#the last time he says there can be no forgiveness Harrow asks him for whom | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ilikeyoshi · 3 years

Text

i woke up suddenly this morning knowing EXACTLY what i wanted to write for yesterday's prompt. l'aiha and louisoux's student/teacher super friendship mean EVERYTHING TO ME. I MISS HIM.

post-ARR/coils of bahamut raid spoilers, 1,530 words

------------------------------

sil·ver lin·ing

/ˈsilvər līning/

noun

1. a sign of hope in an unfortunate or gloomy situation; a bright prospect.

From the very crest of the cavern, Phoenix fell. Yet nary a feather touched the ground before his form began to disperse, a dissolving mist of red, then blue, then finally whiter than light.

L'aiha watched in awe as Phoenix, at last, departed from the world. A harrowing journey it had been, when she'd agreed to help Alisaie Leveilleur uncover the truth about the Seventh Umbral Calamity. They'd learned more than they ever could have expected—they learned of the regenerating Elder Primal, and the hundreds of tortured dragons woven into the very walls of Dalamud to facilitate his reawakening.

And they'd learned of a phantom, whose mask all too closely resembled Alisaie's dead grandfather.

This was supposed to be the end. Bitter and gruesome, with Alisaie and her brother left devastated by the ordeal. L'aiha could only imagine what it must have felt like, but her heart bled for them.

Yet it seemed so did another's. The twinkling, drifting aether around them began to coalesce, and soon it resembled a familiar silhouette. L'aiha braced herself for another fight, expecting the phantom whom Bahamut puppeteered about his Coils.

But one look at the soft, joyous smile Louisoix gave the three of them dispelled any fear of an imposter.

"Grandfather!" Alisaie cried out, running at once to throw her arms around the prophet's waist.

Alphinaud was right behind her, and the man stooped to embrace them.

"Alisaie," he softly croaked. "Alphinaud. Oh, my sweet, beloved grandchildren..."

L'aiha stood back, stunned by the sight.

Louisoix Leveilleur. The beloved leader of the Circle of Knowing; the dearest friend of so many people L'aiha had come to cherish.

She didn't know what to say, and certainly didn't try to say it. Though she felt drawn to the scene, she withheld herself—it was not her place, she knew, but the twins' who had strived and struggled for this moment.

When Louisoix looked at her for the first time, though, he looked surprised. "You are..."

L'aiha saw the mark tattooed upon his face. The one like so many of her Scion friends', the one that forever painted her own skin, the one she'd had without any memory of a time before whence she might have earned them.

She heard it at once in his voice. He knew her.

A jolt shot through her head, sharp as a dagger—a familiar feeling by now. L'aiha whined as the Echo consumed her, and felt her feet come out from under her before the Third Coil disappeared entirely from her awareness.

When she opened her eyes to the vision, she was still laying on the ground. But instead of a cavernous roof, she saw the abyss of a red, burning sky. She saw streaks of flame descend from the Red Moon and the creature it once caged, a monster so grotesque and wrathful.

She recognized him at once. Bahamut.

A voice cried out, despaired, and L'aiha sensed it was directed at—at her. At her! This Echo vision—she was in it!

She couldn't move from the ground though. The fire rained and razed all around her. She felt so small, so helpless—yet all she could think about was... raising her arm to that hellfire sky. Why? Why? Why?

The voice called for her again, closer. Someone was approaching her prone form, yet they felt even farther away as the thought to reach up consumed her. Words danced at the edge of her mind.

"Hear... Feel... Think..."

And then L'aiha saw her arm, raised skyward, fingers splayed and palm flat to the smoke and fire. She had to stop it. She had to summon the Twelve. She had to—

At last, the source of the voice arrived. L'aiha saw none other than Louisoix's devastated face, as the prophet fell to his knees at her side. He called her something, but it wasn't L'aiha.

She felt her lips move, and heard her voice—hoarse and wet. She realized she was dying. "M-Master," she croaked. "I-I can s-still... I c-can..."

Louisoix bundled her broken body up into his arms. He was so much bigger than her; somehow, it was enough to feel safe. She dropped her hand, as she felt tears streak down her face, as hot as the falling fire.

"M-Master Lou-uisoix..."

"Hush," he whispered. She could hear the grief in his voice. "Hush, my dear."

"I-I can... I h-have to..."

"You have done enough," he said. He smiled, and she caught the glint of teary eyes. "You have done so, so much. I will finish it."

She felt nearly suffocated with a sense of failure. She felt, even as he smiled down at her with an adoration so powerful and so impossible, like she had ruined something so very important.

"Pl-please—"

"Rest yourself," Louisoix said. "You must hold on. You must—"

He stopped himself. L'aiha didn't know why, at first, until she realized she couldn't speak. She couldn't breathe. Slowly, the smile fell from Louisoix's face. He called to her, that name that wasn't L'aiha. What was it? If she could just remember it... But she couldn't answer him.

Though he knew at once she was gone, he called again, and once more after that. She saw him shake, saw his tears fall.

Who was she to him? Why did she know she was someone to him?

He shut his eyes, raking in a harsh breath. Then he smiled down at her once more.

"Rest," he said, so small and so sad. "I will finish it."

His hand came to lay over her eyes, and then the Echo's vision faded away.

"L'aiha!"

She blinked, shocked by a voice so close to her. She blinked again, and again still, until she felt droplets land on her face and at last her vision cleared.

Alisaie was at her side, her eyes dripping with tears. The moment L'aiha focused on her, the poor girl whimpered in relief.

"Thank the Twelve!" she cried, dropping to hug L'aiha tight. "Don't EVER scare me like that again!"

L'aiha heard a second weeping voice, and looked to her other side, where Alphinaud fought with all his might not to disintegrate right in front of her. But it didn't stop his tears.

"Wh-when you just collapsed, we—we feared—" A hiccup slipped, and the boy stubbornly rubbed his face in his sleeve.

"Do not despair, my grandchildren. She is well."

Memory came rushing back to L'aiha. The Coils, the Echo's fainting spell—

And Louisoix.

She wrapped an arm around Alisaie, trying to pull herself into a sit. Alphinaud realized it and took her other arm in both his hands, hoisting her until she was upright. Her eyes found the prophet at once, and all of the guilt and desperation came flooding back.

"M-Master Louisoix," she croaked so miserably. "I-I—I'm so—"

Louisoix raised a hand, gentle, and L'aiha's teeth shut with a snap. "Alphinaud, Alisaie. Let me see her."

The twins reluctantly backed away, and Louisoix approached. L'aiha hurried to her feet to meet him, whimpering and shedding tears as hot as the ones in her vision.

"I failed you," she gasped out, nearly buckling right back to the floor. "I-I failed—please, p-please forgive me—"

"My dearest student," Louisoix said, the kindness in his voice like sunlight welcoming her out of the frigid darkness. "You did everything I asked of you, and more still. You survived, just as I had prayed; just as I had tried and failed to ensure. And now you have wrested me free from Bahamut's dying grip.

"It is I who should be begging your forgiveness."

It threatened to break her. She burst into ragged sobs, throwing her arms around Louisoix, whose returning embrace felt as all-encompassing as it had in that vision.

"T-tell me," she begged. "T-tell me who I was—"

"Alas, it is not my place," Louisoix said, the sorrow in his voice potent. "But know that this love in your heart is true. Know that you were my Archon, and you have always belonged."

It was enough. In that moment, it meant everything in all the world to her.

Louisoix drew back, and scrubbed the tears from her cheeks. At first, it made her cry harder, but then she felt as if she could burst with sudden, radiant joy.

"You did it, Master Louisoix," she said. "You saved us all. I—" As quick as it came, her smile vanished again. "P-please, don't go—the Scions, Minfilia, th-they have to—"

But Louisoix shook his head, and touched a finger to the red jewel on her brow. "I am not long for this world. But I have been with you, since that dark day in Carteneau. Your aether holds a fragment of me, the spark that brought light back to your eyes—and through you, I will ever be.

"Take care of them," he said, and smiled at his grandchildren. "And know that your bond is as ours. I can think of no better a soul to entrust my Alphinaud and Alisaie to."

It was over too fast. The twins rejoined their grandfather for their final goodbyes, and the Coil glowed with Louisoux's pride and happiness. Somehow, it was still enough.

Like Phoenix, he dispersed, glistening aether like a cloud of stars around them. L'aiha closed her eyes, embracing its soft, cool touch. She remembered now, this one memory—she remembered Phoenix taking wing, and striking down Bahamut. She remembered the downpour of aether that breathed life anew into her.

"Master Louisoix," she said, opening her eyes to the twinkling embrace of the prophet's last goodbye.

Her eyes that shone with life—one gold, and suddenly, one white as light.

"Thank you."

#ffxivwrite2021 #l'aiha #louisoix leveilleur #alisaie leveilleur #alphinaud leveilleur #final fantasy #yoshi talks #yoshi's arts #THIS WAS THE HARDEST THING IVE WRITTEN IN AGES I JUST..... MISS HIM..... I MISS THEM

5 notes · View notes

calenheniel · 4 years

Text

Queen of the Ashes | extended author’s notes

In which I delve into the themes, symbolism, and creation of my latest fic.

Foreword

I’ve been writing in the Hans/Elsa fandom since 2014 now, and yet, to my surprise, had never delved into the world of the “Hans with fire powers” genre. I’d enjoyed the art and fics for it, but didn’t have a good idea of what to write on the topic myself, though the idea percolated in my mind that I should, at some point, contribute to it. After bandying ideas back and forth with a friend off-Tumblr, the first line of the story came to me: “They met as children.”

Fics about Hans and Elsa meeting pre-Frozen are also common in the fandom, and to my mind, the notion that they would have met before completely changed how they would interact during the coronation sequence (and “every moment after,” as Hans might say himself). Add to that the notion that Hans, like Elsa, had secret powers – in addition to all their other shared experiences, which the fans elucidate through fics and art and posts – and it creates a new and tantalizing dynamic to tease out over the course of many chapters. It also begged the question, to me at least: even if they had met when they were kids, and realized some of their likenesses, could they still have successfully overcome their individual traumas as adults?

I had promised, for some time, that I would explain in full the background behind this fic, including symbols and themes which readers may have missed along the way. In particular, I am aware that the Epilogue may have unsettled or taken unaware some of them who had enjoyed the quasi-happy ending of the preceding chapter—a phenomenon which I was well aware might happen from the very beginning. It is therefore my hope that the following notes elucidate some of the mystery of the story, and why it ended the way it did. (And I’m tagging @yumi-michiyo, who helped me to summarize my thoughts more cleanly in discussing them with her.)

Theme: abuse (and its consequences)

There are many allusions in Queen of the Ashes to various types of abuse experienced by its main characters: parental and familial; physical and verbal; intentional and unintentional; organizational and relational. While some are described in an overt manner with little ambiguity, others are less obvious, but no less malicious in their impacts on the character.

When reading into the various traumas of the characters, it is easier to ascribe value judgments to the actions of certain characters over others. It would be difficult for anyone to argue that Hans’s father and brothers, for example, weren’t terribly abusive towards Hans; likewise, it would be hard to ignore that the insistence of Elsa’s parents for her to “conceal, don’t feel” had tangibly negative psychological consequences on their daughter, regardless of their good intentions. The consequences of such abuse on both characters are obvious: towards themselves and their powers, they are taught to feel fear, anxiety, discomfort, denial, and confusion; towards others, they can be perceived as childlike and their decisions arbitrary and cruel, cynical of the outside world, unable to trust, and blaming all else but themselves for their troubles.

On the flip side, the abuse which Hans then inflicts on Elsa – pursuing her in spite of her telling him to leave (on multiple occasions), leveraging family connections (Anna) to pressure her into speaking and meeting with him, taking advantage of her self-doubt and fear to convince her to trust only him, lying to her about his true nature and his past misdeeds, pressuring her to continue hiding her powers up until and even after they are married – is in many ways subtler, disguised as him trying to help her accept her powers and herself (even as he tells her that no one else will accept or understand her, except him). They are also characteristic of the deceptions deployed by the character in canon to achieve his objectives, even if they were, originally, used on Anna (whom he also lies to in this story, for other reasons).

It is understandably harder to view Hans’s actions in the same light as those of his parents, or her parents, as we are led to believe that he truly does care about Elsa in this story, and feels a special kinship with her on account of their shared miseries and strengths. I am not here to say definitively, one way or the other, if he cares about her or doesn’t; that is always up to the readers to decide. The point is rather to illuminate how difficult it can be to tell deceptions from truth when the deceptions are told from a sympathetic perspective, and when the deceptions appear to be borne from circumstances so harrowing and tragic that the readers might be inclined to forgive them their trespasses against other characters.

When viewed in the context of their upbringings, we can more clearly see the full cycle of abuse: that which was perpetrated against our protagonists, and that which they, in turn, can and do perpetrate against each other. In attempting to break this cycle, and start a new life with Elsa, Hans ends up playing into similar patterns of manipulation and coercion with her, her family, and her people which he had internalized over many years of suffering the same. Whether he does this on purpose or inadvertently is up for interpretation, but still beside the point, which is: in trying to be the opposite of his family, and then in killing that family, he begins to resembles them.

Theme: perspective

As in several other of my fics released over the last few years, this story experiments with narrative and perspective, describing to the audience the events of the story through only one character per chapter. For the majority of the story, we are shown events from Elsa’s perspective (Chapters 2-8 and 10), and given special insight into her years of isolation and accompanying mental distress. No other character is allotted as much time and room to think and develop and reflect on everything that is happening to them, as Elsa is; and yet, at the same time, we are rarely allowed all the way in to see and know her thoughts in each moment beyond the whispers of “conceal, don’t feel, don’t let it show” that echo through her mind, in empty rooms, and from her own lips.

We are mostly shown her reactions to things that are happening to or around her, and given vague descriptions otherwise about “off-screen” moments like meetings or public hearings where her attention is not fully present. Upon a second reading, it might become more difficult to be certain about what exactly is going through her mind, especially towards the end in Chapter 10 and the Epilogue (in which we are removed from her perspective entirely, and see her only as Hans does).

In Chapters 1, 9, and the Epilogue, by contrast, we are shown events from Hans’s perspective: as a child, then chronologically from childhood through adulthood, and finally just after he is crowned King of Arendelle and married to Elsa. We first meet Elsa and Anna through his eyes and experience his pain, though the source of it is not confirmed until later in the story. When we finally learn about his powers through the confrontation with Elsa in Chapter 8, we are briefly allowed back into his perspective in Chapter 9 in order to experience his ordeals and better understand his motivations.

With so little “screen time,” however, it is difficult to know or understand Hans in the same way we think we do Elsa. We trust him when Elsa does (or perhaps before, if we are sympathetic to the child Hans from Chapter 1), and believe that his version of events as recounted in Chapter 9 must be true and accurate due to their disturbing nature. Even when we are presented with evidence which suggests that his actions aren’t as pure and good as they seem (see notes on the symbolism of roses, apples, and gloves below), we are unlikely to question the validity of his memories and intentions towards Elsa, since, as the victim of severe abuse, we cannot fathom that he would inflict the same on someone he appears and claims to deeply cares for.

It is easy to forget, in these switching perspectives, the complexity and development of the characters, and how certain aspects from earlier on in the story – such as Elsa’s initial suspicion of Hans and his motives – might return even after the “happy ending” of Chapter 10. A common critique of romantic comedies (and Disney movies) is that they end just as the relationship is about to begin—the relationship being the more difficult part of the story to explain and understand, with less romance and more compromise and bargaining.

