#but instead that her outlook is something to be cherished and protected

[kafhiime]

When a Star Dies

Pairing: Kafhime

Word count: 1.7k

Summary: Pre-HSR Kafhime stargazes…… romantically… I think…

Ao3 Link

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The trek up the hill to XEL-II’s best stargazing spot was by far the most difficult that Kafka has ever subjected herself to.

Earlier that week, while pushing back deadlines on requests, Kafka had got a message. In the darkness of her room, her phone lit up to a phone number she had barely recognized. The attempt at anonymity made her chuckle, knowing exactly who it was the moment she read it.

You always wanted to hear me talk about stars, meet me here.

And an attached link led Kafka to coordinates that were extremely far from her. It’s a pity the sender knew Kafka would traverse the entire universe for her.

So now, at the flat outlook of the hill, sat a lovely red-haired lady. Kafka could only see the back of her head as she walked towards the telescope and the small blanket that the woman was sitting on. Kafka took a minute to think of what to say, before her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.

“I can see your shadow, Kafka.” Himeko’s voice broke through the windy night, laughing quietly at Kafka’s failed attempt at stealth.

Kafka sighed, now making way to sit beside her partner on the blanket. She placed her arm around her bare shoulders—barely protected by her long dress—before commenting, “Are you not cold?”

Himeko smiles at her concern—which makes Kafka suck in her breath. It had been a while since she had last seen the trailblazer; she had been too caught up in her exploration to make time for Kafka, but it didn’t bother her. Kafka had cherished every moment she had with her, even if they were scarce.

“It’s barely cold, Kafka.” Himeko held the hand Kafka had on her right shoulder, squeezing it, “You’re just cold-blooded.”

Kafka let out a laugh at her joke, “I’m sure—us devil hunters tend to be such.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds, staring at each other before Himeko bit her lip and turned her head.

“You’ve been busy,” Himeko looked at the stars, “you’re a hard woman to contact, you know. I could’ve never spoken to you again if I didn’t figure it out.”

“But you did; you always do.” Kafka draws circles on Himeko’s shoulder, letting her hand move down her arm.

Himeko seems frustrated at this, holding her glare for the stars instead, “But I could’ve chosen not to.”

Kafka knows this, of course, she’s not the type to pressure the people she’s with. Part of her wants to hold on to Himeko, continuously message her day and night; but, that isn’t possible, not for Kafka.

“Then I would let you,” Kafka removes her touch from Himeko entirely this time, “but, you won’t, so it’s alright. No harm done, right?”

Himeko thinks about it for a beat before speaking, “Yeah, I wouldn’t.”

The soft reassurance sends something sparking in Kafka. The care she felt from Himeko was new, this back and forth chase since the day they met by the wreckage of the Astral Express. Kafka knew her life had always been spontaneous, but the consistency that was Himeko was welcomed. Himeko had been there for her even when Kafka couldn’t reciprocate.

It’s a shame, though, that Kafka was never in it for the long run.

Kafka feels the touch of Himeko’s hand, now resting atop of hers as golden eyes stare into hers. The moonlight dusts the top of Himeko’s hair, not quite reaching her face. Then, when Himeko’s face shifts to smile, shadows leave her eyes in favor of letting the light glisten in her eyes.

Kafka loves her, she thinks.

“I wanted to show you,” Himeko doesn’t take her eyes off Kafka, “there’s a celestial event going on here.”

“Here?” Kafka raises her eyebrows in surprise.

“Well, light years away, but here is the safest spot to observe it,” Himeko explains, now turning to her telescope. She angles it carefully before letting Kafka look.

Kafka peers into the telescope, looking at what seems to be a very distant white star.

“It’s a white dwarf, reaching the end of it’s life,” Himeko speaks, “this one is relatively small, but it’ll have a thermonuclear explosion in a few minutes.”

“And what is that?” Kafka wasn’t as well-versed in astronomy as Himeko was, but she admired the lengths her lover would go to explain everything in detail.

“It’s—well, I can tell you about how it looks,” Himeko moves the telescope back, “It’ll be red and orange, it’s like fire—it is fire. It’s pressure built up to create a nova.”

