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dahlia-coccinea · 3 years

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Every once in a while I like to see how websites like SparkNotes interpret different stories, normally its not terrible though is understandably simplistic. What makes it interesting though is it generally synthesizes the most common interpretations. This one about Isabella and Catherine is one I’ve heard a number of times before - and unsurprisingly I believe the truth is not this simple.

First of all this falls into a common trap - critics and adaptations often go a little too hard on the idea, “Wuthering Heights = wildness, freedom, passion” and “Thrushcross Garage = refinement, society, wealth.” Not that this idea is untrue - there is poetic symbolism and parallels throughout the book, but it should also be remembered we are still talking about the two nicest houses in the area and Catherine doesn’t grow up in a hovel. The 2011 adaptation is a good example of taking this idea too far. While watching it I just kept asking myself: why are the Earnshaws so dirty? The root problem is very similar to the pitfall of many metaphysical interpretations - they can be great but they need to allow for nuance, or they end up glossing over many of the complexities of the novel.

Anyway, I’ve seen comments like this many times before that contrast Isabella and Catherine. In my opinion it almost always ends in unfairly classifying Isabella as weak, stupid, and the picture of lady, while Catherine is a wild, uncouth hoyden - often rendering them into two dimensional characters. I think this simplistic image of them is in part created by Nelly Dean’s descriptions where see again her bias against Catherine, her possibly stronger alliance with the Lintons, and I believe some classism.

It’s noteworthy how early in the story while Heathcliff tells Nelly of how he and Catherine spied on Isabella and Edgar to see if they lived in a similar state of abuse and neglect, she says, “They are good children, no doubt, and don’t deserve the treatment you receive, for your bad conduct.”

Of course Heathcliff scoffs at this, because what they had witnessed is this:

“Isabella—I believe she is eleven, a year younger than Cathy—lay screaming at the farther end of the room, shrieking as if witches were running red-hot needles into her. Edgar stood on the hearth weeping silently, and in the middle of the table sat a little dog, shaking its paw and yelping; which, from their mutual accusations, we understood they had nearly pulled in two between them.”

When we look at this and other scenes her behavior doesn’t scream “refinement” or show any “weakness.” Though it is true, both her and Catherine are very different, Isabella is also high spirited, wild, sometimes unkind, and shows great strength at many points. Just considering the single fact that she runs away with Heathcliff proves really she has all of these traits.

Isabella is certainly naive but reducing her to being an overly refined, silly, and weak girl is an unfair assessment. They must have forgotten Isabella scratching Catherine and calling her a “dog in the manger” (Chapter 10), her tantrum over being cast from Heathcliff’s company and mini hunger strike, or later telling Heathcliff to go stretch himself over Catherine’s grave and “die like a faithful dog” (Chapter 17). You can’t also discuss her character without pointing out how she literally has a knife thrown at her which hits her neck, and she still runs four miles home in the dark. Even though Heathcliff obviously terrifies her she insists on still speaking her mind to him, which is also an impressive testament to her strength. Nelly’s description of her “keen temper” is certainly accurate, although besides a few short words like that, most of the more disagreeable aspects of her behavior receive little negative inflection from Nelly, and certainly there is no long lasting ill affect on her opinion of Isabella. Notably, negative aspects of Catherine’s are never overlooked or go unremarked upon by Nelly.

Honestly, I think the occurrences of her “bad” behavior are equivalent to Catherine’s - but her’s is coated in an exterior of fine clothing and perceived gentle breeding. Nelly describes her as, “a charming young lady of eighteen; infantile in manners, though possessed of keen wit, keen feelings, and a keen temper, too, if irritated.” I think for many readers that is our lasting impression of her.

As I said earlier this I believe is in part because Nelly prefers the peace and comforts of the Garage and Linton family. At the very start of the book when she’s speaking to Lockwood and talking about the Earnshaw family he asks if they’re an old family and she says, “Very old, sir; and Hareton is the last of them, as our Miss Cathy is of us—I mean, of the Lintons.” I don’t think anyone could blame her for her preference. Besides her fond memories of Mr. Earnshaw and during the short period of time she cares for Hareton, it doesn’t seem she gets on well with anyone at the Heights. Can’t imagine Joseph would be anyone’s idea of a good coworker, or Hindley a good master. Either way, by the end of the book her feelings toward the house are clear, “I don’t like being left by myself in this grim house: I cannot help it; I shall be glad when they leave it and shift to the Grange.” I believe that is another important detail to remember - by the time Nelly is telling this story the main drama is in the past - and it would make sense this would only increase her negative views of Catherine, Heathcliff, and many of the other characters. How could that whole wretched situation not taint someone’s memories?

#wuthering heights #isabella linton #catherine earnshaw #nelly dean #analysis #emily brontë #tw violence #tw animal harm #thoughts

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thiswaycomessomethingwicked · 4 years

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Downey and Vetinari for: Starlings in Winter: I want to think again of dangerous and noble things :'D

Ah! Thank you! Here we go.

For what it’s worth, takes place within Thus, Always timeline. But you know, there’s no need to be familiar with it at all. Very much a standalone.

(Mary Oliver Prompt Ask)

(this is also up on AO3)

* * *

‘It’s terribly dull,’ Downey declares. He sits then he’s up then he’s sitting again then he’s walking around the room in circles then he’s standing by the hearth perfectly still then he’s looking out a window then he’s petting Mr. Fusspot and Alsace - and so on.

‘Please stop,’ Vetinari asks. ‘You’re making the dogs nervous.’

The dogs are not nervous.

But Downey does stop. He sits, drinks a small glass of sherry then pours himself another. He is in a state of mild undress - shirtsleeves rolled up, neck-cloth loose, hair disheveled.

Grief, as Vetinari understands, has an emptying effect. It pours everything out then keeps pouring. You’re dousing the fire of life with water from an empty vessel.

Sometimes, it leaves you gasping. Other times, it leaves you as a pendulum swinging between tender and numb, full and empty of thoughts and self.

Vetinari isn’t entirely sure how to best approach this situation. He wishes Madam were present to advise. She’s walked enough people through death to have insight into what is needed and what isn’t.

What he does know: Provide no advice.

(Downey said this on arrival: I don’t want you to fix things. No fixing things. Vetinari replied: I don’t fix things, Downey. And Downey said: You proffer advice because you find it easier to try and fix than to let things mend themselves while you watch and do nothing. Vetinari thought this unfair, Downey pointed at him: Not the time.)

Listen. Try and offer comfort. But words are awkward and he doesn’t know how to put them in the right order. Especially in this case for the usual phrases do not apply. He is not sorry for Downey’s loss. He doesn’t think Downey is very sorry either.

‘I didn’t think the old man would actually die. I assumed he wouldn’t find the afterlife up to his standards. Gods know, nothing was ever up to his standards.’

‘I suspect he didn’t have a choice in the matter.’

Downey’s humourless smile. ‘It is surprising, what my father viewed as within his purview. I believe he thought he had a say in his own death.’

Vetinari repeats what he has said already, ‘I believe it is expected, in these circumstances, to not be fine.’

But Downey is fine. Downey has informed Vetinari of this already. Downey is a bottle of wine and two sherries fine. He is pouring water from an empty cup fine. He is pack of cigarettes from a corner news stand fine. He is making jokes about the dead fine.

Downey has generally been a predictable person. Until he isn’t. But those occasions are rare, spontaneous, and usually comprehensible in hind-sight. Vetinari appreciates that Downey is regular in his habits. He reacts as one would expect. He is stalwart and, usually, simple in his wants and needs.

