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wander-yet-wonder · 4 years

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Parting the veil - Spaus

Fandom: Hetalia Pairing: Spaus, (Spain / Austria) Word count: 2319 Rating: All audiences Warnings: Historicised attitudes towards Islam do not reflect the author’s views. Summary: Roderich isn't the best at travelling. Still, he'd gladly do so in order to spend time with his new husband. The Spanish landscape betrays things about Antonio he'd rather keep silent himself. It seems like Antonio has separated himself from his past through a sheer curtain and when visiting Roderich feels like he can almost see through it, see the ghosts that move on the other side. Everything is so foreign to him, will he be able to eventually harmonize with Antonio? Read on AO3: X

I was requested to write a Spaus drabble, apparently, I can’t write drabbles and instead put out a whole ass fic. So um- have this? @fandomghost I hope you like it. Special shoutout to @katemarley for recommending me Innsbruck ich muss dich lassen when I was nerding to her about German renaissance music <3

At least there were mountains. Roderich was grateful for the snowy peaks of the Pyrenees that decorate the horizon visible from his window. They were the only familiar sight because he was in all other aspects “fast entheimt”. Unfortunately, now that they had reached Zaragoza, a city with a name so foreign that he wouldn’t have discredited as the name of an ancient Persian magician in a novel, the mountains were far more distant and only visible on clear days. The name of the city wasn’t the only thing that was foreign to him, when he and his consorts had crossed the mountains he had felt like the very bedrock that Spain was made of was unlike his own, down to the small crocus like flowers that bloomed in the meadows that their guide had explained to him were rare ‘false saffron’. In Zaragoza, he’d been given a room in the palace of the catholic monarchs that had taken residence there after Isabel I of Castile had married Ferdinand II of Aragon but that in the streets was still referred to by the people as the palace of Aljaféria. Though that royal marriage had unified Spain and was the reason he could stay there to visit his Antonio, Aragon was by no means gone. Her belongings and her culture were still found all over the province. However, he wasn’t to meet her until later that month. He felt like in a way, simply by travelling the land he already had met her. She wasn’t the only shadow of a nation that he felt. Besides Spain, that is to say, Castile and Aragon, there was a third presence within these castle walls, an invisible presence, a ghost from the past.

Roderich had never fully realised the reality of the occupation by Arabic forces in the peninsula. When he had Antonio in front of him in Aachen, a fierce proprietor of Christendom, speaking Latin with a quintessentially Romanesque tongue… He had somehow thought that as the occupiers left the peninsula, Antonio was a roman again. That when they left, they took everything with them, left no traces, that whatever was left was carefully purged by his new husband. Yet these walls told a different story. In a moment where he’d been free to roam the halls, he’d let himself be spellbound by the strange arabesque masonry, the ever-spiralling geometrical decorative patterning in the friezes, the archways, the capitals. One gallery from where he could reach the stonework, he had secretly pressed his fingers against it, half expecting it to give way like bee’s wax due to how much it resembled a honeycomb. He let out a quivering breath and whispered the name: the Umayyad dynasty, the caliphate of Cordoba. That strange shadow that seemed to hide in the corners in the palace. Had he made a mistake when marrying Antonio? How much of his husband was still Moorish?

Antonio was always secretive and defensive about his time isolated from the rest of them. Roderich never pressed him for answers. He’d lie in bed next to him and watch Antonio’s quiet breathing and think to himself that Antonio must’ve suffered a lot. Yet he looked at how his own hand looked like porcelain against Antonio’s chest, and he wondered.

These thoughts were tumbling over each other as he was staring out the window, his letter to the bishop abandoned in front of him as his quill was resting idly between his fingers. He felt sick to the stomach again, he’d always get such bad Heimweh, if only Toni could just always visit him in Austria… that would be a perfect world.

“Ah, there you are!”

Antonio snapped him out of his reverie by materializing in the doorframe and looking at him like he was trying to figure him out, like studying a puzzling little flower, like a false saffron, and wondering whether it was edible or not.

“Have you truly been cooped up in here all-day writing? Come, this won’t do, come out and catch some fresh air.”

He’d already strode over and made to pull Roderich along by the arm despite the young man’s protests that it was too hot outside and that he’d tan.

“I gathered some courtiers, we’re going to play music in the courtyard. If you sit in the gallery you won’t tan. Just join it’ll be great. Did you play that Viol a lot?”

‘That viol’ was the lovely Soprano viol that Antonio had given to Roderich when they parted ways after their second visit. Roderich had been familiar with the more European Vieille already and had taken to the instrument like he’d never played anything else. It helped that it was a gift from Antonio, so whenever he missed him too much he could take out the viol, lovingly caress the little wooden face that was carved into the end of the neck with incredible craftmanship, and then by playing and studying bring Antonio a little closer. He’d carefully press down on the strings and would imagine Toni listening and smiling. He’d been playing it when sad or lonely so often he started to feel like he expressed his feelings better through music than through words. So to Antonio’s question, he gave a firm affirmative nod and looked at the case that contained it when he brought it with him here.

“Well bring it! I want to hear!”

Roderich’s heart quickened. He had fantasized about what would happen if he’d play in front of Antonio, that Antonio would listen and understand- that he could say what he wanted to say without words. That Antonio instantly recognised that he’d studied hard just to please him. But now that the moment was here, he felt suddenly nervous.

“Ah, very well, I’ll play for you. But not for your court.”

Antonio looked a little taken aback but then agreed with a smile

“We’ll have fewer instruments then, but it agrees with me.”

Roderich tried to read Antonio and see if he wasn’t upset but he couldn’t tell. He took the dear instrument and tagged along, all the while trying not to be deafened by his heart nervously pounding in his ears. Antonio retrieved his vihuela de mano from the group of courtiers and declared they wouldn’t be joining them until later. They seemed a little disappointed, but Roderich observed from the doorway that the confident way in which Antonio declared he wouldn’t be present, rather than asked to be forgiven for not joining made no one even think of questioning him. He smiled; this is what he adored in Antonio.

Antonio took him to one of the palaces many open courtyards and sat him down underneath the strange honeycomb arches on a railing. With just the two of them in an enclosed garden Roderich thought of the many courtly romance novels he’s read and blushed a bit. Antonio caught on and with a grin took his hand and kissed it.

“So, are we going to play music? Or was this all an elaborate plan of yours so we could exchange kisses?”

Antonio was already scooting a bit closer and his smirk grew. Roderich frowned as his blush deepened but couldn’t hide a smile.

“Don’t tease me, Antonio.”