“Not a supernova?” Kafka jokes, “sounds like this star is lacking.”

Himeko softly hits Kafka’s arm, “A supernova would be hard to see, but this is just as beautiful.”

“I’m sure it is,” Kafka laughs, looking up at the star, “The death of a star is a beautiful sight, sounds unfortunate though.”

“I don’t think so,” Himeko sighs, “It’s sad, but the material of the star scatters away to create new stars. It’s still living in a way.”

Himeko pauses, leaning her head on Kafka’s shoulder. The sudden movement surprises Kafka, who was still admiring the stars until now.

Himeko continues, “I think it’s poetic, in a way.”

“The star's death?” Kafka asks, now moving her hand to play with strands of Himeko’s hair.

“Yes, even if it dies, it passes along to create more,” Himeko leans into Kafka’s touch, “It’s memory is never forgotten, because it leaves so much behind. Even in a supernova—the star pulls everything into it. Every black hole is what once used to be a star, it just changes.”

Kafka sits still with the information, “But, humans seem to forget it, isn’t that cruel?”

Himeko shrugs awkwardly in her position, “Human’s memories are fragile anyway.”

“They lack significance compared to the universe’s memories.” Kafka finishes for her, now looking at Himeko from the side.

“It’s a bit harsh, sometimes our memories are important,” Himeko smiles, looking back at her.

Kafka considers it for a moment, the only memories she truly cares about are the ones she has with Himeko. There hasn’t been a point in her life where she felt the need to care for human emotions until she met Himeko. She wondered sometimes why Himeko put in so much effort for someone as nihilistic as her—yet, here she was, holding her close in the moonlight.

“You’ve been thinking about this a lot,” Kafka interrogates softly, “what’s got your mind on the death of stars?”

Himeko exhales, “I’ve just been thinking about death.”

Kafka pauses. Her shock is evident on her face yet Himeko doesn’t seem to notice.

Himeko continues, “It’s just funny, you know, we all can die.”

Kafka still doesn’t seem to say anything, she doesn’t know how she feels about the concept of Himeko saying this, it’s too out of her reach.

“When you didn’t contact me for months, I started to almost grieve you,” Kafka feels the tinge of guilt at her words, now focusing on them completely, “but then, I thought, should death be something to grieve?”

Kafka doesn’t know if she should reply to this, but she lets Himeko continue anyway.

“When a star dies, it’s a celestial phenomenon,” Himeko’s voice is almost apathetic—no, she’s admiring, “I want my passing to be like that.”

“Yours?” Kafka questions.

Himeko is silent, as if she’s contemplating what she wants to say before saying it. She lets this go on for agonizing seconds before finally speaking.

“I dream of death,” Himeko smiles at the starry sky, almost refusing to look at Kafka.

Kafka’s reply takes time, it’s only a few beats later that she can let out a small: “What?”

Himeko sighs, adjusting herself off of Kafka’s shoulder so she can face Kafka completely now. Memories fleeting in her mind of her dreams.

“There’s fire,” Himeko pauses, “there’s fire everywhere, at the end I’m staring at a girl I don’t know as my body burns away in ashes.”

Kafka sucks in her breath, deadly still where she is sat. Her expression is mixed as she stares at Himeko.

“I wonder when I wake up if anyone finds my body. I wonder if anyone is there to find it anyway. I wonder who that girl is,” Himeko turns her head to look at the sky, “but I’m never scared.”

“Why doesn’t it scare you?” The response is out of Kafka before she can even think of what she’s asking.

Himeko chuckles lightly, “I may not be like you: fearless and unmoving. I do fear things. Though, I think acceptance outweighs that fear now.”

There’s silence as the stars move. Kafka stays still.

“I used to wake up from that dream in shock, I used to be sweating and shaking, now I just wake up warm,” Himeko looks up at Kafka now, “I feel like a phoenix in some ways. The ashes crumble and I’m left in dust. Now, if I die like that, I can die happy.”

Himeko sits up and places her hand in Kafka’s, squeezing it tightly.

“I’m more afraid of the ones I love leaving. I’m fine if I can die knowing I had you with me.”

