#unfortunately i cannot put ‘did not **** self’ on my self evaluation even though i think its one of my biggest accomplishments of the year .

[wiseatom]

working from home for the third time this week i love life and living

[tenspontaneite]

Peace Is A Journey (Chapter 23/?)

In which a Healer visits her patient, three unfortunate children have a very cold day of travel, and Corvus learns something unexpected during his convalescence.

(Chapter length: 14k. Ao3 link)

Warnings: non-graphic descriptions of respiratory illness, an amputated limb, and non-consensual administration of medical treatment. Discussions of suicide and mercy-killing. Depictions of early stages of adapting to a new physical disability. Mentions of cold-related injury in background characters.

---

A runner came for them early. Early enough that Sarli and her apprentice had barely risen. Seeing as Sarli was not yet presentable, Cairon answered the door; she listened to what little she could glean of the conversation through the walls.

She heard “Yes,” and “yes,” again, and then “I understand. I will tell my master.”

Sarli finished dressing and went out to receive the news. “Well?” she questioned, once her apprentice was within her line of sight, and he straightened.

“The castle requests our attendance to the prisoner at our earliest opportunity,” he reported. “And there is someone to show our way to the new cell waiting outside.”

She considered this, and the urgency it implied. It was fortunate that they had no appointments booked until the afternoon, apparently. “Have they any news of his condition?”

“Sick, and weakening.” Cairon was succinct.

“Unsurprising.” Sarli went to her medicine cabinet and opened it, considering the arrayed items with a careful eye. The infection was surely still persisting, so, something for the reduction of fever. The lilium, of course, for pain. It would be well to bring an anti-inflammatory, too. Perhaps several. And, if the elf persisted with his reticence, then…the needle, too.

She plucked a few vials and bottles from her shelves, then went for the other assorted basics of bandages and disinfectants, and handed some of it off to Cairon to pack while she wrapped the rest. And then there was nothing but for the two of them to leave their House of Healing and follow after their waiting escort.

The elf’s new prison was apparently in a wing of the castle proper; or so she surmised when they did not divert for the dungeons once through the castle gates. She supposed the stipulation of moonlight cut off many of the more secure below-ground options; she had been very clear in specifying that some amount of moonlight must be upon the cell for as close to the entire night as possible. She wondered how they’d managed it.

Once they were through the inner doors, one of the Crownguard took up her escort. “Healer Sarli,” she greeted, with a nod of respect. “If you’ll follow me? Your patient is waiting.”

“Of course,” she said, and so they followed a little further. The castle was well-guarded today, she noted. Very well-guarded. And increasingly so, as they progressed into a wing that did not seem designed for prisoners at all. “Is this not a residential wing?” she asked at last, a little nonplussed by the finery of the halls she crossed. Cairon, too, seemed a little narrow-eyed about the affair, though he did not speak. His eyes marked each and every Crownguard as they walked.

“Diplomatic wing,” corrected their escort; despite her professionalism, there seemed a hint of unease to her countenance. “I’m afraid your stipulations for all-night moonlight access were difficult to manage, Healer. The diplomatic quarters are empty for the moment, and they have always had high security anyway, so it was decided that one of the rooms should be converted for use as a cell. The windows are…larger, here.”

Sarli raised an eyebrow. She supposed there had been no call for the crown-castle to host Moonshadow prisoners before, but even so… “Surely that must have been rather a lot of work.”

“Less than you’d think. It was mostly a matter of replacing the door and putting a cage on the window. And stripping the room, of course.” The Crownguard hesitated for a moment. “It did take the night, though. The prisoner was only moved here two hours ago.”

She paused. “So, then, he has had no moonlight this past night.” Although her tone was neutral, she thought it plain that she was not pleased. Beside her, Cairon looked grim.

“Regretfully, no.”

Sarli pursed her lips, and said nothing more until they reached the cell.

It was apparent when they reached it. The door was thick and iron-banded, adorned with bolts and keyholes and chains. It was a sharp contrast to the finery of the rest of this area of the castle. There were two Crownguard directly outside the door, and several more posted the length of the hallway. Evidently, they were taking no chances with the elf that had slain the King. The effort they’d gone to was testament indeed to how valuable they considered this prisoner.

There was also a man who was certainly not a guard of any sort, waiting for them. He looked up as they neared, eyes sparking with recognition. Clearly, he knew her by the robes. “Healer Sarli,” he greeted, and offered a short bow. “You have been anticipated.”

Sarli stopped across from him and eyed him appraisingly. No sign of military conditioning, but a certain self-assurance to his manner regardless. He seemed sharp-eyed and shrewd, and was dressed smartly in predominantly dark colours. She recognised his like. “There has been no tribunal yet,” she observed, a little startled to see an observer from the Crow Lord’s office here.

He nodded agreeably. “There hasn’t. I believe they aren’t in any particular hurry to hold one either, since it will be a moot point if the elf doesn’t survive the new moon.” The man’s eyes slid from her to Cairon, then back again. “I am Teyron. I will be present for any and all meetings between the prisoner and his guards and visitors of any kind.”

She inspected him. “Seeing if there is anything to glean from non-exceptional measures?” Her voice was dry.

Teyron smiled. “That, too.”

Sarli shook her head. It was like that, was it? Very well, then. She supposed it mattered little to her. Cairon seemed a little confused, though, so she turned to him and said “This is a member of the Crow Lord’s office. He is here to gather information on the prisoner via the passive methods of observation and insight. He is also here to ensure no one attempts covert communication with the prisoner during visits.”

She was watching him closely to be sure he understood, and was satisfied to watch him fall briefly still. “I see,” Cairon said, in the end, eyeing the Crow Lord’s man with some mixture of caution and curiosity. “Is that standard for prisoners of war?”

“It’s standard for prisoners with a covert operations background,” Teyron said affably, and inclined his head to the door. “Shall we?”

“Yes.” Sarli approached the door as one of the Crownguard reached over to slot a thick key into the mechanism. When it was opened, she allowed Teyron and the guards to precede her, then followed without further ado.

She lingered in the doorway for a moment, taking stock of the room. If this had been ambassadors’ housing, she could only imagine it had been for lesser members of a delegation. The place was well-lit, but it was not large. Even stripped of its finery and furniture, it was emphatically not large. A servant’s posting, perhaps? Even such a lowly use was beyond it now. It was utterly bare but for the trappings of a prison. No bed, not even a pallet; but there was a chamber-pot, she was glad to see. That was certainly more than the Lord Protector had provided.

As the Crownguard had said, there had been bars affixed around the broad window of the impromptu cell; the mortar barely looked dry where they penetrated the walls. She thought humourlessly on how much work it would be to rehabilitate this room when it had expunged its use as a prison.

And then there was the prisoner himself. Her patient. The guard had not thought to mention the chains affixed to the wall, but he was well-secured by them. There were cuffs at his neck, both shins, and the surviving arm, all held fast by long chains that coiled around him like darksteel snakes. They seemed to allow him a surprising range of motion, and Sarli guessed that he would easily be able to reposition himself in front of the window, should he desire. And yet, he had made no attempt to do so. Instead he was slumped backwards against the wall, peering narrowly at them; he seemed too weak to hold himself fully upright.

Sarli inspected him in a fast, evaluative moment, then stepped forwards. “You will remember me, I trust,” she said, and approached without ceremony to lay her pack down. Cairon trailed at her heels, silent and watchful. “I am here to continue your treatment.”

The elf did not reply. His eyes slid from her to Cairon, and then to Teyron. There they lingered for a while, dark and suspicious. She supposed he must be aware of what that man represented. At all times, Teyron would be watching for any opening or weakness implied in his reactions. The elf had already been silent and taciturn, and she doubted this would help matters.

So she sighed, and beckoned Cairon over. The Crownguard followed as well, which she noted with some asperity. The territoriality was reflexive; a Healer should not be managed in her treatment of a patient, nor crowded in such an unseemly manner. “Are you a Healer’s assistant as well as Crownguard?” She questioned the woman, annoyance lending sharpness to the words.

“Begging your pardon, Healer,” said the Crownguard. “I am protection. He has sufficient leeway in his chains to attack you.”

“And perhaps that would be a legitimate concern nearer the full moon,” Sarli said. “But for the moment, my patient is so weak he trembles at supporting himself upright, even leaning on a wall. If I cannot stop him, my apprentice will. Step back, if you please.”

Two faces went disgruntled at once: the Crownguard’s, and the elf’s. The latter, she supposed, was unhappy with her entirely accurate characterisation of his weakness.

“As you say, Healer,” The Crownguard conceded, finally, and did step back. Satisfied, Sarli went to her work.

Her first order of business was to give her patient a thorough looking-over. In plain daylight, his inhuman skin-tone was more evident, but the sickly pallor held to it nonetheless. His face was a little too pale, and the shadows beneath his eyes were dark. She felt for his pulse, and found it shallow and laboured. His temperature was somewhat higher than preferable, though not yet dangerously so. She inspected the stump of his arm next, removing the bandages and gauze, and noted that it had healed very little at all. It was not bleeding, but the edges of the wound had made no visible effort at sealing, even as careful as her stitching had been. Sarli saw that it was at least not visibly infected, even if the inflammation was severe. Finally she gestured for the stethoscope and listened to his lungs again. Their condition was more advanced now, though she could have surmised that merely by listening to him breathe.

For his part, the elf bore the examination stoically, flinching only the first time she touched him and then not at all thereafter. At last she sat back and observed him. “Will you take your medicines of your own accord?” she asked, and he blinked slowly at her. There was no hostility in his eyes, only a weary resolution. Outside of the dark, they lacked their uncanny phosphorescence, and seemed a great deal more human.

“I will not,” he rasped, as he had once before. The Crow Lord’s spy watched avidly from the corner.

She inclined her head. “I respect your pride, and your force of will,” she said. “But it is my duty to heal you.”

The elf’s eyes slid briefly to Teyron again. She expected him to remain silent after reminding himself that they were observed, but he surprised her. In that terrible rattling voice, he said “Your duty, to heal one who is already dead.” It was not quite a question, but had the taste of one regardless.

Sarli considered the words, feeling in them some edge of a culture unknown to her. There was significance here that she was not privy to. “I know nothing of the ways of your kind,” she said at last. “If you think you are already dead, then perhaps you are. I cannot heal a corpse. But I am human. If you are not beyond my aid, then the alleviation of your suffering does remain my duty. I will see it done.”

He exhaled, and the sigh would have been silent if not for the crackle of his lungs. He descended into a brief, painful series of wet coughs, then he met her eyes. They were oddly steady. Again, that rasping voice: “I have heard of how human healers alleviate suffering.”

In the corner of her eye, Sarli saw Teyron shift, less with interest than with wariness. She could read the thoughts, there. The elf’s words were not quite an overt invitation of a more permanent mercy, but they skittered close enough that an information specialist might fear what she would do.

And well he should. It would be easy, after all. No one could stop her from mixing the lilium a little too potently. It would spare him his pain. Spare him the suffering of the next few days. Spare him the inevitable torture that would come, should he survive.

Sarli regarded the elf, expressionless. Beside her, Cairon was very still. “You speak of the mercy-killing that a Healer may practice as if you would invite it,” she said, at last, and he made no objection to the words. Just watched her. “You refuse to eat or drink on your own, and accept no medical aid that is not forced upon you. In this regard, you behave as one seeking to die.” Sarli watched him, and nodded to herself. “…But I think that there are limits upon that intention, for you. If you truly wished to end yourself, none could stop you. Yet you have not.” Slow and deliberate, she set the stethoscope fully aside, and reached for her medicines. “If you will not do it yourself, do not ask it of me. I will not be the instrument of your destruction.”

The elf looked away, deliberately taciturn. There was a flicker of frustration in his expression, but nothing else. She wondered if he had been wishing that someone would take the decision from him and enact his death themselves. She wondered if his strange culture, such that it was, forbade direct suicide. Either way, he had not died, and he was not yet upon the nadir of suffering and despair that would see her change that.

Not yet. But she had given the quiet death before, and might well give it again, should there be a need.

Silent, she gestured to Cairon, and received the needle and the lilium from his hands.

“Know this, my patient,” Sarli said finally, and watched the elf’s eyes turn guardedly her way. “Once Mercy becomes a knife, there can be no more Mercy thereafter. But where life persists, there is Hope of change.” The words sat holy upon her tongue, and she lingered for a moment beneath the weight of them. She exhaled, silent, and finished “This is a lesson that the centuries have taught us very well, and that you would do well to learn.” Then she kept at her work, eyes steady on her tools. She did not look for her patient’s reaction.

When she lifted her eyes to regard him, he was very carefully expressionless. If her words had provoked any response in him, he was allowing none of it to his face. Stoicism stared back at her. There was a light tremor in his living arm; she eyed it, finished her assembly of the needle and reservoir, and reached out to prick the skin. He barely twitched as the lilium joined to his blood, soon to bring him the relief from pain that she had promised; but only that. No more. Her Mercy was not yet a knife.

The elf endured the treatments in silence. She had come prepared for the notion that he might not accept medical aid, but even so, the medicines that could be administered to the blood were not many. The lilium, yes. The anti-inflammatory as well. But she had no recourse to treat his fever if he would not drink. She sighed, and set it aside, well within his reach. “If you change your mind about accepting medical treatment, this here is for your fever,” she said, and he glanced at it. “It will aid your body in fighting the infection. Consider it.”

He blinked, slowly, then looked deliberately away. Apparently he was done with speaking for the day.

She accepted it, and then finally rose. Her old bones ached from kneeling for so long, but she refused to show the duress; she handed the bags to Cairon and then turned to leave. “I will return tomorrow, in the morning,” she stated, to the Crownguard and the observer both. “If there is any change in his condition before then, send for me.”

They murmured their assent and bowed lightly as she left; she waved off her escort and left with Cairon without ceremony. He was very quiet, saying nothing, and watching the guards they passed on their way through the castle. Though his expression was well-schooled, she knew him well enough to see his unease.

Once they were upon the streets, surrounded by the hubbub and bustle of the castle-city, he finally ventured to speak. “Did you mean what you said back there, master?”

She glanced at him, and found him looking troubled. “I rarely say anything I do not mean, Cairon,” she answered, just a little wry. “But perhaps you should be more specific.”

He looked away, not meeting her eyes. “’Where life persists, there is hope of change’,” he quoted.

Sarli considered it. “Yes. I spoke it truly.”

“You believe that.” He was not one to doubt her word, but he seemed searching now. Uneasy in his skin, as though the answer mattered to him. “Even for…him.”

‘Even for the assassin that slew the king’, went unspoken. Or perhaps, ‘even for an elf’.

For a moment her heart burned with familiar anger, familiar grief. But those were the trappings of Sarli-the-person; thus Sarli-the-Healer breathed out and cast them aside. “Even for him, Cairon, yes.” she said. “Hope is a beacon to every soul.”

The comment occasioned some glances from the people around her; and well it should. It was not lightly that anyone devout spoke ‘hope’ aloud, and a Healer was always devout. “I wouldn’t think someone like him has much in the way of that,” Cairon said, after a moment, and though it wouldn’t be clear to a stranger whether he’d meant hope or soul…

She stilled a little, and cast him a warning glance. She looked deliberately around at those around them. He took the admonishment and fell silent until they were alone again, walking to the mouth of the Valley, and near to home. Then she spoke, before he could, as if no time had passed at all since his badly-placed comment. “His prospects are ill, yes,” said Sarli, “but not hopeless. Never hopeless. You should know better than that. Certainly you should know better than to express such a sentiment in public.” It was a rebuke and a warning both. He should know better. Few indeed were the people who would not.

He flinched as though struck, and did not try to defend his words. Good; if the wrong ears had marked her apprentice saying such a thing, it could cast a shame on her, to have taught him so poorly. And that was the best of the potential negative consequences.

“Perhaps you need a reminder,” Sarli allowed, opening their door and easing herself through. Cairon glanced warily at her, setting out the bags, and she went directly to the bookcase. She pulled out a leather-bound tome, bloody red, a lotus engraved on the cover in metallic silver. It was the work of moments to find the correct passage, and she presented the book to her apprentice without preamble. He took it in his hands and stared at it as though it were a live snake, for all that he had certainly heard and read its scriptures before. She commanded, “Read.”

“…The tools need cleaning, master,” he offered, hesitating. “The medicines need putting away.”

“I will do it,” Sarli said at once, and then again: “Read.”

Again, he hesitated. And then his eyes fell upon the page, and its old sacred tale. He winced at it, very slightly, then finally exhaled. Sarli knew then that he would do as she had commanded, and turned away to begin attending to the tools of her trade; behind her, out of sight, words as familiar to her as her own breath filtered into the air upon her apprentice’s voice.

“’When the Last Light came to Her, She was lingering silent among the death-shrouds, and Her hands were wet with the blood of mercy’…”

Learn, she bade him, in the privacy of her own mind, and finally felt her heart settle from the clamour his public heresy had set it to. It could have been worse. He hadn’t spoken loudly, and his phrasing had been ambiguous; the onlookers might well think he was calling the person-of-discussion soulless, rather than hopeless. Still unsettling for someone not aware of the situation, but not dangerous.

And dangerous it would be, should anyone find him – a Healer’s apprentice – to have verbally denied that the Last Light existed for everyone. Even the lords, even the royalty, secular as they were, would never say such a thing where someone might hear.

Her apprentice thought himself very subtle, and often he was. But not always. And certainly not around her.

Be more careful, Cairon, she thought to him, though she did not speak. I will not always be here to protect you.

“’…this is a dark time, and its shadows may stretch for many years. / But I have something to show you, and I wish for that you will take heed. / So come with me, and I will show you Hope / In the dark of a thousand shadows…’”

 ---

She was warm; she was comfortable; she didn’t hurt. Rayla slept, and slept very well.

The lilium kept her under for the first span of the night, blotting out the shifts and sounds that would ordinarily wake her. It ebbed after a while though, and a thin edge of pain made her blink groggily awake. The tent was not dark; Bait glowed in his sleep, and the egg glowed too. That was normal. Everything was fine. She went back to sleep.

A while later she stirred again, feeling the warmth of the tent ebbing as the night’s cold encroached. But it wasn’t so bad. She went back to sleep.

Later, again, she woke with the disorienting sensation of sudden and unexpected contact. She made a surprised noise and cracked her eyes open to look. Callum had burrowed himself into her side, all curled-up, like he was cold. The lilium must have still been in effect, because all she did was sleepily think oh, that’s nice, take a drowsy moment to appreciate his warmth, and go back to sleep again.

The final time she woke that night was to a dragging awareness, somewhere in the back of her sleeping mind, that something was amiss with someone’s breathing. Not right. Not normal, for the middle of the night. She dragged herself to consciousness, eyes opening. She checked Callum first, who was still plastered against her side, deeply asleep. This time she had enough presence of mind to feel flustered about it. There was nothing wrong with him, though, so she turned her head to inspect the rest of the tent’s occupants…

…and found Ezran sat upright, plainly awake, running a hand calmly and absent-mindedly over the shell of the dragon egg. He didn’t look like he’d only recently awoken, either. He had the look of someone who’d been sitting up for a good while, quiet and weary in the night’s stillness.

After a moment, he seemed to notice that she was watching, and his eyes slid her way. He looked so tired. “…Hi, Rayla,” he said, voice hushed and quiet, as if to avoid waking anyone else up.

She blinked, then squinted, half sitting up. “What’re’y’doing awake?” she questioned, words a little slurred and incoherent from sleep. “It’s only…” she groped at her Moon-sense, which was growing rather weaker as it waned. “…three. Three’n the morning.”

“Huh. Is it.” He seemed vaguely interested, as if he’d had no idea what time it was before she told him. And…she supposed he hadn’t. What must it be like, being human, not knowing at all times what the time was? She made an impatient noise at him, and then he seemed to realise she’d asked a question. “Oh! Um.” He glanced down at the egg in his lap, hesitant. “Zym’s awake.”

Rayla frowned. She’d been worried, in a half-asleep sort of way, that he’d maybe been kept up by nightmares, or grief, or both. But… “And that woke you up?” she surmised, and he nodded tiredly.

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Can’t get back to sleep, either. It’s…hard to be asleep, when someone’s in your head being all…awake.”

She considered that, thoughts slow and groggy. “You tried putting him down?” she asked, eventually.

“Yeah,” he said again, morosely this time. “It helped a little, but not much. He’s just…awake.” He patted wearily at the eggshell. “He used to be mostly-asleep all the time, before the storm. Now it’s more like he’s…I don’t know, a regular baby or something. Asleep a lot. But not all the time.”

She’d heard elf parents complaining about their babies keeping them up all night; she thought of that with a vague sleepy humour, finding the circumstance of the baby Dragon King keeping the child King of Katolis awake to be weirdly amusing. Unfortunate, though. “That sucks,” she said, eventually, still struggling to manage anything more coherent. She did not feel properly awake.

“Mm.” He shrugged tiredly. “Not much I can do about it, though.” His eyes slid back her way, and lingered. “Did I wake you up? I was trying to be quiet…”

“Kinda,” she supplied after a moment. “I could tell someone wasn’t asleep. Wanted to check everything was alright.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Ez watched her, eyes just a little too luminescent in the dark for it to be normal. It could have just been reflection from the egg…but it wasn’t. “You should try to go back to sleep, then,” he said eventually. “Just because I can’t get back to sleep doesn’t mean you need to be awake.”

Rayla accepted the sense of that reluctantly, aware that she was tired and really did want to sleep, and that there probably wasn’t anything she could do to help Ezran by being awake. But, even so, it felt a little wrong. “I can sit up with you, if it’d help,” she offered.

He shook his head. “Nah. Thanks, but…it wouldn’t really help anything. And you need your sleep.”

“So do you.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have a baby dragon in your head being unhappy about how squashed he feels,” Ezran pointed out.

She sighed. “Fair enough.”