The Epilogue therefore serves as an antidote to this trope in asking: what would actually happen after Hans and Elsa came together? How would he publicly court her, given his sour reputation? How would he help her to control her powers, while still keeping them (and his own) a secret, and convincing her to do the same? If they decided to get married, how could they continue to keep it a secret? Could Elsa ever truly forgive and forget Hans’s past misdeeds, and cover up his crimes in perpetuity?

And, perhaps, the kicker: Did Hans ever really care for, or love, Elsa during the course of the story—or does he just see her as an extension of himself and his own trauma? Did Elsa love him in return? Can there be love without trust?

It is impossible to answer these questions wholly when the chapter is presented only from Hans’s perspective, as it is; and even if it were from Elsa’s, we would still be missing half the story. In place of seeing both points of view at once, we are left to put the pieces together ourselves of what happened in the year between Chapter 10 and the Epilogue, relying on our knowledge of both characters’ actions from earlier chapters in the story to make sense of their final decisions and feelings.

Symbolism: roses

Roses play an important symbolic role in the story, and feature both in Chapter 6, during Hans and Elsa’s conversation in the rose garden of the castle in Arendelle, as well as in the Epilogue, wherein Hans offers Elsa a rose made of flames during his proposal (which she then turns into ice).

Hans, comparing Elsa to a rose in Chapter 6, frames it thusly:

“You know, Elsa,” he began, “roses are actually rather difficult to grow. The conditions have to be just right, with plenty of sunshine, well-drained soil, and in areas free from pests, since they’re so susceptible to disease. Without regular attention, it’s unlikely they’d survive.” He eyed her pointedly as he added: “So it’s a wonder that these are still here, and blooming as beautifully as they are.”

The unspoken implication of this analogy is that Elsa, as a delicate and fragile flower, must be taken care of and tended to. Thus, the paternalistic warning underlying his speech is that she will decay without proper handling, and that he is the one who can handle her. Even when Elsa rejects this perspective and the analogy itself (“I’m not a rose, Hans. I don’t require sunlight, or pruning, or ‘regular attention’ to endure”), a feminist reading of this scene might say that he still forces her to take on the feminine duty of caring for him when he plucks the rose from the bush in order to make his point, reinforcing the dominance of the male gaze and viewpoint during this scene.

Likewise, his traditional proposal to her as described in the Epilogue, even with the untraditional aspect of his created rose of flame, could be interpreted as him delineating their roles in their future married life together—with Elsa’s ice solidifying this arrangement. In both chapters, Hans is literally leading Elsa “down the primrose path”: showing her what a world wherein she is free from fear and doubt would look like, but only if she puts her trust in him, and discards the memories of and attachment to her deceased parents. (The idiom itself refers to leading a life of leisure and sin in place of morality and good judgment, and so you can see its application here. You are all also more than entitled to feel that I, as the author, also led you down the “primrose path” in the sudden atmospheric shift between Chapter 10 and the Epilogue.)

Symbolism: apple

Similar to the rose, the apple featured in Chapter 7 is an explicit nod not only to the temptation of Eve in the Garden of Eden – and the accompanying downfall of mankind – but also to many other stories of temptation leading to damnation, such as Snow White.

As Hans points out in his speech to Elsa:

“Fine things, apples, when they’re ripe like this. Beautiful, even—your mouth waters just looking at it, thinking about how sweet or tart it might be. But then […] You see something like this, and even though you want to take a bite out of it, you think, ‘well, I’d better just check.’ So you take out a knife and cut it open,” he said, and dug both of his thumbs into the side where the hole was. “And what do you find? […] Nothing but a rotten, brown core,” he continued, a sigh escaping his lips as he gazed into the fruit’s ruined interior.

[…]

“I know that the memories of your parents are precious to you,” he murmured, his grasp soft, “and I don’t mean to deny you them. I only ask you to question what happened—to ask yourself what good it did you to be kept inside all these years, separated from your sister. And all because of what? You hurt her once, when you didn’t know any better,” he said, “and they made you pay for it, for every moment after. But you shouldn’t have to anymore.”

While he is making the analogy in order to imply that Elsa’s parents, though well-intentioned, still raised her within an immoral and abusive environment, the apple also serves to illustrate the darker side of Hans’s own behavior and speech. On the surface, he is trying to help Elsa remove the “rose-colored lenses” through which she still views her parents, and to see her powers as a gift and not a curse; but as he grabs her hand and pressures her to listen to him (“The juice from the putrid core of the apple oozed out from his fingers onto the back of her hand, and she grimaced, the sensation causing her skin to go cold”), the graphic description of the decay, corruption, and stench of the apple implies that he, too, may be acting from less than noble motives.

Symbolism: gloves

Perhaps the most obvious symbolism in any Frozen fanfic dealing extensively with Elsa’s and Hans’s emotional trauma relates to their gloves. What does it mean when the characters are wearing them, or when they’re not wearing them?

These questions have been analyzed pretty thoroughly in various Tumblr posts over the years, and I don’t want to belabor the point by adding on to them. In no uncertain terms, the wearing of the gloves relates to deception, manipulation, control, and fear, while not wearing them relates to the release of inhibitions, and being one’s true self. The former is evident in Elsa’s coronation sequence in the first film (as well as in this story), as well as during the original Hans villain reveal scene. The latter is evident in the most famous sequence and song from the film, “Let It Go.”

In this story, however, the roles are somewhat reversed: where in the original film Hans wore his gloves up until he was revealed to be the “big baddie,” he doesn’t wear them at all in this fic except for in flashbacks (Chapter 1 and Chapter 9, respectively), and in the Epilogue. Meanwhile, Elsa is gloved for almost the entirety of the story, with only short instances of being ungloved (in Chapters 1, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10). Until the Epilogue, almost all of these instances occur due to her interactions with Hans; whether from pressure or curiosity or affection, she reveals her hands to him and him only, deepening their connection and her confidence in him with each new physical encounter.

Unlike the film, moreover, this story does not tie honesty to being ungloved: Hans goes the majority of the fic without them, and is lying to Elsa about his powers up until Chapter 9. Instead, he uses the seemingly improper visage of his bare hands to his advantage in gaining Elsa’s trust, showing her that he trusts her by touching her skin directly—and that she can (and should) trust him.

When Hans’s deception is revealed in Chapter 9, rather than the gloves being an obvious marker of his villainy that the reader can point to, their absence reinforces his power over Elsa. It is a literal “sleight of hand” he performs by demonstrating the extent to which he has gained control over his own powers in comparison to her, as she still struggles to maintain the veneer of “normalcy” in her day to day life. He convinces Elsa, and therefore many readers who see themselves in her character, that he was dishonest for “good” reasons; his hands, bare as before, do not hide anything from her (and us, by extension).

This is turned on its head in the Epilogue, wherein we learn, thanks to Elsa’s observation, that he is wearing his gloves again:

“You’re wearing gloves,” she observes, ignoring his question.

He stifles a swallow. “It’s the least I could do, on such an auspicious day,” he replies, struggling to keep his smile in place. “It would look odd to have bare hands for our wedding, after all.”

Suspicion flashes across her gaze at the answer, but she says nothing, looking back at the dance floor. She watches her sister with something between longing and regret, though the emotions are so fleeting that the king cannot be sure if he saw them at all.

The implication is that by putting his gloves back on, Hans has committed himself – and Elsa, who shares similar abilities – to a future of continued deception and manipulation, never revealing the truth about himself and his powers to the public. In Hans’s weak reply and Elsa’s sharp and suspicious look at him (not to mention her own, bare hands) afterwards, we can surmise that she has already realized this. In her quoting back to him the lines he once told her (““I do. But love… isn’t always good”) and rejecting his overtures of affection, we can see that she will not accept such a fate for herself.

The notion that she rejects his beliefs and worldview might have profound, if unseen, consequences for the story. Will she follow the path of her character in canon, freezing over Arendelle and retreating to her palace of ice and snow? Will she reveal her powers - and his - to the public? Will she tell Anna what really happened to them as children? The possibilities are endless, but the core message of the story is the same: the truth will always come out.

Concluding thoughts

It’s undeniable that I tend to write tragic or “angsty” stories compared to the rest of the fandom (and in particular the Hans/Elsa fandom), though I’d like to think my stories provide a space for those who are interested in exploring that darker side of the story. The purpose of the ending is not to upend what came before for the sake of “staying the course” in this genre, or playing to my strengths as a writer within it. Rather, it is to make the reader think more carefully about the nature of Hans and Elsa’s interactions, the nature of their relationship, and the nature of abuse itself, including all the insidious and subtle forms it might take.

This is not to say that the ending implies anything one way or the other, in terms of their feelings for one another. One reader might see Hans as a true “knight in shining armor” saving Elsa from the gaslighting of her past, while another might see him as gaslighting Elsa. Another might still see how they lie to each other about their beliefs and pasts, and their feelings around both, and think the relationship is doomed to fail as a result. And that is the true purpose of this story: it is meant to leave us wondering how love can survive without truth, and if the characters would ever be able to overcome their past trauma individually, much less together.

#QueenoftheAshesFrozen #frozen #frozen fanfiction #helsa #frozen symbolism #this was not intended to be so long #I just had a ton of thoughts to share #hope this is helpful for all readers #and maybe fic writers too!

11 notes · View notes

stevenuniversallyreviews · 5 years

Text

Episode 124: Lion 4: Alternate Ending

“Please tell me my destiny.”

We’ve had Ronaldo as a toxic gatekeeping fan intent on harassing the creator. We’ve had Lars as a disappointed fan whom the creator is desperate to impress. We’ve even had Navy as a false fan who’s only interested in robbing the creator’s spaceship (arguably a rarer breed than the first two). So now it’s time for the obsessive clue-hunter, who parses through the creation so deeply that the original meaning gets lost in the shuffle. And this time, our fan stand-in is Steven.

Lion 4: Alternate Ending is an episode about Steven trying to ruin Lion 3: Straight to Video. All the magic from that first glimpse of Rose Quartz threatens to be extinguished through overanalysis, to the point where his discovery of a new tape is met with dread instead of excitement. For all the Steven Universe fans that get frustrated by Steven not being as invested in the lore as they’d like, well, this is what happens when Steven gets as invested in the lore as you’d like.

To be clear, I don’t think Steven succeeds in ruining Lion 3, especially because the conclusion of Lion 4 manages to enhance its predecessor. I also don’t think it’s a bad thing that he tries: it fits his post-Storm in the Room state to tear through whatever evidence he's got to figure out why he was born, and it’s properly painful to see him so desensitized to the wonder of Rose’s tape that he’s reduced it to a possible decoded message. What better way to express how Steven feels than tainting a pivotal moment with his mother?

I’m super into stories where a mystery to the characters isn’t a mystery to the viewer: the core example is Cowboy Bebop episode Speak Like a Child, where our 2070s crew is trying to solve the case of a strange antique object that a 1990s audience already knows is a videotape (although a fifth of the way through the twenty-first century, we’re already getting removed from an era where modern audiences would know what a Betamax is, even as a cultural relic). Because the writers don’t have to try to fool us, we can focus more on how the characters tackle a problem instead of trying to beat them to the punch with our own deduction skills. I wouldn’t call Lion 4 the most concrete example of this sort of story, as it’s not impossible that Rose was leaving encrypted messages behind, but to me at least the “twist” that Rose’s tape wasn’t part of some dubious master plan is obvious enough that I can just enjoy the ride.

“Enjoy” is perhaps the wrong word, because while this is an excellent episode, it’s not a fun one. There are comedic moments, because this is still Steven Universe, but watching a kid at the end of his rope struggling to understand his place in the world is bound to be harrowing stuff. Steven’s determination is compounded by his solitude: the Crystal Gems are pointedly absent, as the last time he asked them for answers his dad got abducted to a space zoo and it’s easy to confuse correlation with causation. So it’s just Steven and Lion for most of the episode, and it’s telling that Lion answers Steven’s final cry for help by bringing him to see his dad. Some things can only be fixed by talking, and for all his strengths, Lion isn’t a great conversationalist.

Before we get to Greg, this Steven/Lion solo outing uses constant activity to sidestep the dullness factor that bogged down Steven’s Lion. After a strong first impression of Steven’s mental state as he scours Rose’s tape for clues, going so far as to try to find meanings in anagrams, Lion revs up the plot by retching up a giant key. I love that Steven’s first thought is the same as mine, and likely yours: the chest in Lion’s mane that we first saw in Lion 3, which unlike Bismuth remained a mystery (and it still is, because we never saw what Steven found in there between Change Your Mind and the movie). Even though the key is comically oversized, Steven ignores the obvious and keeps trying to make it fit. So right off the bat, we get two little stories about Steven looking for answers where there clearly aren’t any and doubling down despite the futility out of sheer desperation for the truth.

From here we get a montage of past locations a la Marble Madness and Warp Tour, accompanied by a gorgeous medley of location themes from Aivi and Surasshu; I will never not complain that we don’t get to have an album of their scoring, because this episode’s soundtrack is one of their best. Visiting the Armory harks back to Lion 2 as the tape did for Lion 3, and we also get a glimpse of Rose’s Fountain and Rose’s Room to continue our references to the many known areas tied to Steven’s mom. When nothing works, Steven pleads with Lion for more information, aware by now that the cat has some answers.

While I’m not huge on Steven’s Lion as an episode due to the aforementioned dull pace, it’s awesome to see our heroes return to where Lion was first found. Buddy’s Book already did a great job of reminding us of Lion’s desert home, but now it’s time to finally investigate the area further.

Jesse Zuke and Raven Molisee paired up for our last episode, leaving their usual respective partners Hilary Florido and Paul Villeco at bat for Lion 4. The ragtag team has so far given us rich visuals, with a particularly expressive Steven and Lion (crucial for the non-talking member of the duo) and a callback to the lovely settings of the past, but every aesthetic choice they make is topped by the desert run. It’s a beautiful shot, evoking the iconic ocean run of Lion 2, but Steven’s exhaustion (aided by Zach Callison’s beleaguered performance as he narrates his thoughts) tinges the scene with melancholy where there was once only magic. Steven’s desperation is no longer the frenzied need from when Greg was kidnapped, or even from the beginning of this very episode, but has been worn down to a weary determination that just breaks your heart. This is Charlie Brown after a yanked football too many; he hasn’t been thrown a single bone in his search for answers, and this might be his last chance.

I try not to include too many images in these reviews, because they can mess with the flow of the text, but screw it this shot is also amazing:

The pyramid-like structures leading to the locked door are the first we see of a new hidden getaway, and retrospect makes Steven’s plight even worse: as we learn in Legs From Here to Homeworld, all he had to do was touch one of them to get a major hint about Rose’s true identity.

It wouldn’t have solved everything, as Garnet would likely assume they were spoils of war, Amethyst wouldn’t recognize them, and Pearl would keep her mouth shut. And it would’ve ruined the pacing of the mystery for such a strange hint to be presented, so from a storytelling perspective it makes total sense to keep this in the backburner. And it’s not like it’s that weird that Steven doesn’t feel compelled to touch what seems to be a couple of statues when he’s spent the whole episode looking for a lock and it’s right in front of him and he just survived hours of desert travel. But knowing what we know now adds to the drama of how close our hero is to the truth he deserves.

In yet another bummer, Rose’s hidden landfill is worn down to the point where most of the walls had collapsed, meaning Steven didn’t even need the key. Which isn’t to say the key wasn’t important, as it prompts his trip in the first place, but it’s just one more way that the universe seems to be throwing unnecessary hurdles at him. In the same vein, Lion not only could’ve warped him to the destination as he mentions, but he could’ve done so without hacking up the key in the first place. But we’re long past the point where we should expect straight answers from Lion, so I forgive the big lug.