Kafka feels the lightest brush in her heart. The soft beating speeding up in her mind as she squeezes back. Her voice isn’t heard in the moonlight when Himeko kisses her, she’s been silent for long.

Kafka isn’t sure how to feel. Beside her undying trust for Himeko, she feels an urge to close a door. Something that had been nagging at her for years. She wants to know what fear is like—but as the world turns to face new constellations, she finds herself lost in the stars that are Himeko.

Love wasn’t something Kafka had known. She had no family, no friends, and no partners. The life of a devil hunter was a lonely one, there was no time for love. Her apathetic nature towards others had made sure of that fact.

But in her life, there are flukes. Himeko had her utterly soft; she became everything that she wasn’t.

There’s a bright light in the sky, the white dwarf has exploded, Kafka can see the reflection of reds and yellows in Himeko’s eyes.

It’s gorgeous.

Kafka takes the moment to bring Himeko into her hold, hugging her tightly. She isn’t sure why she feels like she has to keep her close.

She looks up at the short-lived exploding star, watching as the light travels around. She feels Himeko smile into the embrace.

Kafka knows that, for as long as the stars let her, she will love Himeko.

[shoulderholsterfreak]

Really wish there was more discussion about the Thrawn + Maris Ferasi situation. Like, I love how she's all idealistic and looks at him through some fucking MASSIVE rose-tinted glasses and is convinced he's some galant hero.

Meanwhile Thrawn is all "Omg that's adorable :')" *doesn't have the heart to tell her he was indirectly involved with the murder of 50,000 innocents*.

[thejustmaiden]

Heyo, fellow Inuyasha fans! Happy Friday! This particular blog will serve as a collection of random thoughts I’ve been mulling over lately. Hope you’ll consider giving it a read. By the way, it’ll specifically pertain to the Sessrin ship. If that’s not something that is of interest to you, then no need to read any further. Whatever happens, I wanted to get this out before the sequel. Alrighty, let’s go! 

I’m not sure many of us realize just how much fiction sparks public dialogue and shapes culture. There have been countless studies and research done to prove it, therefore this really isn’t up for debate. What the real question here should be is have we taken the time to fully contemplate and assess just how much fictional experiences are able to change or influence our perspective on real, everyday life? The visual arts are just one of many evolutionary adaptations that serve to give us more insight into one another’s mind. If our outlook on fiction contrasts with said insight, then perhaps some re-evaluating is in order.  

Powerful works of literature such as 1984 and the beloved Harry Potter series are just two examples. George Orwell’s book contributed strongly to how readers viewed government and politics during that time, and to this day it’s a book that resonates with many. As much as Harry Potter is cherished all across the world, there are religious and academic institutions that condemn it or have even gone so far as to ban it. I may not agree with the extreme measures taken, but it’s fascinating nonetheless to witness the extent to which fiction can move and mobilize people for a cause.

The takeaway is that indicating fiction doesn’t have the power to create change in our everyday lives is misleading to say the least. So how exactly then can fictional stories that are, after all, completely made up affect society in such profound ways? It all lies in the power of the psychology of fiction. According to cognitive psychologist and novelist, Keith Oatley, who’s been researching the psychological effects of fiction for over a decade, he states that engaging with stories about other people can improve empathy and theory of mind. When we identify with these characters’ struggles, we begin to share their frustration for societal problems that plague them. These types of stories tap into our emotions more so than- believe it or not- nonfiction, and thus their effects inspire us and even have the ability to alter our worldviews. 

I’ll be returning to that specific topic a bit later, but moving on for now!

It’s safe to say that I speak on behalf of the majority of antis. That being said, I first want to add that we are aware that sessrin shippers claim to agree that there was nothing inherently romantic that took place between Rin and Sesshomaru during their travels together. The thing is we have trouble believing you guys when you time and time again provide contradictory statements to defend your stance.