He leaned in and gave Antonio a small kiss on the cheek.

“I had every intention to play music for you."

Antonio nodded and sat back a bit and gave Roderich a tender smile that sent a warmth spreading through his chest. Roderich got in position and put the viol between his legs. He took a deep breath and took the bow to the strings. He took a deep breath and started to sing. It was the song he’d been singing ever since Innsbruck’s precious valley had been swallowed between the pine trees as they had crossed that fateful bend in the road that meant saying goodbye. Roderich had never been good at travel, he was in his essence a very rooted person. He needed the mountains, the pine trees, the fresh crisp winter air, he needed his home. At first, he had thought that this crippling nervousness that took hold of him when he was in unfamiliar territory had to do with the type of creature that he was: wouldn’t it make sense for countries to have to be close to their lands? But the more other’s he met, the more he learned that isn’t necessarily the case. He sang the first tender lines of ‘Innsbruck ich muss dich lassen’, which he had been practising to bring him solace ever since he had left. He had adapted the original choral piece by giving the higher register to his viol and himself singing a fragile tenor second voice.

“ISbruck, ich muß dich lassen ich far do hin mein strassen in fremde land do hin mein freud ist mir genomen die ich nit weiß bekummen wo ich jm elend bin.”

It had every property of a learned piece of music, despite its secular subject. In his opinion, the choral harmonies showed a Pythagorean harmony and evoked the harmonies of heaven. It was in every aspect a thing of technical ingenuity. But it was out of place. Singing about Innsbruck and his land in the Spanish summer heat just fell flat. All the emotion he could usually put into it, about missing home and struggling with travel didn’t seem to communicate either.

“Groß leid muß ich yetz tragen das ich allein thu klagen dem liebsten bůlen mein ach lieb nun laß mich armen im hertzen dein erbarmen das ich muß von dannen sein.”

The second verse, about parting from your lover was yet another thing very recognisable for him, as he and Antonio often spent large stretches apart from one another. Antonio, however, seemed more concerned with picking dirt out from under his nails than listening. He knew Antonio didn’t know much German, but he hoped he would at least get the gist of it. His voice wavered slightly as he tried to keep Antonio invested in the music all through the last verse.

“Meyn trost ob allen weyben dein thu ich ewig pleyben stet trew der eren frumm nun muß dich Gott bewaren in aller thugent sparen biß das ich wider kumm.”

A pledge of faithfulness to the one you’re leaving. It was silent for a moment between them after he finished and Roderich felt like he’d swallowed a brick. Antonio perked up again and took his vihuela.

“You did not enjoy it.”

He must’ve looked hurt because Antonio winced and reassuringly pet his hand.

“Ah no! It was good! I could tell it was technically perfect.”

Antonio was a terrible liar though and with one stern look, Roderich managed to get him to sigh and tell the truth.

“It was just- all the same. And a bit sad, but mostly just that it was the same thing three times, and all the rhythm stayed the same and the distance between the cords stayed the same… It made me feel like I was either at church or just- really bored.”

Roderich was confused, “But- isn’t that what music is supposed to sound like? With regular harmonies? I read in a book-”

Antonio cut him off: “That’s exactly it! It sounds so learned, so lifeless! Shouldn’t music be sweeping? To slowly build and make you feel this- this- Ecstasy! wait, I’ll show you what I learned!”

He started strumming the vihuela. “Ok, you clap along.” Roderich uneasily started clapping, a little off-beat because of the strange rhythm Antonio was creating.

“This is an old one Roderich so you might know it. Hmm, maybe not the words it’s easy, you just sing the refrain with me I’ll do the stanzas. Ok, it’s Santa María, Strela do día, Móstra-nos, pera Déus e nos guía. Got that?”

Antonio was tapping his foot to the rhythm and slapping the wood of his vihuela in between the plucking. Then he suddenly stopped and took a ring of keys of his belt and handed it to Roderich. “Here, shake this- hmm this would be better if we had more players.” But he kept playing until Roderich got the hang of it. Then he started singing with it, the refrain was relatively straightforward but once Roderich got it, Toni started to make strange variations on it that threw him of again.

“No, it’s ok Roderich, you just keep singing the regular version and I’ll vary upon it. Also, the rhythm is rha-pa-pa-pa, rha-pa-papa-pa-pa. Yes, like that.”

Once they sang together like that for a while Antonio inserted stanzas between the refrains where the end of the sentences ended in long drawn out undulating notes. They were unlike anything Roderich had ever heard in a church at home or even at the fair! Though they were singing about Mary, about asking god forgiveness for sins, Roderich felt strange with what was happening. He wasn’t very good at it, but it felt like Antonio was pulling him along in a wild dance. Just as he’d gotten the hang of it, Antonio sped up and harmonized with him. Roderich could feel his body sway from side to side, almost without his will and they moved in perfect unison, rising and falling. He felt his sadness slowly fading and he smiled while singing. The thing Antonio had said about sweeping you away, about ecstasy, he was starting to understand it now. This strange rhythm, and the way Antonio intuitively reacted to what he was doing… it was almost sensual. When they finished his cheeks were red and he was slightly out of breath. Any passer-by would’ve suspected them of exchanging kisses in the garden after all. Perhaps he might as well… He enthusiastically threw himself forward, wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed Antonio on the lips. Nothing as chaste as before, the vihuela awkwardly between them. Antonio was clearly surprised but not complaining.

Hi! Welcome to this fic exploring the musical differences between Antonio and Roderich (and perhaps, by extension in their personalities). The music, however, isn't the only historical reference going on in here.

This fic is set very shortly after their marriage so anywhere between 1520 and 1525. They're still trying to figure each other out and getting to know the other's culture. Or at least, Roderich is.

The Moorish occupation of the Iberian peninsula was in that time seen as a very dark page in Spain's history and after the Reconquista Spain was portraying itself as an extremely Christian country (perhaps overcompensating slightly?). The time in Al Andalus, however, was a time when music, poetry and science flourished in Spain and the land and culture are still very influenced by it. The palace they're staying in is evidence of that. (Look up a picture it's gorgeous).

Roderich is starting to notice these Islamic influences in his new husband. And as a Christian man living in the 1500's they make him warry (not to speak of the attacks of the Ottoman empire on Austria in that time). However, the thing he ends up enjoying immensely about Antonio in this fic, his music, is something that is extremely Moorish.

Moorish music was seen as highly skilled and highly superior music even after Christianisation and Moorish musicians were still employed by the court a lot for special events.