The first thing that came to my mind when Steven saw the dump wasn’t Amethyst’s room, although there are obvious similarities. It was Greg’s storage locker, the place where we first talked about Rose all the way back in Laser Light Cannon, the place where Greg expressed confusion about why a magic woman fell for a regular guy like him. And as frustrated as Steven is, this room is a wonderful unspoken answer to that distant question: among Rose’s many imperfections was that, like Greg, she was kind of a slob. It’s so nice to have a mundane flaw after nearly a full season of focusing on her as a liar and murderer, especially a flaw that reminds us of why she and Greg were so great for each other.

But yeah, Steven isn’t interested in subtext, and his tantrum is both realistic and reasonable. He finds the tape for Nora by accident, right after kicking some garbage in anger, and this is where that Speak Like a Child oomph comes in. It’s crystal clear that the tape was a backup in case Steven was a girl, but he’s so primed for lies and complications that the obvious answer eludes him and he suspects the worst. I honestly can’t blame him. If you learned out of nowhere that your mom killed someone, who’s to say you don’t have secret siblings?

The contrast between harsh desert and soothing sunset is another treat for the eyes, readying is for a cooldown after two distressing acts. Greg’s excitement over seeing the old tape blinds him to Steven’s angst in a way that adds honest tension to the exchange, because he’s trying to give Steven a fun treat but has no idea how much anguish his son has been through to get to this point. To Greg, telling Steven the answers outright would be ruining the moment, but the wait is already killing the kid. In an episode without an external villain it’s such a clever way to present a final “confrontation” to overcome.

When we finally see the tape, it becomes even more apparent that it was a backup for a hypothetical daughter. Still, I love how the strange new version of a video we know and love is only half-seen, as we focus so much on Steven’s reaction at the expense of footage. Where he was once gazing at the marvels of a new glimpse of his mother, his eyes are now furrowed in frustrated concentration. As in Lion 3, he has a viewing partner, and Greg’s welling tears mirror those of Steven and Sadie from the first tape, highlighting that the Steven of the present isn’t feeling an ounce of tenderness.

Tears do come for Steven, but in the form of anxious release. When he’s told that he’s Nora, meaning he’s the person the tape was intended for, Steven still doesn’t get it and exclaims that he’s his mom and his sister; it’s sort of a joke, but boy is it rough to hear him slip that in some way he does see himself as his mom rather than his own person. So thank goodness he’s saying this stuff to Greg, who’s calm at first but leaps to the occasion when Steven frantically asks why he exists.

As is standard by now, Greg's got fatherhood down cold. He adjusts his tone to show he’s taking Steven seriously, but rather than jump in he sits his son down and lets him talk. He addresses Steven’s concerns gently but firmly, leaving no room for doubt that he’s loved and appreciated no matter what. He brings himself into the conversation by saying he changed his name, doing so not to turn the topic to himself but to reassure Steven that it’s okay to not be stuck on one identity. And just look at how perfectly our three main characters exist in the shot during this last talk:

Steven gets those happy post-tape tears after viewing the last part of the video, and our happy ending is earned, but it’s not a full victory. Rose still had issues, but at least Steven has gained some confidence back that she wasn’t all bad. He’ll go back and forth on how much guilt he feels for her actions, but at the very least he knows now that his decisions to try and atone for her mistakes are his to make, and not a mandate from a dead parent looking for an escape route.

Whiiiiiiich means that now he’s able to try and feign a sense of control over helpless situations by assigning blame to himself in new, exciting ways. Hey, it’s not like the show could’ve solved all his problems less than halfway through Act III of the series. Lion 4 thus doesn’t have the conclusive oomph of Lion 3, which closed a trilogy of Lion Episodes as well as the stage of the show where Rose was a well-realized but distant idea more than a full character. For all its strengths, Lion 4 feels much more like Just Another Episode. But that’s okay. It doesn’t owe the past a thing.

Future Vision!

Again, those pyramids return in a major way, because they’re not pyramids.

Greg talks about Garnet’s inability to predict things about Steven, which is an element of their relationship throughout the show but gets major focus soon in Pool Hopping.

Escapism blends the two big Lion Runs by setting it back on the ocean, but making the passenger an exhausted Steven facing one last ordeal before relief in the form of his dad with a guitar.

We’re the one, we’re the ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!

It doesn’t make the top twenty, it does make the top twenty-five. Just like Bismuth right before our hundredth episode, this doesn’t mean much now, but it will next time, because I’m expanding again to a Top Twenty-Five when we hit the big One Two Five with Doug Out.

Top Twenty

Steven and the Stevens

Hit the Diamond

Mirror Gem

Lion 3: Straight to Video

Alone Together

Last One Out of Beach City

The Return

Jailbreak

The Answer

Mindful Education

Sworn to the Sword

Rose’s Scabbard

Earthlings

Mr. Greg

Coach Steven

Giant Woman

Beach City Drift

Winter Forecast

Bismuth

Steven’s Dream

Love ‘em

Laser Light Cannon

Bubble Buddies

Tiger Millionaire

Lion 2: The Movie

Rose’s Room

An Indirect Kiss

Ocean Gem

Space Race

Garnet’s Universe

Warp Tour

The Test

Future Vision

On the Run

Maximum Capacity

Marble Madness

Political Power

Full Disclosure

Joy Ride

Keeping It Together

We Need to Talk

Chille Tid

Cry for Help

Keystone Motel

Catch and Release

When It Rains

Back to the Barn

Steven’s Birthday

It Could’ve Been Great

Message Received

Log Date 7 15 2

Same Old World

The New Lars

Monster Reunion

Alone at Sea

Crack the Whip

Beta

Back to the Moon

Kindergarten Kid

Buddy’s Book

Gem Harvest

Three Gems and a Baby

That Will Be All

The New Crystal Gems

Storm in the Room

Room for Ruby

Lion 4: Alternate Ending

Like ‘em

Gem Glow

Frybo

Arcade Mania

So Many Birthdays

Lars and the Cool Kids

Onion Trade

Steven the Sword Fighter

Beach Party

Monster Buddies

Keep Beach City Weird

Watermelon Steven

The Message

Open Book

Story for Steven

Shirt Club

Love Letters

Reformed

Rising Tides, Crashing Tides

Onion Friend

Historical Friction

Friend Ship

Nightmare Hospital

Too Far

Barn Mates

Steven Floats

Drop Beat Dad

Too Short to Ride

Restaurant Wars

Kiki’s Pizza Delivery Service

Greg the Babysitter

Gem Hunt

Steven vs. Amethyst

Bubbled

Adventures in Light Distortion

Gem Heist

The Zoo

Rocknaldo

Enh

Cheeseburger Backpack

Together Breakfast

Cat Fingers

Serious Steven

Steven’s Lion

Joking Victim

Secret Team

Say Uncle

Super Watermelon Island

Gem Drill

Know Your Fusion

Future Boy Zoltron

Tiger Philanthropist

No Thanks!

6. Horror Club 5. Fusion Cuisine 4. House Guest 3. Onion Gang 2. Sadie’s Song 1. Island Adventure

(Kind of unbelievable to me that a Lion Sequel doesn’t have official promo art, but luckily we have discount-supervillain’s measured take on what Nora Universe would realistically look like.)

#lion 4 #lion 4: alternate ending #steven universe #su #steven universally #review

66 notes · View notes

naruhearts · 5 years

Text

14x13 First-Watch Thoughts: Dean Winchester, John Winchester and Destiel

Before I write a full proper review this weekend (and I plan to write a separate Sam post) (I’ll be missing other key details for sure) let me SCREAM about:

JOHN WINCHESTER FADING AWAY AT THE END OF THE EPISODE LIKE A GHOST INTO THE ETHER as the Winchesters said goodbye to him --> TPTB visually/narratively textualized his ghostly presence like we’ve seen in S13/S14 -- Ghost-Monster-Yeager-Michael epitomized figure. He loomed over Sam and Dean's lives (especially Dean's) as the core toxic remnant of their past that they internalized and which subsequently influenced them to live out their toxic life courses and crippled their healthy self-processes, yet John Winchester’s narrative cathartic (and redemptive) role was fulfilled during Season Who Am I 14.

DEAN: For the longest time I blamed Dad. I blamed Mom too. I was angry. [...] But to be honest I don't know who that Dean Winchester is [re: letting ‘some other poor sons of bitches’ take Sam and Dean’s place if they were normal].

DEAN: I'm good with who I am.

Dean ACTUALLY used his words and disclosed the sources of his trauma and parental neglect *screams* He self-introspected during the dishwashing scene in the kitchen -- the Heart and Home -- by precisely doing what we expected/hoped for him (and Sam) to do: reflecting on their current lives in response to 2003!John Winchester’s resurrection and determining what really holds true value and worth...what holds more fulfilling love and true heart’s desires than a pearl ever could --> Found Family. DEAN, recalling that life is short, accepted his current respective life with Cas and Jack and stressed the self-fulfilling importance of why their lives turned out as such. What they went through since Mary died in 1983 moulded them into who they are today. HE ACCEPTS WHO HE IS!! Dean accepts who Sam is. Sam and Dean, as grown men, become the optimum versions of themselves where their physical, emotional and mental suffering was, of course, undeserved, but also ultimate self-cathartic blessings in disguise: it contributed to their both their psychological resistance and individual journeys towards self-actualization as they create interpersonal bonds with others outside themselves. THEY LET GO.

JOHN: I'm so proud of you boys. I love you both...so much.

THE LONG-WANTED AND LONG-OVERDUE PRIDE AND VERBALIZED LOVE FROM A FATHER WHO ABUSED HIS SONS FOR YEARS. He finally told Sam and Dean that he loved them. He asked for forgiveness, and they freely chose to give it, additionally permitting themselves to embrace cathartic closure. Now THAT is how you transform trauma into your self-motivational strength!! In particular, we knew *points at all the extensive John vs Dean meta* that Dean yearned to hear those direct words from John. He yearned for years. For Dean to hear it spill out of John’s actual lips -- to hear John verbalize how much he loves Dean, how he’s proud of the man he has become -- after everything Dean has done for him -- is sheer meta fulfillment executed in the most emotive way. Instead of watching his son die without fostering altruism e.g. 2x01 In My Time of Dying, we see John watching his son LIVE and grow -- exercising his agency, formulating decisions for himself, and finally discovering SELF-WORTHINESS. SELF-LOVE. SELF-ACCEPTANCE. John also told Dean that he “never meant for this. I guess I hoped that eventually you'll get yourself a normal life. A peaceful life. A family.” Well--

Dean told John he does in fact have a family, topped off with the smile of utter happiness on his face.

He chose his own timeline in which Cas and Jack exist. He chose his Found Family.

It’s intriguing to note that, in the context of John hoping Dean would have “eventually” obtained a “normal life” -- a “family” -- for himself, if we go off SPN’s constantly-reiterated narrative differentiations between familial family (brothers) and intimate family (husbands, boyfriends, girlfriend) aka Love and...Love, the unsaid connotation of ROMANTIC family applies here, as @thetwistedwillow and I discussed. Sam is Dean’s family, but John isn’t referring to him.

John is referring to Dean getting himself an Apple Pie Life™ -- one that Dean initially tried with Lisa and Ben Braeden but couldn’t sustain; Dean seeking marital happiness outside The Life™ was NOT personally/characteristically feasible. It entailed burying vital truths about himself -- imprisoning his non-performativity -- as a broken man within a broad illusion of Want vs Need whom Lisa also tried and failed to fix...failed to make whole despite Dean once telling her that she comprised his happiness long ago.

Indeed, the present era of Season Cyclic 14 ushers in truth.

Dean has a family with “someone who understands The Life™.”

This aforementioned Life™ -- regardless of it being full of pain, horror, and death -- offers Dean joy, security, and new beginnings.

Cas and Jack, willingly choosing to incorporate themselves into The Life™, are the mirrors of freedom to Lisa and Ben’s jagged misfortunes.

They accept who Dean is wholeheartedly. They lend him purpose, zeal, and love -- buckets of love. They are aware of his faults. They encourage his strengths. They represent his faith and his hope.

(Cas, more than anyone, is indelibly aware of Dean’s capabilities.)

In terms of communication, Dean told his brother Sam that he loves him in 14x11 [for attempting to find another way re: Michael]. He directly told his mother Mary that he loves her in 12x22. Tonight he finally told his father John that he loves him, too. ALL the emotional honesty and transparency, my friends!!

Who else is left for Dean to say such significant words to? WE JUST DON’T KNOW!

- - - -

14x13 practically crossed off most of this + my entire SPN300 checklist!!!

- CHOSEN FAMILY VS FOUND FAMILY themes - S14 Dean encountering/hearing about the Castiel of Old—the Angel of the Lord who hasn’t yet built a trustful and ever-complex ten-year relationship with him - Sam finally rectifying and clarifying things with John as a grown man!! TPTB know what 14x13’s premise means for Mary Winchester and TFW’s characteristic arcs aka EMOTIONAL CHARACTER-DRIVEN NARRATIVES. They are facing their pasts and must subsequently introspect and FINALLY act upon their WANTS vs NEEDS. Bros (Dean the Emotional Hero of SPN in particular) may have wished John was alive, but is it worth losing Cas and Jack? - Is it worth losing the real Cas Dean knows? Worth replacing the angel who executed his own choice to Fall, embodied his newfound humanized principles and willingly became part of Dean’s life? - (And here the focal point of the Destiel-adjacent 14x13 narrative comes in) If John didn’t die, Dean’s life course progression towards self-actualization (with Cas as a key aspect of his psychological realizations; Dean and Cas as both each other’s offsets to healthy self-process) wouldn’t have happened. Losing Mary—losing John—ALLOWED Dean to, despite all the unfortunate circumstances, endure necessary pain in order to heal…to: A. release himself from the shackles of predeterminism, Brodependency, parental absenteeism, repression, toxic misemotionality, and trauma + eliminating the old perceptions of himself as a blunt tool: his father’s hammer and society’s hammer and B. embrace his reflection that he sees in the mirror of his identity - Is alive!John truly what Dean WANTS? What he NEEDS? Dean and Sam, confronted by personal ultimatum in terms of their individual relationships with John and the psychological states/growth stages his death left him in, must decide! - TL;DR character development - And, of course, proliferation of endgame Destiel in some way (not a BIG way yet, but building blocks) from this point onwards and subtext moving into its final pre-text phase as I hope/expect Dean to choose his reality with Cas

(I’m expanding on the last point in a bit!!)

I have LOTS of additional thoughts (tbh they’re all an incoherent jumble lol), but as of now I’d like to say that nothing else can surpass the heartwarming satisfaction that bloomed in my chest over the way Dabb and Glynn beautifully interweaved the narrative’s Family/Love/Forgiveness/Self themes into an episode full of amusing callbacks e.g. Plucky Pennywhistle’s Magical Menagerie (there were a LOT of easter eggs I tell you) and heavy-weighing characteristic ones e.g. Goodbye Stranger Destiel redux -- and oh my gosh, the Dean and Cas narrative callbacks we received tonight, where Dean couldn’t believe that OG Cas had NO recollection of him?!

I don’t know about you, but the romantic subtext smacked me in the face; the negative spaces and unsaid verbalizations were glaring. I was, quite frankly, thumping the table in excitement, because alongside the explicit and gorgeously done Lazarus Rising redux scene -- in a PIZZERIA no less *gestures at Cas = Pizza D/C bonding meta and romantic connotations* -- Sam and Dean confronting OG Cas depicted Dean and Cas' current relationship and dual growth reverting to zero in this AU.

It was a painful encapsulation of the unstable past vs healthy present.

Castiel the Angel of the Lord was non-humanized and never saved Dean from Hell. Emotional detachment and warrior-obedient violence resurfaced as his characteristic markers.