Voicing things like, “all signs point to Rin” and “it’s been foreshadowed” sends the exact opposite message of what you supposedly stand for and, if anything, confirms that you’ve had romance on your mind long before it would’ve been acceptable to come out with openly. You can’t just go along with what we say when it’s convenient to your argument and then back it up later with “who else but Rin.” How can the relationship you’re imagining be so obvious if they didn’t hint at it for the whole duration of the original series like we agreed upon? Elaborate on how we could’ve possibly come to such wildly different conclusions when we started AND left off with the same views for and throughout the series. 

On top of that, making the excuse that we don’t speak for adult!Rin and that she has the right to make her own decisions once she’s old enough is a weak defense. Firstly, because we haven’t even met her. Secondly, because it’s unfair of you to assert that you know what’s best for Rin and then say we’re not allowed to just because it doesn’t align with your beliefs. I get that you feel protective over her character, but do recall that this adult version of her none of us have actually met yet. We have no idea what kind of woman she’s become, what her dreams or aspirations may be, and whether she’s married or even wants to be. I’m not against the idea of her falling in love, I just don’t think it’ll be with Sesshomaru. I guess I’m also a fan of the idea of her following in Kaede’s footsteps, because if anyone can grow up to be an independent, trusted, and wise leader of the community like her it’s Rin.

To make matters worse, way too many of you continue to celebrate the drama cd and profess that it was sweet that Sesshomaru basically promised he’d wait for Rin all while somehow ignoring the glaring grooming implications. Why do you only see what you want to see and fail to acknowledge that actual child grooming scenarios do in fact play out like this in real life? A high percentage of people who have been victims of grooming can attest to this. If Sessrin does go canon, all the sequel succeeded in doing to avoid the direct correlation with grooming was skip over the more questionable and dodgy portions of it. Take out the time jump, however, and you no longer have a loophole to cover up the scary unmistakable truth, which is that Sessrin and grooming are essentially one in the same.

No one case is identical to another so please don’t come to me with your “but how is it grooming if Sesshomaru didn’t manipulate Rin” refutes. Nobody knows what the hell went on during those years between The Final Act and this upcoming sequel. Based on everything exhibited so far- that is if we decide to recognize the drama cd like so many of you choose to do- Sessrin’s dynamic is eerily reminiscent of real life child grooming. Why else do you think a lot of us fans have a huge problem with it? It’s triggering for a reason. 

Let’s be honest, Sesshomaru’s supposed love confession could’ve just been the first of many gestures like it. Who really knows, right? According to you shippers, a major shift in their relationship took place sometime during this critical period none of us got to watch unfold. I’m sure you all have explored the various ways this would’ve gone down in fan fiction and through other creative means of expression. Not to spoil the fun, but all I can’t help but wonder about is just how many of those supposed “cute moments” would’ve been as creepy and cringey as that proposal. Hundreds of thousands (possibly millions?!) of fans would undoubtedly agree with me, too. It seems to me this ain’t due to a mere difference of opinion. Taste is one thing, ethics a whole other. 

By the way, in case you didn’t know, groomers don’t necessarily need to plan out every single move in order for their behavior to constitute as grooming. What we should be paying attention to instead is the fact that Sesshomaru made a conscious decision to act on his own selfish desire for a young girl who couldn’t have possibly known in that moment the magnitude of what he was asking of her. Why is it that a vulnerable Rin is put in a position that forces her to be the one responsible for making such a big, life-changing decision for the both of them? Yes, Sesshomaru gave her the choice and, yes, she doesn’t have to make it till later, but why on Earth is he coming to her with this well before a child her age is ready and mature enough to handle it? Even if his intentions are good (broadly speaking of course), his what you shippers probably call “innocent acts” are incidentally coercing Rin into reciprocating his feelings. Whether he planned for that or not, he’s at fault. Period. 

That’s one way the power imbalance works. A child wants nothing more than to please the adult they look up to and adore, because they’re impressionable like that. Maybe Rin processes this like she’ll want whatever he wants, so that’s what she trains herself to believe- either right then and there or over time. Plus, if you really think about it, why wouldn’t she trust him if in her eyes he’s been nothing but good to her and that’s all she’s ever really known? (Psst! Charm is integral to the manipulative nature of grooming so it’s deceiving AKA manipulation can come off as praise or flattery.) Bottom line is that Rin is too young to have to think about this kind of deep stuff at all, and Sesshomaru shouldn’t have taken advantage of the power he had/has over her to influence a decision she was by no means prepared to hear about much less decide on. Your headcanons seem to imply that she’ll eventually have to choose though, and Idk about you but I rather not push my own fantasy agenda onto a underage girl regardless of how much I want it. Idc if she’s fictional, it wouldn’t feel right so why would I want to see that? My principals couldn’t ever allow for it.   

