit together a little but then he finds out his director is like, a murderer and he’s like “damn i’d tell on her if i didn’t have the hots for her...” so he just keeps his mouth shut until she kills someone at the end of the play and he’s talking to this new hot young boy he picked up at the harbor and adopted and he’s like “ohhhh woe is me, this is my fault, i am so Bad, terrible, this is all my fault, i Feel so Terrible...” and he just goes on and on until grayson (the sweet young boy(i mean he’s like, 22 but still)) is like “no no no, you’re a good person and this isn’t your fault” and then he’s like “yeah lol ur right, goodnight” and then grayson suffers and goes to the police station and they’re like “u need evidence bitch” and he’s like “this is bull” so he and nathan go visit nathan’s old friend carmen who happens to work for the fbi (Which nathan shouldn’t know but found out because he’s a nosy bitch and he literally sold a year of his life to the demon, who is lovely by the way and her name is lorraine, to find out carmen’s Deepest Secret)

so they go to her house and bring it up and she’s like “i am actually suspended because i have a Temper, but i will indeed help you” and so they team up and work a plan 

and nathans like “man, i do sure enjoy this lovely murder woman” and he’s just all around garbage and murder girl (lillian) takes advantage of him because he’s a weak bitch and he’ll do anything she tells him to do as long as she tells him he’s Good 

grayson ends up dying because of the plan and nathan’s like “damn..... i fucked up... time to isolate myself from the world again farewell” 

and lillian is like “ i will take this man thank you v much” and she helps him get famous and he’s like “boy howdy i sure wanted this and now i have it all why am i still miserable” and im like “it’s cuz u left all ur friends u dumbass” 

he drinks himself into oblivion and blackmails a few people into suicide because he’s bored and upset with his life and it makes him feel in control, then he’s like “well i’m done” and he sells the last few years of his life to the demon he is now in love with, and who also loves him, and she’s like “i loved u nathan mills u dumb bitch why are you such an asshole” and she actually fucked herself over getting him a sweet setup in hell so anyways nathan goes to hell and lucifer is like “yo fam, i got u a deal here..... lorraine got herself into some shit getting u a place in my favor so hell isn’t hell for you, but my guy.... if you want to, ya know, redeem yourself and lighten up that heavy conscience of yours just a little bit... you can opt out, and u know what- i won’t make her collect souls anymore. no more falling in love w/ humans and watching them go to hell, free to do what she wants. but in return, you will be TORTUREd my boy” and nathan’s like “well fuck, um, i feel like shit so i’ll actually do that, fuck me up lucifer i’m ready to suffer” and luci’s like “well. um. i’ve actually offered this to everyone that poor bitch has fallen in love with and they all sold her up the creek i am Intrigued by you.... u know what kid, u got my favor, i love actors, love the drama, i’ll keep u in the Good Circle my guy”

and nathan’s like “what about lorraine” and he’s like “eh, she’s good 2 go, free as a bird. happy ending for y’all. listne.... i love me a good happy ending, let me watch this one play out”

anyways i love nathan so dearly and also everyone in the book, good shit, love my babies