Dean, whom Cas -- from the point of first contact in realtime canon -- forged a profound bond with (the bond that proliferated into an intrinsically complex underlying romance narrative which worldwide audiences have been devoutly privy to) was struck by harrowing shock here, and TPTB took intentional liberties to visually fixate on Dean. Sam, on the other hand, reacted via wariness, and he was placed in the periphery -- blurred out to juxtapose their varied emotions of brother and husband; one of these is, as per usual, not like the other.

Dean realizes the integral role Cas currently holds in his life -- how far they’ve come together, in that the Goodbye Stranger parallel scene between him and Cas has him begging for Cas to stop -- to no avail -- and my heart lurched awfully when Cas made no move to do so. Dean fails in breaking his personal Naomi bred-reminiscent Soldier coding because we all know this certain iteration of Cas never freely chose Humanity.

He never Fell, never embodied the human principles of free will/autonomy and self-identity, never found kinship, and never fell in love with Dean.

Keeping the above in mind, when the real Cas comes back to the bunker after the ever-palpable and necessary self-catharsis that occurred during his absence, TPTB’s narrative brings the episode’s thematic premise of WANT vs NEED full circle as Mary, Sam, and Dean witness his entrance.

Sam and Mary are awed after the temporal fracture ordeal they just experienced, but there lies, once again, a certain cinematographic focus on (12x19-reminiscent) Dean.

We observe Dean’s onscreen expression of raw appreciation and self-conviction in that he has realized, amongst the throes of meta-laden cathartic self-acceptance, that everything he encountered since childhood -- the good, bad, in-between -- was worth it. This current canon reality is his heart’s deepest desire. He accepts it. He WANTS it.

For Dean Winchester, a life without Cas is no life at all.

RATING: 10/10

476 notes · View notes

draculalive · 5 years

Text

Dr. Seward's Diary

I must have slept long and soundly, for it was broad daylight when Van Helsing waked me by coming into my room. He came over to my bedside and said:---

"You need not trouble about the knives; we shall not do it."

"Why not?" I asked. For his solemnity of the night before had greatly impressed me.

"Because," he said sternly, "it is too late -- or too early. See!" Here he held up the little golden crucifix. "This was stolen in the night."

"How, stolen," I asked in wonder, "since you have it now?"

"Because I get it back from the worthless wretch who stole it, from the woman who robbed the dead and the living. Her punishment will surely come, but not through me; she knew not altogether what she did and thus unknowing, she only stole. Now we must wait."

He went away on the word, leaving me with a new mystery to think of, a new puzzle to grapple with.

The forenoon was a dreary time, but at noon the solicitor came: Mr. Marquand, of Wholeman, Sons, Marquand & Lidderdale. He was very genial and very appreciative of what we had done, and took off our hands all cares as to details. During lunch he told us that Mrs. Westenra had for some time expected sudden death from her heart, and had put her affairs in absolute order; he informed us that, with the exception of a certain entailed property of Lucy's father's which now, in default of direct issue, went back to a distant branch of the family, the whole estate, real and personal, was left absolutely to Arthur Holmwood. When he had told us so much he went on:---

"Frankly we did our best to prevent such a testamentary disposition, and pointed out certain contingencies that might leave her daughter either penniless or not so free as she should be to act regarding a matrimonial alliance. Indeed, we pressed the matter so far that we almost came into collision, for she asked us if we were or were not prepared to carry out her wishes. Of course, we had then no alternative but to accept. We were right in principle, and ninety-nine times out of a hundred we should have proved, by the logic of events, the accuracy of our judgment. Frankly, however, I must admit that in this case any other form of disposition would have rendered impossible the carrying out of her wishes. For by her predeceasing her daughter the latter would have come into possession of the property, and, even had she only survived her mother by five minutes, her property would, in case there were no will -- and a will was a practical impossibility in such a case -- have been treated at her decease as under intestacy. In which case Lord Godalming, though so dear a friend, would have had no claim in the world; and the inheritors, being remote, would not be likely to abandon their just rights, for sentimental reasons regarding an entire stranger. I assure you, my dear sirs, I am rejoiced at the result, perfectly rejoiced."

He was a good fellow, but his rejoicing at the one little part -- in which he was officially interested -- of so great a tragedy, was an object-lesson in the limitations of sympathetic understanding.

He did not remain long, but said he would look in later in the day and see Lord Godalming. His coming, however, had been a certain comfort to us, since it assured us that we should not have to dread hostile criticism as to any of our acts. Arthur was expected at five o'clock, so a little before that time we visited the death-chamber. It was so in very truth, for now both mother and daughter lay in it. The undertaker, true to his craft, had made the best display he could of his goods, and there was a mortuary air about the place that lowered our spirits at once. Van Helsing ordered the former arrangement to be adhered to, explaining that, as Lord Godalming was coming very soon, it would be less harrowing to his feelings to see all that was left of his fiancée quite alone. The undertaker seemed shocked at his own stupidity and exerted himself to restore things to the condition in which we left them the night before, so that when Arthur came such shocks to his feelings as we could avoid were saved.

Poor fellow! He looked desperately sad and broken; even his stalwart manhood seemed to have shrunk somewhat under the strain of his much-tried emotions. He had, I knew, been very genuinely and devotedly attached to his father; and to lose him, and at such a time, was a bitter blow to him. With me he was warm as ever, and to Van Helsing he was sweetly courteous; but I could not help seeing that there was some constraint with him. The Professor noticed it, too, and motioned me to bring him upstairs. I did so, and left him at the door of the room, as I felt he would like to be quite alone with her, but he took my arm and led me in, saying huskily:---

"You loved her too, old fellow; she told me all about it, and there was no friend had a closer place in her heart than you. I don't know how to thank you for all you have done for her. I can't think yet..."

Here he suddenly broke down, and threw his arms round my shoulders and laid his head on my breast, crying:---

"Oh, Jack! Jack! What shall I do! The whole of life seems gone from me all at once, and there is nothing in the wide world for me to live for."

I comforted him as well as I could. In such cases men do not need much expression. A grip of the hand, the tightening of an arm over the shoulder, a sob in unison, are expressions of sympathy dear to a man's heart. I stood still and silent till his sobs died away, and then I said softly to him:---

"Come and look at her."

Together we moved over to the bed, and I lifted the lawn from her face. God! how beautiful she was. Every hour seemed to be enhancing her loveliness. It frightened and amazed me somewhat; and as for Arthur, he fell a-trembling, and finally was shaken with doubt as with an ague. At last, after a long pause, he said to me in a faint whisper:---

"Jack, is she really dead?"

I assured him sadly that it was so, and went on to suggest -- for I felt that such a horrible doubt should not have life for a moment longer than I could help -- that it often happened that after death faces became softened and even resolved into their youthful beauty; that this was especially so when death had been preceded by any acute or prolonged suffering. It seemed to quite do away with any doubt, and, after kneeling beside the couch for a while and looking at her lovingly and long, he turned aside. I told him that that must be good-bye, as the coffin had to be prepared; so he went back and took her dead hand in his and kissed it, and bent over and kissed her forehead. He came away, fondly looking back over his shoulder at her as he came.

I left him in the drawing-room, and told Van Helsing that he had said good-bye; so the latter went to the kitchen to tell the undertaker's men to proceed with the preparations and to screw up the coffin. When he came out of the room again I told him of Arthur's question, and he replied:---

"I am not surprised. Just now I doubted for a moment myself!"

We all dined together, and I could see that poor Art was trying to make the best of things. Van Helsing had been silent all dinner-time; but when we had lit our cigars he said --

"Lord -- -- "; but Arthur interrupted him:---

"No, no, not that, for God's sake! not yet at any rate. Forgive me, sir: I did not mean to speak offensively; it is only because my loss is so recent."

The Professor answered very sweetly:---

"I only used that name because I was in doubt. I must not call you 'Mr.,' and I have grown to love you -- yes, my dear boy, to love you -- as Arthur."

Arthur held out his hand, and took the old man's warmly.

"Call me what you will," he said. "I hope I may always have the title of a friend. And let me say that I am at a loss for words to thank you for your goodness to my poor dear." He paused a moment, and went on: "I know that she understood your goodness even better than I do; and if I was rude or in any way wanting at that time you acted so -- you remember" -- the Professor nodded -- "you must forgive me."

He answered with a grave kindness:---

"I know it was hard for you to quite trust me then, for to trust such violence needs to understand; and I take it that you do not -- that you cannot -- trust me now, for you do not yet understand. And there may be more times when I shall want you to trust when you cannot -- and may not -- and must not yet understand. But the time will come when your trust shall be whole and complete in me, and when you shall understand as though the sunlight himself shone through. Then you shall bless me from first to last for your own sake, and for the sake of others and for her dear sake to whom I swore to protect."

"And, indeed, indeed, sir," said Arthur warmly, "I shall in all ways trust you. I know and believe you have a very noble heart, and you are Jack's friend, and you were hers. You shall do what you like."

The Professor cleared his throat a couple of times, as though about to speak, and finally said:---

"May I ask you something now?"

"Certainly."

"You know that Mrs. Westenra left you all her property?"

"No, poor dear; I never thought of it."

"And as it is all yours, you have a right to deal with it as you will. I want you to give me permission to read all Miss Lucy's papers and letters. Believe me, it is no idle curiosity. I have a motive of which, be sure, she would have approved. I have them all here. I took them before we knew that all was yours, so that no strange hand might touch them -- no strange eye look through words into her soul. I shall keep them, if I may; even you may not see them yet, but I shall keep them safe. No word shall be lost; and in the good time I shall give them back to you. It's a hard thing I ask, but you will do it, will you not, for Lucy's sake?"

Arthur spoke out heartily, like his old self:---

"Dr. Van Helsing, you may do what you will. I feel that in saying this I am doing what my dear one would have approved. I shall not trouble you with questions till the time comes."

The old Professor stood up as he said solemnly:---

"And you are right. There will be pain for us all; but it will not be all pain, nor will this pain be the last. We and you too -- you most of all, my dear boy -- will have to pass through the bitter water before we reach the sweet. But we must be brave of heart and unselfish, and do our duty, and all will be well!"

I slept on a sofa in Arthur's room that night. Van Helsing did not go to bed at all. He went to and fro, as if patrolling the house, and was never out of sight of the room where Lucy lay in her coffin, strewn with the wild garlic flowers, which sent, through the odour of lily and rose, a heavy, overpowering smell into the night.

#vampires #dracula #draculalive

2 notes · View notes

talabib · 4 years

Text

How To Make Yourself More Likeable As A Leader

Do you sometimes struggle to make friends? Or argue with others and still don’t manage to win them over to your way of thinking? Do you feel like your relationships with your colleagues and clients could be better?

Look no further – the definitive guide to overcoming these woes is here. By putting these simple, concrete techniques into use, you’ll become a more likeable, persuasive and effective person, professional and leader.

If you want others to like you, don’t criticize them.

Famous airplane test pilot Bob Hoover was flying back from an air show in San Diego when all of sudden both of his engines cut out. Through some impressive flying he was able to land the plane, saving those on board. Unfortunately, the aircraft was badly damaged.

The reason for the harrowing engine failure was that the World War Two propeller plane had been accidentally filled with jet fuel.

Back at the airport, Hoover saw the mechanic who had made the mistake. The young man was in tears, knowing how furious Hoover must be over the loss of his expensive airplane and the danger posed to the three people on board.

So did Hoover yell at him? Scold him? Criticize him?

Not at all. In fact, Hoover said that to demonstrate his faith in the mechanic having learned his lesson, he’d like the same mechanic to service his plane the next day.

The reason for Hoover’s benevolence was perhaps that he knew something that psychologist B.F. Skinner had discovered a long time ago: animals rewarded for good behavior will learn more effectively than those punished for bad behavior.

The same is true of people: criticizing them won’t encourage them to change their behavior because they’re not primarily driven by reason but by emotion. Thus the person you criticize won’t truly listen to what you’re saying. They’ll just feel like they’re under attack, and their natural reaction will be to dig in and fight back.

So while voicing criticism might help you blow off steam, in the long-term, it will just make others like you less.

Many successful people actually made it a habit to never openly criticize others. Benjamin Franklin, for instance, claimed that the secret of his success was to “speak ill of no man.”

Abraham Lincoln learned this lesson as well. He used to publicly criticize his opponents until one day his criticism so offended someone that he was challenged to a saber duel! The duel was only called off at the last instant, and from then on, he stopped openly criticizing others. Even during the Civil War he famously told those who spoke harshly of the Southerners, “Don’t criticize them; they are just what we would be under similar circumstances.”

Criticizing someone is easy, but it takes character to be understanding and to forgive others for their mistakes and shortcomings.

So if you want others to like you, think about why they did what they did, accept their shortcomings and make it a rule to never criticize them openly.

If you want others to do you favors, show your appreciation frequently and make them feel important.

One of the strongest drivers of human behavior is the desire to be appreciated by others; we all like being complimented and hearing that we’re doing a good job.

Some people even claim that all of civilization ultimately rests upon the human desire to be important. Our craving for approval and praise makes us climb the highest mountains, write novels and found multi-million-dollar companies.

No one is immune to this longing for importance and appreciation. Consider that even George Washington was partial to having the title “His Mightiness, the President of the United States.”

But you don’t need to give someone a fancy title to show your appreciation. It’s enough to use simple phrases like “Thank you” and “I’m sorry,” while also giving sincere, honest praise.

Don’t shower people with phony flattery, or they will see right through it. Instead, stop thinking about yourself for a moment and focus on the good points of the person in front of you.

Also, be sure to make the other person feel important. To get into the right mind-set, try thinking like Ralph Waldo Emerson, who said that every person he met was superior to him in certain ways, so there was always something to learn from and appreciate in other people.

Or think about the Golden Rule: treat others as you would like others to treat you.

So the next time you see a tired, bored, underappreciated service employee somewhere, try to brighten their day with some appreciation. Dale, for instance, once wanted to cheer up a bored postal employee, and so he said, “I certainly wish I had your head of hair.”

At this unexpected compliment, the postal worker’s face brightened immediately, and they carried out a pleasant conversation.

Leave little sparks of appreciation like this in your wake and you’ll be surprised to see how positively people react when their hunger for recognition is fed. You’ll soon become someone whom others like and enjoy working with. And best of all, you’ll have a positive impact on the lives of those around you.

If you want to make a good first impression, smile.

Once upon a time, a New York stockbroker by the name of William B. Steinhardt decided to try something new. Previously a notorious grouch who rarely smiled in his personal or professional life, Steinhardt committed to simply smiling more by giving himself a pep talk in the mirror the morning his experiment began.

He began the day by greeting his wife with a smile, then smiling at the doorman of his building, then the cashier at the subway booth, then the traders on the trading floor and his colleagues in the office.

The result? People began smiling back. At home, Steinhardt said that there had been more happiness in the first two months of the experiment than in the entire year before it. What’s more, he found that at work, complaints and grievances were easier to deal with, winning him more revenue than previously. In short, he was a richer, happier man. As the story shows, a smile can go a long way.

If someone we’ve just met smiles at us, we tend to automatically like them. The smile of a baby, for instance, immediately makes us feel warm and fuzzy inside, as does seeing a dog wagging its tail out of sheer delight at seeing us.

So if you want to make yourself instantly likeable to someone, show them that you’re happy to see them by smiling. When they see how happy you are to meet them, they can’t help but be happy to see you too.

And as if this wasn’t a big enough benefit on its own, psychologists have also uncovered a positive side-effect of smiling: it seems that the connection between positive emotions and smiling is not a one-way street; consciously smiling can lead to positive emotions, just as positive emotions can lead to smiling.

In other words, even though a smile costs nothing, you can use it to lift your spirits and those of others. What a bargain!