And, he’s seen Downey grieve in the past. He knows Downey visits Ludo twice a year to leave a new stone on grave top. Give everything a little tidy. Talk to him. Provide updates on guild gossip and pass on Vetinari’s general well-wishes to the memory of Ludo.

(‘Downey, I’m not sure I have anything to say to Ludo. He is dead.’ ‘I’ll tell him you send your love and say hello, shall I?’ ‘If that will best please you.’)

Ludo has no ghost. He doesn’t haunt Downey. Downey, in his classically stubborn and perverse fashion, haunts Ludo.

Vetinari watches Downey pour himself another glass of sherry, considers his plans for the evening then holds out his for a top-up.

‘It’s on Wednesday though I’ve yet to decide if I’m to attend.’

‘The funeral?’ Vetinari asks.

‘Yes. I know it’s two days after he died and so not strictly to form. That would annoy my father which is a fact I take some small pleasure in.’

‘And who is sitting with him until then?’

‘My mother and Magda. I believe a few family friends have offered. The coffin arrived today. My father is one for tradition so it’s unbelievably plain.’

Vetinari watches Downey who alternates between sitting back and leaning forward, resting elbows on knees. Downey continues, ‘Magda says our mother intends to do the full seven days of mourning though it’s rather old fashioned. I informed her that four is common. Indeed, three days is not unheard of.’

‘Will you sit with her for any of it?’ Vetinari suspects he will, if only because it is the proper thing to do. He notes the grimace at the suggestion.

‘For the first day or two, perhaps. I’m still working, for Guild matters do not rest and I’m certain the one upstairs understands. Though, I have received a good many rude looks from my mother’s friends when they discovered this. That said, quite a few of them didn’t know I existed until he died. Or, rather, that Lord Downey and Amos Downey were related.’

Vetinari hates that Downey does this. Drops these lead-brick statements then carries on as if they mean nothing. Oh yes, my father has spent the last thirty years telling everyone he has no son, or his son is dead, or some iteration of the above. That is entirely normal and hardly worth a comment.

Deciding it needs to be said, Vetinari puts this out into the night air: ‘It may not be my place to comment, but I don’t think your father is necessarily worth the effort of a full mourning period, let alone rending of clothes, thrice-daily prayers, forgoing the purchase of new clothes and so on.’

Downey smiles, a full and real one. Face softens, there is something like affection on it. ‘It’s not that simple.’

‘I fail to how.’

‘I appreciate the sentiment though. You and Ludo may unite in your everlasting dislike of him.’

Vetinari owns that perhaps he is being unkind. ‘I have not had the experience of being disowned at twenty-one and then my existence denied by my parents for the next thirty years.’

‘He tried his best,’ Downey shrugs. ‘He wasn’t made of the stuff for fatherhood.’

Vetinari stares at him. Downey stares back. Vetinari wonders how, exactly, he can say this in a way that Downey will hear and understand. Indeed, how does one tell their - he falters on the word, bypasses the descriptor - that their grief over a person, no matter how deep or shallow, complex or simple, is not deserved? That the person is not worthy of the effort?

The fire makes fire noises, crackles and hums, a log breaks so a few sparks skitter out onto stone and fade into charred remains of tree.

But, perhaps Downey is right, and it isn’t that simple. He has relatively little lived experience in this department to base his analysis on.

As Downey is making thorough work of the sherry, and acquiring the blur-eyed expression he wears when drunk, Vetinari decides to forgo that particular conversation.

‘Mostly, it’s boring,’ Downey says suddenly. Without prompting he fills up Vetinari’s glass. ‘I am going to be a bad influence tonight.’

Vetinari looks at the glass and thinks about tomorrow’s council meeting which, currently, is scheduled for half-nine in the morning. He assumes Downey will develop a sudden and convenient cold between now and then.

‘Pray tell, what is boring?’

A gesture that is meant to convey: all that. ‘Grief. It’s terribly dull. Such a pedestrian emotion, when all is said and done.’

‘Did you just describe grief as pedestrian?’ Vetinari adds that sentence to his growing collection of Moments of Surprise with William A. Downey, Assassin.

‘Yes,’ Downey points at him. ‘It t’is. There was a poem one of my mistakes sent to me years ago.’ He taps his lip then sits back and takes a few sips of sherry. ‘It was about birds. The poem. Starlings. Have you seen a starling up close? They’re remarkably beautiful birds. Iridescent plumage, glossy, glamorous,’ he waves on and on.

‘I see.’ Vetinari says, not seeing. He mimics Downey in making short work of the sherry.

‘The poem, the line, something something I am now thinking of grief, and of getting past it; something something - many variations of green and purple words - then, I want to think again of dangerous and noble things. See, that is part of why it’s rather uninteresting. Grief makes it so you cannot ponder dangerous and noble things. Which, coincidentally, are golden colours which are my favourite colours.’

Vetinari blinks through this. One day, he makes a mental note, he will ask about colours.

‘If it gives you any comfort,’ Vetinari says. ‘You are, technically speaking, a dangerous and noble thing.’

Downey smiles. ‘I am, that is correct. Thank you.’ Abruptly, he becomes somber. Face falling into itself, part shadowed, part illuminated in dancing firelight.

Vetinari thinks that either they should finish the sherry or Downey should be distracted or both. He decides it should be both and, leaning forward, plucks up the decanter from where it rests by Downey’s feet. He pours himself a glass then Downey. There is, perhaps, one left. The contents are swirled, catching in firelight.

‘You know,’ Downey says, slouching down in his chair, legs extended out towards fire and crossed at the ankles. ‘I am beginning to suspect that I’m not fine.’

Eyebrows lift, only now? He’s only now suspecting this? Gods preserve this man from himself. Changing his plans, Vetinari sets his sherry aside, leans forward and takes Downey’s glass and sets it on the small table between chairs. Taking cane Vetinari leverages himself up, leg complaining at the movement, the sitting all day, the lack of stretching.

‘Come,’ Vetinari says. Downey looks up at him with his very dark eyes that are pools of night. ‘I think it’s long past time to retire for the evening.’

Downey gives a sloppy grin, ‘I’m terribly drunk.’

‘I am aware.’

‘Absolutely in the cups, old boy.’

‘You have graduated to referring to me as old boy, consider me well appraised of your lack of sobriety.’

Downey pulls his legs in and pushes himself upward. He rubs his eyes, murmurs that perhaps he didn’t need that much sherry. Vetinari shrugs, reasoning aloud that there are times when such things are necessary. Downey readily agrees. Oh yes, absolutely. Sometimes this is precisely what is needed.

Ducking into a passage connecting office to bedroom Vetinari leads the way as Downey makes a gentle weaving pattern behind him then further weaving as he partially undresses and face-plants onto the bed. Vetinari waits for Mr. Fusspot and Alsace to follow them in then slides the wall panel closed.

Seating himself at the edge of the bed Vetinari pries off boots then trousers. Massages leg, leans forward to stretch muscles, ponders the benefits of moving the council meeting to the early afternoon considering he did his own share of damage to the office sherry supply.

Something muffled from Downey. Vetinari partially twists to see him, ‘You will have to repeat that.’

Downey rolls over, winces, ‘I said that I’m glad you’re here.’

Vetinari presses lips into thin line. This relationship of theirs, if one may call it that, is a delicate balancing act. Vetinari has plans for how it is to play out and this sort of confession isn’t necessarily part of said plans.

Downey, being Downey, of course, appears to be flinging himself head first off the cliff without much thought.

‘I am glad I could be of help.’

‘Nonono,’ hand flapping before it lands on the bed with soft thump. ‘I am glad you’re here in general. You’re inconvenient sixty-seven percent of the time and your face is stupid–’

‘A fact you spent much of our youth informing me about.’

