Imagine Kenric finding out that Oralie has a scar from ovlivymore from the melting gem, what if he felt guilty for it and thought like even though I tried as hard as I could I still couldn't protect her
... what are you trying to do anon, make me cry?
If so you have succeeded
But THIS ahhh you understand them so well
Once Kenric was healed and he'd finally learned to believe that Oralie was actually here, alive, he and Oralie spent practically every waking moment together. She'd come in and sit with him, and they'd just talk for hours. Since he couldn't see, he always had to touch her to make sure it was really her. He got used to the way she felt as he hugged her, the feeling of her leaning against him.
Since Oralie usually came directly from Council-related activities, she was normally wearing her more formal dresses and attire. But one day when there was nothing to do, she came directly from home. She was wearing a simple tank top, fully exposing her arms and shoulders for the first time since Kenric had come back.
Kenric smiled as she sat next to him, putting his hands on her shoulders as he prepared to kiss her, but then he froze. Frowning, he traced his finger across the scar, running his finger across the wound that had never fully healed.
"What's this?" he asked softly. Oralie hesitated before she told him, but then she admitted how she'd gotten it when the jewels in Oblivimyre melted and burned her. It could have healed completely if she'd gotten proper medical treatment afterward, but because of the chaos following the healing and her grief consuming her waking hours, that had been the last thing on her mind.
She'd always considered it a reminder of how she couldn't save Kenric, but now he saw it as the glaring truth of how he couldn't save her.
"I couldn't protect you," he whispered. "No matter how much I tried, they still got to you. And this-" He ran his finger across the scar. "-will always be my fault. Now you have something to remind you of that horrible night." Tears ran down his cheeks. "I tried, Ora. I really tried to protect you. But I couldn't."
"Hey," Oralie whispered back, taking both of his hands. "It's not your fault at all. Just like your scars. They're signs of how we're both survivors. They tried to kill us, tried to drag us apart, but we're still here. Doesn't that make them kind of beautiful?"
Kenric paused for a long moment, and then he smiled.
"It does."
And then he pressed a gentle kiss to her shoulder, still feeling a weight of guilt at the fact that she had a permanent mark reminding both of them of the night that had nearly torn them apart.
But she was alive. He was alive. They were back together, after both of them had thought that was impossible.
And that was all that mattered now.
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It sure has been a year... Or Bee's continuing adventures in volunteering
I'm going to be using this post to reflect about what changes have happened within/because of(/thanks to) my volunteering work in the past year. It is in part a memo to myself.
At about this time last year (technically a fortnight earlier), I went to the retirement get-together of the person who'd encouraged me to volunteer, whom I'd known more or less my own life, and had run the place mostly on her own for decades.
Thus far, there had been mutual respect and trust (which I consider rare, and precious) The tasks I was given or volunteered for fitted me perfectly and I could see the progress they allowed.
It was mostly data entry, shelving, some tinkering with an old version of Word to make flyers or posters, and the occasional occurrences of being alone to welcome people in, mostly regulars, without ever any pressure past my limits.
This was volunteering work. That was in its essence a bubble that was pretty much therapeutic, a short walk away from home and a real walk away from the problems weighing me down, where I felt useful and my work was valued.
I knew there was change coming, I only had a vague idea, but I also trusted the newly-retired assurance that she was leaving me in good hands. Looking back, I'd like to think she believed that...
Over the course of the year I was pushed in every direction imaginable, especially considering I'm only a volunteer, and I'm pretty sure there are people higher up whose life would be easier if I stopped, especially if I stopped raising issues they're in complete denial of. (Health concerns and structural integrity, anyone?)
But part of what this year has taught me is that spite is an even greater motivator than I'd ever experienced previously. Because if I stop now, it's me giving up. And if I give up, they win.
I'm immensely attached to that little bubble down the road. The memory of it, now. It hasn't burst yet, but I can't go in anymore because it's toxic. Almost literally. I'm not putting my physical well-being on the line because they're blatantly ignoring Health and Safety guidelines.
Adding to that the knowledge that in the past year, in that little bubble, other than opening the structure to the public, every thing I've invested myself in, even some of my prior work, might as well have literally been binned... means my loyalty has vastly faded.
What this year has taught me, in bullet points:
My extreme willingness to help any way I can will be abused, but the joke's on them because I needed the distraction at least as much as they needed me. I'm not indispensable. They've 'only' had to reduce the opening hours when I walked away. (*not giving up, volunteering literally anywhere else within the scope of the thing I'm a part of)
My communication has improved immensely in ways I can't even word, ironically. Being one of the best communicators in a system whose communication is beyond broken is… weird, but has taught me to question my questioning of my own communication. No, my phrasing/tone couldn't easily be misinterpreted. I said exactly what I meant to say, the way it was supposed to be said. If you're pissed off that I didn't take into account the many things you failed to tell me, it's not my communication you should question.
People are easier. People are doable. I can face situations that involve welcoming people, and handle the unknown, coming out of the other side without being as tense as I could have been. I don't need as long to recuperate. I still need to recuperate, but not for as long. I can even do crowds. I'm still awkward, but less hyper-aware of it.
Be yourself, everybody else is already taken. Learning to lean into my weirdness and be unapologetic about it is actually a strength. I know what I'm good at in the situations I'm facing, I'm the overly eager volunteer who'll practically beg to do things that are considered chores by most other people. If it looks like an inventory list of any kind, I'm interested!
Adaptability, resilience, self-confidence, they all go hand-in-hand here, because I went from the volunteer who was clear on only ever going to this one place nearby (like the vast majority of volunteers in the larger area who are attached to their own structure) rather than have to travel elsewhere, to not knowing from one week to the next what I'll be doing where, or with whom. "They" have done more for my personal development than I could have achieved on my own, by pushing me much further than they have a right to. But every step has been a decision I've taken knowing that.
It's okay to not be able to properly read the people you have to work with/more or less answer to, so long as you get what you need from each other. The person I'm most often volunteering with is a master manipulator, claims it, and I've seen it happen. Is she manipulating me? I don't know, I take everything she says with a grain of salt, and I've gotten very salty over time. Accepting you can't really trust the people you're in close contact with, paired with a lesser fear of other's judgement, really helps, on the condition that walking away remains an option.
Chameleon work. I'm not masking exactly, but adapting a lot better to the different people I'm facing.
Learning when to start or stop questioning things. This turned out to be really important, because accepting tasks without knowing all the answers is hard, but at the end of the day some answers don't matter. And learning to question then stop questioning a system you've known and an unknown system you're discovering, for your own sake, is beneficial. Some things have gone wrong. The only important questions when you're at the bottom of the food chain is the 'how can they be improved'.
There's probably more to this list, but I've worked on this post long enough that I'll go back and add things later if they come back to me. I don't know where I'll be this time next year, but looking back at this might help.
My little bubble of peace is gone. This whole situation has become another burden to carry. But the way it evolved means I learned how to carry it as it happened. And it's still my only real life escape... but I've found some really good music along the way!
One important conclusion:
I would never tolerate working conditions like these in an actual workplace. I'm only still there because as a volunteer I can walk away, fully, at any time. Pick my battles. As far as I'm aware practically every person in that environment is looking for an opportunity elsewhere, hoping to get out. At every level.
Note: all the bolded statements apply to my experience and aren't meant as advice. What has worked for me in a truly messed up situation might not work for whoever is still reading this!
TL;DR: People have been people for a very long time, I have a higher tolerance of that now than I had a year ago, and am better at understanding the underlying patterns and adapting to them.
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