If you’d like to smile more but don’t feel like it, just try forcing yourself: whistle, sing or hum a tune! Act as if you’re already cheerful and you will soon find yourself becoming happier.

A person’s name is the sweetest sound they know.

Jim Farley lost his father at age ten. Being the oldest boy in the family, he went to work at a brickyard to help pay the bills. Despite never receiving much of an education, by the time he was 46, Jim was Postmaster General and Chairman of the Democratic National Committee.

So what was the secret to his success? Farley realized early on that people care more about their own name than all the other names in the world combined. Remembering and using a person’s name was a subtle yet powerful way to win them over, and this was something at which Farley was extraordinarily adept. When someone asked him if it was true that he could remember the first names of 10,000 people, Farley corrected him by saying that he could call 50,000 people by their first name!

Similarly, Theodore Roosevelt was popular among all his staff because he made a habit of greeting them all by their names. He also deliberately made time to listen to them and tried to remember what they said so he could refer back to it later. By doing this, he showed others his appreciation, and he got far more back in return.

So, to win someone’s favor be sure to remember their name and use it in conversation frequently.

How? Well, Napoleon the Third, Emperor of France, was proud that the following technique allowed him to remember the name of everyone he met:

Be sure you catch the name when it comes up the first time in conversation and ask for it to be repeated or even spelled out if needed. Then repeat it back to the person multiple times to associate it with the person to whom you’re talking. Finally, when you’re alone, write it down to enforce the memory.

And you need not stop at remembering the other person’ name. Dale made a habit of finding out the birthdays of people he met so that he could send them a letter or telegram to congratulate them.

You can imagine how appreciated the recipients must’ve felt, especially when often he was the only one who had remembered!

If you want to be interesting yourself, be a good listener who is genuinely interested in others.

Once, Dale attended a dinner party in New York where he met a botanist. Having never met one before, He listened to him for hours, riveted by the descriptions of exotic plants and experiments. Later, the botanist remarked to the host what an “interesting conversationalist” Dale was.

But the thing is, Dale barely said anything at all. He had merely been a good, interested listener. So it turns out that the secret of being interesting yourself is simply to be interested in others. We all love a good listener, especially when they encourage us to speak about ourselves.

But why is that? The New York Telephone Company conducted a study on the most frequently used words in telephone conversations. Can you guess which word topped the list? “I...”

Humans are always interested in talking about themselves, which is why we’re always overjoyed to meet someone who shares this interest.

So if you want to be more likeable and interesting, stop talking and just listen. Ask others about themselves and encourage them to speak at length.

When conversing, most people are so preoccupied with what they themselves want to say next that they barely listen to the other person at all.

Truly listening means making a conscious effort to give the other person your full attention. And the benefits of this approach are substantial.

Sigmund Freud, for example, was famous for his listening skills. He excelled at showing others how interesting he found everything they said, and in return they felt completely comfortable revealing even their most private emotions and experiences to him.

On the other hand, talking about yourself a lot, failing to listen to others and constantly interrupting them will make you instantly dislikeable because these traits signal that you’re self-centered.

So give listening a try. Ask questions about the other person’s accomplishments and about themselves so they can talk about something they love, and you may be surprised at the deep connections you can forge.

Think about what others want and talk about what’s important to them.

Do you like strawberries? Probably. But if you were to go fishing, would you bait your hook with them? Of course not, because in fishing it doesn’t matter what you want. What matters is what the fish want.

Similarly, if you want someone else to do something, you’re better off thinking about it from their perspective: how you can make them want to do it?

For example, Dale had once booked a hotel ballroom to host a series of 20 lectures when suddenly he was informed that the price of the space would go up threefold.

Knowing that he would need to think about what the hotel’s management wanted, he formulated a letter to them, outlining the hotel’s pros and cons of increasing the price. For example, he stated that by raising the price they would have the ballroom free for other events, because the Dale could not afford to pay the rent, but on the other hand, they would lose the free advertising they gained from the his lectures. As a result, the hotel reconsidered and only raised the price by 50 percent.

Another crucial piece of advice to win someone’s favor is to become knowledgeable and speak about things that are important to them.

Once upon a time, a man named Edward L. Chalif needed a favor. A big boy scout jamboree was coming up in Europe, and he wanted the president of one of the largest corporations in America to pay for the expenses of one participant.

Before the meeting, Chalif had heard that the president of the company had a framed check for a million dollars and was clearly very proud of it. Armed with this knowledge, he met the man, but instead of starting with the request, Chalif asked about the check: Was it true? Could he possibly see it? He’d sure love to be able to tell the boy scouts that he’d seen a real check for a million dollars!

The president of the company gladly complied, happily retelling the story of the check. Afterward, when Chalif explained the subject of the meeting, the man immediately agreed to pay for the expenses of not one but five boy scouts and to come to Paris himself to personally show the group around.

As you can see, people become very fond of those who speak about things they’re interested in themselves, such as their jobs, hobbies or million-dollar checks.

As another example, consider Theodore Roosevelt. Whenever he was about to meet a new person, he thoroughly prepared for the meeting by reading everything he could about the other person’s interests. He understood that the route to someone’s good graces is talking about the things they value the most.

And if you’re not sure about the other person’s interests, remember that there’s one topic everyone is interested in: themselves. As Benjamin Disraeli said, “Talk to people about themselves, and they will listen for hours.”

Avoid all arguments – they cannot be won.

Patrick J O’Haire was a salesman for White Motor Trucks and very prone to arguing. Indeed, he relished a good fight. If a customer said anything offensive about his trucks, O’Haire soon launched into an aggressive argument, which he usually won to his great satisfaction. But the problem was that despite these “victories” the customers weren’t actually buying his trucks.

You see, arguing with another person does not really make much sense. If you lose, you lose the argument. If you win, the other person will resent you for having hurt their pride, so you still will not have truly won them over.

And nine times out of ten, the argument will only make the other person more entrenched in their stance than they were before. Therefore, the only solution is to avoid such disputes from the start.

So the next time you encounter opposition to your ideas, don’t start arguing to bolster your views, but instead try to accept the disagreement as something positive that brings a new perspective to your attention. After all, if two people always agree on everything, then one of them is dispensable.

What’s more, be sure to distrust the first response that bubbles up in you as it is usually an instinctively defensive one. And whatever you do, control your temper!

Listen to what your opponent has to say without resistance or protest and promise to carefully examine their thoughts. Try to find areas where you agree and dwell on these points while also freely admitting if you have made mistakes. This will help reduce your opponent’s defensiveness.

Then, thank your opponent. After all, you could just as easily see them as a friend who cares passionately about the topic at hand and wants to help you come to the right conclusion.

Finally, propose to meet again at a later time to allow both parties to think about it in the meantime. During this break, ask yourself if your opponent could be right and whether your reaction is really likely to produce the results you seek. By keeping these points in mind, you can avoid unnecessary arguments.

Even Patrick J O’Haire learned to avoid arguments, and the next time a customer told him that he preferred another brand of trucks, O’Haire just agreed. Unsurprisingly, this made it hard for the customer to keep arguing, and so the conversation could then be redirected toward what was good about White trucks. As a result, O’Haire became the star salesman of the White Truck Company.

Never tell others they are wrong; they will only resent you.

When Benjamin Franklin was a young man, he was famously opinionated and prone to attack those who disagreed with him. One day, an old friend took him aside to tell him that his friends were abandoning him because of this.

Despite his recklessness at this age, Franklin was wise enough to listen, and made it a habit to never again openly oppose others. He even decided to completely remove some words like “certainly” and “undoubtedly” from his vocabulary because he felt they were too rigid and reflected an unbending mind-set. Instead he used phrases like “I conceive” or “I imagine.”

You see, whenever you tell someone they’re wrong, you’re basically saying, “I’m smarter than you.” This is a direct attack on their self-esteem, and they will want to retaliate because you’re clearly disrespecting their opinions.

So whenever you want to express your opposition to someone’s opinions, take a page from Ben Franklin’s book and avoid absolute terms like “It’s clear that…” or “Obviously, the case is…” These telegraph the message “I’m smarter than you,” and even if you do think you’re smarter, you should never openly display this mentality.

If you want the other person to re-evaluate their view, it’s much more effective to be humble and open-minded. You could say, for example, “I thought differently but I might be wrong. I’ve been wrong pretty often, so let’s have a look at the facts again together.”

If you frame your opposition like this, the other person is much less likely to resist or resent you before giving you a chance to air your views. With a little luck, a soft approach will quickly turn opponents into allies, making it possible for you to change their opinions.

Consider the story of how Dale commissioned an interior decorator to produce some draperies for his home. Afterward, he was shocked by the size of the bill, and when he mentioned the price to a friend, she exclaimed that he had clearly been overcharged. Insulted, Dale defended his actions, explaining that the high price was an indicator of quality.

But then, when another friend dropped in and gushed praise for the same draperies, Dale could admit that he actually felt he had overpaid and regretted the purchase. This positive approach so disarmed him that he could freely admit his mistake.

Whenever you’re wrong yourself, admit it right away.

Once, Dalw was out walking his dog Rex in a nearby forest. Rex liked to run free and so was not wearing a muzzle or leash. Unfortunately, they encountered a police officer who sternly told him that this was illegal, but that just this once he’d let them off with a warning.

Dale obeyed, but Rex didn’t like the muzzle, so pretty soon they returned to their old ways. That’s when the same officer caught them again.

This time, even before the officer opened his mouth, Dale himself expressed how very, very sorry he was, and how unacceptable his misdeed was.

Normally, the officer would’ve probably been angry and handed him a fine, but thanks to this upfront admission of guilt, he did the opposite: the officer began arguing that the little dog really wasn’t hurting anyone, accepted Carnegie’s apology and let them continue on their merry way.

The truth is, we all make mistakes. And whenever you do and someone is about to berate you for it, there’s an easy way to steal their thunder: admit your mistake.

This helps because the other person was no doubt planning to bolster their own self-esteem by criticizing you about your mistake, but the moment you admit your guilt, the situation completely changes. Now, in order to feel important, they can no longer attack you, but rather have to show generosity by forgiving you. This is exactly what made the police officer so lenient in the example of Rex in the forest.

So the next time you realize you’re in the wrong, admit it enthusiastically. It will produce better results, and you’ll find it’s actually much more enjoyable than having to defend yourself when the other person points out your mistake.

To be convincing, start in a friendly way and get others to say “yes” as often as possible.

In 1915, John D. Rockefeller Jr. was one of the most hated men in Colorado. Miners from the Colorado Fuel and Iron Company, which Rockefeller controlled, had been striking for over two years for higher wages. The results were tragic: troops had been deployed and strikers had been shot.

So when Rockefeller had to address the representatives of the strikers, he must’ve been at a loss for how he could possibly win over people who only a few days earlier had wanted to see him hanged.

He chose a simple strategy: friendliness – his speech glowed with it. He emphasized how proud and happy he was to meet them and how it was an important day in his life. He spoke of them as dear friends with whom he shared many interests.

The result? The miners went back to work without another word about the wage increases they had fought for so furiously.

As this example shows, friendliness can make people change their minds much more effectively than bluster and fury, so whatever it is you’re trying to achieve, be sure to start in a friendly way.

Another important persuasion technique is getting people to say “yes” right from the start. Begin by emphasizing all the points on which you agree with the other person and ask questions that get them to say “yes” a lot. Think of it like building momentum in a billiard ball – it will be hard for them to reverse course after all those “yeses.”

On the other hand, you should avoid getting the other person to say “no,” because they will be extremely reluctant to back away from this statement once made.

And for people in sales, multiple “yeses” can translate into more sales. Consider the story of Eddie Snow. Mr Snow was interested in renting a bow from a hunting shop, but the sales clerk told him this wasn’t possible. However, then the clerk began getting some “yeses.”

Clerk: “Have you rented a bow before?”

Mr Snow: “Yes.”

Clerk: “You probably paid around $25 to $30?”

Mr Snow: “Yes.”

Clerk: “We have bow-sets for sale for $34.95, so you could actually buy a set for just $4.95 more than the cost of a single rental, which is why we don’t rent them anymore. Is that reasonable”

Mr Snow: “Yes.”

Mr Snow not only purchased the bow, but also became a regular customer of the store in question.

So the next time you feel like telling someone they’re wrong, start in a friendly way and ask a gentle question that will get them to say “yes.”

To change others, start with praise and lavish them with more continuously.

When William McKinley was running for president in 1896, a speechwriter prepared a campaign speech for him which McKinley knew would raise a lot of criticism. The problem was that the writer obviously believed the speech was superb.

So McKinley needed it rewritten but he did not want to hurt the man’s feelings or dent his enthusiasm.

Instead of starting with a refusal, McKinley began by giving praise, explaining that the speech was magnificent and that it would be perfect for many occasions. But for this particular occasion, a different kind of speech was needed.

The result of this soft start was that the speech writer’s enthusiasm was undimmed, but he still went home and rewrote the speech along McKinley’s suggestions.

This story demonstrates an important lesson: just as a barber lathers a man’s face before a shave to make the procedure more comfortable, so it is easier for us to hear unpleasant things after receiving praise. Keep this in mind whenever you wish for someone to make a change.

Nor should you stop at the initial praise. Be sure to encourage the other person and praise them for every improvement they make, no matter how small. This will motivate them and make it seem easy for them to make the change you desire.

Consider the story of Keith Roper, who ran a print shop. One day, he saw material of exceptionally high quality that had been produced by a new employee. The new employee in question had thus far seemed to have a bad attitude, and Roper had, in fact, been considering terminating his employment.

But now, Roper could go speak to the employee with honest praise. He didn’t just say that the work was “good,” he went into the specifics about why it was superior and what this meant for the company. These kinds of specifics make praise feel more sincere.

The result? The young man’s attitude transformed completely into one of a dedicated and reliable worker.

As you can see, people’s abilities languish under criticism but bloom under encouragement. So the next time you need to change someone’s ways, be generous with your praise.

When drawing attention to mistakes, do so indirectly and speak of your own errors first.

One morning, Charles Schwab was walking through one of his steel mills when he noticed a group of workers smoking right under a “No Smoking” sign.

Instead of confronting the men directly about this infraction, he handed them each a cigar and said he would appreciate it if they smoked them outside. Because he pointed out their mistake so tactfully, instead of berating them, the men probably felt a great deal of admiration and affection for Schwab.

You see, Schwab knew that calling attention to mistakes indirectly makes people far more amenable to changing their ways.

To do this, even subtle changes to what you say can be enough. The next time you plan to start with praise but then say “...but...” and continuing with the criticism, think about how you could formulate the criticism more softly with an “and.”

For example, instead of saying to your child: “Your grades are looking good, but your algebra is still lagging,” try saying “Your grades are looking good, and if you keep working on your algebra, it’ll soon catch up!”

In addition to this indirect approach, you’ll find people more receptive if you begin by talking about your own mistakes.

For instance, when Clarence Zerhusen discovered his 15-year-old son David was smoking, he didn’t demand that the boy stop. Instead, Zerhusen explained how he himself had started smoking early and become so addicted to nicotine that it was nearly impossible to stop, despite his annoying and persistent cough. The result of describing his own mistake first was that David reconsidered and never did start smoking.

To make yourself likeable, smile, listen and remember the names of others. People crave appreciation so shower them with it and talk about what’s important to them. Avoid arguments and never criticize others as this will not help you get your way. If you want someone to change, be lavish and generous with your praise, encouraging them for every bit of progress they make. Admit your own mistakes openly and only call attention to the mistakes of others indirectly.

#How To Make Yourself More Likeable

0 notes

crisontumblr · 6 years

Text

Get yourself a snack and maybe a drink before you settle in for this one, kids, because I have got a long tale for you today.