There are two characters in here that aren't canon: the kingdom of Aragon and the Caliphate of Cordoba. The Kingdom of Aragon is a fierce lady that's the bane of Antonio's existence even though right now they're unified.

The pieces that both of them play are from their respective countries, and links are included in the lyrics. Roderich's is a contemporary piece by Henrich Isaac. If the lyrics look strange that's because that's the original 16th-century german. Antonio's piece is older, It's one of the many cantiga's de Santa maria. These canticles were written for King Alfonso X, who made a great contribution to early Spanish Christian culture. They're in the Galician dialect of Spanish that's super close to Portuguese.

As for their instruments, there are three instruments mentioned. The first being Roderich's viol. This is a predecessor to the modern-day violin, but also to the cello. It belongs to the family of the 'viola da gamba'. it was developed in 15th-century Spain. They are played upright in the lap with a bow. You can see one in use here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qLgJPBDzS6o

The viol bore some resemblance to the vielle, an older and more northern European relative to the instrument, that is actually played underneath the chin. The experience with the vielle is what made it easier for Roderich to learn the viol.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pdps64D-u-g

finally, Antonio is playing the vihuela da mano. While this seems yet another instrument of which the name resembles 'violin' it actually resembles a guitar more!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=duHMeCndpjo

And let's not forget about the important percussion instrument: Antonio's keys.

Have any questions about historical things I forgot to explain? please don't hesitate to shoot me a message or comment on this fic and I'll gladly elaborate.

#Spaus #aph Spain #aph austria #historical hetalia #spaaus #bringbackhetalia2020 #bringbackhetalia2k19 #juliwrites

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littletonoemotion · 5 years

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이 태민: The Moonwalker Pt. 1

So, I was thinking about Taemin’s ethereal beauty the other day (what’s new?) and my mind kinda wandered and I was like, “What kind of mythical creature would he be?” My mind immediately drifted to ‘Siren’, but I modified it a little bit and it turned into this... This is part one so! Enjoy, if you can.

The bedroom door peeked open, streams of light pouring in. They fell over the carpet, the boxes that held memories and possessions, and the mattress that laid on the floor in place of a bed, bathing them in an artificial glow.

“Hey, mom?” a little boy’s voice came. “I can’t sleep.”

She sat up in her makeshift bed. “Again?” she asked, trying to clear the fog from her mind.

He nodded. “Can you read me the story again? The one with the moonwalker?”

She gave him a tired smile, patting the spot next to her. “Sure thing, squirt. Crawl in.” He did as he was told, snuggling under her arms and molding against her perfectly, like a habit.

She cleared her throat, lightly brushing through his son’s hair with her slender fingers. “Once upon a time, there lived a race of people called moonwalkers. Now, moonwalkers were known to be incredibly beautiful, but also terribly dangerous.

They weren’t like normal people, little mister. They were different; they had darker wishes and desires. You see, what moonwalkers were capable of? That would be dangerous to even the strongest or most cold-hearted person. Nobody could resist their charms.”

He looked up at her, his bangs flopping at a funny angle. “Not even you, mom?”

She shook her head, chuckling. “Not even me, love. A moonwalker charms someone until they trust them completely, and once that trust is earned, there’s no escaping. You’re trapped. You’re not even you anymore, because you’ve become a part of that creature. They own your soul, they take it.”

“But why do they do that?”

She hummed thoughtfully, thinking about it seriously for a moment. “Because they’re lonely, I suppose. Legend has it that they only go after people with lonely, empty hearts.”

He crawled into her lap and faced her. “Like you?”

She was taken aback. “Like me?” She gave him a lopsided grin, mussing up his hair. “Now tell me, how could I possibly be lonely when I’ve got you?”

He frowned and flattened his hair back out. “You’ve been lonely ever since dad left.” She froze. “I can feel it. I don’t remember much about him, but I do know that when you think about him, you get sad.”

She sighed. “You know, you’re pretty smart for a six year old.” She gave him a tight hug. “But don’t worry, I’m not sad. I’m angry.”

“At dad?”

She nodded. “Mhm.”

“Because he ran away?”

She brought him a little closer. “Yeah...”

There was a brief silence. “Hey, mommy?”

“Mm?”

He pulled away to look into her eyes, still slightly glazed with sleep. “Is a moonwalker gonna come and take you away from me?”

She flicked his forehead. “Of course not, bean. Moonwalkers are just stories, all right? They’re not real, and they won’t take me away.”

He nodded. “Okay.” He yawned.

“You tired, little man?” He nodded. “Then let’s go tuck you in.”

Je Kyo often told that story to her son, Dongin. She told it so often that she never had a second thought about it after she tucked him in for the night. She never thought about it again when she laid down on her bed with an empty space. She never thought about it when she was drifting off into what she hoped would be a restful sleep.

But that night, something had her thinking about it. Perhaps it was what Dongin had said. But either way, as she closed her eyes, she could’ve sworn she heard something in the distance, almost like a whisper. What really bothered her, though...

Was that she couldn’t make it out.

Je Kyo didn’t hate her job at the local flower shop. In fact, she needed it to survive, since bills hadn’t magically started paying themselves. But it never stopped her from wishing for more.

Every once in a while, she had thoughts like, “I’ve wasted my youth” or “I haven’t done anything with my life”, but she quickly pushed those thought away. For her sake, and for her son’s.

Every morning, she woke up at 6:30, made breakfast, dropped Dongin off at the neighbor’s, and then went to work. She had plenty of repeat customers; mostly older woman who liked to have something to brighten up their homes.

“How’s that boy of yours?” one of those said customers asked. She was a friendly woman in her late sixties that always made a habit of coming in around lunch time to strike up a conversation.

Je Kyo gave her an easy smile. “He’s doing well, Ms. Park. Thank you for asking.”

“Of course!” the woman chuckled. “How’s school going?”

She quirked an eyebrow while arranged a bouquet of roses. “For me, or him?”

“Both of you.”

She paused and sighed before bringing back her usual smile. “Unfortunately, school isn’t in the budget for either of us right now. So, we’re both homeschooling! It’s been a blast, and Dongin seems to be really enjoying it.”

“Oh.” It was coming. “Well, that’s...” Closer. “Lovely, dear.”

There it was. The pity.

What Je Kyo really hated was that pity in people’s eyes when they looked at her. She could see their thoughts sketched across their face’s like a letter straight to her psyche.

“Oh, the poor thing. Ignorant. Small in the whole scheme of things.Twenty-four years old, not even a full education, struggling financially, all alone.”

Alone. That was always the worst.