Callum chose that moment to make a tiny murmuring sound and curl a little further into her side, all balled-up, one hand settling with its fingers curled over her waist. She stiffened, abruptly reminded that he was there, being cuddly, visibly so, and Ezran was awake to see it-

Even tired as he was, Ezran very plainly did see; his eyes flickered to his brother, and a trace of a smile lifted his lips. “At least one of us is getting a good night’s sleep,” he commented, with a lightness to the words, like the sight had pleased him somehow. “He looks pretty comfy there, huh.”

Her shoulders hunched defensively. She half wanted to turn away, to shield Callum from view, but it was a little late for that. Instead she held herself stiffly motionless, cheeks prickling with heat, and said “He’s just – cold. He’s cold and I’m the biggest warm thing around. That’s all it is.”

Ezran barely twitched before shaking his head. “Nah. Callum’s just like that, when he sleeps. He’s either moving about and kicking the covers off or he’s hugging. He doesn’t really have any in-between. You should see him at home – he usually just ends up hugging a big pillow or something…” He tilted his head, looking at them. “But, yeah, maybe he’s cold too. He does look kind of…balled up.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if he was cold, but then she noticed he’d picked his cloak off the floor and slung it around himself. He didn’t look too chilly. “Right.” She muttered, self-conscious, and tensed a little further when Ezran cast his brother a thoughtful look and reached over.

He touched his fingers to Callum’s neck and smiled. “He’s so sleepy,” he said, affectionately, and lingered there for a few moments longer. “And, yeah, he’s a little cold.”

“I said so,” Rayla said, vaguely soothed by this apparent corroboration, but-

“And he’s warm and comfy where he is, and it’s nice.” Ez finished, drawing his hand back, settling with the egg again. “Or that’s about what I can get from him when he’s asleep, anyway.”

She didn’t say anything, but could feel the flush rising in her ears. She was entirely, acutely aware of the weight of Callum against her side…and the way that he, too, felt pleasantly warm. In the end she made a sort of vague, disgruntled noise, too embarrassed to offer something more coherent.

Ezran looked at her, then. He seemed almost curious. “Do you not mind, though?” he asked, inquisitive. “I remember you were annoyed about him moving around in his sleep, around when we first started travelling. And now he’s cuddling you.”

Rayla looked away, face hot. “…If you try to push him off, he just comes back,” she muttered in the end, half-exasperated and half-flustered. “He doesn’t even wake up. Just…” She nodded towards him without actually looking, because she wasn’t sure she could particularly cope with the sight of Callum’s sleepy face and messy hair right now. “Easier to get a full night’s sleep if I just leave him.”

She didn’t realise her misstep until a few moments later, when she became aware of Ezran’s silence. She looked up at him, and found his watchful gaze on her. “So it hasn’t just been tonight, huh?” he asked, plainly picking up on what she’d given away. She grumbled again, but didn’t answer, averting her eyes. More thoughtfully, as if to himself, Ez said “And you don’t mind.”

“Who says?” she retorted, disagreeably. She’d certainly minded plenty near the start, after all.

But, again, Ezran was thoughtfully quiet, for long enough that she eventually glanced back at him. In the shadows, the faint luminescence of his eyes was striking; something she’d expect more of her own kind than his. With those eyes on her, he said again “You don’t mind.” It wasn’t at all a question, and strangely, her breath caught. She found she couldn’t answer.

Ezran looked at her with such a solemn weight of knowing that she felt stripped bare, felt exposed, as if she faced a priest of the Moon's Shadow instead of a ten year old boy. A priest of the Shadow, with the eyes to see the secrets hidden beneath her skin. She stilled, oddly shaken, until the moment passed and Ezran nodded, eyes falling on Callum again.

“Good,” he said, softly. “That’s…good. Callum needs more people who’ll care about him.” Before she could flush at that, he smiled. “And he always has been pretty huggy.”

Uncomfortable, Rayla glanced down at Callum’s sleeping face. Only half of it was visible at the moment, with how he’d smooshed it into her side. “I noticed,” she said, a touch dryly. Then she hesitated. “Ezran…” He looked at her inquisitively, and suddenly it was hard to force the words out. “You…are you going to tell…” she trailed off, not even entirely certain what she was asking.

He fixed her with that oddly penetrating look again, as if he knew what she was trying to say better than she did. As if he understood, even without having touched her at all. “Am I going to tell him he gets cuddly with you when he’s asleep?” he offered, now with a little spark of mirth in his eyes. She stared narrowly at him, suddenly absolutely certain that he was enjoying this. “Or that you’re okay with it?”

There was something about the way he said that last part. Teasing, like he meant something else. Something more horrifically embarrassing, like ‘that you’ve got a huge crush on him’, or possibly another equally terrible equivalent. Was she imagining it? Did he actually guess that she – or was she just overthinking…?

She looked at him again. At the tiny smile, the knowing look, the glimmer of mischief.

Yeah, he knew. Or at the very least, he knew more than she wanted him to.

Her face burned, and her shoulders hunched as she looked away. She’d hoped to keep this hidden from him, even despite his empathic abilities and uncomfortably astute people-reading skills. She’d been an idiot. It would never have worked for long.

“Any of that,” she agreed, in the end, not meeting his eyes. She was so hyper-aware of Callum’s presence now that it almost itched, that she wanted to push him away. But she didn’t want to risk him waking into this conversation, of all things. As it was, she was thanking the stars for how much of a sound sleeper he was.

Ezran smiled, tilted his head consideringly at his brother, and hummed. “I guess I won’t tell,” he decided, in the end. “Callum can be kind of slow about this kind of thing, so it’ll probably work out better if I don’t say anything. At least for a while.”

What was that supposed to mean? Slow about what? What would work out better?

Still. She could at least appreciate the decision he’d apparently made. Rayla glanced at him warily, but though he was clearly having a good time with the topic, she didn’t see any duplicity in him. Her shoulders eased a little, and she sighed. “Thanks,” she said, begrudgingly.

“Plus, it’ll be way funnier to watch you guys if I don’t tell,” Ezran added helpfully. Rayla glared at him. “What? It’s true. Last night was already great, with how you laid all over him like that, his face was hilarious-“ at her tiny strangled noise, he cut off, looking at her inquisitively. “What? Do you not remember?”

She hadn’t, until he’d mentioned it. But now…the memories were hazy, and dreamlike in that characteristic lilium-drugged way, but they were there. “I do now,” she muttered, tense with mortification, suddenly awash with the recollection of how nice it had been. Drugged-Rayla had found such an entirely uncomplicated contentment in the whole thing that it warmed her even now. “Ugh.” Then, since he already knew, and she might as well: “This is exactly why I was worried about taking the lilium.”

Ezran stared at her. “It is? I thought it was because you didn’t want to act weir-“ He stopped. “Ohh. I get it. You don’t want to act all crushy around Callum.”

Her shoulders went up, and she reflexively looked down at the human prince pressed into her side to make sure he was still soundly asleep. Thankfully, nothing had changed on that front. Still- “Shh!” She hissed at him, prickling with self-consciousness.

Undaunted, he said “You were fine, you know. Just kind of cuddly. Cuddly’s fine.” He indicated his brother’s sleeping form, as if to present it as evidence. Rayla followed his gaze and pinked. “He’s, you know, a cuddly person. So he was surprised, but…” Ezran shrugged.

She intensely wanted to escape this conversation. But it wasn’t like she could just…leave. Opening the tent would waste all the heat and leave them all properly cold for the rest of the night. So she did the only thing she could: “Enough talking,” she said, firmly, ignoring the flush in her cheeks. “You should try to go back to sleep now.” Seeing him open his mouth to object, she added sharply “Try. Even if you can’t. Laying down with your eyes closed is still better rest than being up and awake all night.”

“Aw, fine,” Ez accepted, and eyed her. “You’d better try to go to sleep too, though.”

She sighed. “I will, Ezran.”

He extended a hand over his brother’s side, littlest finger befuddlingly extended. She stared at it warily, uncertain what he meant by it, and after a moment he prompted “Pinky promise?”

“What in Xadia’s name is a pinky promise?”

“A promise you make by linking your pinky fingers and shaking them,” he explained. “Means you can’t break it. So?” He waggled the finger.

She’d always thought they were called ‘pinkos’. “I don’t have pinky fingers, Ez.”

Undeterred, he said “That’s okay. You can just use your last finger. It’ll count.” So, sighing, she relented and extended her left hand to link fingers with him. He shook it twice, very solemnly, and then the promise was – supposedly – sealed. He looked very satisfied with himself. “There,” he said, and leaned back. Then, true to his word, he gathered up the egg again, repositioned the grumpily half-asleep Bait, and planted himself down on the ground, eyes determinedly closed.

It looked kind of comical, actually. His face was a little screwed up, like he was trying to stubborn himself into unconsciousness.

Glad for the reprieve from the uncomfortable conversation, and mindful of the weird human finger-vowing custom, Rayla settled back down herself. Callum hadn’t shifted much when she sat up before, and didn’t shift much now. He just pressed his face into her shoulder instead of her arm. She glanced at him one last time, for a very long moment, and then closed her eyes. Sleep followed soon after.

 ---

 Rayla woke again a few hours later. It was a while past dawn, and though the Moon would still linger above the horizon for a few hours yet, its recession pulled at her. Habit brought her awake with unerring ease at that sensation, so she blinked her eyes open and rose. Callum mumbled incoherently as she displaced him; she glanced at him quickly, but was relieved to see he was still asleep.

She sighed, quashing the increasingly-familiar flutter in her chest, and carefully extracted herself, reaching out to pull his fingers out of the wool of her jumper. That complete, she shuffled over to the tent doors, noting that Ezran had evidently managed to get back to sleep at some point…though, he was stirring now. That was unusual. Usually he slept as deeply as his brother, and didn’t budge even when she moved about. He sat up and yawned as she started undoing the door toggles, blinking sleepily at her. “Morning, Rayla,” he greeted, after a moment, voice rough.

One look at him and she recalled the middle-of-the-night conversation they’d had, and the mortifying details therein. She offered him a wary half-smile, folding the tent-door back. Instantly, it was colder; the air between the two tent layers made goosebumps lift on her skin, even with most of it swaddled in wool. She shivered, but reached outwards for the next door anyway. “Morning,” she echoed, after a moment, fingers working carefully at the toggles. Her left hand prickled with a strange numbness as it moved, clumsy as if cold, even though it was just as warm as the other one.

The outer door opened, and the air from outside was so frigid it felt like a slap in the face. She grimaced, inhaling sharply, and that inhale half-burned her lungs with the biting chill. “Ugh,” she said, and a few seconds later, Ezran made a similar noise as the air hit him.

“Oh, wow,” he said, sounding a little impressed. “I guess the tent really does make a difference.”

“That’s kind of the point, yeah,” she agreed, then forced herself outside.

It was a very bright morning, even now. The sun had just about poked past one of the mountains, and the sky was a pale, clear colour almost devoid of clouds. What little cloud-wisps there were moved noticeably; it was still relatively windy. She squinted against the brightness, then ventured out. Frost crunched beneath the boots she’d apparently slept in.

There hadn’t been any more snow in the night, so the area she’d cleared hadn’t particularly filled in, but it was white anyway. She frowned at her footprints, stamping a few times experimentally, and confirmed that it really was just frost. Frost, at least a couple centimetres thick. She turned around and found it had settled on the exterior of the tent as well, turning the whole thing pale and icy-looking. “Ugh,” she said again, disgruntled, knowing that they’d need to clear that off before they could pack it.

She’d headed over to the burned-out campfire by the time Ez followed her out, having pulled his boots and his cloak on, shivering. “What’re you doing?” he asked her, as she piled in their remaining firewood and went for the flint. He had Bait in his arms, the toad looking half-asleep and as grumpy as ever.

“It’s a cold morning,” she said. “Better have a hot drink or something before we go. It’ll do us good. Plus, I think our meat is all frozen, so we’ll need to heat up breakfast, too.”

“Oh, right.” He paused for a moment to think. “Can I help?”

“You can take the scarves and gloves and stuff off the snow-people,” she offered, dryly, and nodded to the line of icy sentinels at the edge of camp. “Since you and Callum apparently forgot to do that last night. They’ll need warming, too.”

Ez winced. “We did forget.” He sighed, put Bait down by the fire, then trotted off to obey. He returned a short while later with some particularly frosty winterwear, which she put close-ish to the burgeoning fire. Hopefully not close enough to catch alight. “Are we going to wake up Callum soon?”

She glanced consideringly back at the tent, which she’d left entirely open. “Cold will probably wake him up on its own soon enough,” she estimated. “But sure, why not.” So she stood and went, Ezran apparently deciding to follow. She found Callum curled up and shivering on top of her cloak, chasing the last vestiges of warmth, shifting like he was on the verge of awakening. She rolled her eyes, then reached through the tent-layers to poke him in the thick wool socks over his feet.

He giggled, apparently ticklish, and squirmed when she poked him again, and then finally cracked his eyes open. He peered at Rayla, then at Ez, as if not awake enough to comprehend what he was looking at. “Cold?” he offered, in a sort of incoherent questioning complaint, and then squinted at the brightness of the light from behind them. “Mm…too bright. Shut the curtains?”

Ezran snickered. Rayla lifted an eyebrow. “No,” she answered, helpfully, and watched him blink a few times more. He frowned.

“Tent,” he realised, seconds later. “Camping. Mountains. Right.” Finally he pushed himself up, then frowned. “Why am I on your cloak?”

Beside her, Ezran’s face was suddenly beset by an enormous grin. Rayla pointed her finger at him sternly and said “No.” Turning back to Callum, she added “…Probably it was warm, or something. Give it here, though, I’m getting chilly.” She ignored Ezran’s expression and prodded Callum until he was up and pulling his boots on, then reclaimed her cloak. He seemed to wake up a little when she started struggling to get it around her shoulders alone; for all that her hand didn’t hurt at all anymore, the motions for pulling clothing on still tugged unpleasantly at the wounds on her arm and shoulder, and she was all-too-aware that the lilium had worn off.

Rayla sighed, and lingered in place while Callum sat up to help her with the cloak. She was getting used to that, but it still rankled a little. She carefully didn’t look at his face, too aware of Ezran watching them.

“Thanks,” she said, when he was done, then receded from the tent doorway. “Now get up. We’ve got a long way to go today.”

“Don’t we have a long way to go every day?” he asked, pulling his boots on, and she snorted.

“Generally, yes. But considering how many days we’ve been sat around lately, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

He seemed a little surprised to see the fire re-lit when she led him out, but settled under the explanations of breakfast and a warm drink easily enough. “It’s a good idea,” he agreed, a little ruefully, settling to hold one of his icy gloves over the fire, just far enough not to burn. “I feel all numb and cold and stiff, kinda. Would be nice to warm up a bit before having to move.”

“We’ll all feel fine when we’re walking.” Rayla shrugged, and checked on the water. “But, yeah.”

A while later, when they’d all had some pine tea and they’d boiled some meat into a bland but serviceable semblance of breakfast, he glanced at the stiff way she was holding her arm and inquired about her pain levels.

She blinked at him owlishly. “Hurts, but not any worse than usual?” she offered, shrugging. Almost on reflex, she flexed her bad hand, as though to chase some of the familiar stiff ache from it, but there was just…nothing. No pain at all in the hand itself. In the wrist, sure, but the hand?

It didn’t feel normal. But it didn’t hurt, either. She wasn’t sure what to think about that.

He noticed the motion, of course. “Is your hand bothering you?”

She sighed, and looked away. “No.” Her voice was a little short. It didn’t hurt. It was bothering her, though, just…in a way she wasn’t sure she was ready to think about yet, let alone talk about.

He accepted that easily enough, even though he plainly wanted to press further; he was so annoyingly considerate. “Alright. Well, I was just wondering…” he glanced at her arm, hesitated, then went on. “…if it’s been long enough that it’s safe for you to take willow bark again. So you can take something for the pain while we’re travelling.”

Rayla blinked, nonplussed.

“You didn’t think of that, huh?” Ezran spoke, observing her reaction, and she frowned.

“I didn’t,” she said, after a moment, and considered her injuries, invisible past the bandages and several layers of clothes. “It’s…hm.” Eyes narrowing a little, she thought about it. It wasn’t like there wasn’t still stuff going on under the surface. Willow bark probably would slow or disrupt that. But, at this point, the seal on the wounds was solid enough that it wouldn’t necessarily be dangerous.

“Rayla?” Callum prompted, when she’d been quiet a long time.

“I think it’ll make me heal slower,” she concluded, after a while. “…But, now I think about it, I’ll barely be healing at the moment anyway, so…I might as well?” She shrugged, and felt a little lighter; it was undeniably cheering to think of maybe having some painkillers to tide her through what would be a pretty physically-demanding day.

She’d already got caught up in the relief of that idea, so was a little taken-aback when Ezran squinted at her and said “Why not?” She frowned at him, confused, and he elaborated. “Why aren’t you healing at the moment?”

“Oh.” Somehow, even after spending so long with them, confirming every day that they were human…she’d forgotten they wouldn’t know. So, with a false nonchalance, she nodded towards the sky, where the pale crescent of the sinking Moon still remained, washed out in the bright blue of daylight. “It’s New Moon soon,” she explained, averting her eyes from theirs. “It’s just…like that. For Moonshadow elves.” She scowled a little. “Especially without moondust.”

“Oh, right.” Callum nodded, as if remembering. “You said you’d be weaker at new moon. I didn’t know it affected stuff like your healing too, though.” He hesitated, looking at her. “How far away is it?”

Rayla grimaced. “Three days, ish. Including today.” She hadn’t in her entire life seen an unmedicated elf at New Moon. The ones who were crazy enough to go without moondust hid themselves away for the duration. She didn’t know what it would be like, but…

“And it’s already making you heal really slow?” Ez seemed morbidly interested. “Even days away?”

She was quiet for a while, uncertain if she wanted to admit it. “My healing, and my senses, and my strength.” Her voice was curt. “I’m weaker already. It’s not so bad yet, but in a day or so…” She shrugged. “No avoiding it, I suppose, but I’m not looking forward to it.” It was nagging at her, even, in a strange insistent way that she wasn’t used to. There was an animal awareness in the back of her mind, intent on the waning Moon, itching and whispering at her as if to say that she wasn’t safe, she wasn’t secure, she needed to find somewhere to hide before it was too late…

Callum and Ezran shared a glance. “Can you tell us what to expect?” Callum asked, trying for pragmatism, though she could tell he was worried.

She snorted. “No, not really. People tell a lot of stories about natural New Moon, so it’s hard to know what’s true.” She squinted at the sky. “I’ll have a better idea the day before, though. By then I should be able to tell how hard it’ll hit me.”

He hesitated. “Is it…” he seemed to struggle for the words, and she looked at him until he managed it. “Will it be dangerous? For you?”

Her first instinct was to snort dismissively at the notion, but then she paused. “…No, probably not,” she estimated, after a little more thought. “If I was sick, maybe, it could be a problem. Or if I was more badly injured.” She glanced at her arm consideringly. “We get sick easily, at New Moon. If that’s worse off of moondust…” A pause for thought. “I suppose the worst case scenario is my arm getting infected.”

Callum looked dismayed. “Rayla, that is dangerous. Infections are bad.”

She glanced at him. “Yeah, they can be,” she acknowledged. “But worst comes to worst, we’d just have to hold out for…Half Moon, I suppose, or anything past it. That’s one bonus of not being on moondust.” She grimaced at the thought. “Moonshadow elves off moondust are pretty impossible to kill with infection, near Full Moon. So, there’s that.”

She didn’t mention, because she doubted it’d help anything, that people tended to tell tall stories about the extremity of weakness that the New Moon brought. Stories that indicated that an unhealthy elf could sicken and die so quickly that they were gone before the Moon could turn back. But she wasn’t that unhealthy. She had injuries, maybe, but she didn’t have anything that could suddenly get worse and really mess her up. She should be fine.

Her hand, though. She recalled the weird experience she’d had the first time the binding had loosened, and twitched. If the human healer was to be believed about the dangers, that could have been the sort of thing that’d go wrong at New Moon. But, thankfully, she was plenty past that now.

The words had apparently reassured Callum, at least. “Well, thank Mercy for that,” he sighed, then looked at her curiously. “So, if you have a sick Moonshadow elf, do you take them off moondust to help them recover, or…?”

Rayla rolled her eyes at him. Trust Callum to get curious about the details of it. “Not if it’s close to New Moon,” she said. “Then they’ll just get worse. Or – actually, they get better for a day or two, then they get worse fast.” It was something she’d been taught about, with regards to first aid in the field. If someone was sick or severely injured near Full Moon, you stopped their moondust, and the influx of magic would sort them out once the drug left their system. But if the Moon was waning, it wasn’t worth the risk.

“But the full moon makes you recover,” he said, thoughtfully. “Do you heal faster, too?”

She glanced at her arm, momentarily pensive. She wondered what it would look like, when the Full Moon had passed. “Yeah.” Shaking her head as though to dispel the thought, she shoved a jar of icy cooked meat into Callum’s hands, and said “Heat that up, would you? I’ve got some packing to do.” She took that opening to escape the conversation, too-aware of the throb of her wounds and the strangeness of her hand.

She left the boys by the fire as she went around the snow-banks, pulling the wrapped slabs of frozen meat she’d shoved in there for cold-storage yesterday. The venture had been successful enough that divorcing the supplies from the surrounding ice was a little challenging; the snow had turned icy, and clung to the packages in sharp-edged clusters. Finally she brought it all back to the cleared space and got to work.

It was an annoyingly long time until they were ready to leave. Heating up breakfast took time, getting frost and ice off of their stuff took time, getting the contents of their waterskins to melt into something drinkable took time, and getting their gloves into a fit state to be worn took time as well. Rayla was fully impatient when at last they could put the pot away, and even then…

Reflexively, she tried to pick it up one-handed. Left-handed. It felt heavy; her hand shook, and her wrist ached, and the pot slipped from her fingers. A pot, and it was too heavy to hold. Her jaw clenched, and she reached with the other hand instead. She lifted. That, at least, was properly effortless.