I'm officially of the mind that, after the issue with Connor is resolved, Isolde takes a quiet moment to approach Alistair alone to sincerely, genuinely apologize for the way she treated him as a child. Not even to ask forgiveness; just to genuinely, humbly apologize.

From what Alistair tells the Warden, Isolde spent his entire childhood resenting him and making sure he felt unwelcome in what should have been his home.

"Anyway, the new arlessa resented the rumors which pegged me as [Eamon’s] bastard. They weren't true, but of course they existed. The arl didn't care, but she did. So I was packed to the nearest monastery at age ten. Just as well. The arlessa made sure the castle wasn't a home to me by that point. She despised me."

I don’t know about you guys, but I can conjure up a whole list of ways as to how Isolde might have treated him, just short of turning him into Connor’s whipping boy, to leave this sort of lasting impression on Alistair. (Eamon wasn’t that much better, and I’ve done a fair amount of yelling about him. However, I’m convinced Eamon has always operated under the belief that he’s doing what is genuinely best for Alistair.) Her feelings about him are the reason Eamon sends Alistair to train with the templars to begin with, in a bid to placate her.

Consider what a shock to her system it must be when Connor begins displaying signs of having magic. Isolde knows what happens to children like him, where they go; how his nobility means nothing to the Chantry outside of maybe some preferential treatment once inside the Circle. Imagine what it must feel like, realizing that she is going to have to send her son away, permanently, because of something he was born with and never asked for.

Thedas may not have the word “karma” in its vocabulary, but the concept is surely alive and well. At the very least, the parallel is impossible for Isolde to ignore. She certainly tries, though. Why else does she go to the lengths of hiring an apostate--a criminal in the eyes of the Chantry--to come teach Connor how to hide his gifts?

It fails, naturally, because Loghain strong-armed Jowan into poisoning the arl in such a way as to push Connor towards seeking a cure in magic--which only attracts the attention of a Desire Demon. (I really like that Desire Demons, despite being overtly sexy, don’t just focus on the lustful meaning of desire, but that’s for a different post.) All hell breaks loose.

The castle is overrun. People die, get resurrected as monsters, kill more people, resurrect them as monsters...

Eventually it spills over into the village. People are killed, get revived as monsters, kill more people...

At this point, I would not blame Isolde for wondering if the Maker is punishing her for defying his will. Or maybe it’s not the Maker, but rather Andraste herself who is delivering this punishment! She was, after all, a mother both literally to several children and figuratively to those who worship her. Perhaps she has been taking stock of Isolde’s life choices and this is finally the thing that tips the cup over.

Isolde spends a lot of time praying. Bargaining. Pleading for help of any kind.

And then, as if in response to her prayers, help comes! They’ve already rescued the village and were on their way to the castle when Isolde was allowed to fetch Teagan. Who are these people?

Depending on how you gathered your party, another apostate, a Circle mage, a Qunari, a Chantry lay sister, an Antivan assassin (and an elf besides), a drunk dwarf, a living stone construct...and the last two Grey Wardens in Ferelden.

And one of those Grey Wardens is Alistair.

Irony is a word in the common vernacular of Thedas, and it is not lost on Isolde.

But the inescapable truth is that Isolde needs help and nobody else is rushing in to volunteer. Beggars can’t be choosers. If they can help her family, if they are the answer to Isolde’s prayers, then the least Isolde can do is tolerate his presence for as long as they’re useful, right?

(If there is some kind of divinely sent lesson for Isolde to learn within all of this misery, then she will do her best to learn it.)

Then the truth comes out about how she hired Jowan to help Connor hide his magic, how it led to the suffering in the castle and surrounding village. The consequences pile up. The choices for handling this are laid out before everyone and for a fleeting moment, Isolde faces the very real possibility of either losing her son permanently (in a different sense) or giving up her own life.

(And it’s somewhere around this point where, in Aeron’s timeline, Isolde finally actually learns that Alistair is Maric’s son instead of Eamon’s after Aeron catches them arguing--specifically, while Isolde is in the middle of saying something really mean--and steps in to defend him.)

But it doesn’t happen. By miraculous coincidence, Alistair and his newfound friends helped the Circle of Magi deal with an Abomination problem not too long ago; they even convinced the templars in charge to keep from killing everyone inside. Or, after hearing about a third possible option, maybe Alistair and his friends actually decide to make the harrowing trip from Redcliffe to the Circle tower, wherein they clear out the Abominations and prevent the templars from doing their ordained duty. Doesn’t matter. Point is, the mages more or less owe them a huge favor--and this situation with Connor is kind of huge.

It isn’t easy work, but they are determined to help. Alistair, the boy she despised and resented--on the basis of an untrue rumor, mind you--so badly that Arl Eamon sent him, is determined to help the arl and rescue her son. Her son!

It doesn’t happen right away, of course, but Isolde starts to see the sort of man he has become--kind, compassionate, courageous. She sees, too, the way he attempt to protect himself with jokes and wit. (Isolde is Orlesian, after all, and familiar with the art of the Game.) She starts to wonder how much sadness and sorrow is hidden underneath.

Then she starts to wonder how much of that is her own doing, and she finally finds the divinely sent lesson in the misery.

So Connor lives. Isolde lives. Arl Eamon is saved after Alistair and his friends retrieve the Sacred Ashes, so he gets to live, too. It’s a momentous occasion.

But Isolde does not let herself forget to whom goes the gratitude. More importantly, she knows what she actually needs to do. The problem is that it’s hard. It’s scary. (She figures that that’s part of the point.) How do you find the words? What do you say? How will he react?

Isolde decides it doesn’t matter how he reacts. She has to do it. And she does; on the day before he is to leave with his fellow Warden and their friends, Isolde calls Alistair aside and, after a patch of awkward silence (during which she takes a nervous breath), she apologizes. Fully, honestly, without any sense of expectation of forgiveness; she apologizes for those years that were so hard when they shouldn’t have been.

And Alistair...

In Aeron’s timeline, at least, it makes a difference. It means something. It doesn’t mean they’re immediately friends, but it opens a door that was locked shut before. And that’s good. That’s important.

#Dragon Age #DA Headcanon #Lady Isolde Guerrin #Alistair Theirin #Alistair

16 notes · View notes

bountyofbeads · 5 years

Text

ESCAPING THE LIST

https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/natalie_vikhrov/russia-chechnya-lgbtq-purge-trans-man-queer-women?ref=bfnsplash&utm_term=4ldqpho

This is a heartbreaking 💔 story on the suffering and human rights abuses in Chechnya if you're trans, queer or you identify as #LGBTQ 💜💙💚💛🧡❤️

Trans Men And Queer Women Have Been Swept Up In Chechnya’s Anti-LGBTQ Crackdown

Giving rare interviews, a trans man and queer women tell BuzzFeed News about the nightmare of escaping Chechnya’s anti-LGBTQ purge.

By Natalie Vikhrov | Published July 27, 2019, at 8:27 a.m. ET | BuzzFeed | Posted July 27, 2019 10:50 AM ET ||

The phone call that would change M.’s life came one spring evening in 2018. “You’re on the list,” the baritone voice on the other end of the line said.

The caller identified himself as a member of the military and accused M. of indecent behavior. “We need to cleanse our republic of these people,” the voice said. The man didn’t say the word — he didn’t have to. M. knew the voice on the phone was implying he was both a woman and a lesbian.

M. walked over to the window of his apartment, tugging the curtain closed against the dark outside, and asked, “Where is your evidence?”

“We don’t need evidence,” the man replied. “The fact that you’re on the list already counts against you.”

With those words, the nightmare for M. — a trans man — began. For more than two years, the Russian republic of Chechnya has been rounding up gay and bisexual men, torturing them, forcing them to give up the names of other men, and killing them — or ordering their families to — as it launched a brutal anti-LGBTQ campaign. At least 150 people have fled the region. M. knew now it was not just gay men being targeted but trans people and queer women as well.

“We don’t need evidence. The fact that you’re on the list already counts against you.”

M. is among a number of LGBTQ people from Chechnya hiding in other parts of Russia, although this offers little sense of security. The country adopted an ”anti-gay propaganda” law in 2013, which launched a new wave of vigilante attacks against LGBTQ people — the activist Yelena Grigoryeva was killed in St. Petersburg just last week — and nowhere is that more true than in Chechnya, a majority-Muslim republic ruled by a thuggish leader given free rein by the Kremlin to crack down as he wishes.

M. worries that if he is not granted asylum abroad soon, he could be found and forced to return home. While some LGBTQ people risk falling into the hands of the authorities, others face punishment from their own families. That could mean violence, forced marriages, or so-called honor killings.

BuzzFeed News is identifying M. with only an initial because of concerns about his safety. He is believed to be the first Chechen trans man to publicly share his story in detail since the anti-LGBTQ purges began.

Four queer women from the North Caucasus also agreed to share their stories, via phone and video calls, on the condition that they are only identified by pseudonyms assigned to them by LGBTQ activists.

Their plight has received much less international attention despite the additional gender-based discrimination they face. They all hope, by speaking out, to raise awareness of their situation.

M. knew he was a boy from a young age, although it would be years before he understood what that meant. He recalls being 5 years old and wishing he could cut off his hair, and praying to God to make him a man. As a teenager, he asked for forgiveness for his “sins.”

M.’s mother and grandmother, who raised him, brushed off his talk of being a boy as childhood games. They wanted him to grow up to become a traditional Chechen woman.

By the time he was in the fourth or fifth grade, his family had banned him from wearing pants, instead forcing him to dress in pink sweaters and long skirts and, later, a headscarf.

“It was the sport pants that we’d wear for physical education that saved me,” M., now in his late 20s, told BuzzFeed News in a series of video calls. “I wore them in secret when everyone went to bed. It was important for me just to wear them and walk around in them.”

M. was attracting attention, however. One day, when he was in his late teens, a local mullah accused him of having a “jinn,” or a demon, inside him.

“He said that a male jinn was sitting inside me and trying to seduce my brain,” M. said. The mullah told M.’s mother, “There’s something not right” with him.

M. later went to university in Chechnya, and it was in his third year there that he was approached by another student. “She said I looked like a lesbian,” M. said. “I said, ‘I’m not like that and don’t approach me about this again.’” But he couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation. Eventually, M. decided to speak to the other student again. It marked the first time M. told anyone about his gender identity outside of his family.

“He said that a male jinn was sitting inside me and trying to seduce my brain."

“I asked her about transgender people,” he said. “She promised to introduce me to other transgender people, other influential people who were part of Chechnya’s secret LGBT community, and I agreed.”

The woman invited M. to her apartment, but shortly after he arrived, men in military uniforms walked through the door, and the woman told M. to wait in her bedroom. She spoke to the men for about 15 minutes before they left.

“This woman was speaking to them like a man would speak to a man,” M. said. “Women can’t talk to men in Chechnya like that.”

M. asked her what the men had wanted, but she said they were friends of her brother. M. told her he had to get to class and left. Outside the apartment, he saw a parked car with men in military uniforms inside.

M. thinks the men’s arrival was no coincidence, and he broke off all contact with the woman, who he thought had helped set him up. He believes it was this incident that years later would turn him into a target for the Chechen authorities.

After the LGBTQ purge in Chechnya started in late 2016, survivors began sharing harrowing accounts, almost all anonymously, of beatings, electric shocks, and starvation. But the Russian LGBT Network has collected testimonies of gay men being hunted and blackmailed in the republic since the late 2000s.

There is little understanding in Chechnya of sexual orientation, and even less of gender identity. That has been reinforced by the brutal rule of Ramzan Kadyrov, who was accused by the US Commission on International Religious Freedom in a 2011 report of exploiting Islam and “distorting Chechen Sufi traditions to serve his own ambitions and justify his arbitrary rule.” He has forced women to wear traditional dress and employed vigilantes, known as Kadyrovtsy, as a morality police to make sure women stay in line. Kadyrov has brushed off criticism of the LGBTQ purges and insists there are no LGBTQ people in Chechnya.

Much of the attention has focused on gay and bisexual men, but queer women and trans people have been persecuted too. A report by the Queer Women of the North Caucasus Project, a group dedicated to helping queer women and trans people from the region, states that the “first piece of information about so-called 'lists of lesbians’ surfaced in the autumn of 2017.”

“It was our world, closed off from everything.”

For some queer women, it was possible to build a life in Chechnya — albeit a secret one — before authorities began their violent campaign.

When Kamilla was at university, her brother gave her a mobile phone — a small, colorful thing that she used to find an online chatroom for queer people from the North Caucasus. That was where she befriended another lesbian, and the two decided to rent a flat together. It’s rare for two women — two lesbians at that — to have their own space, so it soon became a meeting point for a growing LGBTQ collective.

“Someone would be dating, someone would be going through a breakup, someone would be crying,” Kamilla, who left Chechnya in mid-2017 and now lives in Europe, told BuzzFeed News. “It was our world, closed off from everything.”

In January, the Russian LGBT Network reported that another “wave of persecutions” was underway in Chechnya, with around 40 people detained and at least two dying as a result of torture. And it wasn’t just gay and bisexual men being targeted.

“It’s like a stolen car. Women are searched for in the same way … and it doesn’t stop until the girl is returned to the republic.”

Chechen women have been especially vulnerable, since their families often control every aspect of their lives: where they go, whom they speak to, and what they wear. Even if they are permitted their own phones and social media accounts, they are frequently monitored by their families, giving them fewer opportunities to independently seek out help. That makes it harder to evacuate women from the region safely.

“Even a gay man — not an openly gay man — can tell his family he found a great job in Moscow and he’s going to go there,” said an activist from the Queer Women of the North Caucasus Project who asked to remain anonymous because of security concerns. “A woman can’t say that.”

Sometimes a woman can run away, but this brings perceived dishonor onto the family, so relatives often go to great lengths to bring her home and punish her.

“It’s like a stolen car,” the activist said. “Women are searched for in the same way … and it doesn’t stop until the girl is returned to the republic.”

The situation is the same for trans men because their gender identity is not recognized in the North Caucasus.

M. was lucky. Despite being regarded as a woman by his family, he was allowed to choose what he studied, to graduate, and, eventually, to leave the North Caucasus in 2015, but on the condition that he return every six months. He moved to a major Russian city outside the republic and got a job in health care.

There, he found a certain freedom. “I was able to cut my hair above the shoulders,” he said. “About three or four months later, I bought [men’s] pants.”

At first M. was afraid of being spotted by a relative or an acquaintance from home, so he bought a cap to partially cover his face. Later, when it sank in that he was afforded a certain amount of anonymity by living in a big city, he started enjoying the freedom of it all.

Not long after that, he found love.

M. and his partner Zhenya were introduced by a mutual friend about a year after M. moved to the Russian city. They bonded over a shared fondness for Sigmund Freud and Friedrich Nietzsche.

“It was love at first sight,” Zhenya, who identifies as pansexual, said. Zhenya, also in her 20s, grew up in Dagestan, a republic bordering Chechnya that is also majority Muslim and deeply traditional, though not ruled by a leader like Kadyrov. In her teens, Zhenya had identified as a lesbian and struggled to come to terms with her sexual orientation. When she finished her education, she reached an agreement with her mother to move to a bigger city if she sent money back home, which is how she and M. met.

M. and Zhenya made a comfortable life for themselves, far from home. But then, on the spring evening last year, that one phone call changed everything.

M. was terrified. He was due to take a trip home soon to visit his family — a condition of them allowing him to leave Chechnya in the first place.

M. remembered how the caller turned his threat into an attempt at blackmail.

“I respect you and I want to help you,” M. remembered the man telling him. He then demanded 200,000 rubles (around $3,200), a huge sum for M., who agreed anyway in order to make the threat go away.