‘I stand by it. It is stupid and that is why I should kiss it right now except I don’t think sitting up is happening anytime soon. All of this is to say, you are a good thing.’

‘Dangerous and noble?’ Vetinari ventures with half-smile.

‘Yes,’ Downey nods sagely. ‘Very dangerous, terribly noble. I like thinking about dangerous and noble things–’

‘I hear they are your favourite colour.’

‘Indeed, they are. So I like thinking about you. Now, excuse me, I am going to pass out and will haul my desiccated carcass out of your rooms in four hours from now.’

Vetinari watches as Downey does as he says, rolling onto side and falling asleep in minutes. The palace is quiet. A warm August night and the sky is velvet with dim stars, obscured by clouds and smoke of city life. Vetinari finishes changing for bed, budges Downey over to make room, and slides beneath covers. He listens to the dogs snuffling in their sleep, the slow, steady breathing of Downey, the nighttime noises of city as they float up.

He decides he doesn’t mind if Downey thinks of him in terms of words he associates with the colour gold and incandescent birds. Despite innate desire to keep everything contained and controlled and cautious, there is a part of him that is immeasurably pleased to be considered something worth thinking about. To be considered someone’s favourite colour.

#lord downey #writing #vetinari #discworld #fanfic #wow that got very sentimental and soppy

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suggestionsofthecaribbean · 5 years

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H34v3nlie Måll: Elizabeth & James

Elizabeth and James wake up the next morning. Their plans for the day are simple enough: see to his cracked tooth and evacuate the mall. That couldn’t possibly go wrong, could it?

For the second morning in a row, Elizabeth woke with a kiss.

Yesterday, however, all had been well; yesterday night had been a different story. Stormy, one might have said. In spite of how they had made up, she had still gone to sleep unconvinced of their future together.

“What’s that for,” Elizabeth murmured, careful not to breathe on him. The lights were on; morning it was again. Elizabeth checked her phone and gently swore. It was later than she wanted to be up.

“It's something I never grow tired of. Let me indulge myself,” James said, his voice rougher and even lower than usual from sleep.

Elizabeth couldn’t say she minded. And let him not tire of it, she hoped. And if he proved false today, at least she would have memories.

“I would have thought last night’s activities put you in a sullen mood,” she teased.

“Mm. Well. I hope you consider me properly chastened…”

“You did serve me rather well.”

“And frequently, as I recall.”

Elizabeth found herself laughing self-consciously. There was a throaty quality to her voice at this hour. She was not fully awake - not awake enough for this, although she had first mentioned it.

“Well, you seem recovered enough,” said Elizabeth, forcing herself to sit.

“Your kisses are a very capable curative,” said James, who had resolutely stayed on his back.

Seeing James did not plan to get up, Elizabeth moved to lie on him, tucking her head on his chest and sinking against him.

“Bad breath and all?”

“No one is otherwise first thing in the morning,” he laughed.

“I should think that would damage my healing powers somewhat.” Her throat felt dry.

“I'm not going to quibble with you about morning breath,” he said gently, as he tilted his head to look down at her. “Suffice it to say it does not.”

“You’re soft in the mornings,” she noted mildly.

“Hm?”

“Sweet, I should say.”

“I'm feeling somewhat improved,” he said with a small shrug. “My mouth is still a pain, but that's only a matter of time.”

“Remember, I want it if you lose it-”

“I know,” James groaned, though not particularly vehemently. “I can't for the life of me understand why, but I think you know how I enjoy spoiling you.”

She touched her throat absent-mindedly. “I want to wear it-”

“I cannot help but feel I should not be as touched as I am.”

Elizabeth breezed her fingertips along his chest, up and down. James closed his eyes, with a surprised smile.

“Good morning, love.”

“Do you feel touched?” she quizzed him.

“Elizabeth-”

He began to laugh, covering his mouth with one hand. Satisfied, Elizabeth settled down again, face all but buried.

James slid his fingers into her hair and ruffled lightly, without judgment.

“Would that we did not have to get up. I would be content to spend all day in here.”

“We should be leaving today,” she reminded him. “We should have gotten up early for that. Set an example.”

“I know,” he said. “More’s the pity.”

“I thought you wanted to leave.”

“This place? Absolutely,” he said with a scoff. “This bed, on the other hand-”

“We’ve got a bed on the Pearl,” she reminded him. “And on the Empress…”

“I know,” he repeated. “But I’m afraid I’m rather absorbed by the moment…”

He smiled tiredly down at her as he lifted her hair and let it spill through his fingers, split ends be damned.

“The bed on the Empress,” Elizabeth whispered confidentially. “Really it’s rather spectacular. For horrible reasons, one can assume. But, regardless. I last lay in it a heartsick and frustrated virgin, and next I will lie in it with you.”

“Closer than a bride,” he said, with a carefully contained smile to spare her the sight of the inside of his mouth- though, realizing how she might take that reluctance, he added, “and twice as eager.”

She remembered how eager a bride she was, and for someone else, but it was thankfully early enough that her facial expressions lagged behind her feelings, and this time she pinched any grimaces away before they could bloom on her face.

“A large bed is a terrible place to be lonely,” she said vaguely, rubbing grit out of her eyes. “My face feels swollen.”

“It is,” he agreed, in a quiet voice, as his hand descended to the back of her neck through her hair and rubbed a little more pensively. “I look forward to ending that for you.”

She thought about apologizing, telling him she knew it wasn’t the ship he’d hoped for them to end up on. But there was a bigger hurt there than her, she knew, and she didn’t know how to heal it. It seemed unfair that she couldn’t alone, but that was the way things were.

“I’ll miss the Pearl, though, I admit. And we’ll all miss out, trying to see which of her captains wins…”

“I've no such attachment to it,” he said bluntly. “I prefer to think of a less furtive future with you.”

“I’ll miss her crew,” she retorted, and sighed. “I hope my boys will keep up their lessons. I haven’t had much time with them.”

Pintel and Ragetti, the only surviving members of the Pearl’s original crew, had been learning how to read from her. They had a slate and a piece of chalk, limited good humors and Barbossa’s permission as their only tools of learning, but they were surprisingly eager to do it. With growing guilt at the privilege of an education she had taken entirely for granted, Elizabeth did not want to abandon them, but knew they would not be allowed to depart with her if she’d even wanted them to.

“Your boys,” James repeated in amusement.

“You know, they’re the ones who took me on board the Pearl,” she said lightly, “the first time.”

“I suppose that must engender a certain affection,” James said dryly.

“I honestly can’t believe Jack let them join his crew,” she said, in real incredulity. “No one’s told me yet how that happened. Just hopped on with you in Tortuga and there they were and no one’s said a word of it since.”

“The operative words in that sentence being with me. I don't think he was after much in the way of quality.”

“Yes, but they mutinied against him-”

“And I nearly hanged him- twice, I might add, and now he's going about saying that actually serves to better qualify me as his friend. I don't think Sparrow gives these things ordinary consideration.”

“Yes,” said Elizabeth in some exasperation, “but that’s not a betrayal; you were on opposite sides of the law.”

“The heart,” James said flatly.

“You tried to stab Will, and I forgave you,” said Elizabeth still more bluntly. “It seems that he did too, til you absconded with me.”

“I know,” he said. “I think if we're honest with ourselves, the only one among us who hasn't done anything of the sort to a substantial number of the rest of us is Giselle, which only serves to highlight how lucky we are to have her.”

“That’s because Giselle doesn’t come from class or pirates,” said Elizabeth drily. “Her cunning comes from pirate-adjacent at best, and all of her sense of class, style or elegance is her own, she has never had any haughty ladies to impress. She’s a self-made woman. We should all aspire so high.”