Is it always going to be like this? she wondered, dismayed, keenly aware of the unhealthy fatigue in her wrist. Then, ruthlessly, she shoved the thought away. She tucked the hand carefully against her side, and went back to the increasingly-familiar awkwardness of trying to conduct camp chores with only her right hand available.

The dull ache of her damaged wrist harried her until, eventually, she took some willow bark between her teeth and chewed for long enough that all her pains went a little further away. It wasn’t as effective as the lilium, but her mind was clear, and it was a relief not to have to travel with her wounds searing at her so terribly.

“Right,” she said, when everything was finally in order. “Let’s get moving.” She pulled on her gloves at last; the fabric itched and tingled strangely on the skin of her left hand.

The boys checked their snowshoes, hefted the straps of their bags, then tromped over to her where she waited at the edge of their former camp. She settled her own straps over her uninjured shoulder, glanced around to make certain they’d not forgotten anything, then started walking.

“Goodbye, snow-people,” Callum said to their icy constructs, both boys waving the things farewell as they left. Despite herself, Rayla shook her head at them, and smiled.

 ---

 The snow was icier today, and a little easier to walk on with the snowshoes. That was a mercy, considering literally everything else was harder.

Just a few days ago, the initial burst of mountain-hiking had set Callum’s legs to aching more fiercely than he’d ever experienced in his life. He’d acquired soreness from combat training plenty of times over the last few years, but that didn’t hold a candle to the stiffness of legs unused to walking uphill for days on end. Then the thundersnow had happened, and he’d had a chance to recover. There’d been some walking yesterday, but not enough to reduce him to the same state as before.

He suspected that would change today.

The going was almost entirely upwards, and it was steep. Even with the snowshoes, it was hard to find his footing, and in places he pretty much had to climb, bracing his hands against rock directly in front of him to pull himself up. Ez, being considerably shorter, needed to be helped up those parts, Bait riding in his sweater to free up his hands.

It made him miss the first few days of their journey, a little; back when the ground had been level enough he’d been able to draw as he walked. Now he didn’t dare look at anywhere except where he was putting his feet.

…Most of the time, anyway.

He couldn’t really help staring around with wide-eyed wonder, sometimes. Every time they crested a slope or finished climbing the steeper sections, he could look ahead or behind and see the mountain range sprawling out around them. The angle wasn’t quite right for him to see all of the way they’d come, but some of the lowlands were visible anyway. They looked impossibly green and verdant from where he was, up on the mountain with its snow and ice.

It was weird to think that, mere days ago, he’d been somewhere warm enough to not feel the chill biting at his fingers. There wasn’t even much sunlight to help warm him; the clear skies of the early morning had given way to a patchy, sullen layer of clouds. It made for some pretty scenery, what with the rays of light casting between them over the landscape, but it didn’t soften the chill at all.

The cold wasn’t all bad, though. It created some really beautiful things. Callum found himself admiring the branching twigs of a leafless shrub, eyes following the strange frigid crust they’d accumulated. Ice clung to the undersides, an inch long, in an odd rippling pattern that made his hands itch for charcoal. Ice was on everything today, but this looked different. Where most every other grass and shrub around them was white and lumpy with thick frost, this looked clear and almost glassy. He tilted his head to see the watery light glimmer through, thinking of how he’d shade it.

It was then that Rayla nudged him, breaking him from his reverie. “Something interesting?” she asked, eyebrow raised. He offered an embarrassed laugh.

“Er,” he said, and indicated the shrub. “Just…that. The ice on it. It’s pretty.” He shrugged.

She looked blankly where he’d pointed. “…It’s twigs.”

“Pretty twigs,” he insisted, lips twitching. “The ice is really interesting! Sort of…wave-y? Ripple-y?”

“Kind of like icicles, maybe?” Ezran suggested, sounding a little winded as he leaned in to look. He evidently wasn’t having any easier a time with the walking than Callum.

Callum eyed the shrub appraisingly. “Yeah, something like that. Like sort of…lengthways icicles.”

Rayla shook her head at him. “It’s ice on twigs,” she said, exasperated. She was smiling a little, though. “Nothing special.”

“Well, I think it’s nice,” Callum announced, in staunch defence of the icy twigs in question. “And I want to draw it.”

She rolled her eyes, then reached out to tug at his cloak, beckoning him onwards. “Uhuh. Sure. But later. Now’s for walking.”

He mock-saluted, hand to his chest, and walked.

It was tough going. A mere hour later, his head was fogged with exertion and his legs were burning, and he seemed constantly out of breath. It wasn’t as though he was unaccustomed to the feeling of tightness in his chest, of labouring for steady breaths for what felt like hours on end – but it was distinctly different to experience it free of the usual panic or distress. He got out of breath during training, sure, but – not like this. Not in this strange, persistent way, where even the short breaks they took didn’t seem to help.

Given the exertion, it took him a while to realise that the breathlessness was a little weird. A lot of the walking was more like climbing, and it made sense to be panting during that. But they came to a plateau around midday, and walked on nearly-flat ground for a good fifteen minutes, and he still couldn’t quite catch his breath. “…Is it just me,” he managed, between gasps for air, “or is it weirdly hard to breathe today?”

Ezran’s breath was huffing and puffing too. “Not just you.”

Rayla glanced at them, and then at the mountain range ahead of them. “It’s the altitude,” she said, plainly, and both of them turned to blink at her, still plodding numbly onwards.

Callum frowned. “What?”

“Why we’re finding it harder to catch our breath,” she clarified, waving at the mountain. “It’s altitude. When you’re up high enough, the air’s thinner. Harder to breathe.” She shrugged. “And we’ve climbed a lot today.”

“…Oh,” he realised, nonplussed. Ezran, for his part, seemed too busy staring exhaustedly at the sky to have many thoughts on the matter. “Isn’t that mountain-sickness?”

“Same thing, different names.” Rayla agreed, pausing to stretch out her legs and shake them a little, as if to dispel some stiffness. Whether it was the oncoming new moon, or just the harshness of the ascent, she seemed to actually be feeling the exercise for once. “We must be past three thousand metres now. That’s when most people usually start getting mountain-sickness.”

He considered asking what that was in feet, but didn’t quite get around to it before his brother spoke. “That’s a lot of metres.” Ez mumbled, tiredly.

Callum glanced at him, then back at Rayla. “Should we be…worried, about this? I don’t know much about mountain-sickness, but can’t it get pretty bad?”

“We’d need to go a lot higher for the breathing to be an actual problem,” Rayla said, shaking her head. “But let me know if you get weird headaches, or feel sick, or dizzy. That’s the stuff to watch out for. For now, though…” She hummed pensively, and narrowed her eyes at the scenery. “…I’m thinking we won’t have to go much higher than this. It’s not like we’re trying to summit anything. We’re just trying to get onto the next mountain.” She tilted her head to scrutinise the route. She pointed out a vaguely-sloping plateau a fair distance away, somewhat lower on the mountainside than their current position. “I reckon we can start going down again that way, and then find somewhere to camp past there. That’s got to be a couple hundred metres lower. Should be easier to breathe.”

“Sounds good,” he sighed, and lifted his face to a cold breeze. He hadn’t expected to be grateful for the freezing weather, but with how hard he was working…if it had been warmer, he might have passed out by now. He pulled in a few more unsatisfying breaths, then pushed onwards.

After about half an hour, they stopped ascending quite so viciously and instead began a meandering up-and-down path along the mountainside, heading steadily downwards. This was when Callum discovered that going down mountains was just as hard as going up them, albeit in different ways. It was so icy that they had to take it painstakingly slow, and even then he felt constantly on the edge of a nasty fall. His toes crushed together at the fronts of his boots, beginning to grow sore.

The third time Callum slipped on ice and had to be steadied from falling face-first down-slope, Rayla went away and snapped a branch off of a large pine, shearing off its needles with her blade and scraping off most of the bark. She judged it against his height for a few moments before unceremoniously chopping several inches off the end. “Here. Walking cane.” She said, presenting him with it, and went off to go find another branch, which she prepared for Ezran.

They mumbled thanks at her, exhausted, and continued their descent with somewhat greater poise than before. The descent pulled at different muscles to the ascent, so his legs weren’t complaining quite as much, but the fronts of his toes were starting to hurt in that sharp way that suggested there’d be blisters soon. He’d never had blisters on the front of his feet before, and wasn’t especially looking forward to the experience.

The pine-canes weren’t sturdy, and Callum snapped his after less than an hour. By that point though he didn’t need it as much, so he just went without until – finally – Rayla glanced at the sky and announced their lunch break. “Oh, thank Mercy,” he muttered, dropping his backpack with abject relief and collapsing to the ground.

Ezran lowered his with rather more care, but made an incoherent noise of gratitude when he finally sat down. “Shouldn’t that be Fortitude?” he mumbled, tiredly. “Since we made it this far without falling over?”

“Speak for yourself,” Callum huffed, wiping a hand over his face. Even through the gloves, he thought he could feel the livid heat of his skin, warmed by exertion. He imagined he was probably super red-looking right now. “I’ve fallen over tons of times. Or…nearly fallen, anyway.”

Rayla lowered her bag and the tent pack carefully, as though being mindful of her other shoulder, then collapsed with obvious relief beside them. “You have a god of not-falling-over?” she asked, sceptically, and he rolled his eyes at her.

“Not a god,” he said back, just a little amused, eyes closing as he panted for breath. “Paragon.”

“You have a paragon of not-falling-over?” she corrected, and when he opened his eyes to glance sideways at her, her lips were twitching.

He snorted, then closed his eyes again. He half wanted to turn over and plant his face directly into a snow bank. It’d help him cool down, at the very least. “Pretty much,” he sighed, and after a moment of consideration, did reach to his side and pick up a handful of icy snow. He smooshed it onto his face, the ice crystals a little sharp-edged on his skin. “Endurance, and willpower, and keeping going even when stuff’s hard.”

“Fortitude’s a good Paragon for us right now, I think,” Ezran said, sounding exhausted, and Callum offered a wordless hum of agreement.

“If this had been an official mission, people would’ve sent us off with him, you know,” he said, almost wistful. “They’d have said ‘Fortitude follow you’. And ‘Prudence guide your feet’. That’s traditional for big or important or tough journeys.”

Rayla offered a dubious hum. “Well, this journey’s definitely all three of those.”

For a while, they just laid there, getting their breath back, trying to cool down. Callum’s under-layers began to feel cold and clammy with the sweat, indicating they’d probably smell terrible later on. He was too tired to bring himself to care.

Eventually, Rayla pulled herself up, even though she plainly didn’t want to. “Right,” she said, determinedly, in as bull-headed a manifestation of Fortitude that anyone could have asked for. “Food. We can’t take too long with this break, so…food.”

Callum made a face. “I’m really not hungry.” In the wake of the sheer exertion of the morning, eating seemed unthinkable. The mere notion turned his stomach.

“Yes you are. You’ve just not cooled down enough to feel it,” Rayla refuted, pragmatic, and went for the reserves of cooked meat she’d put in her bag. “It’s hard to eat after exercise, but when you’re on a stupid long journey, you do it anyway.” She opened the jar and waved it aggressively at them. Both of them complained pitifully at her, but she wasn’t having any of it. In short order they’d both reluctantly withdrawn a portion and sat up to start nibbling on it.

“You’re like aunt Amaya is about breakfast,” Ezran muttered, mouth part-full, chewing around the bite he’d taken. “She’s really bossy about that too.”

Rayla looked nonplussed. Plainly, she wasn’t sure what to think about the comparison.

“Imagine if we told her that,” Callum put in, uncertain whether to be amused or alarmed at the thought. “Wonder how she’d react to being compared to an elf.”

“She’d definitely make a pretty weird face,” Ezran offered thoughtfully. “She’d probably be glad Rayla’s making sure we’re eating, though.”

She grimaced at that, looking like she’d swallowed something sour. “Don’t know about that. She’d just stab me for running off with you two in the first place.”

Callum opened his mouth to protest, remembered the depth of his aunt’s sentiments for elves, then shut it. “…Well, I mean…”

“Don’t worry, Rayla,” Ez said, reaching out to pat her on the knee. “If you ever meet aunt Amaya, we’ll make sure we’re there, and then we can convince her to be nice to you. No stabbing.”

Rayla glanced at him, expression slightly pained. “…If you say so.” It was very obvious, from her face, that she had absolutely no intention of going near their aunt if she could help it. Not for the first time, Callum wondered what kind of reputation Amaya had in Xadia.

“We can keep teaching you sign language, too!” His brother went on, determinedly cheerful. “I bet she’d be too surprised at an elf trying to talk to her properly to, um,” he searched for a word.

“Stab me, clobber me with her shield, or throw me in a dungeon?” Rayla suggested, and both of them made faces at her. Callum, for his part, had recently seen Rayla contend with what would surely have been a fatal stabbing if he hadn’t tossed her assailant off a cliff, and wasn’t particularly keen on imagining any Aunt Amaya variations on the affair.

It was uncomfortably easy to picture, though. He’d seen one of his aunt’s famous Battalion sparring sessions, and she was…very, very good at fighting. Struck suddenly wordless, he said nothing.

Ezran shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

Rayla sighed, and for a moment, looked down at her left hand. She flexed its fingers carefully, slow and methodical, and Callum remembered how she’d been looking at it earlier. For all that she hadn’t wanted to talk about it, she’d seemed…unsettled. “Well,” she said, quietly, after a moment. “I guess sign language is…probably pretty good exercise, for this hand.”

“Keeping it moving, helping circulation?” Callum supplied, after calling back to mind the Healer’s advice. “Yeah, I guess it would be. We could do a quick bit of it now, while we’re resting?”

She eyed him, then rolled her eyes. “Suppose. Might as well make it something useful, though.”

“Like what?” Ez asked, intrigued.

“Like watch signals. Check-ins, and stuff. The kind of thing my lot would use ictus for.”

“Huh,” Callum blinked, and thought about it. It wasn’t like he’d not seen military sign language terms being used before, given who his aunt was, so… “Yeah, sure. What first?”

Rayla, apparently, had been drilled thoroughly enough in proper silent report-giving enough that she had a list of important terms ready to go. She determinedly worked her hands through learning the signs to demand a status report, report all-clear, report a problem, and report possible enemies in the area. It was all pretty basic, but she clearly wasn’t used to learning this sort of thing, and…well. And her hand was obviously giving her problems.

He didn’t comment, because he could see she didn’t want him to. But it was slow to move. The fingers trembled strangely in certain positions, and didn’t quite seem to respond right. Several times, between his demonstrations of new signs, he saw her flex the fingers and shake the hand, as if trying to dispel some stiffness that wouldn’t quite deign to leave...

“That’s probably enough for today,” he decided, once she’d navigated her hands through a quick practice exchange of an all-clear status report. “Or, at least, for now. Probably won’t sink in, if we try for more.”

She blinked, then nodded. “Yeah, probably,” she agreed, and glanced briefly at the way ahead. “We should be moving again, anyway.”

“Next time, we’ll teach you something more fun,” Ezran promised.

She glanced his way, smiling a little as she hefted her bags over her one good shoulder. “Like what?”

“Like talking about your favourite foods, maybe?” he suggested, picking up the bag with the egg carefully, and kneeling to let Bait jump onto its top, riding there like a monarch in his carriage.

“That sounds like a good way to get ourselves stupid hungry with nothing good around to eat.” Despite the words, she sounded amused.

Callum thought longingly of the castle meals, and regretted not eating more at lunch. Rayla had been right; he really had been hungrier than he’d felt at first. “Still nice to think about,” he said wistfully. “Give us something to look forward to when this is all done.”

“Suppose.” When he looked at her, she looked a little wistful herself, as though she were caught in similar thoughts of home.

As they started to walk, he glanced at her sidelong, and eventually asked “So…what are your favourite foods, back home?” If, as she’d claimed, everything in Xadia was magical…did that include the food? What did magic food taste like?

She hesitated for a moment, like she wasn’t sure whether she was supposed to say, or even if she wanted to. But then she smiled, still wistful, and started describing her favourite Xadian fruits and berries to them, and which ones she’d learned to find and pick herself in the forest she apparently lived in.

He listened to it all, interjecting with questions here and there, and…though she was pretty sparing with the details, started to get a better idea of the place she’d grown up in. A forest full of magic, and wild fruit vines growing on trees tall enough they’d probably overshadow the cliff his home castle was built on. Trees tall enough and immense enough to carve houses out of. It was so fantastical to imagine. Thinking of the wonders of Xadia, waiting so far ahead, made it a little easier to keep walking.

The hour passed like that, with easy curious conversation to take their minds off of the travel, and in the end Callum felt lighter than he had in days.

Even if Rayla wouldn’t tell him what was in a moonberry surprise.

 ---

 In the wake of the storm, the Healer’s house grew busy, and from his sickbed Corvus bore witness to it all.

The first day, there was a stream of miners displaced from the mountain by an avalanche. Broken bones on two, sprains on a few more. A day later one of the same group, only recently recovered from the mountainside, was brought in hypothermic and near-dead, losing two toes and a finger to frostbite before she was stabilised. No one had died, apparently, but it had been a near thing.

Now, the whole town was effectively on standby, waiting for the weather to improve. The tail-end of the thundersnow was still lashing at Verdorn’s periphery, for all that the mine-folk apparently thought it had moved past Farel – and, accordingly, the mines – by now.

“It’ll be another day before it’s safe to go back there,” said the Healer’s wife, a woman named Serris, who oversaw the mines and was apparently rarely home. “So in the meantime, we’ll just have to do our best impressions of directionless layabouts. At least you lot have the excuse of injury, eh?” This last comment she directed at her battered fellows in their beds, a good-natured jibe, and they jeered back at her.

“I’ll be glad to see a little more of your face in the meantime, at least,” said the Healer Marla, her voice dry. “And if you’re so offended by being a layabout, you can come help me mix these salves.”

“A harsh taskmistress, my wife,” commented Serris to the house’s residence, amused, before she went as commanded to help with the work.

Corvus quite enjoyed the company, in honesty. He’d grown accustomed to travelling and serving with the Battalion, and though he was frequently detached for his tracking endeavours, he missed the camaraderie of his fellows. It was good to have people to talk to, even if most of them were as bedridden as he was. And, with little else to do, they all spent a lot of time talking. He was recipient to a lot of questions about his current mission, which he couldn’t answer, and a lot of questions about the Battalion, some of which he could. He admitted when asked that he’d been told to stand by and heal, so wouldn’t be heading anywhere soon.

“I’m to get transportation to Greatport if I can do it without risking myself,” he said, a little wistful. He liked Greatport. If he had to convalesce anywhere, it would have been a good choice. But… “Apparently, I’ll have to hold off on that for a while, though.”

“You certainly will, master Corvus,” Marla said severely, without even looking up from her mixing. “Horseback would be terrible for you as you are now. It’s waiting for a cart to take you or nothing, and we’ve a while until the next of those is due to leave.”

So that was how his days passed, in the thick of the storm. He tried not to spend too much time worrying about the General, or the princes. For better or for worse, he was off the mission now. He just…wished he could have done better. If he had, maybe the princes would be safe now. Instead, he’d undoubtedly driven them straight into that deadly storm, with their captor potentially too badly injured to see to their safety.

He tried not to fret. But it was hard to avoid, when he had frostbitten testaments to the dangers of the mountains convalescing around him. The elf wasn’t the only danger to those boys, was she? And his failure had sent them straight into that gauntlet. He’d wanted to save them, but instead…

Still, Corvus did what he could to avert his thoughts. He’d sent what information he could to Amaya. There was nothing else he could do, at this point.

Except:

“The tavern had some interesting visitors today,” said Serris, after returning from checking in with her workers at the tavern in question. She shot a piercing look at Corvus as she spoke. “A couple of kids, one of ‘em in Crownguard armour. They said they’re tracking that elf.”

Corvus straightened on his headboard. So did everyone else in the house of healing. “Kids?” he repeated, then processed the Crownguard part. There was only one Crownguard he knew of who was young enough to easily be called a kid. He was suddenly at full attention. “Siblings?” he questioned, intent. “A girl with dyed hair? Her brother the Crownguard?”

Everyone was looking his way, now. “You know them?” Serris guessed, after a moment.

Lord Viren’s children, here? “I’ve met the Crownguard,” he said, slowly, mind working furiously. They were tracking the elf? That made no sense. That wasn’t a job for Crownguard, it was a job for the Battalion, the military – for him. And the dark mage…

He thought ‘elf’. He thought ‘dark mage’. Then he thought, ah.

For a moment, it all seemed to make sense. He considered Lord Viren with unease, and everything he’d heard of the man, working so closely with the General. Perhaps he wasn’t content with what could be harvested from the five felled Xadian assassins. Maybe he wanted the sixth, too, and had sent his daughter and son out to that effect…

…except, that didn’t quite fit.

“…Is that what they said?” Corvus asked, after a long silence, aware of the sudden quietness of the room of convalescents. “That they were after the elf?”

Serris eyed him, cautious. She folded her arms. “They tried to hide it at first, but, yeah. They didn’t know you were here, either. Seemed interested in that. They might come visiting soon.”

Corvus made a noncommittal noise, and tried to pore over his thoughts, tried to identify what tasted wrong about this situation. He’d been on a low dose of lilium for days now, and it slowed his mind more than he cared to admit. He needed his wits about him now, because there was something off here. Something important.

Slowly, through the fog, he drew the discrepancies from his gut into his mind.

Viren was Lord Protector now. If he wanted a pursuit of the elf, why not make it larger-scale? Why send only his children? Why not work with General Amaya, who was expressly pursuing the elf already, and surely had the best knowledge of the resources available? Soren certainly wasn’t a trained tracker. He doubted the girl, the dark mage, had that sort of training either, at her age-

He stopped. Examined the thought.

Dark mage. Tracking. Were there spells for that sort of thing?

For the first time, he felt an inkling of anger. If they had a way to find the princes and they’d been withholding it…!