“Well!” Ms. Park said, clearing her throat purposefully. “I should be getting on my way. I’ll see you here tomorrow, right dear?”

Je Kyo spoke under her breath, “When am I not here?”

“What did you say, deary?”

She let that go-to smile spill smoothly across her features. “I said, of course! It’ll be a pleasure to see you again.”

She seemed pleased with the reply. People were always pleased when they got their way; heard what they wanted to hear. “Same to you!” She waved as she left the shop. “Until tomorrow!”

Je Kyo waited until she was out of sight before letting out a heavy sigh. She dropped one of the roses she was working with and resting her head on the counter in front of her. It felt cool against her cheek, almost making her a little sleepy. It didn’t help that the shop was completely quiet.

“Excuse me.”

Her head shot up. “Sorry!” she automatically spat out. “I was a little spaced out and I didn’t hear the door open. I’m very sorry!” Her eyes finally adjusted on the man in front of her. He wasn’t gray-haired and withered like she had expected. Instead, he was tall, clear-skinned, elegant and absolutely gorgeous.

He had caramel eyes, full lips, and expensive yet casual taste in clothing. Also, random side-note: his hair looked like the most pleasant and touchable thing she’d ever seen. It just looked soft.

All she could think of was how lucky she was to be working on such a day that he decided to come in. Though, at the same time, she was internally slapping herself for eyeing up a customer like he was the final slice of cake at a birthday party.

He chuckled, giving her a small smile. “It’s fine. I was just looking at your bouquet.” He gestured to the roses behind her. “It’s lovely, you know.”

She glanced back at it. It wasn’t even finished yet. “Oh... That’s not done, but thank you, sir.”

He cocked his head to the side. “It looks finished to me.”

She chuckled a little. “You obviously haven’t arranged flowers before.”

“Well, you’re not wrong.” He gave an enchanting grin. “But people have told me I have excellent taste! I’d like to buy your half-finished bouquet if I may.”

Her jaw threatened to drop. “You want... that?”

“I do.” He nodded like it was the greatest idea he’d ever had. “I definitely do. You see, those flowers are just what I need! They’re red.”

She gave him a quizzical look. “You like red, I guess, sir?”

He put a hand on his hip, that strangely innocent smile still playing on his lips. “Oh, come now. You work in a flower shop for a living—you’ve gotta know at least a little about the meaning behind colors.”

She shrugged. “Just the basics; nothing too special.”

“Well then, shall I tell you what red means?”

She glanced around for any other customers. There was no one.

She was alone.

With someone.

“I have time,” she said. “Like, seriously. A lot a time.”

He plucked a rose from the arrangement behind her, almost like a reference. “Red represents all the best things in life.” He inhaled the flower’s sugary sweet scent. “Red is the color of love, passion, desire, heat, longing...” His words were thick with emotion, like a spell.

His eyes opened to look her over slowly. Not in a predatory way, just observing. “It represents lust, sexuality, sensitivity, romance, joy, strength, leadership. It shows off courage, vigor, willpower, rage, anger, danger, malice, wrath, stress, action, radiance, and determination.” His smile tilted into a bit of a smirk. “Now tell me, what could possibly be wrong with a color like that?”

Je Kyo only just then realized that she must’ve been staring. She quickly snapped herself out of it, clearing her throat. “You certainly know a lot about colors, sir.”

“A little, I suppose.”

She leaned forward, gently plucking the flower from his fingers to put in back in its proper place. “I couldn’t help but notice though, there’s a whole lot of bad things that comes with your red too, isn’t there? The rage, the anger, the wrath.”

He caught her by the wrist before she pulled away fully. “But aren’t you supposed to take the bad with the good?” He looked pleased with the flustered look on her face. “That’s why I like red so much,” he said in a sing-songy way, letting her arm go.

She got a hold of herself easily, almost surprising him. “I guess that’s one way to look at it.” She slid the rose back into the arrangement. “So, based on what you said, you need these for a girlfriend or something, right?”

“I’m hoping she’ll be,” he said.

She nodded. “Ah, so it’s a confession. Well, here you go.” She handed the bouquet to him. “On the house. I hope it goes well.”

His eyes widened. “Wait—really?”

“Yup. As I said, it’s not even finished, so I can’t really put a fair price on it. If you just take it, it saves me a lot of time spent thinking and calculating.” She plopped back down into her chair. “So go for it. Go confess to your girl; I’m sure she’ll accept.”

He held the flowers out to her.

“...I said you could take them,” she said.

He grinned at her. “You also said that my girl would accept, but I don’t see you taking the flowers.”

She sat there for a moment, frozen. She was just trying to compute what the hell had just happened, but it wasn’t coming easily. “I’m sorry, what?”

He shook the flowers a little. “You should be taking them,” he whined.

“They’re for me?” She scoffed. “But we’ve only just met!”

He nodded. “That’s right. And I’d like to take you on a date.”

This always happened at the prospect of letting someone new into her life. She’d been betrayed too many times and had too many promises broken not to be cautious. She knew Dongin suffered for it, but she had a hard time controlling it.

She could feel her heart closing itself off, rationalizing all the reason why this was wrong or impossible or just wishful thinking. She didn’t let herself believe in good. She didn’t let herself trust.

That’s why she was alone.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. You’re really sweet, mister, and I really appreciate it, but I just don’t feel comfortable going on dates with complete strangers.”

He stared at her for a moment. A moment became a minute and a minute become a minute too long, but eventually, he just shrugged. “All right,” he said. He tucked the bouquet under his arm. “I’ll be off, then. Thanks for the chat!”

Seeing him start to walk away... That tugged something inside of her, though she didn’t know what. He felt like an opportunity slipping past. A book that she could’ve read, but she didn’t push past the first chapter. A door that she could’ve opened, but she was too scared what she might see.

Before she knew it, she was standing up, pushing her chair back with her legs and calling after him, “Hey, mister!” He turned back briefly, an eyebrow raised. “I’m not okay with going on dates with strangers, but I’d be okay with going out for coffee sometime,” she said, her voice getting quieter as she spoke.

He chuckled at her antics. “Isn’t that a date?”

“Pfft. No. It’s just two people getting together for an activity because they want to get to know more about each other.”

He gave her a sassy look that suited him surprisingly well. “Isn’t that the definition of a date?”

She crossed her arms, matching his level of sass. “Haven’t you ever heard of making friends?”

For a moment, it looked as if he might argue more, but instead, he just smiled again. That simple, yet seemingly completely genuine smile. “All right, then,” he said. He tossed her the flowers, which she just barely caught. “How does Monday sound, after your shift?”