“I might have to bring her aboard with me,” he cautioned. “She's rather attached, and I will confess that it's mutual. It's rather like having a sister.”

“If she’ll come. It’s not a fun prospect; more than half the crew has little or no English.”

“And if she'll forgive me for taking the matter of my hair into my own hands,” he said, too lofty even by James Norrington standards to be serious.

“If her man will join us, I expect that will be what decides her.”

“He can teach your crew how to code.”

“They’ll be much obliged if he does,” said Elizabeth, finally feeling awake enough to start, very lazily, picking apart her hair with plans to braid it.

“Here- let me help you with that,” he said as he pushed himself back up to sitting. He gave her a kiss on the temple in passing, along with a small, yet warm, smile.

“You don’t have to do it in the mornings - only at night,” she protested in embarrassment.

“I don't mind it,” he said. “Besides that, I feel I was rather unnecessarily cold toward you last night.”

“I think you may have behaved according to the dictates of circumstance,” she responded with delicacy.

“It was unkind, nonetheless. I’m sorry for that.”

“I don’t recollect you. That may be for the best.”

James pressed his hand above her heart- and by extension, and rather daringly for him- over her breast.

“I feel as though I have neglected not only your authority, but our relationship as well, in my dwelling on my current station. I would like to amend that, if you will permit it.”

Elizabeth could only meet his eyes for a moment.

“Then you may begin with my hair, if it suits you,” she said, believing that would address both his points, and should satisfy him.

James kissed her on the forehead.

“I expect my spirits to improve significantly aboard the Empress, though you will have to help me learn their language.”

“I have some small skill at that,” she said, with a little smile. She had been kissed three times in as many minutes; it lifted the spirits as it was meant to.

James’s own hair was disheveled from sleep to such a vengeful extent that it might as well have been rebelling against years of fastidious grooming, aggressive shearing, and being too limp, dirty and unkempt the last time it had grown out to do much of anything. He raked it back from his face with his hand before he went to brush hers; it was much more noticeably uneven now than it had been last night, but the carelessness with which he responded to it was new in itself.

“My only regret is that I did not look deeply enough into whether or not I wanted to keep anything from this place. I’m rather fond of the bedspread, I’ll admit.”

“Take the bedspread if you want it,” said Elizabeth, amused.

“Well, you know,” he said. “Sentiment and all that. It's practically a wedding bed.”

“Ah, yes,” she said, understanding, and leaning in to nuzzle him, since she had still not seen to her breath.

“And the quondams, of course. What we shall do when those run out again, I’ve no idea-“

“I suppose we’ll have to make them last until we’re ready to settle down,” Elizabeth whispered, then snorted with laughter.

James finished brushing her hair and began rebraiding it.

“I had a thought last night, regarding the Gloriana.”

“Oh?” she asked, soothed by the gentle tugging on her hair.

“I think I have a condition for putting her in fleet. I think she ought to be rechristened.”

“What do you want to name it?” she asked dubiously, belatedly fearing it was going to be something sentimental to stab James in the heart every time he said it - something to evoke the Dauntless, perhaps.

“What would you think of calling her the Weatherby Swann?” he asked, leaning over to look her in the eye.

“I don’t think he would like it,” she said, looking bleary.

“Ah,” James said quickly. “I- all right, then. No matter.”

“I don’t think I’d like the idea of calling a ship my father’s name, it would feel unwieldy on the tongue all the time- and if you think these people aren’t fond of you, I can’t see them being especially fond of the last governor of Port Royal, can you?”

James’s apologetic expression darkened into a glower as he leaned back behind her.

“I want Beckett’s armada to think of him as they perish.”

“That’s all very well and good, but I’d still have to talk about a ship using my father’s name. I don’t like it.”

“Very well. I won’t push it any further.”

He finished the braid.

“Besides,” she reflected, lost in her pragmatism. “I expect the name doesn’t mean much to most of the armada. I doubt most of them even know Beckett- well. What would they know about it?”

“I could have saved him, if I had known,” James said softly.

“Perhaps,” she allowed. “But you don’t know for certain. Perhaps he would have killed you both, and I’d have seen you both in a little boat in the afterlife, helpless to prevent your passage. Believe me, James, when I say I would not have taken your death very well. And then what would have become of me, James?”

She leaned her back to his chest familiarly and shut her eyes.

“Trade myself to Sao Feng and die in the boarding by the Dutchman. You know perfectly well that’s true.”

“I did not mean to darken the day so early,” he said, taking her hands in his and leaning his chin on her head.

Elizabeth tilted her head back a little with affection.

“I’d brighten it, but my breath is too foul.”

“Mine can’t be any better,” he said, smiling down at her. “You’re forgiven.”

Elizabeth bounded out of the bed.

“I’m going to remedy that,” she said, beginning to dress first. Her braid swung around with amusing speed as she hopped into a pair of trousers and pulled on a shirt. “Come on. We’ll be wanted.”

“All right, give me a moment-” James quickly sorted through some of the strange-looking clothes this place had given him and dressed.

“Might I still trouble you to help me with my hair later, as you offered?” he asked as he fiddled with the buttons of his shirt. “I understand if there’s no time, but…” His voice trailed off, as it often did, but he looked up at her again, aching with sincerity.

“God help me, I think I look forward to the attention. It’s odd how that works. I thought my contentment with being your dog was enough.”

“Let’s eat something first,” Elizabeth agreed with a smile. “I think perhaps one thing might lead to more, and I won’t be frustrated by foul breath.”

James laughed, startled.

“Are you already planning that far ahead? I would never have considered that an amorous activity to begin with.”

“I meant kissing, James, but you may get your hopes up.”

Shirt on, she scooped her braid out of the back of it and stepped into a pair of boots.

“Even so,” he said, as he belatedly unfasted the first few buttons of his shirt for her sake. “And may this damned tooth come out if it’s going to before we try-”

Her unwelcome fingers pushed on his cheek to see if she could find where it was. James flinched and instinctively pulled away.

“Ow,” he said pointedly.

She did not mind this, instead moving her fingers to his throat absent-mindedly before turning away and beginning the process of packing things up. She couldn’t bring anything back with her she couldn’t carry underwater, and that was the hard part - wanting to bring clothes and knowing they’d be weighed down. She ended up pulling out a lot of things with reluctance. Ah, but the trousers she’d keep, and possibly a second pair of the boots she’d found - she’d have to go back out into the mall for those -

“We should probably go eat, then direct the packing effort. We might not make it out today; I don’t think everyone is on board with it yet. Well, that should give us some time for me to trim your hair, at least -”

“That’s a low priority, at that,” he conceded. “To be plain with you, I only gathered it back and cut it off, and that was that. I didn’t anticipate your involvement, welcome though it is.”

“Maybe I want to do it.”

He paused halfway through sleeve-rolling.

“That’s… generous,” he said, with a confused little frown.

“You could have asked me to do it from the start, you know,” she said, her frown matching his. “I don’t see why you didn’t, when you think you’d like me to. We make time for other things.”

“It would have seemed a very petty thing for which to pull the king aside.” He smiled a little bitterly. “Particularly with the reputation I’ve built among these people- and I did not even know if you would be willing or able.”

“Lord, you could have still asked. And you didn’t have to ask in front of them, you could have just texted me.”

“Cut it as you like then, later today,” he said, a little bitterly. “I don’t think I shall be able to eat much until I get this thing out of my mouth.”

“Come and drink something then. A juice if you don’t want coffee.”

“Better yet, I find a way of dealing with this and then pack through my headache with the comfort of knowing there's an end in sight,” he said grimly, though he lightened his tone enough to make it clear that he was teasing her when he added, “unless you’d like to do that as well.”