Except that wasn’t right either. They said they were tracking the elf, not the princes. And, at this point, the news that the princes were actually alive probably hadn’t spread very far. So…Lord Viren had sent his children, a talented but inexperienced Crownguard and…a dark mage…in pursuit of an assassin thought to have slain royalty. Why? Were the ingredients worth so much to him? Was there some other motive?

…He’d sent his children covertly. Hadn’t given word to General Amaya, or Corvus would certainly have been notified by now. He wanted that elf found, and either he didn’t trust the General, or…

Or, there was some other motivation at play here. Something secret. Something, perhaps, that the Lord Protector would only trust to his own family.

Corvus recalled, all at once, that the elf had her wrist bound by magic. It was what had given him the advantage in the fight with her, knowing about it ahead of time, knowing what to target, what to exploit…and the Healer had said it was dark magic, hadn’t she? Dark magic, when there were only two dark mages who the elf might have encountered. One of those mages was now here.

Something isn’t right here, he thought to himself grimly, and felt his fingers itch for a quill. Amaya needed to know about this. But…

He sighed. Kora hadn’t returned in a while, so he could only assume she’d been put to work on the other end, relaying vital information to those places and people she was bound to. If he wanted to report, he’d have to do it by the town’s rookery, and send it to the Crow Office for redistribution. That would take time, and he still didn’t have the full story. If the Lord Protector’s children were here – if he could talk to them-

He needed to report. But it would be better to wait until there was more to say.

“If they ask…” Corvus said, slowly, to a dozen keen pairs of ears. “Tell them where to find me. I think we need to talk.”

--

End chapter.

Chapter Notes: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1OGBo7nKVDIfWjhxGe90fwaS3lP0IfQJ3?usp=sharing

Link to PIAJ chapter notes folder (Google Drive folder including worldbuilding, commentary, medical notes, research notes, and misc notes for all applicable chapters within this section)

This chapter's notes cover: travel details, the Crow Lord’s office, Hope, Mercy scripture, Moonshadow religion, rare Moonshadow elf abilities.

Timeline: https://docs.google.com/document/d/107eD8zmLAAFBWSOgsLyl8g4pAdQF4EgMh4rpN_m91U4/edit?usp=sharing Link to PIAJ Timeline Google doc ( to be updated as story progresses)

PIAJ Masterpage: https://tenspontaneite.tumblr.com/piaj Link to PIAJ Masterpage on tumblr (containing links to chapters, meta, art, Q&As, and resources) (Link may not work properly on mobile/app)

Author Notes: 

So. It’s been a while. You can pretty much completely blame that on a single scene, which blocked me so hard that it actually kicked me directly out of the fandom. I’ve never had that happen before. I had to slowly claw my way back via my other tdp fics. The scene in question is written now, thankfully. I deferred it to the start of next chapter out of desperation, and then managed to write it all in a mad burst of inspiration the other day.

Various things have happened in my life that you can, like, vaguely catch hints of if you read back on my tumblr, if you’re into that sort of thing. Otherwise:

Credits: more Hogarth inspiration for one Sarli line in this chapter, specifically 'Where there is life, there is hope of change'. It's not word for word in the text, but there was definite inspiration there. I can't quite remember which book it was – In Extremis, maybe? Middle of its series, in any case.

Next chapter is done, and I’m very excited about it. It has some fun content, but most of all: it has my favourite Runaan plotline scene. I wrote it a long time ago, relatively early on in piaj development, and have been in love with it ever since. I’m so excited we’re finally to the point of me being able to publish it. I’m going to write a fucking huge author’s commentary section for that chapter’s extended notes, I have so much to say about it.

For now, though…I like this chapter a lot, actually. I’ve reread it so many times while trying to block-break over the last few months, and normally that would make me sick of it, but I still love it. Really enjoying starting to get to The Good Stuff. Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! Or some sort of stat enrichment! It’s incredible fuel for the writing engine.

[untamed-era]

Come Out and Level Up, Part 2

(part 1) (EDIT: link now leads to both halves of part 1)  (EDIT 2: AO3 Link) 

Wei Ying does not look pleased with the situation. This is unexpected. Lan Wangji remembers finding proper labels as a deep relief, a sense that other people matched his experience. Wei Ying, on the other hand, comes and sits down, staring at his phone again, looking dejected.

Lan Wangji waits.

“I’m. I guess it’s good I know this, right? Let me make better choices, going forward. It’s good to. It’s good to understand, why I never particularly wanted to date anyone that asked me out. That’s good.”

He is trying to talk himself into the idea. Lan Wangji continues waiting.

“I just —“ He looks up, suddenly, meeting Lan Wangji’s eyes. “Lan Zhan, I really did want to get married.” He sounds forlorn, lost. “I mean. You remember, I talked about inviting you to a farm, someday? And like.” He shifts, uncomfortably, curling his arms around himself. Lan Wangji wants to hug him, comfort him. He does not know how. “I never pictured a wife, but I don’t… I don’t want to be alone.”

Lan Wangji remembers the fantasy Wei Ying had described. It had been so casually referenced, the idea of a little farm and lots of children running around and food cooking inside. It’s featured heavily in his own fantasies, since, when he allows himself to forget that he was invited only as an interloper.

“Action does not equal attraction,” he tells Wei Ying, quietly. “You may yet find a… wife. If you want. If they are happy with the arrangement.”

“Maybe. But like, how do you know when you’ve found someone you’d be willing to spend your life with, if you don’t have the whole true love thing to work with? I mean, you were the only specific person I ever put anywhere near that whole dream. I can’t think of anyone I know who’d be… who’d fit…” He trails off, thinking.

Lan Wangji looks away, breathing through the emotional turmoil of that. He knows Wei Ying doesn’t mean it like Lan Wangji wishes he did. He’s as good as saying he can’t picture Lan Wangji there all the time, can’t see him as a true life partner of any sort. Lan Wangji will respect that. Of course he will. None of this is about him.

“How did you even figure all this out?” Wei Ying asks, suddenly, and Lan Wangji flinches. Wei Ying plows ahead without noticing. “I mean, there’s so many terms here, and I don’t know — maybe I’m just overthinking everything! I like thinking about sex, I like the idea of kissing! But apparently not like everyone else does? How did you ever sort all this out?”

It was the best words for how I felt about you, Lan Wangji thinks but does not say. It was the only way to make sense of the intensity and specificity of his feelings. How can he help, when Wei Ying’s problem is not knowing, instead of knowing too much?

“I mean,” Wei Ying continues, not waiting for any sort of response, “I mean, like, sure I’ve contemplated kissing people in the past. Specific people, even! I mean, I’ve thought about kissing you, who hasn’t, obviously, that’s just… That’s just part of friendship, isn’t it?”

Lan Wangji stares. All of his deep, meditative thoughts are crumpling around him. He cannot feel any part of his body. He cannot interpret any of this. If he tries, he may actually explode.

“Oooookay you’re looking at me weirdly,” Wei Ying says from very far away and also about two feet from Lan Wangji’s face. It should be farther. It should be much less. How can he cope with any of this. “So what you’re saying is that imagining kissing isn’t a normal part of any close friendship.”

How is Lan Wangji supposed to answer that? It’s certainly a normal part of his closest friendships. Friendship. Singular.

Wei Ying laughs, high and strained. “I don’t suppose we can just forget about what I just said, move back to. Uh. Some other topic? Um.”

Lan Wangji physically cannot. He thinks his entire brain has rewired itself to play “I’ve thought about kissing you” on repeat. He cannot think of anything else well enough to respond. He cannot muster the strength to echo it.

“Maybe I should just. Just go? Sorry, I know I made things weird, I wouldn’t blame—“

“Don’t,” Lan Wangji says. It’s spoken from his instincts, the ones that never want Wei Ying to leave, the ones that he overrules when he has any brainpower left over for them.

“Uh. Okay, Lan Zhan.” He looks nervous, Lan Wangji notes. He should say something to reassure Wei Ying. That sounds good.

“You’ve thought about kissing me,” he says instead. Hmm.

Wei Ying avoids his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah? I… I didn’t think that was a big deal but. I’m also kind of thinking of… a lot of other. Things. I’ve thought about and. Oh, I don’t know. They’re my problem, I guess. I already made things weird enough.”

“What things,” he says.

Wei Ying looks at him, eyes wide.

Lan Wangji struggles to gather his words. “I want. To hear. Your thoughts.” His hands are curled into fists so tightly they hurt. “Always,” he adds.

“Lan Zhan, no, I’ve already made you uncomfortable enough, I wouldn’t want to —“

“I am not uncomfortable.” He hesitates, and self-evaluates. “Or. That is not my primary emotion.”

“Confused you, then.”

And he can’t quite dispute that one. He is confused. He is dumbfounded, and… It takes a long moment to sort through everything else and identify the most prominent emotion.

“Yes,” he says, finally. “But I am also hopeful.”

That finally leaves Wei Ying speechless. It is nice to turn the tables again. He waits, in silence.

“What the fuck, Lan Zhan,” he finally says, weakly. “What the fuck do you have to be hopeful about.”

“You asked about how I figured my identity out.” Lan Wangji says. He can see the shape of the conversation again, he thinks. He does not know the end, but he is hopeful.

“We’re well past that!” Wei Ying says. “That was before I — before — Before —“

“I found the terms,” Lan Wangji says, ploughing ahead heedlessly, “because they best described how much I wanted to kiss you, Wei Ying.”

He has flabbergasted Wei Ying again. He savors it, watching Wei Ying blink and gape and wave one hand wildly. Finally, Wei Ying opens his mouth, and quietly says “Wanted? Past tense?”

“Want,” he admits. It comes easily, in spite of everything. Years of hidden pining, all leading to this one needle-point admission.

Wei Ying stares at him. It’s easy to meet his eyes.

He’s scared, of course he’s scared. He’s on tenterhooks, waiting for the response. But he has had no hope, no reason to say anything, sometimes not even a chance — and now he has them all.

“What the fuck,” Wei Ying finally says, “is this conversation.”

Lan Wangji inclines his head in agreement.

“I mean seriously, what the fuck. I mean this started with me mentioning a gay person at work and now you’re… we’re…. I’m….” He shies away from saying what, exactly, any of these pronouns are doing, which Lan Wangji thinks is deeply unfortunate. He, himself, has been uncomfortably vulnerable multiple times and Wei Ying has mostly just floundered at him. In fairness, he himself had a complicated process of coming to terms with his sexuality and would not have been balanced or coherent about it in the first ten minutes of questioning. He can and will be patient with this. In the part of him that does not care about fairness it rankles, that he spent the last ten years slowly making peace with his identity and here Wei Ying is with the exact same internalized heteronormativity that characterized middle school.

“So, but. You want to kiss me, though.”

Lan Wangji had been very clear on that, he thought. “Mn.”

“Why, though. I mean just… Why?”

Lan Wangji stares at Wei Ying, the love of his life, his best friend, the smartest person he knows, for a good long minute. “Because I am attracted to you. Romantically and sexually.”

They stare at each other for another long moment, Wei Ying’s mouth hanging open. “What the fuck, Lan Zhan,” he says, finally, weakly.

If he were someone else, he could, perhaps, rhapsodize about Wei Ying’s sterling qualities, the foundation of his attraction. He certainly has the material, but lacks the skill to shape it into something convincing. “I do not wish to make you uncomfortable,” he says.

“Uncomfortable? Uncomfortable? I’m not uncomfortable, Lan Zhan, I’m just baffled. I mean, you’re you! Who wouldn’t want to hear this stuff from you! How am I supposed to deal with this! How am I supposed to figure out — wait hang on I’m calling Jiang Cheng.”

Lan Wangji blinks. He did not anticipate Wei Ying’s irritating brother being part of any of these confessions. To borrow a phrase from Wei Ying, what the fuck is this conversation.

“Jiang Cheng? Hi, Jiang Cheng, hey, quick question: how much do you think about kissing your male friends.”

The faint but irate voice of Jiang Cheng says “What the fuck, Wei Ying.”

“No, this is important. Do you think about kissing your friends? How often are you hanging out with like, other men, and just start thinking about kissing them. Like just occasionally, or.”

“Never! I never think about that! Why would I?”

“So like. If one of them — let’s say Lan Zhan — offered to kiss you. Would you want to?”

A silence. “Why the fuck would I want to kiss Lan Wangji,” Jiang Cheng says. Lan Wangji thinks maybe he should be offended, except that it is an exact mirror of his feelings toward Jiang Cheng. Besides, Wei Ying is making a very endearing offended face on his behalf.

“Why wouldn’t you want to kiss Lan Zhan — wait I just realized I could be doing that instead of arguing with you so I guess live on in your delusion.”

“What the fuck, Wei Ying! Don’t you dare go harassing —“

The line cuts off before Jiang Cheng can finish his threat. Fortunately, Lan Wangji cannot find it in himself to give one singular fuck about his opinion right now. He stares at Wei Ying, who looks, suddenly, nervous. He licks his lips, and Lan Wangji stares more. “Uh,” he says, finally. “I still don’t. Exactly. Know where I stand on most of this? Like I’m pretty sure I want to, uh, experiment with, with everything, ‘cause suddenly I have a ton of questions, but mostly I think it’s frankly very rude that you aren’t already kissing me, what’s up with that, Lan Zhan —“

Lan Wangji’s tattered patience abruptly snaps, and he is pulling Wei Ying’s face to his before the other can finish talking. After all, he was not raised to be rude.

[psychologyserviceannoucement]

I've Done Therapy Before and It Didn't Work

Therapy is a hard thing to go through. It’s success is dependent upon both the participation of a professional and the individual. It requires discussing and evaluating a lot of personal information that can be hard to tolerate, let alone put active work into. While therapy is a proven effective treatment for a variety of mental health conditions, the reality is that it often takes people multiple attempts to actually reap the benefit of it. That may seem like an oxymoron, but there are a few reasons why someone’s first go at therapy may not work out and why it’s still worth giving a second shot.

If you’ve ever gone through therapy before then I wanna give you props for putting yourself out there to begin with. It’s uncomfortable and vulnerable, but I appreciate that you gave it a shot. Moreover, I extend my sympathies that your efforts didn’t end up being rewarded. I can understand if that experience has kind of turned you off to the idea of therapy or if it’s made you doubt the effectiveness of it all together. After all, there aren’t many other medical procedures that have this same problem. If you go to a doctor to get a bone set, you generally expect it to work without a second attempt. It’s not a very flattering look to say the least. Even still, despite how negative those experiences may be, I believe it is important to consider why things didn't work out before. Because when I say that people often need more than one attempt at therapy, that doesn’t just mean that it didn’t work. It also means that it did work later on. So it naturally brings us to question about what made the difference between the first try and the third.

One of the biggest reasons people give up on therapy is because of the timing. When people are struggling, they can become desperate for any sort of relief. However, therapy as a treatment takes time. Without going into too much detail about how therapy works (see here for a longer discussion), the process is essentially attempting to work with a part of your health that cannot be observed through traditional methods. Instead of conducting tests or making measurements, therapists have to rely on a far slower way to gather information, talking about symptoms a lot. Even after they are able to identify potential factors contributing to the problem at hand, enacting solutions can also take time. Correcting maladaptive thinking patterns, for instance, can be an extended process of convincing a patient that the pattern exists, that it should be changed, and helping them make that change. That’s already going to take a few sessions to accomplish. Lifestyle changes similarly take some weeks to show the effects of. And that’s assuming the first attempted solution proves correct. As such, the typically recommended period of time suggested before you may start to see results from therapy is 3-4 months or 12-18 sessions. And that’s a long period of time, especially for some more severe conditions. It’s very common for people to get frustrated with the process because they are being asked to do a lot of work even though they aren’t feeling better yet. In fact, a large percentage of patients quit therapy well before it has the chance to show it’s effectiveness. So although the effort you put into treatment before was likely difficult and shouldn’t be diminished, it’s possible that things simply needed more time before they could work. On the other hand, by the second or third attempt people are more likely to stick with therapy longer. They also have the benefit of their previous experiences helping them to progress more quickly. So if you’re willing to try therapy again it might be a little easier than the first time.

Another obstacle people encounter is finding a therapist that fits. I often describe individual therapists as akin to a primary care physician, a general knowledge health professional that’s able to tackle a wide diversity of problems. However, while they may have a surface level understanding on many topics, any specific therapist is not going to have a deep knowledge of all of them. Just like other kinds of doctors, individual therapists specialize in different fields and are going to have gaps in their information. These gaps sometimes prove problematic if a therapist is attempting to treat someone with a condition they are not familiar with or cannot relate to. They have a lot of skills and tools that are universally applicable to any problem, but they may not always use them effectively. And that barrier to understanding can appear for a number of reasons. Sometimes it’s a lack of personal, academic, or professional experience. Sometimes it’s a difference in cultural background: religion, race, sexuality, gender, or so one. Sometimes they have certain core beliefs that are in contrast with yours. Some therapists are very strict and direct. Some prefer a more patient-focused approach where they have a more passive role. Not every therapist is a good fit for everyone. It’s entirely possible that the first person you saw just wasn’t the right person for the job. If you were dissatisfied with your previous therapist, I would encourage you to seek out one that specializes in the specific issues you are struggling with. Alternatively, you can seek someone with a similar background to you. I would go so far as to recommend interviewing them to see if they have views and personality traits that would compliment your treatment.

The last obstacle I would like to discuss is a bit more personal. I’d like not to come across as if I am blaming anyone for their negative experiences or accusing them of not trying hard enough. However, it is sometimes the case that someone may attend therapy sessions without truly giving treatment a shot. The thing about therapy is that it looks silly from the outside and there are still a lot of people who are hesitant to accept it’s validity. That is perfectly understandable. I do not expect everyone to put the same value in therapeutic techniques that I do. Unfortunately though, therapy depends on patient participation. Therapists can help you identify necessary changes in thinking patterns and lifestyle, but only if you allow them access to the information they need to understand you. Moreover, it is entirely up to the individual to actually enact the changes recommended. As such, entering treatment without an open mind that is ready and willing to adhere to the treatment can often become a self-fulfilling prophecy. If you go to treatment, fully believing that it won’t work and letting that belief drive your actions, then it certainly will not. And that’s not to say that everything will work perfectly if you try hard enough. It will still be a process. Sometimes you will put your best effort into something and it still won’t work out. However, the only way to know one way or another is to try it thoroughly. I understand that those who are seeking mental health treatment are oftentimes not in a place where they are able to be very hopeful or optimistic. That’s ok. I’m not asking you to believe with all your heart that you certainly will get better soon. But I am asking you to consider if you really did give it your best shot the first time around.

At least those are some of the bigger reasons why people have trouble with their first attempt at therapy. It’s possible they apply to you, but I don’t know much about your specific experience. I can provide as many explanations as possible, but I can’t account for everything because sometimes things just happen. The truth of recovery is that it’s work, but it’s not like climbing up a mountain. Recovery is more like being lost in a forest. It can take a lot of persistence.  You can’t take three steps in one direction and decide that you’ll never find your way out.. You have to walk pretty far in one direction before you can really find out whether something is there or not. If that attempt didn’t work out, you’ll need to change directions and try a different way. It would be much easier if there was a simple path to follow, but it's simply something you’ll have to work on for a bit. Granted, things aren’t always a struggle. There is a way out. The forest doesn’t go on forever. It does stop eventually and there might be signs to help along the way to point to where that might be. You have your therapist as a guide to help you along and the longer you walk, the better you’ll get at navigating. I’m sorry if you feel stuck, or you’re tired of fighting, or you’re frustrated that nothing seems to be working. But hope is not lost. Statistically, you can still and likely will get better. Perhaps it shouldn’t take this much for you to get to that point, but it is still within your reach. Recovery is very much worth the work that it takes to get to it. So despite the obstacles, I hope that you continue to pursue treatment and put as much as you can into it so that you can find what’s effective and make therapy work for you, even if it takes a few tries.

For more information on mental health topics, check out our Index

[daily-zuko]

Hi,I heard there are some Avatar The Last Airbender fans bashed Katara for being hostile towards Zuko when she has a valid reason to do so given what he did in Crossroads of destiny,do you validate Katara’s grudge and animosity towards Zuko?

Hello, Daily-Zuko here! 

Though I’m not sure what answer you’re looking for, I suppose I’ll do my best to respond in a nonjudgmental manner. You’ll have to forgive me – as a Zuko blog, my focus in this breakdown skews towards him, though I have tried to give sufficient attention to Katara as well. As this turned rather lengthy, the majority of the content lies under the cut. Thank you for the question.

I think my favorite part about Avatar: The Last Airbender is its nuance in exploring complicated character dynamics. There is no black & white morality; each character’s feelings are treated with as much delicacy and respect as they deserve. Every individual’s story is weaved together seamlessly to create a greater whole, and Katara and Zuko are no exception. Their character arcs run parallel in many ways during the show, finally colliding in the Season 2 finale. They have both struggled with grudges, rage, and resentment holding them back throughout the course of the series, and this culminates in the climactic turning point in The Crossroads of Destiny. 

Katara, after carrying the pain of losing her mother for so long, seemingly finds a kindred spirit in Zuko, and let’s go of her anger to extend a hand in trust. This is her attempting to move beyond her childhood trauma to start healing. Zuko’s rejection of her is a rejection of his own inner turmoil, but it unfortunately cements Katara’s toxic mindset of revenge. Regrettably, Zuko is not ready to accept a change of heart; this occurs just as he’s evaluating his own moral stance. This finale subjects both of them to their lowest point moving forward. 

To answer your question, I believe that the actions they both take in The Crossroads of Destiny – and beyond – are valid.

At the point in the narrative where Zuko attempts to join Team Avatar, Katara’s potential growth has been stunted from their previously aborted connection. Zuko’s mental scars from his mother were not a central theme to his character development, unlike Katara, so he was able to complete his metamorphosis and advance. Though to all appearances they share the same childhood experiences, in terms of character, they do not share the same Ghost. 