Even if it wasn’t an official proposal, per se, it’s still disturbing to me that so many of you find joy in the thought of a grown adult male essentially waiting for a young girl HE KNEW to become old enough before pursuing her. I know this drama cd ain’t technically canon, y'all, but since this is literally the only source we have that may foreshadow a potential Sessrin to come, and it’s referenced a lot, I figured it still should be called out for exactly what it is- Grooming: 101!!!!

Just as I demonstrated above, fiction has the ability to make even the most inappropriate and uncomfortable situations be viewed in a favorable light when you put the right spin on it. *cough* Lolicon culture, need I say more? *cough* Despite what you may believe, the strategies fiction utilizes to explain themes/concepts can genuinely lead to how we perceive them, and ultimately to how we come to make sense of a similar event presented to us in real life. Especially if we have no prior experience with any of it and have nothing to compare something to, these perceptions can be dangerous yet still persuasive to certain fans- young ones in particular. The more narrative consistency across stories and different mediums, the more likely they’ll influence social beliefs. Minors don’t possess the same capacity as adults to think critically about the content they consume, and if we aren’t more careful about what we put out there then all of us will continue to face serious repercussions.

This is precisely why it’s crucial we persist in our fight against the rabid phenomenon of glorifying young girls in every sexual context imaginable. Just look at what something as seemingly harmless as fiction has the power to do. The scope of fiction is broad and far-reaching, and it’s about time we stop denying that fact and actually do something about it if we have the means to.

The truth of the matter is that we’re in desperate need of proper education and training programs on this issue in our communities. Families need to ensure their children have access to the necessary resources, but it isn’t just on them. ALL of us gotta do our part and ALL of us should be up for the task. It takes a village, right? If we do not properly discuss and address child sexual abuse (CSA) with our children and in public forums, including the internet, then we’re ultimately accepting incidents of CSA should they arise. Consequently, that also translates to indirectly accepting that the predators among us stay untreated and/or unpunished. That’s how the generational and societal aspect of the abuse can continue, and we must do everything in our power to secure our children’s future. Yes, even when it comes to fiction.

If you still somehow don’t think the Sessrin pairing has anything to do with grooming, allow me to break this down for you one more time:

1. If some of your fellow sessrin shippers say that a relationship like this in real life is harmful, then that should be pretty telling in and of itself.

2. Piggybacking off #1: if your only defense to that is “well it’s just fiction,” then you should ask yourself why you can’t ever come up with better reasons. Same goes for history and culture, so please stop using those to justify this relationship. None of the above can or should be applied since it’s already been established that fiction pervades our lives and vice versa.

3. If fellow shippers who are victims of grooming say they are drawn to Sessrin because it allows them in a way to “take back control” from their abuser so that they can better cope with past traumas, then they’re inadvertently admitting that Sessrin does possess qualities associated with the past child sexual abuse they underwent. AKA Sessrin is relatable for its abusive dynamic.

I have to ask by the way, but why do you get so offended when we don’t support your ship anyway? Is it because we interpret it to be controversial and you don’t like your ship getting a bad rap? Is it because it would be insulting to admit that antis actually have a point in it being problematic and you rather double down instead? Or is it because you’re projecting yourself onto Rin and prefer to not go into detail about why that is? Maybe it’s too personal, or maybe it’s because deep down you’re ashamed. Of course that doesn’t mean you’re bad people, but suppressing these kind of negative emotions can’t be healthy for anyone. A little awareness and self-reflection on your part can benefit not just you but all of us in the long run. Cognitive dissonance can suck, but it’s also part of being human. 