She collected herself after the assault by roses. “Fine,” she said, a little more hurriedly than she might’ve liked. “Sounds fine.”

He chuckled. “All right. Then, see you Monday.”

There were many questions swimming through Je Kyo’s head.

How did he know that she was working Monday? What the heck just happened? What was his name, where would they meet, what was she thinking?

But most of all, she wondered...

How is it possible that there was no pity in his eyes?

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itsclydebitches · 7 years

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Title: Your Liminality

Rating: Teen And Up

Warnings: None

Relationships: Qrow/Ozpin

Series: RWBY Rare Pair Week ( @rwbyrarepairweek ).

Prompt: Together/Separation

Summary: Some say that lonely nights are a time when magic is active. Ozpin finds a strange crow outside his window and, of course, offers him a new home.

Notes: I had no idea rare pair week was a thing! Or that it was going on now! So of course when I found out I needed to try my hand at a little Ozqrow. It’s short, but hopefully enjoyable :)

***

What's your favorite fairy tale?

Truthfully? All of them. Ozpin could no more choose a favorite story than he could a favorite student. Each had helped him to grow over the years, to reflect on past mistakes and look to the future. Like friends they comforted him on his lonely nights—nights much like this one. Whatever storm had decided to blow through Vale was certainly a doozy and Ozpin was perfectly content to leave the wind and the rain outside his window, curling up with a companion in the form of a book. A pillow for his head and pages between his hands. Ozpin thought himself a simple man with simple needs.

Though even he enjoyed his indulgences. It was going on 1:00am when Ozpin stood to refill his mug.

Passing through his office and into the kitchenette, he shouldn't have caught the soft tap-tap-tap sounding from the window. Not above the screech of the storm and his own, constant thoughts. The birds of Vale never flew as high as his tower and Ozpin couldn't recall the last time he'd seen a crow this late at night... none of which actually made the drenched avian disappear. Apparently, this little bird wasn't a particular fan of logic.

He tapped the glass again, insistent, and Ozpin's eyebrows rose into his hair.

"Very well," he murmured and rolled up his sleeve. The window overlooking Beacon's courtyard didn't open, but everything, even glass, was a slave to time's command. It was a simple matter to slow the atoms enough for Ozpin's hand to pass through them and he gripped the crow, gently, to bring him safely in from the cold.

Nestled against his chest Ozpin could now get a better look at his guest. The bird was certainly a disaster—ruffled and bent feathers going every which way, a slight shake in his bones—but he didn't appear injured. Ozpin took a moment to marvel at the trust that had been offered him. He'd heard that crows were marvelously intelligent creatures, but this was far more than he would have expected. Still wary, Ozpin slowly transferred the bird to one hand and unbuttoned his jacket, using the edge to gently dry the top of his head. "Now you're welcome to stay here for tonight," he said, "but you mustn't ever tell anyone what I did to get you in here. Glynda will have my head if she hears that I've been 'abusing' my power in such a manner."

The crow tilted its head up at him and gave, what sounded to Ozpin, like a remarkably amused squawk.

"Yes. Precisely. It's best to stay on her good side. Come, I was just about to make some more cocoa. Would you like some water? Or perhaps something stronger? I'm sorry to say that you look as if you need it."

Ozpin spoke and joked and continued on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. After all, he was the headmaster of the most prestigious of Hunting schools. One got used to the strange occurring on a daily basis. One might even say that the extraordinary became the ordinary, and this was certainly that.

His small kitchen was warm, smelling of baked goods and always dusted with flour. Ozpin deposited his new friend next to the sink, half expecting him to try flying away—but he did not. The crow stood perfectly still as Ozpin finished drying him with a tea-towel and placed a small cup of water before him. For just a second the crow stared at the offering, one foot up on the cup's rim, his gaze piercing and slightly accusatory, as if he really had wanted something stronger. Ozpin chuckled at that expression and the crow finally drank.

"You are an odd one," he murmured. Then Ozpin paused, smiling again. "Ah. What was that expression? Two birds of a feather? Yes, yes that fits us nicely tonight, doesn't it?"

He went about making a drink of his own, the motions almost ritualistically familiar, and as he did Ozpin found himself talking about the book he'd been reading: an old collection of tales that, sadly, weren't taught in schools anymore. It couldn't be helped, not when combat training was so important, but Ozpin was still sad to see them go. Why, just an hour before he'd been lost in a world of familiars—animals that sought out heroes, became guides for quests, or even lead humans astray. When Ozpin cheekily asked the crow if he was here as a dark omen he was rewarded with another squawk, the bird flying up to land on his shoulder. He nestled there against Ozpin's neck, playing with strands of hair in a thoroughly irritating manner. Ozpin didn't have the heart to shoo him away though. "There's also the matter of the Faunus," he said, pouring warm chocolate into his mug, tugging another clump of hair out of the little marauder’s beak. "You can imagine the backlash against stories that depict animals as villains or secondary to humans. Quite right, of course, quite right. Still, they're fascinating tales. Would you like to read some with me?"

Interesting. That look read as disinterest in the extreme, but the crow also didn't seem eager to move from his perch. Smart or no, Ozpin figured that any warm, safe environment was worth putting up with his prattling, so he obliged by moving to his more comfortable couch, creating a nest with his blanket for the crow to settle in. Slowly, lest he get nipped, Ozpin drew his fingers down the length of the bird's back, straightening feathers and tufts as he went. For the first time the crow spread his wings and shook off what remained of the water, letting Ozpin do as he pleased with a patience that, in the light of day, might have seemed suspicious. At night though... well, anything was possible.

It had been a very long time since Ozpin had had reason to read aloud. He did so now, the words first sounding disused in the back of his throat before he found his rhythm again. As he did Ozpin continued his careful ministrations, the crow lazily pressing or curving around his fingers. He'd become quite adept at multitasking over the years and as he read Ozpin thought long and hard on the fact that he might have found himself a pet—no. A companion. He could only imagine the look on Glynda's face come tomorrow morning, or the children's if their headmaster was seen strolling the grounds with a crow perched attentively on this shoulder. Ozpin found the images more amusing than he'd ever let on.

"I'm going to have to pick a name for you, aren’t I?" he asked. "I suppose 'Crow' is too atrociously obvious? You'll have to forgive me, but names were never my strong suit. I vaguely recollect a goldfish as a child who, wouldn't you know, I named Goldie. Yes. I'm sure there's some karmic punishment coming my way for that little decision. Oh?"