“Hardware store, then?”

James looked faintly alarmed. “Are you serious?”

She smirked. He blinked, a little stunned.

“Are you?” he repeated.

“If you are.”

“So long as you don't expect any dignity from me, I'll allow it,” he conceded.

“I was teasing you.”

“Oh, thank God-”

“But I’ll be serious in a moment if you’re asking me.”

“My only concern is the thought of the crews finding out and assuming this was an intentional punishment.”

“James,” said Elizabeth shortly, sitting heavily on the bed now she was dressed, and looking, she hoped, like a proper pirate in spite of things - “if you want me to do it then I will. If you don’t, I will not. Is that clear enough to you?”

He had to weigh these options before he could answer. James rubbed his jaw and cursed under his breath.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll let you. At least you’ll keep going long after I would have forced myself to stop.”

She didn’t relish it, but she gave him a thin smile regardless.

“As your mistress I think I should be expected to do a little dirty work for you every now and again.”

“I just want it done with. Bad enough to have to walk off the personal impression yesterday's little episode left behind. I won't top it off by being seen stumbling about in pain.”

He sighed and looked back at her.

“And I worry that if I don't, I’ll drink to stop feeling it. I don't want to cause you any more trouble, and I feel I ought to grow more accustomed to managing pain through force of will than irrigating myself. I'm sure the others would agree.”

He smiled very briefly, and then went back to dressing himself.

“I think it might do me some good to be seen as appropriately chastened, but able enough to manage a bit of pain. I'm sure they'll find the whole affair amusing enough to placate them, anyway.”

Elizabeth interrupted him in his dressing to - gently, on account of the tooth - take him by the chin, lean up, and chastely kiss him.

“As you wish,” she murmured. “Now I’ve got to run. Catch up with me at the canteen?”

Her hand dropped to his forearm, squeezed it, then she headed out, without much further ado.

#pl: h34v3nlie måll #ch: firing squad #ch: her majesty if you're nasty #potcsuggestions #norribeth #jackquest 1748

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wootensmith · 7 years

Text

Arming

Abelas was pacing beside the dark eluvian when Solas arrived. “This is folly,” he barked. “So they’ve found one key. They will soon leave again. There is nothing left for them.” “Are you certain?” asked Solas. “A few ruins. Bare stones still leaning into one another. That is all.” “There is more in the Crossroads, even for the Qunari to stumble over. I cannot risk more power falling into their hands. And where they have mastered one eluvian, they will unlock more. They must not be allowed to wander the network. The way must be clear when we call our army home.” “Then why not send the forces you have? You are the only one who can undo all of this. Why are you risking yourself?” Solas fought a laugh. He had not shown them the true extent of his new power yet. He had not intended to. “I am more formidable than I appear,” was all he said, and lifted his hand to open the closed eluvian.

“We do not know how many Qunari have infiltrated the network.” “All the more reason to stop them.” Abelas sighed. “Even the strongest can be overwhelmed, Solas. Take some of us with you. Take me with you, at least.” “No. I am not unprepared for failure. The amulet is complete. If I do not return, it falls to you, Abelas, to employ it. The Veil will fall without me, and then the spell will be powerful enough.” “But the Inquisitor strengthens it—” Solas shook his head. “For a few months more. If I do not draw the power from the anchor again, she will die within the year. And the Veil will fall within five.” Abelas did not appear comforted. Solas took a step back from the mirror to face him. “You are a valued ally. If I intended to battle the Qunari, there are few others I would trust to lead our forces. But I would give them a chance to retreat and arriving in large numbers will push them to fight. There has been more than enough death. I wish to avoid more, even if I am no friend of the Qun.” “I have been out of the world for a long time. I do not know much of these Qunari, but what our people tell me is concerning. You truly think they will retreat?” “No. I do not,” said Solas. “But I must extend the offer, even so. It is— the fulfillment of a promise.” “Then— if you will not take aid, at least arm yourself.” Abelas tugged at Solas’s patched sleeve with a frown. “These people will not retreat before a lone elf in simple robes. If you wish to convince them to leave without bloodshed, you must make them believe you are capable of it.” He turned to one of the Sentinels waiting nearby and beckoned. The Sentinel bent to pick up a large chest that lay at her feet. “We searched for your old armor, but it has long been lost. And Vhemanen said when last she saw you, it was rent in many places beyond repair.” The Sentinel set the chest before him and opened the lid. “We have forged a new suit. One that will show your enemies that the Dread Wolf walks the world again,” she said, lifting the gleaming helm from inside. It was instantly recognizable, a stylized snarling wolf with long diamond vents in the conventional pattern of the Dread Wolf’s eyes. Solas doubted the Qunari would care, if they even understood it. He took the helm. It was a mask he had never wanted, but his people cared enough to shield him. He would not refuse it. “Thank you,” he said, twisting it in his hands, tracing the sturdy metal where it was etched into warding runes. It would have taken the smith weeks. “This is a mighty gift.” Abelas and the Sentinel knelt beside the chest to pull forth the gousset and the clawed sabatons. “I can—” started Solas, but Abelas shot him a warning glance. “We should be sure of the fit,” he said, lifting the gousset over Solas’s head. “Yes, thank you,” answered Solas, yielding. Someone took the helm and staff from him. The gousset rang slightly as it fell over him, a sudden weight. Someone tapped his foot and Solas lifted it, feeling the snug slide of the sabaton over his foot wrappings. The metal was cool and smooth on the inside. It was not the first time someone had insisted on arming him. Solas closed his eyes for a moment, submitting to the clang of metal and the shift of others moving around him.

What little time had remained after showing the Inquisitor what was coming, he had clung to. He’d never returned to his own bed. He’d tried to persuade himself that he was happy. That she was happy. Only enjoying the opportunity to be close. In truth, he had been terrified. The lie had caught up to him, robbed him of his peace, and he had lain awake beside her for long hours every night. She’d woken once, shifting and reaching in the dark, her hand a winking star that crept along the bedclothes until it found him leaning against the headboard. Her head had lifted from the pillow, following the hand, searching. “Solas, are you well?” she asked, still bleary. He caught her hand against his chest, hiding the light, hiding his face from her. “Yes, Vhenan,” he lied. She hadn’t believed him. “It’s almost dawn. What keeps you from sleep?” She sat up, her other hand traced his face, clumsy with sleep and darkness. “Only a bad dream. I am well, you should return to your rest.” He drew her fingers through his own even as he said it, needing the touch. “A bad dream? But it was you that showed me how to push them away. You’ve mastered the Fade, how can it be that dreams trouble you? Is it— is someone interfering?” “No. It is only my own worry that haunts me. No spirit. I find when I turn away from one disastrous thought, another crops up in its wake, a seemingly unending chain—” She folded around him. “All will be well,” she said, though he barely heard. The warmth of the sudden contact, the solid weight of her arms, her chest, the sharp press of her chin into his shoulder spoke far louder. “How?” he asked. “We’ll find a cure. Or pull the dwarves from their caverns and collapse the deep roads. Or— or figure out how Corypheus controls it and turn the method against the Blight. Drive it away. I’ll find a way. Don’t despair.” He was silent, having no answer for her. The solutions were unattainable. Fantasy. All of it was. She was. He pressed the thought away as unfair, unworthy. If she could have hope, wounded with his own magic, and so very mortal, then how much more ought he to have? “When I was young, just discovering my magic, I used to be too frightened to sleep,” she said tilting to whisper it into his ear. “I had a friend whose parents were city elves. They joined us when I was small. She was not pleased when I started my apprenticeship. She would tell me terrible stories of mages who lost their minds as they slept when she thought no one was listening. At last, I grew so exhausted that I tumbled from my mother’s aravel as we changed camps. I had fallen asleep sitting against the doorframe as we rolled along. After the entire caravan halted and a large fuss was made, I had to admit that I was scared of my dreams. The clan thought it a bad omen, but Deshanna took me into her own aravel and the caravan moved on again. She was quiet for many miles, cleaning the scrapes I’d gotten from the fall. At last, she said, ‘You are too old to be frightened of nightmares, da’len.’ I was ashamed and stayed silent. ‘The others are nervous. They worry that you will make yourself vulnerable to an unkind spirit,’ she told me. ‘I fear that too,’ I told her. ‘Do you know what a dream is?’ she asked me. ‘It is your mind practicing what your body failed. It is your will finding the path that you overlooked. If you allow it, your spirit will triumph in the battles that the waking world tells you are impossible. But you must go armed and shielded.’” She drew back to look at him, her marked hand glowing around his chin. “Will you allow me to arm you?”