In the book Creating Character Arcs, by K.M. Weiland, the author outlines four distinct things to establish in order to successfully create a Positive Change Arc: a character’s Want, Need, Lie, and Ghost. Zuko’s want versus his need is rather obvious. The lie he believes is that his worth is tied to his father and his title. By capturing the Avatar, he will return home and become intrinsically complete. The ghost, in this instance, does not refer to any literal ghost; rather, the ghost is the incidental wound within a character’s past that causes the character to believe in the lie in the first place; in other words, the Agni Kai.

In contrast, Katara’s ghost is literal – the death of her mother. It haunts her and prevents her from understanding her truth: that continuing the cycle of war will not remedy her grief. This creates an opposing force for their conflict in The Crossroads of Destiny, as while Katara has yet to confront her own lie, she is presenting Zuko with his truth, and rushing him into the next phase of his archetypal growth. 

Zuko’s choice in this scene is necessary. His reaction to Katara’s unexpected offer of reconciliation is instinctive – primal. Though he has come to the point where he can question his way in life, he is not yet ready to have this outlook thrust upon him in this split second decision. He cannot confront his lie. Therefore, he rejects the truth, relapsing based on what all previous experiences tell him is correct. Only once he fulfills his want in succeeding does he realize that it is not what he wanted in the first place. 

Additionally, Katara is somewhat of an unfortunate bystander in Zuko’s next step on “The Hero’s Journey.” The Positive Change Arc quite commonly coincides with the much earlier interpretation of character development defined by Joseph Campbell in The Hero With a Thousand Faces. Though this path is generally a commentary on the main character’s quest, this is only because other characters are not usually as fleshed out. Zuko, as the deuteragonist, is an exception. In this stage, referred to as “Challenges and Temptations”, “Road of Trials”, “The Descent to the Abyss,” etc, Zuko needs to fall to the absolute bottom in order to die and be born anew, and he drags Katara with him. 

In this vein, Katara’s obsession with rage and revenge simmers within her, and is not addressed in detail until The Southern Raiders. It is something that was magnified by the perceived betrayal of someone she had faith in, but it was an underlying issue that colored several actions she took. This was, of course, exacerbated by the duplicity demonstrated by others throughout the series. 

During their stay at the Western Air Temple, Zuko doing all he can to show Katara his changed self even though she continually rebukes him is his only meaningful way to absolve and prove himself to her in spite of his previous violation of her trust. His acceptance into the party does not erase his past mistakes. Katara needed to shun him just as Zuko needed to show her, with his actions, that she is allowed to forgive and finally complete her own journey. It is a fragile balancing act the writers have coined in order to give these two the catharsis they deserve, and it is executed flawlessly.

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tl;dr: Yes, Katara is valid, so is Zuko, this show is more complicated than that and implying that one character (on either side) is in the wrong somehow for their feelings does a disservice to the show’s excellent writing. 

Additional youtube content from people who articulate much better than I do:

The Importance of Mistakes, by Make Stuff

A four-part show analysis, from The Weight of Cinema

The Cycle of War, by Hello Future Me

And finally, thank you to my lovely beta @tmariea for constantly helping me put my thoughts in order.

[ulfahalifah13]

How to Overcome Creative Block?

The creative block has become a problem for many people in various professions. It is a condition where a person becomes creatively slow and cannot make a new work. People who suffer from this condition feel that they cannot write or think of something from their minds, whether it is about original ideas. It has been often stated that creative block might have a prolonged effect that lasts for days or even years. This uncomfortable state of mind might cause an emotional instability that will negatively impact work productivity even further.

There have been recounts and documents about how creative block affected famous people and professionals throughout history, even though the term is known in later eras. Each profession usually has its way of addressing creative block, and one of the most common is “writer’s block” for writers or “blank canvas syndrome” among artists and designers.

Before we go into the solutions for this condition, it is also essential to know the creative block’s cause. It is because not all creative blocks are started from the same problem. We can adequately think and choose the possible solution to our specific creative block type in this manner.

Mental barrier

In this case, the person usually makes assumptions and the possibility of a goal limiting our options. Let us say we want to write down several paragraphs that explain our own fictional character’s personality. Suddenly, at different times. We focus on designing the world first merely because we think it is more fundamentally important than a mere character description. It will repeat until we are too confused about which one is the priority. We are overly critical with our minds.

Emotional barrier

One word that resonates well with this type of problem is probably fear. Whether it is writing, painting, singing, or dancing, we enter into a territory that we are not familiar with. It brings anxiety and fear within us, especially if we try to show what we do to others. Did you feel so nervous before you even began your first public speech? That might be one of these types of cases. We are too concerned with “what will happen,” and we form a self-resistance known as fear.

Personal adversities

How do we even start working correctly if we have things in our real life that take our attention much more than our goal? The death of a relative, dealing with abusive partners, or even health problems takes a toll on our minds, and we are in no position to work effectively with those circumstances around. The worst possibility is that these problems could come simultaneously and how unfortunate that would be.

Ineffective work attitude

When someone puts up a routine, it does not mean we will also be able to do it to the same extent. The creative process might not be suitable for us, yet we are still trying to do it, exhausting ourselves in a deceiving self-belief that it is all a matter of adjustments. Or perhaps, you have other daily routines that intersect with your profession. You sleep too late only to wake up so late that you barely have the time to begin your regular activities before doing your work. This habit will create a sense of suffocation and rush, limiting the brain’s ability to do creative thinking.

Overwhelming projects

There is a song entitled “Too Much is Never Enough” by Florence +  The Machine, but we all know that too much is not right. We put ourselves in a situation where many demands and information surround us.  In other words, we work too hard. It is increasingly difficult to focus on your particular work if you are all over the place and too tired to continue after finishing only one where the rest awaits.

After looking at several examples above, we can try to look at some solutions that we can do to counter these causes that lead to creative block. There could be many other exceptional cases beyond the scope I have given to you. Below are the possible ways you can do to overcome creative block:

Find new inspiration and perspective

We are fed up with assumptions while getting stuck in an endless cycle of limiting ourselves. Then, it is time for us to start fresh and renew our view. Go outside, read a new book, or watch a movie that can trigger an idea that pops out an “oh hey…” to you. If it is also possible, find someone with who you can have a discussion and ask for feedback without them merely keeping agreeing to your point of view all the time. It will also become a form of self-evaluation to identify your weakness and utilize your superior attribute.

Learn to deal with fears

We learn this one the hard way. There might be many things that can help you with it as well, such as motivation counsel from others or personal training, but in the end, we will end up facing the very fear itself. Stop being paralyzed with the “what if…” questions and do something to see its end. When that already happens, you can start talking to yourself through it and reward yourself with clarity of the work you have finally done. The emotional barrier in the creative block is one of the most common ones to be found in society, yet it has a simple solution to find. Of all things, you might also want to remember again why you start doing your creative work in the first place.

Learn about time management

If we get used to less important matters, then we must learn to make priorities. Identify which one that we must do first and which one can come later. We then arrange them as a recurring schedule. Of course, we are in charge of balancing the time for our responsibilities and our needs. Don’t overwork ourselves to spare a few times in a day to take a break. Even if you do have accidental events, it would be much easier to manage your schedule and fit them incorrectly if needed when you have neat time management.

Find the time to deal with personal problems

Among many issues in creative thinking, we only have few solutions for this particular one. You take a break from your work and focus on your adversities that you need to deal with. Do whatever you can in your power to solve things calmly, and if you cannot, find help from family, friends, or professionals. It seems possible to fix personal problems during creative thinking by coping with the pain until you finish your work. The former, of course, is much more favorable even though it might cost you your time. Either way, you do things for your good. Make a count of the choice you make when you commit to that option.

Know when to say no to requests

If this your leading problem, we need to selectively choose the demands and the ones we matter to the most. Our hands are full, but other requests keep coming at you? Say no. Do not be fooled with your facade of reliability. We are not a computer, and we limit the sheer amount of work that we can take. If we know how to refuse others’ demands politely, we will show them that we have a degree of self-worthiness and privilege. It also gives us enough space to recollect our thoughts about our creative work. Be honest with your clients about it, and you will do much better.

Learn to improve your social networking skills

This solution relates to creative workings where we work with a partner or in a team of multiple participants. No matter how we look at it, we need to learn communication skills for this situation. Introvert or extrovert is not a reason to shut ourselves from the world if we strive to succeed. There will also be a benefit where you can influence others with your perspective showing that you have an idea worth mentioning without fear of rejection. Even if they do reject it, be open to criticism and humble yourself. Take a look at where the disagreement takes place and solve it together.

Train yourself with new skills to refresh 

Improving the skills that stand out to refresh your mind are a great way to bolster your resume, especially when taking the initiative to develop yourself. You can surf anything on the internet these days. Many other websites are given to teaching specific skill-sets like Coursera, Udemy, or edX. Learning how to be a PowerPoint designer in creating presentation templates can add your experience to your portfolios. You'll demonstrate versatility and creativity.

Conclusions

All points mentioned above are general notions that we often encounter in the actual process of creative working, whether it is writing or others. Once again, the creative block appears depending on one’s own issue with it, and the solution is also unique to each and sometimes related to one another. Something that we think worth mentioning is that creative block is common and quite normal among us. In the end, what matters is how we overcome it, and we hope this article provides you a bit of help to deal with your creative block.

See my PowerPoint project’s portfolios: https://rrslide.com/freebiestemplates

[edwardslostalchemy]

Explain the difference between endevour and Bakugou’s Behavior when it comes to treating others how they do. Thanks (:D)

This is tough because I’m so biased to believe they are both abusive. And I really just want to tell you with the Pam from the Office meme that they’re the same person. But I know that’s not entirely true. Both of these characters have inflicted damage to other characters. 

However, I acknowledge that Katsuki is still a teenager and I am holding out for hope that Horikoshi gives him proper development, that he can regret his actions, have a good redemption arc, apologize to Izuku, and be a better character. 

Endeavor is just. A monster. Because through more than 20 years, he never stopped to think that MAYBE just MAYBE he was hurting PEOPLE, and the people were his FAMILY, his WIFE, his CHILDREN. He hurt FIVE people. He didn’t even see them as people to begin with, just a means to an end. He didn’t even see Shouto as a child, he saw him as his ‘masterpiece’, an extension of himself, the perfect tool to use for his ambition. He saw his three older children as failures and neglected them, pushing them aside and separating Shouto from his siblings because he ‘lived in a different world from the one they lived in’. It is heavily implied and suggested that he has beat his wife and even on screen, the sounds that were made were obviously of him hitting her and she falls to the ground. And the way Shouto reacts, with a horrified expression while calling for his mother, is more than enough proof that that’s what happened in that one instant. He drove her to madness, so much so that she ended up maiming her youngest child, someone who had no fault in any of what was going on, but ended up on the receiving end of her meltdown, unfortunately. And what did Endeavor do? He put her in a mental hospital because she ‘hurt his masterpiece’. Not even ‘because she hurt my son/child’ or ‘because she needs help’. Because he hurt his masterpiece. His tool. We still don’t know what happened to Touya, but we do know that Endeavor had a hand in killing him, which is horrifying and so so terrible. How…how do you just. Move on from that? It’s no wonder Natsuo hates him so much. It’s no wonder Shouto has so many mixed feelings and doesn’t know what to feel. It’s no wonder Rei is so scared of him and doesn’t want to see him even if it’s been more than 10 years since she’s been there. Even Fuyumi has admitted that she feels the same way as Natsuo and Shouto. 

This is different from Katsuki. He didn’t do any of this and I really hope he never does. It would be unfortunate and sad. He has been compared to Endeavor, though, in terms of behavior, by All Might. However, he still hurt Izuku. He’s called him useless, he’s called him scum and has said he is like a pebble and like an insect he can crush if I remember correctly; he’s used his quirk on him to hurt him, and just by what we saw from the first episode, it says a lot about what he did. As little kids, he and his friends beat up Izuku. And then fast forward to middle school, he’s still bothering and hurting him. It’s quite exaggerated if I’m being honest, but still, Izuku is pushed against the wall and Katsuki stands over him threateningly. Their teacher doesn’t even do anything to stop it. After classes end, he burns Izuku’s notebook and tosses it out of the window and then tells him to kill himself. After the entrance exam for UA and they both get accepted, he pushes Izuku against a secluded wall and threatens him to not go to UA. He used so much of his quirk during the battle trial that All Might warned him not to use it or else he’d kill Izuku. And his response was that he wouldn’t get killed as long as he dodged. He still threatened him during their first semester and hit him in the face during their final exam. We don’t get to see throughout the years the extend of the bullying, just glimpses of how Katsuki tells Izuku his quirk will never be as good as his, he would leave him behind, he’d push him down; but we get to see the aftermath and Izuku does not think of himself as worthy. He has self-esteem issues, he flinches whenever he is approached by Katsuki, although this is improving because he hasn’t been stepping back recently. Katsuki can’t attack Izuku anymore because Aizawa can stop him. It’s not because he felt bad. It’s because a teacher with the means to do it finally stepped in and went ‘nope’. Aizawa doesn’t reprimand him, but he stops him. Izuku is getting better at fighting back. Katsuki can’t push him around anymore. But it doesn’t mean he’s stopped yelling at him or has stopped hurting him. He still stabs him on the head to shut him up. He’s very disrespectful when it comes to OFA meetings (and really he’s disrespectful all the time). But the thing is that now, currently in the manga, he doesn’t have that chance to attack Izuku anymore. Which is GOOD. I still see his behavior as abusive because bullies are abusive. They still hurt people mentally, physically, and/or emotionally. 

The difference is that nobody was there to stop Endeavor, but someone was there to stop Katsuki. Endeavor took a hell of a long time to realize that what he did was not right and evaluated that his reasons for doing what he did were not really….I guess enough. Or wrong. Perhaps I’m not interpreting that scene correctly, where he is fighting High End and he’s thinking “that’s the reason….the reason…” and it pans over Rei, Natsuo, Fuyumi, and Shouto. Endeavor is an ADULT who should have better judgement and better sense in treating people like people. He’s a certified Hero, but only acts heroically publicly. With his family? Not even close. He did it because he believed this was the best option for reaching his goal. But it was not an ethical option. Katsuki did what he did because his ego was inflated and people would tell him he was the best and his quirk was amazing, even by Izuku. Katsuki is a KID. And I really hope he gets better development. I really hope he stops hurting Izuku and starts treating him like a person and like a friend. (And I say this for Izuku’s sake, not his.) 

Now as far as how these two characters treat other people.

They’re both arrogant and proud, but they’re executed differently. Endeavor is arrogant in that he doesn’t want to join other heroes because he ‘is a very busy man’, as we saw when detective Tsukauchi requested his help to rescue Katsuki from the League of Villains. He also complained that All Might was getting the spotlight and not him. Why did he have to stay where he was when All Might was rushing into action? I am trying to translate this word to English, but what comes up is despot. He abuses power and oppresses others, most notably his family. However, because of his status, he is still rude and selfish with other people. His interactions with All Might are so tense. All Might goes to say hi and he’s like “is that it?” and walks away. And then he tells him how Shouto will beat him. It’s disgusting how he talks about Shouto as if he were a tool and not his son, and also he says ‘that’s why I made him’ as if Shouto is only worth being something to use instead of someone to cherish, i.e. a child. He’s beginning to atone, which is good. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth because I cannot stand abusers and I myself have dealt with someone who is awful. Not on this level of asshole, but he’s still an asshole. Anyway, back to him. He allows Natsuo to tell him what he’s thinking, which is GOOD. This is something I like because he didn’t shut Natsuo down and Natsuo was able to speak what was on his mind. Fuyumi is probably the person he has….I don’t want to use the word fondness….that implies that he cares about her, and honestly, I still want to believe that despite his abusive nature, he can at least spare some care for his daughter. I don’t know what word to use, but he lets her have dinners and convinces him to bring his interns over. He’s also trying to show Shouto that he can be a better hero, one he can be proud of. And I understand that this is part of his atonement, but it does not arouse sympathy out of me. His interaction with Hawks is interesting. He’s rude and impatient and wants for him to get to the point. However, he did not blow up when Hawks gave him a major burn on live television. Although, in later chapters, he lets Hawks give him information and it’s good he allowed this because it was so crucial. 

Katsuki is different from Endeavor in that he does blow up on people. His personality is, you guessed it, explosive. And I understand that goes with his character. Endeavor is fiery…he is fierce… Shouto is warm and cold. Izuku is full of energy he cannot contain, bouncing off walls verbally and physically. So it makes sense that Katsuki is explosive. However, he yells and threatens and tells people to die. I’ve read a post explaining that him telling people to die is a common thing to say in Japan amongst kids. Perhaps if handled differently for Katsuki, it would be funny when it’s meant to be funny. But anyway, let’s go with his explosive nature. He blows up. He loses his cool so easily and is provoked instantly. He treats people like dirt, not gonna lie. I want to believe he’s getting better. But I can’t see it. It’s so hard for me to see it. Blowing up on people that see him as a friend, blowing up on Izuku, blowing up on his classmates. Constantly telling Shouto they are NOT friends even though Shouto thinks they are. I see he has not yelled at Momo, which is good, because if he were to do it, I would be out for blood. He’s not horrible to Kirishima, and he’s getting better? Like that bit where Kirishima was insecure and he told him he was strong, that was nice. I wish he would be that way with other people, too. The way he wanted to fight all the kids during the provisional license remedial course was something. And that line he said to the leader of the kids felt hollow, but at least he stopped yelling at the kids. He’s also not 100% insensitive, because he at least listened to Shouto when he said there’s other ways of reaching out to children that DON’T involve violence, and he thought back to when Shouto told Izuku about how he was abused. He is learning to cooperate, which is something I appreciate, although he is not perfect, as we saw when he joined the 1A band (thanks Sero). I would like for him to realize, though, that his behavior needs improvement. Or at least he needs to stop yelling at everyone and should direct this anger towards villains. 

So really Katsuki doesn’t give a damn about public image, but Endeavor does. Still, both are rude and brash and flaunt their power in front of other people. Endeavor literally does this simply by having his fire mask, mustache, and beard all the time when he is out. 

I hope this is enough/satisfactory for you, anon. I tried to stay objective, but again that was difficult given how much I hate both characters. If anyone wants to add on, feel free because I’m sure I missed something, but this is what I was able to put together.

[littledreamybeth]

Just perfect

A/N: Hi beautiful darlings and Merry Christmas!! 🎄🎁🎁🎋Hope y’all enjoy this lovely day so far! Here is my gift for you! I’m not quite sure about it, feels like something is missing but I still hope you get the message! Your reactions will show if I succeeded or not! ❤❤❤ I’m not the best writer but I still hope that my stories give you some kind of comfort and entertain you!

Warnings: Hints of sexual intercourse at the end, body image issues (Do not read if you’re not comfortable with these)

Y/N didn’t like her body. It was far worse. She despised it.

There was nothing she could brag with nor she could be proud of.

The young woman unfortunately had a very toxic relationship with her mirror, which often let to heavy tears and hating herself even more. She couldn’t look at herself without being disgusted at what she saw. Herself…

She had a lot of things to criticize about. According to Y/N, she didn’t fit to the definition of beauty at all. Her breasts were too small, her hips were too wide, her butt was too big, and she had stretchmarks sprawled at some parts. She felt so unattractive and ugly in her own body that this feeling was reflected well through her choice of clothing. She barely wore something revealing or anything that accentuated her curves. She’d rather stick to oversized pullovers and lose pants.

When she walked on the streets, it was almost as if people judged her whenever they paid a glance at her. Evaluating her appearance.

The more confused she had been when one of the most famous artists in the world asked her out and confessed his love for her after months of dating. She knew Harry deserved better, so out of all models or female artists he could have been with, why did he choose her? She had nothing to offer anyways.

She didn’t look desirable or sexy. Many times had she considered undergoing surgery to fix her problem, however, would that be the solution to make her happy at the end? What if something went wrong and she would pay with her life? Was risking so much worth enough? Accidents happened during cosmetic surgeries even if they rarely occurred. Besides, what if she wasn’t satisfied with the result? What if, what if? So many doubts…

Also, she knew that Harry would be completely against the idea, so she didn’t try.

However, one day, she chose to share her concerns with him.

“Harry, am I desirable?” Y/N asked that evening when they were casually chilling on the couch. Harry almost chocked on his iced tea, his bewildered pupils meeting hers in confusion.

“What the hell?”

“I mean what do you like about me so much? I have practically nothing-“

“Don’t!” Harry interrupted her. “Don’t you dare to finish that sentence.”

Y/N stood still, playing with her fingers, not a little sound escaping her mouth. Harry stared at her somewhat disappointed.  

“Is it my past?” Harry questioned after a short moment of silence, it was the first thing that came into his mind and he kind of blamed himself for her discomfort. “Does my past make you feel self-conscious about yourself? The women I was with?” Inwardly, he really hoped the answer was no.

“I don’t think so… I just don’t love myself… Can’t love myself… Never have…”

“Why not?”

Y/N shrugged her shoulders. Tears started to pile in her eyes, a few of them falling down her cheeks. Wiping them away quickly, she continued. “There is nothing about me I can be proud of.” That broke Harry entirely. How could the woman he was deeply infatuated with not love herself?

He stood up, grabbing her hand tightly and dragged her with him.

“Where are we going?”

Her question was responded when she found herself in their shared bedroom.

“And what now?” She was waiting for his next move.

“Undress yourself,” Harry ordered determinedly.

“Excuse me?” Her eyes opened as wide as they could, her mouth almost dropping to the ground. She couldn’t believe her ears.

“You heard me quite well, pet. Either you take your clothes off or I’ll do it. Whatever suits you best, baby.”

Y/N scoffed, throwing her hands to the air. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah, and you still love me to death. Now, off with your clothes! I’m not repeating myself.”

She wanted to protest, but Harry signaled her by crossing his arms that he wasn’t having any of her nagging, so she had to do what was ordered.

She peeled her shirt over her head, yet it wasn’t enough for Harry.

“Your bra goes off, too.”

“But-“

He shushed her by pressing his finger against her lips.