Perhaps 'Crow' wasn't such a horrible a name after all because the bird had risen up to peer directly into Ozpin's eyes, head cocked curiously. He pecked once at Ozpin's lips and made a strange rattling sound.

For a moment Ozpin was caught off guard, but then the corners of his eyes crinkled in pleasure. He set the book aside and stood. As he set Crow back on the couch—intent on finding him something comfortable to sleep in because yes, he would indeed be staying—he gave in to indulgences and bent to place a soft kiss on the top of his head. Ozpin experienced the touch of feathers before pulling away, promising to be back in just a moment.

"You'd better. Also, it's spelled with a 'Q,' just so you know."

Ozpin froze, his back to the couch, one hand instinctually tightening on the head of his cane. With the window to his right he could just make out the couch's reflection... and oh dear, it certainly was a night for possibilities. Where his Crow (Qrow?) had once been was now a young man, naked except for the blanket draped haphazardly across his lap. Raven hair and red eyes mixed with tanned skin... and now Ozpin could feel the man's aura. A mixture of anger and humiliation rose up within him because it was only now that he recalled the rare trait of animal transformation—that some transformations could be broken with a kiss.

The old stories had warned him.

And Ozpin might have followed their advice, rejecting temptation, if not for the fact that Qrow stood with book and blanket in hand, coming to stand directly at Ozpin’s back, close enough for his breath to tickle his neck. Qrow leaned his chin on Ozpin's shoulder and it felt no different from a perched bird. Things fell into place as he wrapped arms around Ozpin's waist, bringing the book around so they could both see it. "So," Qrow said. "Which of these weird-ass tales is your favorite?"

Ozpin smiled.

No one had ever asked him that before.

#rwbyrarepairweek #Ozqrow #RWBY #Ozpin/Qrow #lol anyone want weird magic/princess and the frog fics today??#rwbyfic

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undercovermcdfan · 7 years

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Hey I'm new to this and I don't really know how it works so um... ‘a man who can’t die is no tragic hero.’ centered around Vylad? Maybe?

‘a man whocan’t die is no tragic hero.’

title: tea and cake

summary: A conversation over some tea during astormy afternoon. Vylad-centric. MCD pre-season 3.

a/n: So, this is so… loosely based offthe prompt, I’m so sorry??? It was supposed to be something deeper andVylad-centric but I ended up writing him having a conversation with Isabel andthrew in a bit of Vylance because I’m a sucker for that pairing? I hope youlike it—I thought it was rather cute, even if it’s so… loosely based off such agood prompt jfc. I might take another shot at it on another date.

warning(s): fluff, tea, Isabel being a sweetie

Rainfall doesn’t bring melancholy feelings it once did.

As denizens scurried, seeking shelter in the nearby establishmentsor rushing home, he stood there in the street. His cloak, soaked. His hair,flatten against his forehead. The comforting rumble of distant storm thisintense rain was bring only made him want to shut his eyes, listening as hisbreathed out even breaths and lulled into a fond memory which rain only broughtnow.

Irene island went from a peaceful village to a sprawlingcity. It’s impressive, walking down the cobbled streets and not recognizing thebuildings, nor knowing which turn to take even though it’s been a year or sosince he decided to stop by.

He watched as a mother pulled along her inquisitive child,chided him softly when the child attempted to jump into the large puddle formingon the side of the road and adjusted her umbrella.

An older gentleman holding a newspaper over his head,squinting to the sky and grumbling something Vylad couldn’t quite catch beforeheading back inside the tavern.

A young girl who ran a storefront staring at him concernedand mild curiosity from behind the glass window. He spared her a glance and shelooked away quickly, embarrassed for being caught.

Ah, well Ican’t drag my feet any longer. He pulled up his hood, andhurried down the road—he was late enough already.

He wasn’t sure when he indulged Isabel and her requests tosee him whenever she heard he was in town.

Honestly, she shouldn’t have known—Vylad preferred his methodof dropping in and leaving when he’s finish reporting of whatever informationhe managed to gather. But by chance, the other day, she caught him— “Two years and you haven’t change one bit,”she said in giggly tone—and managed to rope him into staying for another day,to visit her.

Maybe it’s nostalgia; he couldn’t quite say they were friendsbut Isabel had a charm that’s hard to place and a presence which reminded himof a caring mother mixed with enthusiasm of a child—if she wasn’t hanging offthe arms of Laurance or Katelyn, tending to the younger kids that took upresidence on the island, or buzzing like the more social creature that she was,she’d always hunt him down to ask some questions (usually to satisfied hercuriosity about his ‘mysterious’ nature). She rarely caught him, true, butafter a while, she grew on him like Laurance told him she would.

And after a while, sometimes he’d seek her out. Strange howmissing the same person could make an unlikely pair—and they were the mostunlikely.

He, quiet and never much to say beyond being an ear she couldtalk to tirelessly.

She, understanding way of speaking and made warm tea with thesweet cakes whenever he visited.

The place she called home was small and humble, sandwichedbetween two other homes; on the upper left windowsill, he could spot a smallgarden and a welcome mat was on the top of the steps that led up. It said ‘welcome’,in blocky letters and a simple picture of a kitten pawing at the ‘e’ inwelcome.

She opened the door on the third round of knocking, looking alittle disheveled and flustered but smiling brightly when she saw him.

“I’m so sorry,” she ushered him in, smoothing down her hair—it’sshorter now, something he didn’t note until now; she frowned, giving him a onceover, “You’re soaked! Don’t tell me you walked here without an umbrella, Vylad.”

He shrugged off his cloak, and she immediately took it,propping it on a coat rack and a grimace at the water droplets dripped onto thefloor. “It started raining as I was walking.”

“Still not a reason to just… never mind,” she sighed, holdingup a hand, “Wait here. I’ll give you something to dry off.”

And she disappeared back up the stairs.

There was evidence she didn’t live alone. The open closet hadmore coats than necessary for just one person, and the number of shoes it held—Isabelalways been on the humbler side of living and even if she grew a taste ofshopping, he was doubtful she’d owned thatmany.

When she returned, throwing the towel on his head andinstructing him to take off his shoes— “I spent all day mopping. I’m notletting you track mud in here.”, she hurried away again, into the kitchen sheassumed.

There wasn’t much of a living room area, so of course hefollowed her, undoing his bun as he started to dry it off his hair.

He zoned out slightly as she started to chatter; taking upseat on one of the two chairs in the kitchen, he mused at the cutesydecorations adorning the table, walls, around the small kitchen.