I recently came across a comment I’d like to share with you. Unfortunately, this is not the first time nor will it be the last I see the likes of it. Anyway, in it a fan stated how embarrassing it must be being an Anti in this fandom when an episode like “Forever with Lord Sesshomaru” exists. Guys, this shipper and all those who liked their post are showing their true colors. Perpetuating and/or anticipating these sexualized images of young girls is a grave issue in both our society and media alike. I think we can all agree on that, or at least I hope so. It’s remarks like these that prove we still got a long way to go in terms of progress, and if we ever hope to effectively reverse some of our backwards way of thinking. So serious question for ya in regard to this: Why is it too much to ask that grooming be portrayed for what it is? Grooming. To clarify, grooming is bad and needs to be painted in a bad light. It’s as simple as that. If only we could all acknowledge it for what it is, we wouldn’t be in this predicament. 

Historical accuracy and cultural differences aside, it appears the crux of the matter between Sessrin shippers and Antis is our acceptance and/or denial of fiction’s influence on real life. If we can’t agree on this, then we’ll never agree on anything else. As mentioned earlier, there is more than enough evidence to support the idea that fiction impacts our lives in extraordinary ways. I, for one, believe in the transformative power of stories. I think they do more for us than many of us give them credit for and/or are inclined to admit. 

This is partially why I believe that the majority of sessrin folk are missing the point most of the time. All they do is focus on insignificant and irrelevant information that accomplishes nothing but more gaslighting and strawmanning. Whether it be an intentional or unconscious decision, whatever we argue goes right over their head. All they do is throw around deflections and antagonizing remarks that serve no real purpose other than to make Antis out to be the unreasonable and irrational ones. Making connections between our own lives and our stories is a completely natural and normal occurrence. If those particular shippers insist on denying just how interconnected real life and fiction both are, what that tells me is they’re either out of touch with reality or deliberately choose to be.

Just to be clear, I am of the opinion that most if not all antis aren’t real life predators. If they say they aren’t, I honestly take their word for it. Speaking to Sessrin shipper directly: We know it’s not Sesshomaru you want to be but Rin. No, we’re not calling you pedophiles or groomers. None of us think you are using a fictional ship to attract underage fans to be the Rin in your life or anything of the sort. We are well aware that many of you are self-inserting yourself as Rin, so please don’t feel the need to tell us yourself because that would be stating the obvious.

I learned from a few of you since this sequel was announced that the Sessrin relationship isn’t just a ship but an opportunity for you to confront the person who used and abused you. So there’s two issues with this I’d like to raise. (Sorry if I’m repeating myself, but it’s urgent I stress this again!) This is what I have to say:

If fiction does not affect real life or have the ability to normalize anything as you claim to believe, then why does “fixing” what happened to you via your preferred choice of coping associated with these two characters in the first place? Why bring your past abuse into this at all if at the end of the day it’s “just fiction” and nothing more to you but a source of entertainment?

By confessing that you use Sessrin to cope with your past trauma, you therein reveal that Sessrin does in fact resemble an adult-child relationship with a grooming dynamic. So why then would you want other fans to be exposed to a pairing that brings to mind the very abuse you endured? We’re supposed to stop this toxic cycle- NOT find more ways to manifest and relive it, much less subject other fans to it. 

You may think that Sessrin doesn’t fit the textbook definition of what child grooming is, but that’s not to say it doesn’t embody it or that it doesn’t at the very least have traces of it that stand out. 

“Antis are miserable people who don’t know how to enjoy a good story. It’s just fiction, stop ruining it for other fans!”

Well, no, it’s not just fiction or just a story. Some of you evidently went and proved that yourself, and without my help, by revealing how you relate Sessrin to your own life and apply it to cope with past abuse. Past abuse or not, as far as I can tell we’re all equally invested in these characters. That speaks volumes and just goes to show that fiction touches our lives in long-lasting ways.

I have something I want to say concerning some of who believe that it’s inconsiderate of antis who have been victims of grooming or another form of child abuse to tell other victims who ship Sessrin how they should cope with their trauma. Now as much as I respect the various means victims discover to deal with their painful pasts, there’s always an appropriate time and a place for these things to occur. We must seek out better ways to safely cope with the abuse we lived through (if any) without running the risk of hurting and endangering others. 