“No need to be ashamed, love. It’s nothing I haven’t already seen before.”

She removed his finger from her lips. “Yeah but it doesn’t mean I still get comfortable around you when I’m naked.”

“Well, I suppose it’s time we change that feeling, don’t we?”

Once every piece of clothing, except for her panties of course, was off her body, Harry grabbed his love by her shoulders and eyed her from top to bottom with prying eyes, wetting his lips shamelessly at the delicious sight in front of him. And that woman really dared to complain about her physique? Had she ever seen how appetizing she looked, whether it be naked or not? If it had been for Harry, he would always gladly take the advantage to show her how beautiful she was indeed, even if she didn’t fit to the beauty standards of nowadays’ society in her opinion. But todays’ society is heavily corrupted, forcing young women to believe the image of being skinny with a flat stomach and flawless skin defined true beauty. It has celebrities promoting flat tummy teas and pills that promise fast results. Bullshit!!! Manipulating young girls and women is all they do and get paid for it. Harry could burst into flames out of anger.

Despite claiming otherwise, he knew Y/N was comparing herself to the women he once used to date. He knew she asked herself why she wasn’t as attractive as them. He knew she went through her Instagram feed, wishing she looked like those Insta ‘models’ who consist of nothing more than plastic and heavily photoshopped pictures. They were just fooling everyone, why couldn’t she see?

Harry had never been the man to judge a person for their appearance. He wouldn’t want Y/N to look any different, that’s a fact. She was just perfect the way she was, and Harry loved her for it.

The cold air hitting her bare skin made Y/N shudder slightly.

After observing her, Harry led her to the body length mirror on the opposite side of their bed, placing her right in front of it while he positioned himself behind her.

Such a pretty face on a pretty neck, she yet had to discover it. He softly fondled her cheek.

“Now, I want you to pay a look at yourself,” he instructed, a trace of strictness lingering his voice. “I want you to see the beauty that I see every day.”

He tried to uncover her arms from her chest which she had kept hidden underneath them.

“Harry, no!”

“Love, I cannot help you if you’re not able to face yourself.”

“But they are too small…”

“What if your boobs are too small, huh?” Harry mumbled into her ear, cupping her breasts gently with his hands and squeezing them, which made her moan a little. “Look pet, they just fit perfectly into my hands. And they feel amazing and so soft.”

She finally looked up and a chuckle left her mouth when she gave him a slight clap on his shoulder. “You silly.”

“Hey, I’m trying to show you how beautiful your breasts are, and this is how you repay me? I’m offended.” Harry pursed his lips to a pout, looking like a little child, which made Y/N laugh even more.

“Besides, they’re going to grow anyways, filled with lots of milk to feed our future child.” He caressed her naked belly adoringly.

“Really? And what if I don’t want a baby?” Harry’s hands stopped immediately, his face reflected an expression of horror.

“Excuse me, miss? You can’t be serious!” He blinked. “I’m not Harry Styles if I don’t put a baby in that tummy of yours. You’ll see.”

“Aww… Don’t cry, baby,” Y/N cooed. Harry rolled his eyes at her, faking annoyance.

“What I simply want to say is; Just embrace your natural boobs, darling. Do you really want docs to stuff silicone in them? Some women don’t even have ones, so consider yourself as lucky, hmm?”

He may have a point though.

Harry shot a content smile when he saw her torn expression. He somewhat had her right where he wanted her to be.

“What next?” He found the next thing he adored about her.

“Ah yes, I love your nice little bum. It’s so squishy. Just the way I like it.” He let his hands glide up and down her bottom, pinching her cheeks without hurting her.

“Stop it, H.” Despite whining under his touch, she still adored the given attention.

“Make me. I know you like it, don’t you? Me rubbing your ass just like this?”

“What?! No, you perv. Get your hands off my booty now!”

She attempted to free herself by backing forward, however, Harry had her caged strongly in his arms, it was quite impossible.

“Nobody compares with your bum, my love. ‘s not big at all. Just perfect.”

He knew she used to complain about her bottom whenever they went shopping. It had always been a hard deal for her to find fitting jeans. But for Harry, they were still perfect.

“May I share something with you?” he inquired.

“Shoot.”

“You wanna know what I fell in love with the first time I saw you in that bar?”

It had been a Thursday’s evening. Y/N and her friends were gathered at the local bar around their block and it had been also one of the few nights in which she was dressed decently. She had worn a navy-blue dress and matching heels; her face was slightly covered with makeup and her hair was curled into locks. Harry, being also there, couldn’t tear his eyes away from the young woman who was chatting carelessly with her friends, only focusing on one thing the entire time. He couldn’t get it out of his for days after meeting her.

“Tell me,” she breathed, their faces only inches apart and his eyes spoke volumes. He tightened his grip around her waist.

“Your smile. Your wonderful, adorable and ravishing smile that gets every man down on his knees for you. Your smile makes you pretty and desirable. I have always loved you for yourself, nothing more. Your body is just a bonus.” He winked at her. A hint of red appeared on Y/N’s cheeks.

Harry eyed her from top to bottom once again.

“I just want to let you know that I love you so incredibly much. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve laid my eyes on whether your boobs might be small or your ass might be big, I don’t care. I love you for you and wouldn’t want to trade you for anyone else. I mean it Y/N.  I’d put my life on the line for you.”

“So, you say you would even love me even if I’d weigh hundred kilos?” Y/N raised her eyebrows at him, wondering what he might answer.

“Like I mentioned it before, I love you the way you are and yes, I would even if you’d weigh hundred kilos. At least, I had something to grab on.” Both exchanged a laughter and Y/N rested the back of her head against his shoulder.

“Thank you for making me feel better about myself, H.”

Harry pressed his lips against her forehead. “You don’t need to look like everybody else, m’love. You’re unique in your own way. Everybody is.” (!!!)

Then, he hummed a quite very familiar tune into her ear, followed by his deep voice that was filling the entire room.

“You never love yourself half as much as I love you…” He swayed their bodies to the song, constantly looking at her through the mirror, seeing her smile which made him smile automatically. Making her happy is all that he wanted.

“And you never treat yourself right darling, but I want you too…” His lips trailed from her shoulders to the crook of her neck… “If I let you know I’m here for you...” … up to her throat and he gently licked the spot underneath her ear whereas she flinched at the sudden wet contact of his tongue with her skin and let out a soft giggle.

“Maybe you’ll love yourself like I…”  His eyes fixed her lips but before sealing them to a kiss, he ended the song with “… love you”.

Y/N could feel butterflies erupting her stomach and her heart increasing its beat. She was always on cloud 9 each time they kissed.

“Don’t you ever hide from me, beautiful, did I make myself clear?”

Y/N nodded her head. “I will try my best.”

“Promise?” he urged her.

“Promise.”

“Good.”

Suddenly, she was hoisted up and slung over Harry’s shoulder, a squeal of surprise escaping her throat. She could feel all the blood flooding down to her head. Before she could even adjust to the position, she was already thrown gently onto their king-sized bed, the silky surface of their sheets feeling comfortable against the skin of her back. Her eyes met his lustful gaze and she watched him taking off his clothes and throwing them aside until he was completely naked. He approached her slowly yet seductively as if he wanted to make her beg for him the longer he took. He never tore his eyes away from her by the time his knees met the mattress and finally he was hovering over her body.

Connecting their lips again, he kissed her hungrily this time. The sweet taste of her tongue invaded his senses and Harry wanted nothing more to devour her until he had tasted her entirely. He backed away, discovering her flushed cheeks and red, bitten lips from their heated kiss. She looked just adorable. So pretty. A cheeky smirk decorated his features. He wasn’t even done with her yet. It was just the beginning of a night full of passion and devotion.

“And now, let me prove you that actions can speak louder than words.” Harry rasped while tearing her panties from her legs and then connecting their bodies like two fitting puzzles.

At that night, Y/N was learning to love herself a little bit more, with Harry’s help of course.

She was desirable indeed.

[moistwithgender]

Monthly Media Roundup (June-July 2019)

Well, I neglected doing a post last month, and now another has passed. I haven’t done too much, about three games each month and not anything else media-wise, so let’s get it all done right now!

Little Nightmares (PC/Steam): 

These types of spooky “cinematic platformers”, like LIMBO and INSIDE, never really scare me or fill me with dread. Part of this may be that due to the trappings of cinematic platformers. Checkpoints are very fair, and nothing is too difficult because priority is on delivering the story. Little side challenges exist, like trying to light all the candles or break all the porcelain dolls in the short 3-hour run of the game, but these are also pretty reasonable, even if you’re in a chase sequence. I’m reminded of a youtuber I briefly followed who talked about how horror games aren’t scary anymore, and somewhat unintentionally delivered the point that as you become accustomed to the limits of a medium, and therefore are less likely to be surprised by it, you’re also much less likely to be scared by it. It’s a somewhat unfortunate and inevitable trade-off to becoming more invested in a hobby. When I was a kid, all games held infinite possibility, and so an NPC in Harvest Moon telling me that wild dogs came out at night led me to think that night time held the possibility of ENEMIES in a game without combat. What the NPC meant was that you should build fences. As an adult who has spent my life playing games, I can tell you that a game is almost never going to put you in a situation without the means to deal with it. If there’s going to be combat, you’re going to know how combat works before an ambush. If there’s an escape sequence, you’re going to be in an area that facilitates your escape (often a narrow space that leads you in a direction while also making it as harrowing as possible). Games are theme park rides, and while learning that can make seemingly difficult games more manageable and enjoyable, it also gradually disillusions you. Thankfully, there are always new things to learn if you keep an open mind.

The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time 3D (3DS): 

2019 has been about thoroughly enjoying the games that I considered overrated in my young adulthood. I joked on twitter that 70% of my personality was disliking Final Fantasy VII and Ocarina of Time, and honestly, it might as well have been. I earned a lot of undeserved respect in college through arrogantly spouting hot takes about “objectively good art”, and a lot of people reasonably assumed this must mean I know exactly what I’m talking about. The way I process art and media is much looser and more personal than it used to be, partially due to burning out and becoming too exhausted to deal with other arrogant people. I think a lot about how tiring I had to be for other people to talk to. Watching Tim Rogers bleed his personal trauma into his video series on the subtleties of FF7’s japanese script was the most instrumental in turning me back toward the game. When Square Enix revealed gameplay footage of the remake at E3 this year, I was hooting and hollering with the longtime fans.

But, this is about Zelda, not Final Fantasy. I had already played through OoT, as hurriedly as possible, just to say I had done it. It was the better part of a decade ago, at the urging of a then-girlfriend who had nostalgia for it. Frustrations with the Water Temple in the original version are valid despite it being largely well designed, due to some minor shortsighted-ness that blows up into nagging issues, but I think I had put myself in the headspace to dislike it from the get-go. Similarly, I didn’t want to do any collecting in the game as a whole. I had convinced myself that there was no joy to be found in collecting in games (a take bereft of nuance). When the point of Zelda games is to inspire the player to explore every nook and cranny in search of rewards, going in as a player and stubbornly trying to avoid any of that ensures that you’ll miss the point of the whole experience. I’m not sure what it was that made me want to go back. It might be that I wanted to prove my younger, cockier self wrong, and pave over my old evaluations with more nuance. 

It certainly worked out that way, as several previous opinions changed entirely. Ruto used to be annoying to me, but was now one of my favorite characters. Doing all the little minigames felt rewarding in itself, and in turn I was unexpectedly rewarded with important items (they really did bet everything on the entire world they’d made). The Water Temple, now tweaked for a bit more convenience in the 3DS version, was extremely interesting. The side quest to acquire the Biggoron Sword was easily doable, whereas I had grown up assuming it impossible. And the story which had never appealed to me (because I wouldn’t let it) now felt relatable in a way I hadn’t expected. Link intends to do good, but through unfortunate circumstances and honest mistakes becomes unable to take part in the world, and it spirals downward for years as he remains trapped in a room, aging but inactive. Something about that mirrors my own experiences with depression. Sure, Link, can travel back to his younger self at any time, but there’s still a powerlessness in the inability to affect the seven year gap. You can flash back, but you can’t change what you’ve lost.

Banjo-Kazooie (N64): 

You know, as a kid I probably would have just accepted that Grunty was evil, but as an adult it’s hard not to see her as a product of her environment. Obsessed with asking her cauldron who the objectively prettiest in the world is, she seeks out and kidnaps the younger girl given the title in an attempt to steal her youth. Every character in the game describes Grunty as ugly, rather than evil, and even her own sister shows up in every area to tell you how gross she is and how terrible her lifestyle is. I ended up sympathizing with her more than anyone else. I’ve only played half an hour of Banjo-Tooie, but it was a relief in multiple ways to see her pivot to straight up murder after rising from the dead.

Despite playing Donkey Kong Country multiple times growing up, I’d never really grown to love Rare’s in-house aesthetic of big-eyed cartoony animals. It might be hypocritical, but Smash Ultimate’s reveals for both King K. Rool and Banjo (and) Kazooie made me see the charm in these characters. Something about how Smash canonizes characters as essential pieces of game history always causes me to drop any negative pretense and adopt them as favorites. It’s a little intellectually hypocritical, but I can’t help liking what I like. After the trailer for B-K in Smash, I immediately started up the original game in Retroarch. Thankfully the core I used was advanced enough to play the game without issues (the same cannot be said for Tooie), as other alternatives were expensive or hard to get a hold of. While the slightly-mean humor and talking animate objects took a bit of getting used to, I get it now. I get the children’s show aesthetic they were aiming for, and I appreciate the feel of the physics and control of the interspecies friendship of the protagonists working in tandem with each other, even if the game is at times quite difficult.

Dragon Quest I, II, & III (SNES): 

Yes, I did play through three JRPGs in a row! And yes, you might notice that the hero of Dragon Quest XI (and VIII, and IV, and III) was also announced for Smash Ultimate. They recently released, as of this writing! A lot of what I’ve been playing has been influenced by outside forces, whether it be Nintendo news or friends, but I’m not bothered at all when otherwise I might not have the energy to play anything. The games I’ve been playing are also ones I’ve intended to play for a while, so the excuses have been convenient for me. Though, actually, this decision had less to do with the Smash announcement and more to do with the upcoming re-release of DQXI, which seems to be related to the original three games, known as The Erdrick Trilogy. I had heard that you can play XI on its own, but that there is an extra layer of appreciation to be had if you’ve played the original trilogy. Me being me, I naturally queued them up. I chose the older fan translations of the SNES remakes, and though I did finish them, I can tell you that they have their fair share of bugs (DQII even has a game breaking glitch I had to finagle through using save states across multiple versions, phew). Besides that, those old translations lack the modern localizations of the games, so if they namedrop something in XI, there’s a chance it’ll go over my head. Oops! If you want to play these games, the best versions are currently on mobile phones.

Around a decade ago I was in early college, with no friends except for those still in high school or at another university. I was very lonely and nervous. I started playing Dragon Quest V purely by chance, and it served as the perfect salve for that loneliness, with its lonely child protagonist traveling around the world accumulating found family. It’s one of the more poignant and cathartic JRPGs I’ve ever played, and for the next decade I would actually be bothered that the rest of the games didn’t live up to the catharsis of DQV.

In revisiting the roots of the series, and playing it through to see how it develops from title to title, it finally clicked with me, and continues to click with me, as I keep learning more about the series. Rather than comparing every entry to DQV, I should have been comparing them in order. This might sound obvious, but it really did make a world of difference to see that V’s narrative is placed on top of the foundation the previous games set, rather than a singular case of lightning in a bottle. And the games have always featured loneliness, but in differing contexts, and to different degrees. The hero of DQI is almost entirely alone through the full game. In DQII, the princess comes from lonely circumstances, and one of the princes comes down with a sickness that leaves him temporarily unable to help his friends. In DQIII you can make as many team members as you want, but you grow up with an absent father, and your own good deeds receive bittersweet resolution. They are all games built on simple settings and followed through with empathy. The series is at times disarmingly heavy, which is part of what makes the games as memorable as they are. You’re never quite as prepared for Dragon Quest as you think you are.

As of this writing I’m currently half-way through a replay of Dragon Quest IV, and I’m enjoying it a lot more. I’m looking forward to replaying V. I have no idea what VI will be like. I’ve heard it’s a lower point in the series, but that’s what I heard about II as well, and I ended up loving it, so who knows. Dragon Quest is good.

---

Well, I managed to catch up. I didn’t get into the finer details of the DQ playthroughs, but DQIII is honestly so good I don’t want to spoil it for anyone (you should play these games). Maybe in August I’ll actually get back to watching and reading things. Maybe I’ll try to keep these things to a single paragraph per item, to make it more manageable to read. Let me know what you think, if you think.

[didanawisgi]

Prayers aren’t doing anything. We need gun control laws. We need our government to take action... Or do we?

Ok, so since this is a blog, that means I have to write original stuff from time to time, otherwise it can’t rightly be called a blog, can it? I have many kinds of friends, and I make it a point to be friends with different people, especially ones with different opinions. Here, a family friend of my fiancee posted on her facebook this statement:  “Prayers aren’t doing anything. We need gun control laws. We need our government to take action.” She is very pro gun control and insists that action be taken, however, we politely entered into a discussion about it and I tried to explain why I am against “gun control”.  

I said:  “ I think the most important thing is identifying violent and unstable people early, but the state of our mental healthcare workforce is lacking. The culture and resources dedicated to this needs to shift. I think the political left should focus their efforts there and come up with the most humane ideas. As for gun control in general I am against and will continue to carry concealed. Most of the gun control ideas are either already on the books or knee-jerk and not well thought out. Also the second amendment precludes most of it anyway. I like for things to be practical and effective, so it’s just my opinion that we need to shift focus on how to empower physicians and law enforcement and the judiciary with laws while at the same time allocating more funds to mental health safety nets and research. “

She replied:  It’s hard for me, because I think no matter what we do considering the mental health community (which could take decades) won’t stop mass shootings. When someone has a conceal carry on during a mass shooting, I feel like it just makes it more dangerous because they don’t always know where to shoot, can hurt more innocent people, and could be considered the shooter. What about the mass shooting in Australia? The 1996 Port Arthur massacre resulted in legislation that saw a dramatic decline in gun crimes. It made a huge difference. Was sandy hook (and everything since) not enough to change our legislation? This pattern will continue as long as the NRA has politicians in its pocket.

I then said:  I understand where you are coming from; my perspective is different. Some of the best data and research currently available has put the onus on gun control proponents (for instance check out the Harvard Law study I posted below, that is fairly comprehensive and has good/logical points backed by statistical evidence). Most concealed carry holders have decent training and must demonstrate proficiency and accuracy by law. Also, they are trained/lectured in precisely which instances your gun can be pulled, under protection of the law. The NRA is not really the issue, but the millions of citizens that will not give up any Constitutional right apropos 2nd Amd. that hold their feet to the fire. If the NRA were dismantled entirely today, another would arise in a few months and eventually become just as prominent. I also plan on becoming an NRA member in the future, or whatever gun rights lobby group that will protect my right of self defense, particularly with the rise of white nationalist groups. The first thing the KKK and Jim Crow/government law did was to take away guns from black citizens. If you listen to Malcom X or even MLK (who owned firearms in his home for self defense), the logic and reasons seem fairly sound and self-evident, at least to me. Also, the 2nd amendment and the Federalist papers particularly Madison, make a compelling argument for it as well. Let me know if you want the link, it is a very interesting read. I still contend that the mental health in this country is terrible, even with my first hand knowledge, I still can't believe some of what I've seen. But yes, I understand where you are coming from. There will be no path forward with no improvement if we can't find some common ground on where to take action, as it seems stalemate currently.

She said she would like to read my sources...

Here is the article I cited in its entirety from Harvard Law Review journal: http://www.law.harvard.edu/.../Vol30_No2...