The greaves were tightened around his calves, snapping carefully closed as Abelas buckled them. The cuisse next, heavier than it appeared. His fingers twitched in a mild cooling spell as the metal warmed.

“Yes,” he’d said, uncertain what to expect, but desperate enough for sleep that he did not care. She sat up, her hands moving and a slow trickle of whispered words rustled around him. Slow streams of light trailed from the windows and gathered at her fingertips. “The light of the moons to help you see clearly even in the deepest Fade. One for each eye,” she said and the pads of her fingers stroked lightly over each of his eyelids, the glow becoming a tingle beneath his skin. Her hands retreated and his eyes opened. The throb of powerful voices in song filled the room as she cast. The tune was ancient, older even than he, an echo of strength. He wondered where she had heard it. Was it something Deshanna had done? She pressed a palm to his chest and his pulse changed with a sudden wrench. It aligned with the tune, even as it faded from the air around him, thrumming, shaking his bones from within. It was a sudden jolt of energy, something he’d been long in need of. “The voice of our people,” she said, “that you may endure as long as they and their song push out any that would distract you or break your focus.”

The cuirass squeezed his torso. Abelas tugged on it, securing it and giving him space to breathe. Over it the leather straps of his cloak and the clink of the finely etched pauldrons sliding into place. “A moment more,” said Abelas. Solas tried to remain still.

There had been a spark, vibrant blue, overwhelming the faded green of the anchor. Veilfire collecting and swirling between them. It floated in a growing globe. And then another. And another. Until they appeared like a mass of stars upon the air. “A thousand times a thousand spells of protection. All my love to guard you,” she said, and it was his only warning. The veilfire slid across his skin in a thousand rune shapes, ward upon ward and he gasped as hundreds of memories flickered through him as they were completed, flickering out. A flurry of touches, hands and lips, of words, of smiles and spells and dancing whirled past him. At first he clutched at them, rocks in a flood of love. Memories he was desperate to keep. But it was too rapid and he feared missing any. He let go, plunging into a single bright moment of happiness. Of realizing how well he had loved her, of how much she loved him. It was over too quickly, when he wished for an eternity. But it left only a warm calm in its wake, a flush of reassurance and hope that he would have pushed away only minutes before. He surfaced, finding his hand wrapped around hers and her eyes still brightly reflecting the aqua runes that glimmered on his bare flesh.

He brought the gauntlet up to look as his fingers tested them. Small plates over flexible chain. They were well crafted for casting. Abelas held out the helm to him. He was severe. No more persuasion for Solas to stay. All that remained was a general arming his commander. Solas lifted the wolf’s face over his head. He felt as if he were looking out at the world from behind a bright and stifling cage. Even light breath huffed and growled through the vents as if he really were more beast than man. He raised a hand and muttered the spell to open the eluvian. “Fight well, if you must. And know that we will be there at a call,” said Abelas. “I will not be long,” said Solas, “see to the other mirrors. Do not let any pass here until I return. The Qunari have many spies.” “And if you do not return?” asked Abelas. “Then I know our people will be in your care. That gives me comfort. And it will fall to you to decide who may battle beside you. Do not fear for me. Elves are not the only creatures who guard the Crossroads. I will see you before the Dawn Lotus blooms.” He stepped through the eluvian before Abelas could protest.

“And every spare breath to sustain you wherever I cannot be,” she’d said, and pressed a kiss to his lips. No spell then, just her, and yet he thought he felt the sizzle of lightning pass from her and into him. And the scent of ozone lingered in his memory of the moment though he’d known there was no magic in it. “Are you ready, emma lath?” she murmured against his mouth. “For battle? Yes. But—” he laughed against her, his fingers gliding over the warm skin of her back, “I fear you have left me incapable of sleep for the moment.” She had pushed back, just for an instant. She’d held his face in her hands and stared at him. “It is hard not to doubt. Especially when the world seems indifferent to our fears. I seem— small to you. What can I do against an ocean of Blight that the Dread Wolf has not already tried? But a rashvine seed is no bigger than a speck of dust in the beginning, yet given time it will shatter a mountain. And there is time. I am growing. When you despair, let me hope for us both. You have named me Vhenan. As long as there is a heartbeat remaining, I will not falter.”

Nor will I, my love, he thought, emerging in the Crossroads.

#Solas #lavellan #solas x lavellan #dragon age inquisition

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informal-english-n · 7 years