M. spent the following weeks trying to raise the money — the sum was several times his monthly salary. During this time, the man kept ringing. But fearing that it would only lead to him being extorted more and more, M. ultimately decided against paying the man off.

He and Zhenya changed numbers and moved apartments. For two months they heard nothing.

In July, despite the threats, M. went to visit his family in Chechnya, while Zhenya went to see hers in Dagestan. In Chechnya, M. kept a low profile, only leaving the house once, to help a sick neighbor. But that was enough to alert people to his presence. Later that day, a group of men dressed in black uniforms came to the house, asking M. for the 200,000 rubles. They appeared to be wearing the uniforms of a special police unit that was reportedly “particularly involved” in the detention of LGBTQ people, according to a report by the Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe (OSCE) published in December.

M. told the men he had the money, but he would have to wait until he was back in the big Russian city to deliver it, and promised they would get it within a few days. The men seemed to accept that but warned him not to shut off his phone during that time. They also said they would send someone to accompany him.

M. fled Chechnya the following morning, jumping on a minibus for Dagestan, where he reunited with Zhenya so they could consider their options. At first they thought of traveling to Crimea, the Ukrainian peninsula annexed by Russia in 2014, thinking they could then cross the border into Ukraine. Finally, a friend suggested they contact an LGBTQ organization in a major Russian city.

M. and Zhenya have been in hiding since, unable to work officially, as activists work to find a country that will give the couple asylum.

But they are running out of time. M. has already missed one visit home, and his family calls him constantly. M. believes that if he goes back to Chechnya, it’s likely he will be detained by the men he’s now dodged twice. He fears he could then become the next victim of Chechnya’s LGBTQ purge.

More than 100 of the 150 Chechens helped by Russian LGBTQ activists to flee since the start of the purges have found asylum in Western countries, including Canada, Germany, and France.

But in the two years since Chechnya’s LGBTQ purge first received media attention in the West, activists say that help from other countries is less forthcoming now.

Olga Baranova, a human rights activist with the Queer Women of North Caucasus Project, was forced to flee Russia herself after becoming a target for Chechen authorities while evacuating a queer woman from the republic. She’s now seeking asylum in the US while helping activists back in Russia from a distance.

“Embassies don’t see this as such a critical situation anymore,” Baranova said.

There are widespread calls for the West to step in, including from the OSCE, which has urged its participating states to grant protection to LGBTQ Chechens under the Geneva Refugee Convention.

But even when there is political will, an application for asylum takes time. During this process, the family could file a missing persons report, which would mean a queer woman or trans man would be stopped if they tried to cross the border.

“For me and you, that’s nothing,” Baranova said. “You can go to the police and say, ‘I don’t want them to look for me.’ They’d say, ‘OK, let us call the people who are looking for you and you can tell them that you don’t want to be found.’

“But [queer women and trans men] are not in a condition to say, ‘I don’t want anything to do with them.’ Dad, mum, relatives come, and they just go with them, without saying anything.”

Sometimes activists have less than 24 hours to get a woman out of the country, but that often means traveling to another unsafe location.

Zarema, who’s in her early 20s, was among those evacuated in this way. She is currently in a country that BuzzFeed News can’t name for her safety.

“They beat me so bad … I couldn’t get out of bed."

When she was 17, she started dating a girl from her neighborhood in Chechnya. But because she was only allowed to leave the house to go to school, they mostly texted each other. One afternoon, Zarema had left her phone charging on a table when she got a text from her girlfriend. Her sister saw the message and outed Zarema to the rest of the family.

“They beat me so bad … I couldn’t get out of bed,” she told BuzzFeed News via the secure messaging app, Telegram. Her girlfriend’s family moved away then and Zarema, after finishing her exams, was barred from leaving the house for a year. Then her parents forced her to go to an Islamic school in neighboring Dagestan.

“They taught us there was no other religion except Islam,” she said. “There was a lot of propaganda."

"It was like a prison," she added.

Zarema started thinking about an escape plan and began saving what little remained from the small monthly allowance her family gave her in order to buy a passport. Then she started searching for a way out of Chechnya. But she didn’t get far — her family found the passport, confiscated it, and beat her again.

Zarema was determined to leave and found a contact for LGBTQ activists in a different Russian city while doing research online. They helped put her plan into action.

In late April, she got into a taxi in the dead of the night and headed for the airport in Chechnya, where she caught a flight to Moscow and then flew to what was meant to be a transit country. This secret location has been her home for the past three months. But it’s dangerous for her to remain there — Russians don’t need visas to travel to the country where she is now, so if her family discovers her whereabouts, they can come after her. And there is little doubt they would. Zarema is currently on Russia’s missing persons list.

Zarema’s escape was timely. She said in the days leading up to her departure, she found out her family planned to marry her to a Chechen man.

“So that I would have no freedom,” she said.

Every person from the North Caucasus who spoke to BuzzFeed News said their relatives have at some point attempted to force them into marriage or set them up with men.

“I met him once and the next time I saw him, I was his wife,” said Marina, a 23-year-old lesbian from Chechnya. Her husband was abusive, 11 years older, and had a drug habit. She made several attempts to leave, but her brother brought her back to her husband every time.

When the marriage ended about six months later, Marina’s family confined her to the family home.

Her only salvation was sneaking access to her mother’s mobile phone. She found a group for LGBTQ people online, made a blank profile, and wrote a post about how awful it was having to suppress her identity.

She eventually met someone who put her in touch with activists from the Queer Women of the North Caucasus Project, who then helped her flee the region.

“When I was [leaving], I thought it was some kind of setup, that someone would just kill me,” Marina said. “But I didn't care at that point because if I would have stayed there or if they’d given me to another husband, it would have been worse than death.” ●

#u.s. news #politics #trump administration #politics and government #us: news #international news #must reads #civil-rights #activism #humanrights #human rights #humanity #lgbtpride #lgbtq #lgbt #lgbtq community

0 notes

ecotone99 · 4 years

Text

[MF] The Bad Dream of the Quamatch Canyon Snake

Bleeding green silt into the ocean the Quamatch River clearly remembers its own icy birth. It flings rainbow-tinted mist as alms for the day.

A snake licks the darkness of an egg. It hatches, hunts, and molts.

Canyon-funneled wind whips its skin into the fork of a dead nettle. The ghost twitches and dances translucent, a vision to trouble a winter sleep.

A goose barks and descends into the water with relief as a steady noise emerges from the west. The sound hides the trees' whispering ans ends all lemon songbirds' morning chorusing.

The snake awakens haunted. Feebly worming out into the din it climbs the ivy confused. Amber shadows fall about and blacken. The harrowing sound everywhere crests. Innumerable legions of geese cloak the valley in false night. They cool and rob all vigor from the blood of the snake, killing him.

Woven and cradled in wind-swaying arms he rots.

The geese unveil the day. The last laughing stragglers give back to the valley its stolen calm.

The night she noticed him driving by she crouched low burning bowls in her truck. Thumbing through tokes with each flick of the bic her eyes caught byzantine patterns in the darkness. He rounded her corner, switched off the high beams, gunned it.

“Dude. Friends, enemies, people we know, people we will know or used to know before, they, like, they must pass right by us sometimes, like on the freeway going the opposite way or whatever."

"Sure, I bet it happens a lot. Like the other day I think I saw a dude from my elementary school maybe. I didn't say anything. We run into old friends and shit, where we least expect, like, 'Oh my God, what are you doing here?'"

"Yeah but no but it's the misses I'm talking about."

"Ah like a girl in a movie theater sits in front of the future father of her children?"

"Exactly."

"Or a dude unknowingly sells meth to the tweaker grandson of the asshole who tortured and killed his grandfather in World War Two?"

"Mm. Shooting-stars in the daytime."

Night shift finally ended. As she followed him deep into the parking lot he praised his personal god of coincidence, Kizmet the Hamster. As a little kid he had imagined (or discovered?) a pantheon to whom he would forever sacrifice logic and house-spiders, for whom he cultivated a devotion far beyond superstition or reverie.

"You don't like me much.”

She was slow to respond, busy noticing his scratched glasses.

"Nah not really."

Admiring her own bluntness she stretched the long night out of her wrists. Moths and mosquito hawks orbited the lights. Two barn owls huddled in a duct on the roof. They both took a deep breath. A killdeer screamed like a painted warrior. It looked up to study secret maps encoded in auroras. Instructing scouts upwind, the killdeer, a chief, cried reassemble. Five arrowhead bird-shadows slid south into the yard where cargo tanks rusted. They sat and sank more mass into each new winter’s mud like dented shields in Carthaginian grass.

Faking nonchalance and walking backwards he away fired one last time with,"Hey if I were you I wouldn't like me either." He smiled and savored a hint of the hidden shape of her body.

“Not everyone can like everybody." She slammed the truck door started her engine and massaged her own neck.

Cars tailgated and passed her truck the left. Neglecting the spectacular sunrise, replaying the day instead, planning ideal responses to future points in fantasy discussions, she missed the miracle of dawn’s lavender tongue licking up the last drops of darkness. One rare east amber cloud was swimming thinly through terraces of rising warmth. As she rounded her corner she yawned. The day broke and crowned. It tore the skin of the horizon and bled life upon the world.

He leaned weight into his fingers, massaging her neck. As she swiped through photos he glimpsed her recent roadkill thumbnails. He was at first mistaken in thinking they were photos of living creatures.

“Woah, go back.”

Cricket noise in the canyon reminded him of the whir and beeps of the warehouse equipment. Warm sweat marinated their two hands together. She saw the moon’s regretful expression through her ancestor-guardian-ibis-eyes. She artfully said so and asked him what he saw in the moon. Through misshapen corneas and scratched glasses, through flat windshield-insect-residue and crazy windblown mists he saw the moon sinking slow to sleep. He felt the pulse of destiny in his crotch and answered, "I have no words."

A blonde canyon tarantula is perplexed by the flatness of the road. Dyspeptic turkey vultures drink not of the creek.

War-flags aflutter the finch mobs and sentinel kestrels, the swallow reconnaissance and nomad meadowlarks and red wing blackbird bandits all vie to balance the sky. All the armies, with good and absolute reason, fear shrikes.

“You made up your own secret gods?”

“I guess so.”

“Do you pray to them?”

“When I was a kid I did.”

Quamatch joins a little town called Uverne to the canyon. The vignerons see it as the boundary—where school-skipping couples kiss, where truck-driving midnight johns drop condoms on the gravel, where proud gangs batter prospects into apostles—between zones.

The oaks along the creek-bed died soon after they paved the road. Those that stood out were nailed. Now termite craters freckle the nooks.

“Your eyes are in front, sockets forward.”

“Predatory primate.”

“And yeah, hawk sockets point forward but they can pretty much Exorcist their head all the way around.”

“But horned owls straight murder hawks. They jack ‘em in the dark.”

“Never thought of hawks as prey.”

“Everything’s prey.”

Sour vengeance festers in most crows. However the ravens are wiser than smart. They forget and forgive. Both peck and scissor the carrion and swallow the nested eggs of songbirds. Some mornings these cousins show mocking courtesy to the very sparrows whose offspring they digest.

She swiped back a few.

"Yeah. Poor thing. I think that was off Quamatch. The trucks haul ass through there."

"Ew, you got that close to a dead dog?”

“A coyote. Maybe a hybrid? Was a coyote.”

“What in the actual fuck? Ugh. I’m nauseous. I don’t want to see the rest.”

“To me each one of these photos is like a gravestone or something.”

“Obituary?”

“Epitat?”

“Effigy?”

“Kozmit’s helmet fits loose on his head. He’s an engineer in the classic, forgotten sense. He steers the big wheel of weird as we dance and die down here like spinning nickels.”

“He’s the god of synchronicity?”

“He’s also the god of gambling and profound road signage.”

“'Yield'.”

“Exactly.”

“‘Merge’.”

"One Way'."

“‘Be Prepared To Stop’.”

“Woah.”

After plucking for canyon ticks in the needles a wren sings riddles of melody pebbles with a tiny tongue of turquoise. It bluffs a marmot and retreats to preen deep in its family brambles.

A girl toddler smiled and asserted, “Two bewds.”

“Good job, baby. Two birds?”

“Two bewds fly a-moom.”

“Two birds fly to the moon?”

“Yeah.” The baby giggled with closed eyes. After a few seconds she reopened them smiling and blinking.

“Wow honey, that’s so silly.”

Fumbling bottles of lotion, water, and instant imitation breastmilk mom and dad heard distant croaks. They looked up to see, from above the mouth of a skeletal gray arroyo, two crows enter a cloudless sky and each slowly, eventually, directly cross the face of a daytime moon.

A long silence seemed to increase the wind.

“Ok did that just happen?”, asked mom.

“Yeah but I’m totally done with crazy shit right now. Let’s get the baby fed and changed and just go.”

Before removing a chubby arm from her eyes the baby said cheerfully, “Sleepy snake. Sleep in a tree. Silly snake sleep in a tree."

This prompted mom and dad to share an uncertain glance.

“Good job, baby.”

“Let’s just go. She ain’t hella wet or crying.”

“Still no cell service?”

“Spotty.”

J. Allen DeVera -- 2020

submitted by /u/FlemingtonTurlock [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/311btoc

#Blogger #Story

0 notes

huckpie · 5 years

Text

The Letter That Never Came, an Annie fanfic

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: The following is a work of fiction, and I do not in any way claim ownership of the Annie franchise or its characters, created by Harold Gray, Charles Strouse, Martin Charnin and Thomas Meehan.

Shortly after the events of the musical storyline, Annie is the girl who has it all, but still feels a void in her. Turns out that forgiving the woman whom she loathed was just the thing she needed.

It felt like a dream come true. A Cinderella story, so to speak. One day you were an impoverished orphan girl, yearning for your real parents to come back and embrace you with open arms; sooner or later you are now in the care of the richest man the world has ever seen. I asked Molly to pinch me as I may have been in a dream or worse, but it was true, it was real. From grubby hand-me-downs donated by the Salvation Army to dresses my adoptive father willfully bought off Bergdorf Goodman. And yet despite the luxury I've had experienced since my adoption, wearing that red and white velvet dress I became so known for throughout the whole of New York City, I never got too consumed by my newfound wealth, unlike that snob Myrtle Vandenmeer whom the teachers at P.S. 62 expressed their favoritism. I always told myself to keep my head low and not to forget about my past, especially as my Daddy Warbucks came from an equally impoverished background himself, having being orphaned since he was about my age. I felt that explained the bond that developed between him and I, in that both of us have pretty much been on the same boat after all.

I may have won the fight and got it all, but there's this gut feeling that something is missing. Material wealth can get you so far, but there's still a void left in me, there's still a job left unfinished. And by that I meant my real parents, David and Margaret Bennett, whom I've sadly had the misfortune of not having spent my childhood with for a decade. Twelve long years. I may have moved on somewhat, but I still yearn to at least pay my last respects to them. And if there's anything else, to be able to forgive the one whom my friends at Hudson's Home for Girls and I experienced misery, woe and unjust drudgery. It's hard given the circumstances, but I really do hate to hold a deep-seated grudge as this isn't what Mom and Pop didn't want me to grow up with. Anne Bennett may have been a tomboyish bruiser, ready to exchange fists when need be, but she sure isn't one to be a cold-hearted young lady.

We were having a stroll in Manhattan when I asked Daddy if we could head over to the New York Women's House of Detention, where Miss Hannigan was currently detained in.

"I see you finally had the heart to have a little forgive-and-forget," said Daddy.

"I guess..." I replied meekly.

"We're having a detour, Drake, take us to the detention facility," ordered my father.