These are some of the more interesting/salient parts in terms of debate: 

INTRODUCTION International evidence and comparisons have long been offered as proof of the mantra that more guns mean more deaths and that fewer guns, therefore, mean fewer deaths.1 Unfortunately, such discussions are all too often been afflicted by misconceptions and factual error and focus on comparisons that are unrepresentative. It may be useful to begin with a few examples. There is a com‐ pound assertion that (a) guns are uniquely available in the United States compared with other modern developed nations, which is why (b) the United States has by far the highest murder rate. Though these assertions have been endlessly repeated, statement (b) is, in fact, false and statement (a) is substantially so. Since at least 1965, the false assertion that the United States has the industrialized world’s highest murder rate has been an artifact of politically motivated Soviet minimization designed to hide the true homicide rates.2 Since well before that date, the Soviet Union possessed extremely stringent gun controls3 that were effectuated by a police state apparatus providing stringent enforcement.4 So successful was that regime that few Russian civilians now have firearms and very few murders involve them.5 Yet, manifest suc‐ cess in keeping its people disarmed did not prevent the Soviet Union from having far and away the highest murder rate in the developed world.6 In the 1960s and early 1970s, the gun‐less So‐ viet Union’s murder rates paralleled or generally exceeded those of gun‐ridden America. While American rates stabilized and then steeply declined, however, Russian murder increased so drasti‐ cally that by the early 1990s the Russian rate was three times higher than that of the United States. Between 1998‐2004 (the lat‐ est figure available for Russia), Russian murder rates were nearly four times higher than American rates. Similar murder rates also characterize the Ukraine, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, and various other now‐independent European nations of the former U.S.S.R.7 Thus, in the United States and the former Soviet Union transition‐ ing into current‐day Russia, “homicide results suggest that where guns are scarce other weapons are substituted in killings.”8 While American gun ownership is quite high, Table 1 shows many other developed nations (e.g., Norway, Finland, Germany, France, Denmark) with high rates of gun ownership. These countries, however, have murder rates as low or lower than many devel‐ oped nations in which gun ownership is much rarer. For example, Luxembourg, where handguns are totally banned and ownership of any kind of gun is minimal, had a murder rate nine times higher than Germany in 2002. The same pattern appears when comparisons of violence to gun ownership are made within nations. Indeed, “data on fire‐ arms ownership by constabulary area in England,” like data from the United States, show “a negative correlation,”10 that is, “where firearms are most dense violent crime rates are lowest, and where guns are least dense violent crime rates are high‐ est.”11 A second misconception about the relationship between fire‐ arms and violence attributes Europe’s generally low homicide rates to stringent gun control. That attribution cannot be accu‐ rate since murder in Europe was at an all‐time low before the gun controls were introduced.13 For instance, virtually the only English gun control during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries was the practice that police patrolled without guns. During this period gun control prevailed far less in England or Europe than in certain American states which nevertheless had—and continue to have—murder rates that were and are comparatively very high.14 In this connection, two recent studies are pertinent. In 2004, the U.S. National Academy of Sciences released its evaluation from a review of 253 journal articles, 99 books, 43 government publications, and some original empirical research. It failed to identify any gun control that had reduced violent crime, sui‐ cide, or gun accidents.15 The same conclusion was reached in 2003 by the U.S. Centers for Disease Control’s review of then‐ extant studies.16 Stringent gun controls were not adopted in England and Western Europe until after World War I. Consistent with the outcomes of the recent American studies just mentioned, these strict controls did not stem the general trend of ever‐growing violent crime throughout the post‐WWII industrialized world including the United States and Russia. Professor Malcolm’s study of English gun law and violent crime summarizes that nation’s nineteenth and twentieth century experience as fol‐ lows: The peacefulness England used to enjoy was not the result of strict gun laws. When it had no firearms restrictions [nine‐ teenth and early twentieth century] England had little violent crime, while the present extraordinarily stringent gun controls have not stopped the increase in violence or even the increase in armed violence.17 Armed crime, never a problem in England, has now become one. Handguns are banned but the Kingdom has millions of illegal firearms. Criminals have no trouble finding them and exhibit a new willingness to use them. In the decade after 1957, the use of guns in serious crime increased a hundredfold.18 In the late 1990s, England moved from stringent controls to a complete ban of all handguns and many types of long guns. Hundreds of thousands of guns were confiscated from those owners law‐abiding enough to turn them in to authorities. Without suggesting this caused violence, the ban’s ineffectiveness was such that by the year 2000 violent crime had so increased that England and Wales had Europe’s highest violent crime rate, far surpassing even the United States.19 Today, English news media headline violence in terms redolent of the doleful, melodramatic language that for so long characterized American news reports.20 One aspect of England’s recent experience deserves note, given how often and favorably advo‐ cates have compared English gun policy to its American coun‐ terpart over the past 35 years.21 A generally unstated issue in this notoriously emotional debate was the effect of the Warren Court and later restrictions on police powers on American gun policy. Critics of these decisions pointed to soaring American crime rates and argued simplistically that such decisions caused, or at least hampered, police in suppressing crime. But to some supporters of these judicial decisions, the example of England argued that the solution to crime was to restrict guns, not civil liberties. To gun control advocates, England, the cradle of our liberties, was a nation made so peaceful by strict gun control that its police did not even need to carry guns. The United States, it was argued, could attain such a desirable situation by radically reducing gun ownership, preferably by banning and confiscating handguns. The results discussed earlier contradict those expectations. On the one hand, despite constant and substantially increasing gun ownership, the United States saw progressive and dramatic reductions in criminal violence in the 1990s. On the other hand, the same time period in the United Kingdom saw a constant and dramatic increase in violent crime to which England’s response was ever‐more drastic gun control including, eventually, banning and confiscating all handguns and many types of long guns.22 Nevertheless, criminal violence rampantly increased so that by 2000 England surpassed the United States to become one of the developed world’s most violence‐ridden nations……

Here is part of their Conclusion: This Article has reviewed a significant amount of evidence from a wide variety of international sources. Each individual portion of evidence is subject to cavil—at the very least the general objection that the persuasiveness of social scientific evidence cannot remotely approach the persuasiveness of conclusions in the physical sciences. Nevertheless, the burden of proof rests on the proponents of the more guns equal more death and fewer guns equal less death mantra, especially since they argue public policy ought to be based on that mantra.149 To bear that burden would at the very least require showing that a large number of nations with more guns have more death and that nations that have imposed stringent gun controls have achieved substantial reductions in criminal violence (or suicide). But those correlations are not observed when a large number of nations are compared across the world. Source: Harvard Journal of Law and Public Policy http://www.law.harvard.edu/.../Vol30_No2...

I then said, Federalist 10 and 46 represent in my opinion, the chief parts/reasoning of why the second amendment is important.

Here is part of Madison's argument in Federalist 10: "From this view of the subject it may be concluded that a pure democracy… can admit of no cure for the mischiefs of faction. A common passion or interest will, in almost every case, be felt by a majority of the whole; a communication and concert result from the form of government itself; and there is nothing to check the inducements to sacrifice the weaker party or an obnoxious individual. Hence it is that such democracies have ever been spectacles of turbulence and contention; have ever been found incompatible with personal security or the rights of property; and have in general been as short in their lives as they have been violent in their deaths. Theoretic politicians, who have patronized this species of government, have erroneously supposed that by reducing mankind to a perfect equality in their political rights, they would, at the same time, be perfectly equalized and assimilated in their possessions, their opinions, and their passions. A republic, by which I mean a government in which the scheme of representation takes place, opens a different prospect, and promises the cure for which we are seeking. Let us examine the points in which it varies from pure democracy, and we shall comprehend both the nature of the cure and the efficacy which it must derive from the Union." James Madison, Federalist No. 10

So here he argues why a Republic is better then a Democracy, and the idea of the "mischiefs of faction" and how at any given time the majority will in one way or another coerce the minority. Democracy, counter-intuitively then, is the great civilization killer, and easily undermines individual freedom, hence the "tyranny of the majority".

In Federalist 46, he examines the differences and pros and cons of having a Standing army (Military controlled by government) vs armed citizenry: In Federalist No. 46, Madison calculates that the new government could support a standing army but "To these would be opposed a militia amounting to near half a million of citizens with arms in their hands, officered by men chosen from among themselves, fighting for their common liberties, and united and conducted by governments possessing their affections and confidence. It may well be doubted, whether a militia thus circumstanced could ever be conquered by such a proportion of regular troops… . Besides the advantage of being armed, which the Americans possess over the people of almost every other nation, the existence of subordinate governments, to which the people are attached, and by which the militia officers are appointed, forms a barrier against the enterprises of ambition, more insurmountable than any which a simple government of any form can admit of. Notwithstanding the military establishments in the several kingdoms of Europe, which are carried as far as the public resources will bear, the governments are afraid to trust the people with arms."

Here I think we find the seeds of the Second Amendment, and the relationship to standing army (Government controlled) vs an armed citizenry, which if need be (unlikely going to happen, but still) acts as a kind of fail safe to preserve the Republic (atall costs). Democracies do not need a first or second amendment, however a Republic does. (In my opinion). In a Democracy, the vast majority would be fine with gun control, likely not seeing any "modern" need for an armed citizenry, and would just vote on it and it would be so. But the problem is that this is precisely how nations die, and join the eternal cycle of failed states.

I could go on in a further attempt to explain my logic/reasoning as to why I think the second amendment is necessary to preserve the Union (forever), and to preserve the Republic (specifically). But I think I have said enough to at least get my reasoning in a way that does not make me seem like a radical. I think if you really consider it, you will see where I am coming from.

Also, here is an article from one of my favorite philosophers of today, Sam Harris, whom you may be familiar with. He writes with clarity and sound logic. Here is a piece he did on gun control (if you are interested): https://www.samharris.org/blog/item/the-riddle-of-the-gun

Here are some follow up questions in a pod cast: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I0DYpaLgWIo

Here is some more material on the "dilemmas of democracy" https://www.city-journal.org/.../james-madison-and...

Here's a brief discussion of Federalist 46 https://armsandthelaw.com/arc.../2005/04/federalist_no_4.php

Here is something I wrote that you may be interested in and partly explains why I am "republican" along with what I mentioned about Democracy and the "micheifs of faction": What follows is something I wrote for a facebook “civil politcal debate” as a favor to a fellow freemason in Canada, where I attempted to get at the essential reason why I think we have so much political upheaval, and how to get back to our Constitutional way of life by examining Hamilton’s Federalist No. 17 and the implications therein. “First, I would like to thank Bro. Charles for inviting me to comment in a civil discussion of politics, a subject I usually do not attempt to discuss on Facebook due to the inherent limitations of the medium itself. The format and back-and-forth nature of posts only seems to foster hurried and usually less well thought out arguments “in the heat of the post”. I have come to realize you do not persuade others by quipy remarks or tones that, in your own certitude, just come off as condescension regardless of how well thought out or how right you may be (or think you are). I shall attempt to render my opinion on the first part of your questions Charles, and that is, is the phenomenon like Trump and Brexit a ‘Great Rebellion’? The short answer is in the affirmative, and here is why. Two words: Power, and Sovereignty; but perhaps not in the way you may be thinking. What I mean by power is, where does the actual political power come from in this day and age? From the People presumably, but the fear, justified or not, is that both nations, a Constitutional Republic and a Parliamentary Democracy are no longer responsive to the Will of the People. The Spectre of Oppression rises as the perception of true freedom wanes. People feel more and more disconnected, disaffected, disenfranchised, and trod upon by undue regulation. In many instances, it affects them personally, financially, and has significant influence on their means. And yet, what recourse do they have? Voting ad nauseam with little to show for it? It feels as if no one represents you completely, largely due to entrenched political platform with little maneuverability, dominated by crony kow-towers suffering from Group Think. With each election cycle, we the Peoples of both Nations, feel like our Power, or Self-Evident Liberty to govern ourselves, is slipping away. Alexander Hamilton, in Federalist no. 17, has this to say about the advantage of maintaining matters related to Law and Justice at the Local level: “There is one transcendent advantage belonging to the province of the State governments, which alone suffices to place the matter in a clear and satisfactory light… I mean the ordinary administration of criminal and civil justice. This, of all others, is the most powerful, most universal, and most attractive source of popular obedience and attachment. It is this, which, being the immediate and visible guardian of life and property; having its benefits and its terrors in constant activity before the public eye; regulating all those personal interests, and familiar concerns, to which the sensibility of individuals is more immediately awake; contributes, more than any other circumstance, to impress upon the minds of the people affection, esteem, and reverence towards the government.” Hamilton is essentially saying that Liberty is best maintained locally, in terms of civil and criminal law, and that when done so, is more responsive to the People, and they in turn, are more cooperative and filial with the Government (imagine that! Lol). So, therefore, this is the crux of my point, and where my assumptions rest as to the nature of the problem. Trump and Brexit (and Bernie I would argue) are manifestations of the People’s hope to regain some of the “Power” they intuitively sense they have lost, but few will cite the raison d'être as I have. Naturally then, my solution rests in returning the ‘ordinary administration of criminal and civil justice’ or “Power to the People” in the form of greater reliance on Local and State Governance, and considerably less Federal encroachment in these arenas, which would serve to assuage the Fears, real and imagined, of the Populace, and bring back a more responsive government for the people, by the people. Now that I have clarified (hopefully) what I mean by “Power,” let us move onto Sovereignty, which is defined as ‘the authority of a State to govern itself’. This part is easy, for I see sovereignty as a natural extension of the principle of power, or rather, as an (Fractal-like) iteration of the self-evident Right of Liberty, or to govern ourselves. One of the chief complaints I heard/read from supporters of Brexit was that being in the EU degraded British Sovereignty. Well what does this mean really? It means that the very ‘power’ Trump supporters (and other supporters) want back, a greater ability to self-govern, are the very same thing the Brexit voters want; more freedom, particularly in regards to civil law and the regulations they feel like they have no say or voice in. Their say in the ‘ordinary administration of civil and criminal justice’ is eluding the voters of both nations. Taking back one’s sovereignty is just another way of saying I want more say in civil and criminal law from a governmental perspective. So, this is why I would have to answer the first part of your question in the affirmative; it is a ‘thing’ whose cause rests in the voters declining ability to have a voice in civil, tax, property, etc. law that is imposed on them by politicians orders of magnitude removed from them.”

Anyway, I wanted to share this with my followers, food for thought. I highly recommend reading and listening to Sam Harris philosophical approach to the Riddle of the Gun.  Take care followers and have a Blessed day.

REGIII32

p.s. feel free to debate and argue (followers), I enjoy hearing your thought processes and seeing your evidence.

[kalinara]

As I said in my last post, one of my biggest complaints about fandom discussion about Rip Hunter is how it always resorts to easily debunked accusations rather than an honest and interesting discussion about the man’s ACTUAL flaws.

Rip is a complicated guy.  He has a lot of flaws.  That’s part of what makes him interesting.  Unfortunately, since I generally end up finding myself motivated to defend the guy from baseless accusations, I never really get around to talking about what I think his flaws actually are.

So this is my list of what I, as a biased Rip fan, see as Rip Hunter’s primary flaws.  (This is by no means exclusive, by the way.)

1.  Rip Hunter is single-focused.  This can be a strength and a flaw.  But the fact of the matter is that when Rip has a goal in mind, he tends to ignore other people that can be helped, other good that can be done and thoughtlessly puts himself and other people at considerable, and sometimes unnecessary, risk.

2.  Rip Hunter is secretive and dishonest.  Rip is a funny guy when it comes to honesty.  He seems to be a pretty terrible liar, and any time he does overtly lie to the team, it comes out within the same episode.  But that doesn’t generally stop him from trying.  Even at times when the lie is less useful than the truth.  (For example, the crew probably would have been more inclined to help rather than less, if he’d openly admitted that his own family had died at Savage’s hands.)

Rip is far better, however, at lying by omission.  The man keeps a LOT of secrets and a good many of those secrets directly impact the team and their safety.  The team had the right to know about the spear of destiny, or at least that it was likely to make the mission they’d signed on for more dangerous.  Sara had the right to know about Laurel’s death long before she actually found out.

3.  Related to #2: Rip does not trust his team.  I think he wants to trust them, and certainly, he wouldn’t have recruited them for either mission if he didn’t trust them on some level.  But the fact of the matter is that most of Rip’s suffering in season two was absolutely unnecessary and brought about, primarily, because Rip never chose to share his burden with the team.

If the team had known about the spear, or at least that Rip was protecting part of an artifact from people who’d stop at nothing to get it, then it’s possible they could have helped him.  He might not have had to lobotomize himself.  He might not have fallen into Eobard’s hands.  And it might not have been so catastrophic that the only person who had any idea of where the spear pieces were ended up under Eobard’s control.

4.  Rip makes unilateral decisions for the team.  This connects to 2 and 3 of course.  Possibly, it’s all the same flaw in the end.  Rip does most of what he does with noble intentions, but the fact of the matter is that he generally doesn’t consult them first.  ESPECIALLY when he gets it in his head to try to protect them.

Rip freaks out after Snart’s death and abandons the team in 2016, with no discussion and no closure or choice.

Rip decides to fly the last meteor piece into the sun, risking his own life in the process (and possibly stranding the team in 2033, though I doubt he was thinking about that), again without consulting the team.

Rip scatters the team to protect them from the nuclear blast, again, without consultation.  It’s very likely that, had they known what was at stake, most of the team would have wanted to stay on board.

Similarly, Rip decides to lobotomize himself without even Gideon’s input (going so far as to shut her down temporarily so she can’t stop him.)

Rip means well, in each of these situations, but the fact of the matter is that he owes them the right to make these decisions for themselves.  They deserve to know what he’s prioritizing and why, what dangers he’s expecting, and to have a say in their own fate.

5.  Rip is somewhat judgmental.  Especially early on in season one.  He had a clear idea of who (he thought) the team was, and why he was recruiting them.  There were certain characters that he was pretty quick to get along with: Sara, Martin, Jax, Kendra, even Ray to some extent.  And then of course there was Snart and Rory.  One of the quieter themes of the first half of season one involved Rip having to re-evaluate his initial thoughts on each team member, as he realized that Martin was more idealistic and rebellious than expected, that Sara and Kendra had their uncontrollable berserker qualities, that Leonard Snart actually did care about (some) people on the team, and so on and so forth.  And of course, this ended up coming to a head with Mick Rory.

6.  Rip is hot-tempered and emotional which gets in the way of his good sense.  A LOT.  I maintain that the Marooned confrontation was provoked, and NOT by Rip, but that still doesn’t excuse his harsh reaction.  Or the stupidity of having it out while being prisoners on an enemy-controlled ship!

I always get amused when I see Rip characterized as cold in fanfics, because I think the show gives us a character who is the exact opposite.  And that’s where he tends to fuck up.  Rip burns hot.  He’s impulsive.  He has a temper.  And we’ve seen him, more than once, disrupt his OWN plans because of guilt or altruism or anger.  

He had a grand total of ONE workable plan against Savage, which he tossed out the window to get Carter’s body back.  He knew that he was going to be leaving the team very soon, but had to explode into a temperamental lecture about everything they’d done wrong.  He couldn’t follow through with killing Savage, the one time that it was actually fool-proof because his conscience got in the way.  And so on and so forth.

Hell, even his capture by the Legion kind of fits this, because it’s pretty clear that whatever his post-Time Drive lobotomy plans ACTUALLY were, they didn’t involve Phil Gasmer stupidly jumping out into an ambush, getting captured, getting his tooth extracted, and then having his backup mind drive re-written.

Honestly, I doubt that Rip Hunter has ever made a cold, clear-headed, unclouded-by-emotion decision in his life.  And if he had, he fucked it up about three minutes later in a fit of pique.

7. Rip is stubborn and arrogant.

This is a pretty consistent character trait.  Rip is a Time Master and knows he’s a Time Master, and as mentioned, wasn’t particularly inclined to consult with the group.  Often times, he’s right.  He does generally have a superior knowledge base than most of the rest of the team.  But then we have situations like River of Time, where Rip’s insistence that he had piloted the Waverider for thirteen years and knew what she could do, exploded pretty royally in their faces.   

Rip’s trust in the Time Masters overall is a pretty good example of this.  It was somewhat understandable in White Knights, even though he ignored Mick’s realization that Druce had set up an obvious trap.  By River of Time, there was no reason to expect that they’d be dealt with fairly.

His handling of Sara’s issues in Star City highlighted this arrogance too.  He was dead set in the way that he was looking at the issue and refused to consider her side.  He was, at least, smart enough, and cared enough, to wait for her longer than he promised.  But it was a good thing that Martin talked sense into him when he did.

8. Rip is ridiculously self-destructive.

I don’t really think I have to elaborate on this one.  Do I?  Just watch like ANY episode of the show that features Rip.  Yeesh.

9.  Rip is A SOCIAL TRAINWRECK.

I mean, really, does this need an explanation?  The man is pretty much incapable of anything resembling a normal social interaction with anyone!  I think the closest thing we’ve seen to a casual conversation with anyone who wasn’t Gideon was with Doctor Mid-Nite right before he killed him!

His general social interactions with people he actually LIKES seems to be: make unilateral decision, apologize, get punched in the face, apologize again, move on.

Honestly, I think the only character who’s ever gotten anything personal about the guy that didn’t directly have to do with whatever disaster was directly at hand was Jax, when Rip revealed his candy preferences.  

There are some implications, I think, that he was pretty friendly with Mid-Nite and Commander Steel in the JSA.  At least there are implications that he actually did discuss some personal matters such as his family and his concern about the Time Masters.  But they were still pretty formal with each other.

Presumably, he managed some kind of positive social interaction with Miranda and Jonah.  But then, Miranda was from the same fucked up society and thus likely had the same frame of reference.  And Jonah...well, he was pretty quick to forgive Rip in the end, which probably implies he’s used to Rip being fucking weird.  Also, remember how he came back to the ship after being rescued in Outlaw Country and only once inside did he go “where’s Rip?”  Like he actually expected the guy to be hiding in his office AGAIN.  

And to round it out to an even 10.  Rip is a TERRIBLE LEADER.

Bluntly speaking, he is.  He was from the pilot onward.  He’s known from day one that he cannot control any of these people.  He’s never been willing to take any steps necessary to control any of these people.  He doesn’t even try to manage tempers, or rein in idealism.  He doesn’t try to forge emotional connections with the crew, or maybe clear the air with the people that he clashes with the most BEFORE things explode horribly.

He seems to do well enough in field missions or pitched battles, when he’s right there, they’re all in the thick of it, and there’s a very clear objective.  But as soon as it gets to a more general mission, when people go off on their own, he’s sunk.

So, there you go.  Ten flaws.  I could probably expand that list farther pretty easily.  Rip’s actual flaws are part of what makes him such an interesting character, which is why it gets so frustrating when people are lazy critics, and resort to blatant misrepresentations instead.

[jswdmb1]

Old Man

“Old man

take a look at my life 

I'm a lot like you”

- Neil Young

I seemingly have no skin in this dumb “OK boomer” thing, but I would argue that I have the most right to be offended by this generational nonsense. You see, no one has bothered to ask my opinion even though I, as a proud member of Gen X, am in the current position of what I like to call generation stuck in the middle. It’s like being on a bus in between two screaming lunatics who don’t even notice that I am there. Yet, no one is better equipped to help referee this dispute other than us in Gen X since we are the only ones who have actually talked among all of the current generations.  If you talk to anyone from Gen X, I think most would tell you that we are actually OK being left alone.  I mean, since we are the parents of Gen Z, bosses of Millennials, and the adult children of boomers, they all need us way more than we need any of them.  Now, I’m not trying to start a fight here, my point is that every generation thinks theirs is the best when it’s always somewhere in the middle.  Since middle is my game now, I am here to present the pros and cons of all our current generations:

The Greatest Generation: born before 1946

Pros:  Sadly, this generation is leaving us more and more each day, and we need them more then ever.  For me, this is the generation of my grandparents that was born in the 20′s and 30′s, lived through a depression and a world war, and then did their best to raise the next generation in a way that allowed them to succeed without ever having to go through what they did ever again.  Their bravery and willingness to sacrifice were at levels we will never see again.  We need to take as much advantage as possible of those that remain to gather whatever wisdom we can from them that can be applied to the troubles we face today and moving forward.  We cannot also forget to thank them for everything we have and generations of the future will have because of their efforts.