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АНТОНИМЫ

http://informal-english.ru

absent - present accurate - inaccurate active, energetic, lively - inactive, passive, apathetic attentive, considerate, thoughtful - inattentive, inconsiderate awful, terrible, horrible, dreadful - great, excellent, wonderful awkward, clumsy - skillful, dexterous, adroit, deft basic, fundamental - secondary, additional beautiful, attractive, good-looking, pretty - ugly, repulsive best - worst big, large - little, small bold, confident - timid, shy brave, bold, courageous, fearless - afraid, frightened, scared, timid, cowardly bright, clear, vivid, colorful - dull, dim, colorless busy, occupied - free calm, quiet, peaceful - noisy, agitated, excited, nervous careful, cautious - careless cheerful, joyful - cheerless, gloomy clean, neat, tidy - dirty, untidy clever, smart - foolish, silly, stupid cold, chilly, cool - hot, warm comfortable, cozy - uncomfortable confident, sure, certain, positive - doubtful, uncertain constructive - destructive convenient - inconvenient correct - incorrect, wrong crazy, insane - reasonable, sensible, rational cruel, merciless, ruthless, brutal, inhuman - kind, merciful, humane dead - alive deep, profound - shallow, superficial definite, clear - vague, indefinite delicious, tasty - tasteless, unpalatable, inedible different - the same, similar difficult, hard - easy dry - wet eager, willing - reluctant, unwilling early - late economic (situation), economical (car) educated, literate - uneducated, ignorant, illiterate empty - full essential, indispensable, requisite, necessary, required - unnecessary, optional, dispensable even, smooth - rough, uneven even - odd, uneven evident, obvious, clear, plain - vague, obscure evil, malicious - kind, nice, good exact, precise - inaccurate, inexact expensive, costly, valuable - inexpensive, cheap experienced, skilled, competent, qualified - inexperienced, unskilled, incompetent, unqualified fair, just, objective, unbiased, impartial - unfair, unjust, biased, prejudiced faithful, loyal, devoted - unfaithful, disloyal, treacherous famous, renowned, celebrated, distinguished, well-known - unknown, obscure far, distant, remote - near, close fast, quick, rapid, speedy, swift - slow favorable, beneficial, profitable - harmful fine, refined, delicate, exquisite - common, coarse, gross, vulgar firm, steady, stable, strong - shaky, unstable, weak first - last flexible - rigid, inflexible, stiff foreign, alien - domestic, local, native fragile, delicate - strong, sturdy frequent - rare, infrequent fresh - stale friendly - unfriendly, hostile front - back, rear funny, amusing, humorous, comic, comical, laughable, ridiculous - serious, grave general - special, particular, specific gentle, mild, soft - coarse, rough, harsh, severe good, nice, pleasant - bad, unpleasant, disgusting happy, glad, pleased - unhappy, sad, miserable hard - soft heavy - light high - low historic (moment), historical (fact) honest, truthful, trustworthy, sincere - dishonest, insincere huge, enormous, colossal, giant, gigantic - small, tiny important, significant - unimportant, insignificant, petty incredible, unbelievable, fantastic independent, free - dependent, not free intelligent, wise - dull, stupid interested, curious - uninterested / disinterested, indifferent, bored interesting - dull, boring kind, good-natured - strict, unkind, ill-natured lazy, idle - hard-working light - dark long - short, brief, concise loud, noisy - quiet, soft loving, fond, affectionate, tender - unloving, indifferent, harsh lucky, fortunate - unlucky, unfortunate magnificent, grand, majestic - shabby, miserable main, chief, principal - subordinate, subsidiary, secondary, auxiliary, additional moral, ethical, decent - immoral, unethical, indecent, obscene narrow - wide natural - unnatural, affected necessary, required - unnecessary new, modern, up-to-date - old, old-fashioned, outdated, ancient noble, honorable - mean normal, usual, standard, regular - strange, peculiar, odd, unusual original - ordinary, banal, trite outstanding, prominent, eminent, remarkable - ordinary, mediocre patient - impatient polite, civilized, well-mannered - impolite, rude, ill-mannered positive - negative possible, probable, likely - impossible, improbable, unlikely previous, preceding, former - next, following primary - secondary proper, appropriate, suitable, fitting - improper, inappropriate, unsuitable proud, arrogant, haughty - modest, humble real, genuine, authentic - artificial, fake, fictitious reasonable, sensible, logical - unreasonable, illogical, absurd, crazy, foolish, ridiculous reliable, dependable - unreliable respectable, reputable - notorious, infamous rich, wealthy, well-to-do - poor right - left right, correct, true - wrong, incorrect, not true, false, erroneous round - square, triangular safe, secure - unsafe, insecure, dangerous sharp, keen, acute - dull, blunt shy, timid - confident, self-confident sick, ill - healthy simple - complex, complicated strong, tough, sturdy - weak, delicate, fragile stubborn, obstinate - compliant, docile, obedient sufficient, adequate, enough - insufficient, inadequate, not enough suitable, fitting, appropriate - unsuitable, inappropriate surprising, amazing - ordinary sweet - sour, bitter, salty tall - short tense - relaxed thick, fat - thin, slim, slender tight - loose true - false, deceptive, misleading understandable, clear, intelligible, comprehensible - unclear, not clear, unintelligible, incomprehensible useful, helpful - useless whole, entire, complete, full, total - incomplete, limited, partial young - middle-aged, old, elderly

#antonyms

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writingitalloutonewordatatime · 7 years

Text

23-11-17

Dear Jesus,

I just want to tell you how angry I am with you, but I’m not sure that I really can. I’m not sure that I can tell you the depths of which I don’t think you considered my feelings - not even a little, not even at all - and how you took advantage of them. Through all of the times that I told you that I wanted to be with you, through all of the times that I told you I would never share and would never want to; and all you did was take, take, take until there was nothing left for me to give. And you knew that; you knew that and didn’t want to have that conversation.

“How is this any different than when we were dating?” I asked, thinking the answer was simple: it wasn’t. “We’re not promised to each other.” You replied and I knew what that meant. That you could have me, that you could take all of those words of support and reassurement and you could go to other people with them anyways. That I would only be one of however many you deemed appropriate; even if I was the top one it was a competition you had entered me in without my consent or want. And for that, I’m angry. I feel so fucking stupid for it, too. How did I not see it coming?

For every time that I told you that I didn’t think it was over, you took those words and you reiterated them in your own way. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. There was never a straight answer and I stupidly mistook that for some sort of hope when there wasn’t any. When I was betraying myself because love is blind, deaf and stupid and god if I wasn’t all of those things, too. And you knew that I had feelings about it, you knew how much I cared about you, for you, how much care I had put into you. And all of this came at the cost of my own well-being. All of it came at the cost of my mental health, my physical and emotional health because I took care of you, but for your part, you never did take care of me.

“I want to be with you, but not halfway. I can’t be one of multiple.” I’ll stand by that statement until my dying day because I won’t settle for that. I will have all of you or none of you, no matter how much every fiber of my being longs to talk to you, wishes you were here besides me. Because it’s been one fucking day and I already miss you. That’s what you’ve done to me - and I wouldn’t call it co-dependency or anything at all like that. It’s such an ugly way to phrase it. You made me care about something outside of me. Outside of my own little world where everything was neatly tucked away and no one could touch me. Where I was alright in my isolation, keen on the tower I’d built that no one had figured out how to breach.

“I can talk to you when I’m ready to make long term decisions.” But I don’t fit into your short term life when what I want is in conflict with what you want. “If that’s what you think is best.” I replied, but you can’t stop talking to me, and your resolve diminished after less than twenty four hours. You didn’t have to wish me a happy thanksgiving; no one forced you to. You didn’t have to tell me about the pie that I posted on instagram being beautiful - you looked for a way into my life, for a straw to grasp at to make a conversation.

I don’t know how many different ways I can tell you the same thing, either. This feels terrible because it’s wrong. Because you know, deep down, that it’s not what you wanted to do; you’ve said it several times and I don’t know how to elaborate that most people don’t just ignore that. Most people don’t give up what they want. I told you off, for treating me like your girlfriend when I’m there and then going back to whatever you wanted to do when I left. I can’t live like that, wondering who you’re with, if she makes you happy. If she’s just for a quick fuck before you go back to your games. You don’t open up easily, but I can’t be an emotional crutch for you to lean on while you’re off talking to other people. To even think that I would want to do that is absurd. It’s unfair. God, it’s so fucking unfair.

“You say things that confuse me and I can’t hold onto something that I don’t know anything about.” I told you.

“I don’t know. I will do a better job of treating you as a friend? it feels terrible though.” “I don’t want to be your friend. I have never wanted to be your friend. If it feels terrible then it’s not right.”

But you can’t tell someone something that they don’t want to hear. You can’t make someone believe something that they don’t see. You can’t make someone understand what they’re unwilling to and I’ve never sought to change you. I just wish you’d understand that you’re breaking my heart, over and over again. And I know that you’ll see that one day, that you’ll find yourself face to face with the truth that you’re just not ready to face. You can’t treat me as a friend, you can’t stop talking to me, you can’t just give me up or move on because it’s not over. But, maybe it’s time for one of us to finally give up that hope. Maybe it’s time for me to just stop responding; you need to understand that there are consequences for your actions.

Love is not something that you can blame for your pain and confusion. It’s the people that you love that do that. When you’re good though, baby, you’re so good. And when you’re bad it’s like there’s nothing there at all and I don’t know how to survive or navigate that. I don’t know how to understand the things that you’re thinking or feeling when you don’t fucking tell me about them. And I was serious, when this is over, when it’s truly and properly over, I will disappear and maybe then you’ll realize the weight of the world was lifted just a bit because I tried to help you carry it. I just hope that it doesn’t crush you. I just hope that you remember how to hold it, without asking for help because you surround yourself with people who will never help you, who will never be accountable to help you or act for themselves.