“—anyway, it was lucky I decided to make a run to the bakerythis morning rather than later; the weather been so gloom and doom the pastcouple of days,” she said, placing tea in front of him before placing the milkand sugar cube; of course, he went straight for the sugar cube, adding two tohis drink as he gave quiet thanks. “Hmm.”

He paused, glancing up and Isabel waved her hand beforeletting out a small laugh. “Oh nothing. I was remembering something,” shesmiled, as she turned away to fetch her own cup and the cakes she alreadyprepared on a tray, “Remember three years ago, when the island had only Aphmau,Travis—you know. Before the island was theisland. And there was that nasty storm.”

His brow raised, absentmindedly rubbing his hair. “I do.”

“And remember how we both got caught in it? The lectureLaurance gave us…” the soft smile faded for just a moment before it returnedbrightly, she slid the cake and fork towards him, taking a seat, “I never sawyou look so embarrassed until that day, honestly. I didn’t know if you could feel embarrassed? Or look so uncool.” Henarrowed his eyes and frowned. But she shrugged off his gaze, rather, she wasgrinning now at his expression. “He even made you sit down and dry off your hairafter you sneak off.”

Normally, the reminder of… him would leave his heart aching.But never with Isabel, she never let either dwell on the bitterness of the facthe was gone.

“He was treating me like a child.” He took a bite of cake.

“In his defense, it’s a little childish to run off.”

He squints at her, pointing his fork with an accusatory point.She shrugged, continuing the story, “You looked like an angry cat. And Laurancekept talking and talking, how we both were asking for a cold.”

“You did catch a cold.”

“Huh, I did, didn’t I?” she chuckled, before softly sighing, “…youknow. Sometimes I miss it. Miss Laurance being around. When he left, everybodyended up going their separate ways… especially you.” He took a sip of her histea, avoiding with her searching eyes as she looked at him. “Do you ever wonderwhat he’s up to?”

…Maybe he should take back the statement of the ache nevercoming.

“Every day.” He whispered, after a pause.

She hummed, propping up her cheek with her palm, “Not everyday for me… but often enough. Same with you. I wonder about you a lot. Aph toldme you been busy in Tu’la and… it’s a little worrying, you know?”

He’s quiet, taking another bite of his cake.

“I know both you and Laurance can handle yourselves… but aweak-willed maiden like me can only worry about her friends when they’re offdoing whatever dangerous things they do. I hate how much of a pessimist I’vebecome.”

“You’re not weak-willed.”

“Ah,” her eyes still read sadness but a fond smile appearedagain, “I’m ‘soft hearted’ as you all put it.”

He shook his head. “Isabel. You don’t want to be like me. OrLaurance—he wasn’t…”

“Happy. I know,” she sighed, stirring her tea as she shut hereyes, “Something to do with that shadow knight business, right? He always triedbut… anybody could see he was struggling at times.” Vylad swallowed thickly—andthe tea didn’t help. Isabel continued, “You struggle with it to. At leastLaurance had you… you’re all alone, and always away, sometimes I wonder what ifthe next time I hear about you i-is… you know. It’s your job and you’re servingfor heroic reasons but… it’s… lonely, isn’t it? I know you a-are.”

Part of him froze, instinctively, when he saw a tear roll downher cheek—like always did when he saw her cry. He never was the type to comfortbut pity filled his heart whenever he saw the young woman cry.

“Isabel.” She sniffed, quickly wiping away the tears butbefore she could have uttered an apology, he cut her off, giving a tentativesmile, “I appreciate your concern. What I do… isn’t heroic like you say, I mustconfess.” He paused, collecting his words as he chewed on a piece of cakethoughtfully—Isabel got up for a moment to fetch the kettle and pour them bothanother cup. “I am lonely. Sometimes I think I took up the task to punishmyself.”

“Punish?”

He nodded, “It’s complicated… but yes. For somebody likemyself, I don’t really deserve your tears. I only been selfish.”

The silence was… uncomfortable. He closed his eyes. He couldstill hear the rumbles of thunder and the house slightly shook from the strongwinds the storm was bringing.

But her tone shifted when she spoke up, breaking the silence.“…It isn’t a crime to feel what you feel. I know you aren’t… talkative aboutthis, but it’s okay to feel lonely and not feel at home here on this island.Also,” she smiled, “You are a hero. You do heroic stuff. And selfish or not, I’llstill cry over a dear friend.”

“...friend.”

“Yes,” she giggled, knocking on the table, “No matter whatyou say, we are friends! End of discussion.”

Vylad sighed. I supposethere’s no point to argue. He then reached for his cake, abandoning thepolite eating and held it, shoveling the rest into his mouth.

Isabel laughed at that, throwing her head back. “I knew youwere holding back!” she got up, smiling, “Let me get you another piece—I gottenextra for you and the fact Amber has bit of a sweet tooth.”

He perked up. “Amber?”

Isabel smiled, brightening up again, “Oh. Sit tight—shoot,you missed a lot since you been gone?”

He returned her smile, small but it was still there. As shechanged the subject—now talking about this ‘Amber’ girl affectionately--, hecouldn’t help but think of her words: Youare a hero.

It was a lie. Because he was only selfish, and a person whocheats death, existing by the whims of something so unholy… he couldn’t ever bea hero.

But then again, a small voice whispered: You don’t have to be. You could do your best and just be good.

That voice suspiciously sound like one that made his heartflutter. He waved it all away.

Taking a sip from his tea, he said, “You love her.”

“Well,” Isabelblushed, her smile wide, “I mean what gave it away?”

#aphmau #minecraft diaries #vylad ro'meave #isabel mcd #i'm sorry this was a really good angst prompt #and I went sweet & casual?#i fucked it up QuQ #message me back if you want me to write an angst fic-- i promise i'll do it #also this isn't a ship fic y'all #i donut ship vylad with any girls #sorry but not sorry lmao #my writing #Anonymous

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opalmothnightingale · 6 years

Photo

6- 15- 18 - Those are wild turkeys... Cute. Turkeys in the straw. Is that a song? Lol Turkeys, mocked as being silly creatures,... I guess it fits for the theme of wanting a like minded friend, well enough then, maybe... I feel both silly as well as feeling too serious and goofy and absurd humor and stumbling, awkward and boring,... Ah well,... Oh well. Haha Might as well laugh at myself even if no one else does because they’re too busy judging, advising, or treating me like I’m someone to avoid,... or ignore,... Who gives a?

Not me,...