Cons: The greatest title unfortunately comes with an asterisk.  While this country fought oversees against bigotry, hatred and oppression so that all could live freely, many Americans were not so fortunate back home.  People were excluded from the “American Dream” based on race, ethnicity, gender and/or sexual orientation.  Often, this exclusion was carried out in brutal ways designed to oppress individuals of their rights not just as Americans but as human beings.  I am certainly not suggesting that every member of this generation is a racist or intolerant, but the significant pain caused in this country during the time that this generation was in full power cannot be ignored.

The Baby Boomers: born between 1946 and 1964

Pros: The contributions that the boomers have made to our world are almost immeasurable.  Where would we be without the technological advances that came along in the 70s, 80s, & 90s that set the stage for the world as we know it today.  Boomers were on the cutting edge of social change as well demanding the generation ahead of them include all Americans in the nation as full and equal members.  My parents were on the edge of the boomer generation, but I consider them a part of it and I identify now what they went through as a “sandwich” generation during the 70s and 80s.  People make fun of it now, but those days had a lot of stresses and pressures.  I would love to see how today’s world would react to the inflation and real unemployment of the late 70s or early 80s.  What would you do if gas prices doubled tomorrow?  They also took care of parents with many less resources and much poorer health than our older generation has now.  They were truly instrumental in the massive transition this country made to get us where we are at this point, and that should not be forgotten especially as many like my dad are leaving us far too soon.

Cons: Boomers made a lot of mistakes.  Even as kids, we knew it and wondered what exactly were they thinking sometimes.  Personally, I don’t fault the boomers for all the choices they made nor do I think that all our current problems are squarely on them.  What I think irks the younger generations is their general unwillingness to concede that they made mistakes which prevented them from learning how to help fix the messes they made.  Our president is a perfect example with this, and he is just a reflection of the group that was largely responsible for electing him.  The other issue with Boomers is that they refuse to step aside and give up the notion that this world is theirs forever.  The most ridiculous thing I heard with this OK Boomer thing was that is was bigoted and would hurt the prospects of many boomers who plan to be around for a lot longer (living off of Medicaid and Social Security we can’t afford, but I digress).  Boomers just can’t get that it is not all about them anymore.  Remember though, that they were initially part of the “Me” generation in the 70′s so we can’t be surprised by their behavior.  The problem now is that their unwillingness to cede power is hurting us.  That is why I think their should be an age cap on running for political office of any kind of 65 years old.  Agism you say?  I guess maybe, but I call it self protectionism.  It’s the same logic that sets floors to the age limits to prevent people from being too young to hold such important responsibilities.  I say, if you are between 25 and 65, you can be in politics, and after that step aside and let the generation who has everything at stake drive for a while.  

Gen X - born between 1965 and 1980

Pros: It’s hard to point to exactly what we in this generation have done so far, but I think as the current “sandwich” generation, we are doing our best to advance the concepts of inclusiveness and awareness of our impact on this Earth to the generations below us that we are either mentoring or raising.  I don’t think history is going to look back at us as the “greatest” and we don’t have the same flair as the boomers did, but I think we will be remembered as the generation that quietly did our part to set the table for those coming up behind us to be successful.  I also think many in our generation will gladly step aside much sooner than the boomers to let those we have nurtured take over.  I envision being the generation that really provides the mentoring and support needed to hopefully get us to the point where hope is restored in our younger generations.  Maybe the best thing we bring to the table is empathy and we can use that to bridge between a generation that seems to have lacked it and ones coming up that crave it.

Cons: Our cons are the same as our pros.  We have been too benign and let the boomers get away with far too much when we had a chance to stop some of the nonsense they are spewing now.  Protests and social activism were unheard of when I was in college in the early 90s and our focus was too much on being good students to get good jobs to become good corporate citizens when we needed to move out of our comfort zone more.  I also think we are the generation who is to be blamed most for the current state of the climate.  We are the main generation fueling the economy right now and have been for the past decade or so, yet we have not made the changes or demands to turn ourselves towards green practices.  The barriers to green technology have come down greatly during this time period and we have been slow to adapt.  We also didn’t put pressure on those above us when we were younger and science presented evidence that our earth was being destroyed, which they dismissed.  That goes way back and we were asleep at the wheel on what arguably is the most important issue facing us today.  That may stain our generation in a way that can never be repaired.

And the rest... - born after 1980 -

I know there are distinct generations within this group, but as an old fogey I get to lump them all together because those damn kids are all the same to me!  Besides, kids don’t use Facebook or read long-form essays on Tumblr so they’ll never see this anyway.  And, I’m not doing pros and cons for them because everyone gets the same grade in the post Gen-X generation: “meets expectations”.  That last part isn’t a joke as if I were evaluating the generations behind me that is the grade that I would give them.  I think they are doing a good job so far, but their immaturity and lack of experience holds them back from being great.  I actually see many of them fitting more into an “exceeds expectations” category if they continue with their true embrace of inclusion of all people and their commitment to the environment.  It is also a very service oriented generation, and I would argue far less materialistic than generations before them going back to the boomers.  They need to work on communication skills for sure and definitely need to learn how to develop a bit of a thicker skin, but I see a lot of hope in this group.  I am particularly excited to see them start taking control in politics and I hope it is sooner than later.  We cannot afford to wait for their innovation as our future lies in the balance with little hope if the status quo stays in place.  Let’s face it, whether I believe any of this or not, don’t we have to?  I mean if this is a horse race, I’m certainly putting my money on these kids to get the job done over anyone else.

And, I guess that’s the conclusion that I have come to as I reflect on this particular essay.  It’s that the youngest generation is always the most important as they have the most promise as well as the most at stake.  At the age of 47, I don’t plan to sit on the sidelines or not help out, but I can acknowledge that even at that relatively young age the spotlight is no longer on me.  Whether it be my music, or education, or technology skills (or lack there of), my opinions and tastes don’t matter anymore.  The other day, someone gave me an “OK Boomer” in jest and at first I took offense.  Mostly because I am not that old, but it initially stung to hear it directed at me even as a joke.  I soon realized though, that it is just that - a joke and that brings me to the best thing I think Gen X has going for it - our sense of humor.  So, if I have any advice for the Gen Zs or whatever they are called and the Boomers is to work together and laugh while you do it.  And quit yelling over Gen X while you fight.  I’m trying to watch Seinfeld reruns.

Cheers,

Jim

[castawxayaway]

in the middle

why is it that since I got requests I have just gone a bit AWOL? i’m sorry, it has been a few days since I posted and it’s been me and my headspace right now- i’m spacey. i hope you like this though, and of course it had to be the artist that it is, if you know anything about me this is who I personally am in love with right now (music and person wise). 

if you requested something from me it is coming! i promise I haven’t forgotten about it (entirely) and they will all be done before wednesday as that is when i’m at reading festival for almost a week. 

also I wanna do a q+a for my youtube, so if you have any questions about anything (literally anything) send them in! if you want to be anon be anon I don’t mind. just something I want to do and tumblr is a good platform to ask for mixed questions :)

love you guys  🖤

prompt list / collection of my writing / requests open *nudge nudge*

Unable to get the lyrics out of my head I find myself tapping on the keyboard, my foot bouncing to the rhythm and soon enough I am singing the words under my breath. I can’t stop myself from going online and straight to Twitter where many of my bizarre thoughts lie filled with numbers from others in agreement or sheer curiosity. 

cannot get the song ‘In the Middle’ by dodie out of my head! the lyrics to ‘intertwined’ are something else #obsessed 

Immediately I see lots of responses in agreement, some from pages dedicated to the singer and others recommending me other songs. The known smile forms on my face as my screen goes dark, giving me the chance to see my reflection before it turns itself back on and becomes flooded with life. Twitter is one of those platforms where you can just talk to anyone, I’ve been lucky enough to connect with various artists through Twitter, have them praise my lyrics and even ask for my help with producing a song or two for their albums or EPs. 

My job isn’t the easiest, it can be challenging at times, but it pays off when you can hear it on the radio, or talked about online; just like dodie’s is. I sit for a while and scroll through the tweets change in my mentions and focus around someone besides dodie, instead they focus around Bastille. 

Leaning in closer to my laptop I analyse their comments; ‘omg dan loves her work!’ ‘shit you know her too? dan was tweeting about her the other day’ ‘@bastilledan another reason why you two could be super cute together’ they all differed in opinions, but they all kept mentioning him and me along with dodie. Seems like I am the one in the middle this time. 

Part of me wanted to see if he’d respond too, if he even knew who I was. I’ve worked with bands like his, but none of them have ever been as unique as Bastille is. Their lyrics hit you somewhere unknown inside, they delve through all the hidden and buried emotions, bringing them to the surface for four minutes at a time. They are a reminder at times of what we should value, what can easily be lost when we least expect it. Eventually I give up on waiting, I leave my phone at my desk and go to my music room and work on some lyrics knowing that I have a meeting with a new musician in a few days. 

A few hours had passed and I had barely been able to get anything done, the jitters over Dan were settling as curiosity was consuming me and ruining my creative abilities. I kept telling myself to just test these lyrics with these notes, but it was no use. Sitting I stare at the blank notebook, nothing achieved due to my phone calling my name, whispering possibilities in the other room. “Oh fuck it.” I mumble to myself as I rush to my phone as if my life depends on it. 

Scrolling through the masses of notifications to do with the three of us I see one that catches my eye and makes me smile. ‘EeeeeEkkkk it’s you! you like my music??? I listened to your work for YEARS l o l <3′ dodie, a true sweetheart. Shifting my focus from dodie I can feel my heart pause until I see it, until my eyes can find it fast enough for everything to resume. 

‘I wasn’t sure if anyone else really knew of her for the music she does? good to know you love her too!’ ‘as much as I admire her talent, instrumental is a great piece of music, don’t you agree?’ 

I glanced over his words, the words he had aimed at me to read and respond to. Fans immediately got on board, responding, freaking out and fanning their hearts out; which is exactly what I wanted to do, but no I am going to keep my cool. It’s only Dan Smith, an incredibly talented musician and lyricist. Only.

We talked back and forth via tweets, dodie along with others unable to keep up with the excitement of fellow people within the music realm discussing her work, but it was getting to that point where fans were suffocating. Suffocating is that point where the meaning of the conversation is lost in the feed of fans losing their shit, those who love bastille favouring or protecting them/Dan from wanting to speak to me. 

Rolling my eyes I just went to DM him instead, knowing it would be easier in some aspects, but more difficult to not mess it up. After a few messages were exchanged I eased into it more, we both did. Our conversation slowly moved away from dodies music, towards the direction of my own- specifically my writing process and how it is to write for others and not so much myself. 

‘Writing for myself is always a personal thing, some songs I write and I know I can’t share it or give it to someone else to release. Most things I write I tailor for them specifically, I work with them to get the best result rather than put myself in them, I put them in me- not literally obviously!’ 

Why did I send that, it sounded so rare and professional, but like always I cocked it up. 

‘No no, I see where you’re coming from. There are so many songs I wrote and published, but I never perform them, really talk about them. Sometimes I wonder what if I did? What if I were willing to perform them again? But it was before Bastille, that was when I was just ‘Dan Smith’ and it doesn’t seem like the right thing to do.’ 

‘As if it is outdated?’

‘I think it is and isn’t. Some music can be timeless.’

‘Like The Beatles?’ 

‘Yes, but also the likes of Kendrick Lamar.’

‘So you’re an in between then? Somewhere along the scale of being too caught up recent affairs and stuck in the past?’

‘Unfortunately so. But how come you’ve never published under you, as in become an artist and not just lyricist?’

I lean back in my chair as I read over the message. It’s not something I’ve been asked for years, my parents enquired why I wouldn’t do it myself, but I felt too vulnerable in my young adulthood. Now it is a different story, but I just don’t think I could do it. 

‘Conformity, pressure, the stress. When I write a band or an artist a song that is my role done, I get the contract, I write the songs and I get paid. I hear it and my name is written legally as the lyricist, but I have no other ties that are so severe. It prevents me from getting overly exposed, risk of being watched 24/7. I’m just afraid to try really.’ 

He doesn’t respond for a while unlike before. Maybe that was too much, a bit too honest for someone he doesn’t really know besides the work I produce for others. I resume my work as I listen to the rain beating down against my window, trying its hardest to fight through the glass with little success. Now I find myself humming his songs, not dodies. I tap my pen and play a few notes that I can remember off of the top of my head. Interrupting my moment of distraction my phone goes off, he’s back. 

‘Would you like to meet up with me sometime? It may seem a little forward, but I would love to discuss music, possibly working on something together. Only if you’re comfortable doing so. I’ve heard your work, as in your work when you did a few videos prior to writing for others. I didn’t know how to tell you that without sounding like a creep, but I would love to see that person, only if you’ll let me?’ 

My mind wanders back to those years when I would set up my brothers camera on a stack of books as I played on my piano with a small microphone by me to hear my voice above the piano. I forgot I had those uploaded, now no one really knows about it as it remains hidden in the depths of the internet, yet somehow he found it. He actually watched my 19 year old self nervously introduced myself and the song before that part of me melted away into the song. It was an offer to get back into that, to reopen that side of my music that has not been truly revisited for years. 

Glancing over to my notebook, to the second one that is filled messily with tea stains, small doodles and hundreds upon hundreds of lyrics I compare it to the neat, carefully colour coded organised one that I use for other artists and not myself. I used to have fun writing songs, but of late I’ve lost the heart to it. 

Licking my lips I sit behind my piano and envision myself again, that part of me I loved. I close my eyes and my fingers naturally find the keys that I memorised, my mouth opens and the lyrics are still there, despite being shrouded in multiple songs since. It was the first song I truly wrote, the one that I was actually proud to call my own that only few have seen online; Dan being one of those few. 

I reach over for my phone, wanting to thank him for a reminder of why I write music. That sometimes you need to just re-evaluate what is happening around you, to go back to what you know in order to keep creating music. 

‘That sounds like a plan, thank you Dan. It may seem odd, but having a small conversation with you I feel as if I have rediscovered my music. It’s something that is easier to explain in person. How is next week?’ 

As I send the message I can’t wipe the smile, it differs from the smile for the fans on Twitter. It is one of giddiness, of excitement for what is to come with my music, with meeting the musician and lyricist who has lived in the same boat I have for possibly longer. Fans still conspire amongst themselves about our absences, so I leave them wondering with a tweet to an old song of mine. 

‘For the person who made me realise why I do what I do’

[helloroselyn]

What I Wish Someone Told Me Before Junior Year

It is currently the summer between my junior and senior year, and I cannot wait to enter my last year of high school! It’s a bit surreal to say the least, but I definitely think junior year was my best year thus far. If you asked me to describe each school year in high school (minus senior year), I’d say that freshman year was the easiest, sophomore year was the most challenging, and junior year was the most productive.

Everybody says junior year is one of the most important years of your high school career, and I agree to a certain extent. My junior year was abundant with highs and lows, stressful nights and early mornings, and dreaded days and exciting events. There were times when I was successful, yet there were others when I felt like a failure.

If you’re about to enter your junior year or if you’d simply like to know my advice on what helped me as a junior, here are five tips on what I wish someone would have told me before my junior year:

1. Start everything early.

If you’re like me, you probably like to procrastinate a lot. In junior year (and in any year of your life), that won’t do you any good.

My teachers recommended students to take their first SAT and ACT exams during their junior year, which makes sense. If you don’t like your score from junior year, you can retake it as a senior in hopes of earning a better score.

So I set out to take my SAT in June (more specifically, June 3) and my ACT the following week (June 10). The reason why I chose the June dates and not May or earlier is because I wanted to “accumulate” as much knowledge as possible before I took each exam.

I have yet to receive my scores, but if there’s one thing I regret, it was that I feel as though I didn’t practice enough.

During my leisure, I watched a TED Talk on what top students do differently than average ones, and one of the key things that top students do is take practice exams well before the test, whereas average students tend to reread the material over and over and over again until their brains are exhausted. Unfortunately, that won’t help you on the SAT/ACT.

What I did to practice for the SAT was to create a Khan Academy account and make a study schedule that I would religiously follow each week in preparation for the June exam. Of course, this is extremely beneficial – if you’re consistent with it.

I, however, was not. I said “hi!” to Khan Academy for about one week straight and then completely abandoned my account. I don’t even recall exactly how many months I skipped SAT Practice because there were so many. Needless to say, DO NOT DO THAT.

The month leading up to June 3, I began to practice every single day. I would log into Khan Academy during zero period, lunch breaks, and before I started my homework. It was a super productive routine, which I am proud to have accomplished, but it undoubtedly required plenty of discipline and determination.

Would I probably have scored higher if I practiced way more? Yes. Would I feel more confident about my score if I studied earlier? Absolutely.

Now that we’re on the topic of studying...

2. Find a study schedule that works for you.

I cannot stress this one enough. If you’re still in that mindset of “I can study the night before the test and still score an A+ on it,” this is especially for you, my friend.

I used to be the type of person who lived and breathed that mindset. I would put off studying until the night before (sometimes the morning of) a test, self-assured that I would get an A. And most of the time, I did. But it did result in me losing precious hours of sleep and crying from constant bouts of stress.

To avoid this, I highly recommend creating a study schedule that works for you (key words: “works for you”). You don’t have to strive to be the next Albert Einstein and study chemistry formulas for five hours every night, because if you’re involved in ten extracurriculars, enrolled in five AP classes, and given a list of twenty chores to do on the daily, you’d obviously have to create a study schedule that caters to your specific needs.

What I did was that I would study my most difficult subjects (i.e. Precalculus, Chemistry, and AP United States History) for about thirty minutes each night, and I would give or take a few minutes depending on how difficult the lesson was or when my next exam would take place. Thirty minutes may not seem like a lot, but it’s way more efficient than studying four hours the night before the test. Plus, I had leadership positions, extracurriculars, and other AP/Honors homework under my belt, so I couldn’t afford to study for hours on end.

Depending on your daily/weekly schedule, I suggest finding what works perfectly for you. This does require some trial and error, but trust me, your hard work will pay off!

3. Get more sleep.

This is a piece of advice I desperately needed. When you’re feeling lethargic at school, you cannot – and will not – show your best work. The only (obvious) way to fix this is by catching more shuteye.

This may require some experimentation. If you’re anything like me and beg for a drop of coffee when you’re running off five hours of sleep, shoot for six to seven hours of sleep (at the very least) each night. Many doctors and professionals suggest eight hours of sleep for optimal energy, but your body may be different. Whether you’re a night owl or a morning bird, I recommend testing out different hours of sleep and seeing what works for you.

Once you’ve determined your ideal sleep schedule, you’ve got to stick to it. I have zero period, which means I wake up every morning at 6 a.m., regardless of whether I want to or not. It’s become a habit for me, but of course, it changes drastically over the summer.

For many students, sticking to a consistent sleep schedule may mean finishing your homework earlier than usual, or sacrificing a few extracurriculars in order to make more time for sleep. That’s okay. If you’re losing hours of sleep due to your activities, re-evaluate each one. Ask yourself, “Is this worth my time?” If it isn’t, you may have to consider knocking it off your schedule.

This brings me to my next point, which is...

3. Don’t be afraid to quit and try out different things.

As children, we were taught that quitting a sport, club, etc. is no bueno. We’re shamed for straying away from our commitments, and even in some cases in high school, it’s heavily frowned upon to do so. But as you grow older, it may be of more benefit to quit extraneous activities than to stay in them.

During my sophomore year, I was on the track team. I absolutely loved sprinting and lifting weights – it was my form of stress-relief (plus, it made me more confident in how my body looked, which was an added bonus). But when I was on the team my junior year, I hated it. I don’t know if it was because of the negative people I was surrounding myself with, or because the workouts just weren’t fun anymore, or if it was a combination of the two. The point is, I quit the track team.

And it was difficult. I was fearful of what my coaches would tell me. I was scared of what my friends on the team would think of me. And most importantly, I was afraid of being shamed for my decision.

Luckily, my coaches and most of my friends were incredibly supportive and understood my situation. But to this day, it was one of the hardest choices I’d ever made in my high school career.

Like the track team, I also quit the All Female Dance Team, Book Club, Science Club, Bible Club, and several others. I chose to leave my AP Chemistry class and opted for an easier chemistry course, simply because I wanted to decrease my workload. Different activities were definitely more challenging to say goodbye to, but in the end, I don’t regret any of my decisions. I feel healthier and more balanced with the activities in which I am currently involved (and I get much more sleep!).

4. Heartbreaks are inevitable, but they’re leading you to your next successful relationship.

Like I mentioned in my previous blog post, I went through an excruciatingly painful breakup early on in my junior year. Needless to say, I was extremely depressed because of it. I’ll spare you the details of what happened (simply because that’s a really personal topic), but without a doubt, I’ve learned so much from my pain. I became more assertive and independent, discovered exactly what I want and don’t want in a guy, and uncovered a newfound strength inside of me that I never knew I possessed.

In conjunction, I don’t recommend rushing into a relationship immediately after you’ve endured a breakup. I gave myself a few months of healing before I started dating my current boyfriend. This healing process may take longer for others and shorter for some, so it’s important to surround yourself with your loved ones and to do activities that make you happy to distract yourself from the pain.

5. Don’t rush it.

This is a short and simple piece of advice my APUSH teacher gave us on the last day of class, yet it’s super meaningful.

There will be many days when you’ll want to get out of high school already. There will also be days when you’ll hate your teachers, your parents, your classmates, and so on. There will be plenty of days when you’ll want to be an adult and have your life figured out already.

But don’t rush it. Enjoy your youth while you still have it, because there are only so many years before you’ll have to pay taxes, work for ten hours each day, and take care of crying babies until 3 a.m. This time of your life is valuable, so treasure it.

I hope this helps you, future juniors, in the upcoming school year! I wish you all the best of luck!

Love, Roselyn