When you realize what you want, when you’re ready to think about things in the long term, I pray for you, that if you realize I’m what you want, I’m still ready to be there. That I’ll still want to be there. That I won’t make you work to show me that you’re willing to put in the work that this relationship will need after all of the things and time that I’ve been put through. After all of the things that you’ve damaged. I don’t know what to tell you, anymore, my love. You’re used to being alone and one day you’re going to wake up and realize that you wish you weren’t. One day you’re going to wake up and think about the things that you gave up, for no reason at all, and wish that you could take it back. Because the relationship that you’ve said was the easiest, that the one that didn’t detract from you, the one that lifted you up and that you just genuinely liked shouldn’t have been the one that you ended so abruptly.

Especially now that you can’t give it up. If you’re going to leave me alone then do it, then show me one final act of kindness and allow me to move on. But that’s not what you want; you have no idea what you want at all. And, for that, I wish you all of the best. I wish that you find that inner peace and certainty. I hope that you find something to hold onto when everything else falls away and you’re left alone. And I hope you don’t become more jaded for it; the world is unkind and you can be too - we all can be - but when you team up together, nothing can bring you back from that sort of abuse.

I wish you well, even at my own expense. As I said, love is blind, deaf and stupid, and so have I been.

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kattherynn-yvonne-blog · 7 years

Text

Just For Today : Self Talk Series- Anger

Just for today:

Today’s topic is about self talk and anger.

C)Anger 1)The problem of anger is that it cannot be dealt with simply. Like taxes, anger doesn’t just go away, even if you decide it should. And like your nose or hair, your anger is a part of you and your human nature. When you believe you have every right to be bitterly angry or believe you have the right to remain angry as long as whom or whatever refuses to change, you are ruining your emotional and physical health. You need to differentiate between what “ ought to be” and “ what actually is”.

2)Rather than constantly telling yourself how dreadful and intolerable your life is, you can decide right now to stop upsetting yourself over someone else’s behavior. For it is not the behavior, but rather what we tell ourselves about the behavior. Tell yourself that while they may not like the things you’d like them to and while it is an unpleasant situation, it is senseless for you to upset yourself over what you have not been able to change.

3)In this way, we will learn to discern when our expectations of others aren’t realistic. It is not the end of the world if someone isn’t thoughtful, kind, or considerate. It’s merely unpleasant. I have found that note booking my false B.S. ( Belief systems) and then writing the truth to replace it helps me. You can also begin looking for better qualities of the person and appreciate things in them that your anger had kept you from noticing before. Often , but not always, relationships change dramatically when one person drops the false B.S. that generate and perpetuate bitterness and anger. ALWAYS the person who works to change thier misbeliefs will benefit even if the other person does not change.

1) Common False Beliefs with Anger A) Anger is bad and if I am good, then I must never get angry. B) Anger always means to yell and throw things or do whatever else it takes to “ drain off” the emotion. C) If I do get angry, it’s always better for me to swallow the anger than to express it. D) I have every right to be angry when another person(s) doesn’t live up to my expectations. I have no choice but to stay angry as long as things don’t change. E) It is outrageous and insufferable when others do things that I do not like, or if they fail to treat me as well as I thought I ought to be treated.

These are lies and distortions and they cause much suffering.

Now here’s the truth.

A) Anger is not always bad. The simple emotion of anger is not harmful or unloving. It is purely what you do when you are angry that has significance. We should not allow ourselves to stay in anger by using destructive self talk and take of it promptly.

B) Sometimes it’s better to express your anger. It is a loving power to tell others if they have done something to upset us and tell them without screaming or prosecution. It is a simple procedure. For example: “ What you did hurts me and I am angry about it. I would like to find a way to get this to stop occuring.”

C) Anger doesn’t mean yelling, throwing things, or other inappropriate behavior. Our emotions are not a kind of fluid which must be expelled in order to prevent our popping all over the place in a million pieces. Anger is a behavior. Anger is responses of your body and mind to a stimulation. When the stimulus is withdrawn, the anger responses will cease-fire that is, if you do not continue to tell yourself how unfair and unjust; that your treatment has been miserable and how miserable you are because of it.

D) I do not have the right to be angry when another person or persons doesn’t live up to my expectations. I do have a choice whether or not I remain angry. There is no necessary connection between the behavior of another and your anger. It doesn’t matter how unfairly, unjust, or thoughtlessly someone has behaved toward you. You are angry because of your self talk. Other people cannot force you to remain in a stew over thier behavior. This is something you do yourself. To take it one step further, you make yourself angry by what you tell yourself. You tell yourself things in words, images, and attitudes the very things that cause you to feel anger. It is vital to ask “ Why do I insist that someone else is making me upset when I am the only one who can make myself angry and keep myself angry?” If I am angry I am telling myself something that the other person is doing or saying is terrible. You can only use irrational notions to support such assumptions which are, infact, already irrational. The truth is, such things are not horrendous at all. It is unpleasant when things don’t go as you’d like them to or when someone says unkind words to you, but it is not awful or terrible.

E) It is not dreadful if others do things I do not like or if they fail to treat me as I treat them. We waste a lot of time, energy, and thought when we broodover the offenses of others. Those who keep telling themselves how other people ought to treat them confuse what ought to be with what actually is. If you dwell on the negitive characteristics, you can continually find plenty to criticize and be unhappy about. Your parents, siblings, spouse,children, friends, and co-workers all have something about them you don’t like. The people in your life will not always be kind, just, loving, and thoughtful to you. You yourself are not always behaving perfectly and fairly in every instance. But The Great Creator loves you inspite of yourself. You can change your self talk and love and accept the various people around you. Remember that The Great Creator accepts them and therefore you can as well.

2) When Anger Is Normal and When It’s a problem. The simple BRIEF emotion of anger is normal. The anger which explodes into rage and violence or stews in bitterness is destructive and sinful. Anger in itself is not sinful. For even Jesus on occasion became angry. “ And after looking around at them with anger, grieved at thier hardness of heart, He said to the man,’ Stretch out your hand.’ And he stretched it out; and his hand was restored.” So you see, NONE of us can go through this life on this realm without ever having had the emotion of anger. When it is made worse or perpetuated by false beliefs, the internal conflict and destructive behavior then becomes hard to interpret, identify, and control. More self-deception develops and neurotic behavior follows. The proper way to express anger is not in erupting into a riot. Untempered anger earned it’s position as number 5 on the ancient “7 Deadly Sins” list due to the very real fact that it is DEADLY. Another unhealthy response to angry feelings is the “ Fight! Fight! Fight!” attitude. The B.S. behind this notion is that the harder you fight the person or thing causing you to feel anger, the quicker the hurt will go away. But it does not. It only gets worse, and so does the anger.

3) How To Express Your Anger In A Healthy Way. Speak up honestly and openly without accusing or manipuating the person. Tell them, “ I am feeling anger right now. The reason for my anger is ________( I heard you say such and such or I saw you do such and such). These things have hurt and offended me and I feel angry.” It will preserve rather than destroy relationships. Each time you find yourself in a situation where someone aggravates you or hurts you, pay attention to what’s going on inside your mind. What are you telling yourself? At times there will be no need to talk about your anger to there person because you will have taken care of it with The Great Creator. It takes self-control and honesty.

4) When Someone Else Is Angry With You. Don’t become upset or shape your behavior to suit them so you can prevent others from being upset and definitely do not reward angry outburts of others. Don’t be intimidated. Be kind and loving; When there is truth in the accusation against you, admit it. Give others the right to be angry and do not be shocked or offended. You will be sorely disappointed if you insist that everyone see and view you as the “ perfect person”.

Next week I will talk about self talk and anxiety.

#spiritual #selftalk #anger #healing #selfhealing

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