Much. When I can make myself completely solitary, at least, then I can stop caring,... And even if I care a little bit, wish it was different, I wish they were different... hahaha I don’t want to be different,... Only if they would come around to liking me then I would care, because

... Because I am just, quite simply plain bored with most people and they way they interact and expect me to be, as I’ve been through that

... that whole explanation... In other posts,... And, either bored and/or really angry at the way they can treat me, sometimes,... Callous, stupid, intrusive, abusive,... Never... I will be happier alone, totally alone, any day of the year, all day every day,... I learned well... I can handle trivial interactions with random strangers,... But it has to stay very shallow and trivial

... or else it gets into the category of them abusing and abandoning me for not acting like they like,... Not falling in line with their pratter that I can’t

... I cannot really at all, try though I have struggled so hard, can’t even function to relate to,... And sorry if that makes me callous, you truly might as well then call the cat callous for not barking,...

Prayer to spirit,... asking the crisis of the moment I don’t know how to relieve, so it will probably fade, but I offer to spirit ... because doing that seems to yield good insights over time,... Even if not immediately seen or ever clearly consciously seen, necessarily,... Like I mentioned before,...

But, spirit, to ask and let go unless clear answers come to me,... I ask,... This little crisis is a crisis but not really, more of a hunger and wish that feels so pressing to me,... Will likely fade again like hunger can, .... hunger merely for love, most of all, and human support and human interaction, about common interests, uncommonly in common,... my weird interests,...

Who is a good match for me, and how would I even know? How would I even know, ever know, at all,... When I have the sneaking suspicion,... that they and I would silently watch each other from hidden places, and never give a clue that we’re really hardly thinking of each other in any clear identifiable way,... Much less that we actually are interested in each other as human beings and individuals,... Much less that we’re interested in each other as special, preferred, the object of our hopes and fond imagining of friends, something that lasts, not just objects of desires and fading like that or settling into disharmony and not being able to handle the reality of each other,... However the reality of each other? Well certainly we can’t promise anything whatsoever, till we have seen whether the idea and the reality are close enough or whether the reality is something we want, are compatible with,... And then that too has to be seen over time, and could change with time that changes people so there are no promises,... And all the while, then,... The perfect one for me would likewise feel trapped with all these who knows, what ifs, and how sad,...

what a sad story, it could be, or just a burden,... Or whatever,... rejection, incompatibility, insanity, stalking, clinging, sucking the life out of you in an attempt to rope you into this codependent haze of how badly I need you just to get by, a nuisance, never leaving one alone, or just instead, leading on, before crushing with rejection, attack, or abandonment,... And feeling so alone as I do, they might feel just as lone, anyway, either in real life or internal life which is the real life for me, even if outwardly I interact but if I feel alone inside, then I’m really more alone than not,... And so,... Feeling so alone, rejected, abandoned, vulnerable, exhausted, with the world, with people, they might, like me, hesitate for so very long that nothing ever happens, no hint is ever given,... And what if two soulmates are prevented from ever merging, ever meeting, all because of these things? Or maybe,...

Maybe it would not happen quite like that,... They might not be quite just like me in terms of how withdrawn and alone, rejected, abandoned and avoidant of people they feel,... Perhaps some other thing would make them avoid talking or reaching out to me,... Perhaps some history of foolish behavior would make me avoid them, because they did something stupid to me, and now I’m terrified of them being even more stupid and hateful and I can’t risk that damage... I’m already so far beyond social that even vicarious observation of social situations can damage me, but real in person interactions that touch my emotions, my character, putting me down, rejecting, attacking, and abandoning,... That is much more painful...

Then how though will we ever meet? Safely, sensibly, slow enough but not too hesitant, the open book of a torrential river of emotions and feelings and ideas and impulses and so on, when it comes to love, deeper connection,... I have no use for most of the shallow trivial small talk most seem to spend so long wading through before ever getting deeper,... It drives me insane to have to deal with that,... I just dive in the deep end, and I wonder who is the one who can not feel intimidated by that, but also not try to get too close just because we dove in the deep end, not try to possess me, not try to go too fast in any kind of inappropriate ways, not try to dump on me or cling to me for dear life and make me some kind of life support for their crises,

... when I’m barely able to manage to keep my own problems afloat and I can’t be taking random strays in and supporting them at random, only ever if they have earned my heart and soul and mind, compatibility,

... and then I might be able to ration out some of my attention if I even find the energy and motivation and wellness to do so on top of all my own needs and my own life,...

Where is the person who can manage to understand all this and respect it completely yet not be intimidated, not be put off, but really like the things others find too deep, strange, taboo, too personal, emotional, talking a lot, too spiritual, etc... In essence, too me, because those things are all who I am and unless I cloister myself apart from them, I have to give them that side of myself, because that is my uncontrollable impulse to express myself in those ways and if I can’t do that to someone else, ... then I do that on my own, writing, praying, communing, seeking guidance and answers, diving into mysteries,...

Only according to what pulls my interests at the moment, even then,... I am very much individual in all these things,... And only a little time is left over for spending with friends, lovers, and then much of my time is actually left over to spend with my child, but that is different, because we interact at a child level, and creative, imaginative, mindful, meditative, usually,...

How can I ever even meet and get to know a deep lasting friend and or lover on a deeper level then? I want to know, spirit, so will you tell me where and how I might find such? Why do I ask? I ask because I might as well be prepared, because it’s one of the greatest human needs,... To simply really lastingly deeply feel love for one’s true full self,... To feel adoration, nurturing of one’s delicate needy self (if one is delicate and needy that is,... As I still am it seems in many ways)... to feel, also, connection and I’m so bereft of this and if I ever have to be alone without my husband, then what? It makes more sense to have good friends now, and be ready to try to find lovers too, one day,... it makes sense to me, in case I ever need it,...

I don’t want to atrophy in misery and loneliness... Is it too much to ask to see how this need can be met for my wellbeing but my daughter’s too, because if I ever was to try to raise her alone, I wonder how I could feel whole and not so alone and superfluous in the human world or the world of beings, even if

... even though, maybe it could become,... So it might work

... But, then I wonder, with a real human life, physical, material self, needs and limits and the brick wall of problems that I need help with right now,...

Though,... still I think,... that maybe someday it may fully lastingly change,...

and then, could it be enough,... Then if it was spirit who somehow met the needs, and filled needs that were missing from my life in the world of humans who can’t approach and run away from me, and or reject or abandon, attack me, and make me feel like some abused, starved creature who is terrified of other humans and the carelessness they always show me at a deeper level, never ever ever able to meet me at a deeper level

... and I don’t even need the shallow level of real in person interaction, so I avoid, like a wild animal, never approaching human society or communities at all except to observe, read things, never actually talk,...

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