"Daddy, I've had this gut feeling in me... I've been through so much abuse and all, yet something tells me there's still hope to the matron whom Molly and I loathed back at the orphanage," I confessed.

"Well I'm glad you grew up to be an upstanding and humble young lady, Annie," praised Daddy. "Mercy is one thing that sets you apart, my dear. You've been through and all, and when given the chance, you forgave. Always."

"Part of me wanted Miss Hannigan to rot in jail, but broken as she was, how could she hurt me?" I cried. She sure was an unpleasant character along with her brother Rooster and his girlfriend, but she was a product of her society. Perhaps Agatha may have turned up to be a better citizen should she be in a different circumstance?

A few minutes later and we arrived at the facility where Hannigan and other female detainees are paying their dues. It was harrowing to say the very least, perhaps far worse than what myself and the others experienced under our matron's care (or lack thereof). I guess I was lucky then. Daddy, Drake and I disembarked off the Duesenberg, and we were escorted to the reception area where Daddy asked if we could pay a visit to Miss Hannigan.

"We'd like to have a few minutes with Agatha Hannigan, please," ordered Daddy.

"Will do, Mr. Warbucks," the clerk complied.

We were led to a block where Hannigan's group was detained in. Poor Agatha felt alone and miserable, suffering from alcohol withdrawal and depression ever since she lost her position at the orphanage whom she was usurped into no thanks to a relative of hers. It didn't help that her brother Rooster got a life sentence for a major heist he and his cohorts pulled off at one time, out of sheer desperation due to the Depression.

"You have a visitor, Agatha," said the warden, "A former orphan of yours,"

"Annie, I see," said Miss Hannigan glumly. She was then escorted to the visitor's cubicle where we were separated by a wire mesh window.

"Miss Annie Warbucks, my dear!" Miss Hannigan said with a faint smile. Perhaps those pangs of conscience wisened her up quite a lot, feeling immensely guilty and tormented by the crimes she committed - child labor, physical and emotional abuse...

"Good day, Miss Hannigan," I greeted.

"Likewise," replied Miss Hannigan. "I guess your Daddy has given you everything at the mansion then. You won, Annie, you and your friends. And here I am, living in misery and pain,"

"I'm sorry," I sympathized. "I didn't mean to be rude to you either. I just had to stand for myself and my friends. I should be the one who should apologize,"

"Why would you even need to forgive me, Annie? You've been through hell and back! I deserved nothing from you!"

"Rest be assured that you'd be given a parole in no time, Agatha," said Daddy proudly, being the well-connected man that he is.

"I'm afraid you'll have to save that for a deserving felon, Oliver," Miss Hannigan deferred, "If anything, there's this purgatory that I have to live through for now. I can't call myself a free woman as it is,"

"But Agatha..."

"No, thank you, Mr. Warbucks. I've made up my mind,"

"Well, if you say so. But I'll do what I can to make you feel better here in jail, believe me," assured Daddy.

Miss Hannigan let out a faint smile, having being cheered up for the first time since she was incarcerated.

"Annie..." said Miss Hannigan.

"Yes?" I asked.

"Annie, I have a confession to make," confessed Agatha, "There is a letter your father wrote shortly before he died. The landlady at your old place kept it from what I heard. If there's any consolation for what I have done to you, dear, I'm sure this would atone for how I've been cruel to you and your friends,"

"Really?" I cried.

"Yes, really," replied Miss Hannigan, "Now be a good girl and pay Miss Riley a visit. Tell her you came for a letter your parents wrote. I'm sure that would give you that closure you needed,"

"Time's running out, Hannigan, visitation time's almost over," grunted the warden.

"Well I guess I gotta' go for now, Annie,"

"Sorry about that, Miss Hannigan," I said.

"Please, call me Mommy Agatha instead, there's no need to be too formal,"

"Don't worry, I'll write you whenever I can, it'll be alright,"

Needless to say, I left the prison with a thorn taken off my back and a smile in my face, being assured that all is forgiven. We then paid a visit to Rose Riley, the landlady of a boarding house my real parents and I used to reside in when I was a baby.

"You're Rose Riley, I presume," asked Daddy.

"Why yes, I am, Mr. Warbucks, come on in!" greeted the landlady, "So what brings you here?"

"I presume you know Agatha Hannigan, right?" asked Daddy.

"Ahh, you mean that old hag?" Riley scoffed. "Heard she got jailed for fraud and child abuse lately,"

"Well, there is that, but we paid a visit to her on Annie's request," Daddy elaborated, "She felt despondent and depressed for the crimes she committed, to say the least. Annie didn't want her to suffer though, and I can tell from the woman that she's sorry,"

"Oh my!" Rose exclaimed. "I'm glad your daughter still has the heart to make amends with the woman whom she had a hard time with,"

"True, true," said Daddy. "You see, that brings me to another reason why we came here. Agatha mentioned a letter that Annie's parents wrote before they died,"

"Kinda' surprises me that the G-men overlooked that one," said Rose, "I have it here,"

Rose passed it to Daddy, whom the latter handed over to me. Tears welled out of my eyes the moment I saw the letter. I tried to fight them back, but it stung me too deep.

Dearest Annie,

By the time you have read this letter, we would most likely be gone by now. I know you would be saddened and most especially be heartbroken by our absence, but dire circumstances have forced us to give you up, even though you, as a wee little lass, would at a tender age be facing a dark and sinister surrounding ahead. We wished we would be together as a family, but even if that sadly did not come to pass, rest be assured that you will soon be in good hands, and we will always be there to guide and inspire you, no matter where you are. It fills us with pride that you have grown up to be a strong yet caring young lady, and that you have never given up on your journey in life. And we hope that no matter how stormy life may seem, the sun will soon come out tomorrow.

- Your loving parents

Never have I felt so immensely relieved my entire life, and to say the least, this dark chapter in my life has finally been over. But I also had to pay my respects as well - Rose led me, Daddy and Drake to the cemetery where my real parents were buried, thanks to Miss Riley's generosity as she was able to get his friends and relatives to pitch in for giving my Mom and Pop a proper burial than an unmarked pauper's grave. I prayed for their eternal rest and left a bouquet of flowers; Daddy promised to build a lavish mausoleum for them, but knowing my inner sense of modesty we settled for something sedate yet dignified.

"I guess I really am lucky," I said to myself.

A/N: Portions of the fic were inspired by Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events as shown by the title and the letter in question. That brought tears to my eyes to say the least, so I decided to remix it a bit and apply it to the Annie story. I've also incorporated portions from BioShock 2, particularly when Eleanor Lamb expressed her willingness to forgive her mother should the player spare all key storyline characters.

#Little Orphan Annie #Annie #Daddy Warbucks #Oliver #Warbucks #Daddy #Bennett #Aileen Quinn #fanfic #fan fiction #fiction #fan #miss hannigan #agatha #hannigan

0 notes

estrellamientos · 6 years

Text

the end of An Idea So Universally Terrible also exists

spoiler it’s Dark meditation but done better this time

Ren breathes in, a reflex, a sudden static shock, and even as he does the universe around him turns very still.

The Supreme Leader is *dead*. The Supreme Leader is dead and Snoke was the one who pushed him toward this balance he can’t control and can’t sustain, his only and impossible goal. Snoke was the only one. Snoke through whom Ren knew that nothing else would suffice despite that no one had ever done the like and few seemed to desire it. Snoke whose singlehanded overriding overruling nurture should outweigh history and evidence and nature and every desire Ren stifled half-formed and the few he didn’t manage to do that with.

Snoke whose reasons to hurt him seemed sound—whose reasons had to be—only when he struck Ren and shocked him and burned him it felt more like the Light than anything otherwise physical had ever managed before or since.

Snoke who in the end even Luke Skywalker has exceeded: who couldn’t even tell he was about to die. Snoke who welcomed his death open-handed because he couldn’t even discern Ren’s enmities enough to see himself.

And that’s not *hard*.

Ren breathes. He feels his eyelids flicker slightly but they don’t open, not yet. He would have no control, probably, either way, and when his back begins to straighten he regards this at most with vague interest. To his awareness of the scurrying lives around him he grants not even that, nor gratitude when it begins to fade: one does not practice gratitude for the obvious and the natural. At most one may instead practice resentment, for the time before when there is a time before, when they’re withheld.

Ren breathes, and he sits up, fluid and neat. His spine is very straight, for no one’s benefit. (Perhaps for his own.)

No undeserved gratitude, and no fear, not of things that are right, not even of suffering if it’s been earned. Ren knows this, knows it as one of the few things he’s always known, the bare fraction of himself he even thinks—he’ll never know, but he thinks anyway; and now no one, for better or for worse and for both, can stop him—one of the few parts of himself he still thinks would be present even if Snoke never had been.

He’d reconciled it, before, when merely anticipating almost any interaction with his master brought tears and tremors worse even than Luke ever could and the best Ren could do was get them out of the way and hope Snoke couldn’t tell and know he always would, that his own assessments of what he deserved were just short-sightedly skewed in his own self-serving favor. If the Supreme Leader knew and saw all he should see and know, what Ren was sure of—his wisdom and his base of reference, in this, besides, with knowledge of Ren longer than Ren’s own memory and more unerring—surely it just fell to Ren to understand, the fear another of those uncountable proofs of the failures he was to suffer for in the first place.

But the thing about perfect consistency is that it takes no skill to guess. It doesn’t even take luck. It barely takes a mind.

Snoke, meanwhile, couldn’t tell that Ren hated him.

Of course Ren was hiding it, even from himself, but it was always his master’s place to know Ren *better* than he knew himself, surely, as surely as Snoke had it easier than every other master twice over: first his running head start, and then the chance that granted him to shape Ren accordingly besides. It’s not as if Snoke didn’t exploit both in every way that occurred to him.

And he’s dead. Still. He’s dead, and Ren’s alive, and the screaming terror hasn’t *left* Ren, not even nearly, but it’s a false positive—it’s a lie.

By definition.

For the rest of his life.

So put aside Snoke’s last mistake—Ren does, with effort, and though the effort is great it is curiously distant, not by way of simplicity or of ease but instead through an utterly foreign certainty of the inevitability of failure—and the question of whether that mistake was his greatest. (It is. Ren doesn’t think this. He knows this. It seems, even—it seems that it sings.)

Put that unforced error aside, he made others—he made too many others to count—facing the thought is terrifying but this fear is almost new, this fear is *novel*, and Ren’s shallow breathing is even, even now, as he fears the conclusion but not its consequences because no one is going to force consequences on him now, if he can believe—that—he breathes—

Snoke made mistakes even Ren could’ve avoided, ones Ren forced from his mind at the time with panicked speed and practiced ease before Snoke could see.

And he didn’t. He didn’t see. It worked. Ren hid criticism without calculating it between one breath and the next and Snoke couldn’t even tell he was missing something there and Ren can know *that*, at least, because Snoke didn’t have it in him to detect a flaw of Ren’s and opt to keep it to himself, so Ren can know. He knows.

Ren breathes, through the awe, through what isn’t panic but is at very least as *much* as it, and it isn’t easy because it merely is.

It is, and then in the silence around and inside him something shifts.

Snoke made *Ren’s* mistakes.

Ren has made no error that doesn’t bear Snoke’s fingerprints, not in his life, and he would not have been capable: the mistakes he made were either under Snoke’s direct influence or in his efforts to escape it.

For a long, long moment, then, the rage stops his breath.

It at least should be familiar but somehow even this isn’t: it seizes him, hard and fast and too large, though, to compel him to violence; there is no need for Ren to strike it from himself when he can exist within it with rage eternal to spare; merely screaming would be an insult to its enormity and to himself. The anger dwarfs him and he doesn’t shrink and he is not humbled.

It is not that Ren can *be* this insofar as he is able. This anger *is* him. It is all he is.

He is a plucked bowstring, a neutron star, he is the blaze of Starkiller’s collapse beyond his sight as it seared itself into his mind through the blood and wrote itself into the pain.

He has wasted everything. He has wasted it for years. Six. Fifteen. Thirty. Everything Ren was and everything he had.

And he can’t—somehow—Ren can’t find a way to make it his own fault. Not for all that, reflexively, extensively, he tries. And he *tries*.

So Ren isn’t furious. Ren is his own fury. He is one single, perfect instant of refined righteous *right* and incandescent rage, and nothing more, and needs nothing more.

Then Ren exhales, and it leaves him.

He is nothing, and when he opens his eyes he sees nothing, and where this could harrow him he feels nothing.

Ren breathes, and finally—

*Finally*—

People who will say the Dark *takes* are plentiful, and they are easy to find, and it’s the clearest sign of one who doesn’t know what they’re talking about that Ren could imagine. It’s the Light that takes, that takes and takes and takes and expects to be thanked for the privilege; it’s the Light that leaves nothing behind it but wants then for that nothing to somehow be offered up to it as well, and for that offer, the relinquishment of the *having* and the *left* that remain in *having nothing left*, to be without boundaries or moderation or reason or constraint: to say that it’s demanding flatters it with the idea that the Light does anything like asking—permission or forgiveness, first or afterward or *ever*—it implies the Light would be itself if it were ever to act as if it needed them.

The Dark seduces: it *asks*. It offers. And it waits, and it waits, and then—once accepted—then the Dark gives.

Endless. Eternal. Whole.

And it’s been waiting for him for so long, and he’s been waiting for it, and Ren didn’t know this but the Dark *did*, and it knows him now, so he breathes it in and it fills him entirely and he knows now that brushes he had with it on such grotesque false pretenses were barely a parody of the Dark as it is in itself: cold and empty and emptying and perfect without limit and without compromise and without question whatsoever Ren could ever care to answer with anything but *yes*.

He didn’t let himself want it, just as it wanted him, and now the hatred earned by every single act and every being and every *second* that has kept him even slightly from this is beyond language. It is beyond thought. What they deserve is beyond death such that torture is barely a shadow because mere torture approaches death as well. It is impossible—even just among the living—for Ren to enact on even one of them, the most blameless, all that they deserve. But it’s enough—

*No*. It’s not enough.

It will never be enough.

It can never be enough for Ren to do all he can, but that inadequacy isn’t his, not to suffer or to pay for. It turns outward without taking Ren even as collateral. The Dark demands no penitence because the Dark demands nothing. It extracts from him no debt because Ren owes it nothing.

It offers itself, it offers everything, and Ren takes it, Ren takes it all, Ren takes all that it has to give. It isn’t enough. It will never be enough.

But Ren *is*.

Ren breathes, even, easy, deep. His eyes fall closed. And it’s cold and black and absolute, and it fills him completely, it is everything from his spine to his skin, it is in his mouth and it is flowing into his fingertips. It is everything. It’s what was stolen from him: it’s what he needed.

It fills his mouth and his lungs and his throat entire, not *like* air and not *instead of* air because it *is* air, whole but not solely; the Dark is passing through him, around him, inside him, still and ideal with none of the sick stasis of Light’s enforced idea of peace. He swallows the Dark and it swallows him whole and thus it always has, has always taken him just as it leaves nothing out now, leaves nothing left, nothing wrong.

It would be trivial unto inevitability, Ren supposes, to drown in it, as a smile takes his face with quiet inevitable ease. It would be all but necessary for another to drown, but he belonged to the Dark all along, and Kylo Ren knows how to breathe.

No forgiveness. No compromises. No mercy. No need for them and no tolerance and no space for them to occupy besides. Just power and certainty.

He’ll make it right. He’ll make them all bleed.

#ch: ren #narrator: ren #unfinished #the dark is cold comfort comfort isn’t what it’s for #light side negativity #fic: an idea so universally terrible #how to tell something is autobiographical in disguise: are you pretty sure it couldn’t possibly be autobiographical?

0 notes

talabib · 4 years

Text

How To Make Yourself More Like-able As A Leader