There are plenty of fans in other fandoms who don’t try to defend their ships going canon, because they’re able to recognize an unhealthy or toxic pairing when they see one and won’t try to justify it. A Sessrin romance simply does not belong on a show geared towards teens, and I really don’t need to go into detail about why we shouldn’t support it, at least canon-wise. Shipping Sessrin is your right, but if you don’t keep it to yourself and your corner of the fandom then you really shouldn’t be surprised by the opposition. All we ask is you respect that their specific dynamic falls under the category of child grooming (or very close) and should be treated as such in public. The world of fiction may be wider than the world we live in, but that doesn’t always mean “anything goes.” In the creative spaces our minds occupy we must still adhere to the same fundamental and moral guidelines we live by in life. There’s nothing wrong with exploring new terrains and experimenting with ideas, but we must also remember that our stories are all about communicating and connecting with people. So let’s please be more mindful of the sort of messages they’re sending. 

Besides, this isn’t only about you and what makes you feel safe, it’s about all of us. I don’t know how much more I can stress that really. How can thoughts endanger our children, you ask? Well, it’s not like we’re suggesting that our thoughts can jump out of our tvs, materialize themselves, and place kids under mind control. The forces behind fiction are a lot more complex and nuanced than a “monkey see, monkey do” approach, so don’t waste any more time trying to  describe that to us. You’re taking this argument in the wrong direction. 

Take the “violent video games breed killers” theory. I’m afraid you’re misconstruing what we’re saying and then taking it quite too literally. Please stop twisting our words, because nobody on our side is saying that just because you play violent video games that you’ll become a violent person. The Sessrin equivalent of that would be if you ship them then you must be a pedophile or turning into one. *sigh* I know you guys are feeling attacked, but I’m afraid your defensive nature is keeping you from thinking straight. Clearly, there are always exceptions (I’d recommend reading up on the Slender Man case), but Antis aren’t saying you’re one of them.

You see, it’s not so much about the content as it is the notion of the content. Kids and teens who are playing these video games have been informed that killing is wrong, because they grew up learning that early on like the rest of us. No sane person would advocate for violence and nonsensical killing in real life. Since they fully understand the severity of the consequences of killing a person in real life, they are able make a clear distinction between the two. When it comes to killing there is hardly any ambiguity. Sadly, that is far from the truth when it comes to sexualizing girls. It should immediately be perceived as wrong leaving no room for interpretation, and yet here we are still putting up with these inaccurate and demeaning female representations.

Most children who have been groomed don’t realize it till years down the road. If they aren’t ever taught the telltale signs to properly labeling grooming situations, how do you expect them to make sense of and relate to a fictional version? Let’s think of about it from a child’s perspective. Yes, this includes teens who rely pretty heavily on adult guidance and the content we put out there for them. Put yourself in their shoes for a moment and picture that you’ve never had child grooming explained to you (because that’s just the reality for so many unfortunately). Wouldn’t you say it’s possible for them to deduce that what they see on their screens is how they come to discern something in real life, especially if they have little to no experience with it? Perceived realism is plausible, y'all.

What it comes down to in the end is that the ideas and emotions we cultivate behind these stories leave an impression on others. Impressions are capable of influencing the way we see the world, which in turn affects us and beyond just our imagination. The way I look at it, stories contribute to how and why we normalize certain beliefs and trends. If fiction reflects real life like most of us tend to agree, then wouldn’t you say Sessrin is a (in)direct result of this world’s tendency to place young girls in overly sexual or romantic environments? Where do you think fiction draws its inspiration from? Sure, some of it originates from our imagination, but most of what drives us to create these stories is the real world and the people who live in it.

Fiction is meant to mirror reality, but it’s ridiculous to suggest that it’s only a one-way street. That fiction in no way, shape, or form influences our reality? Or that it only works the other way around? With all due respect, that’s simply not true. No productive discourse can be had if we choose to ignore the truth and don’t come together (at least halfway) to tackle the real issues at hand. 

Okay, I think I’ll leave it off there! Thanks so much for reading. I expect this to be my last blog on any topic regarding Inuyasha in the near future. As much as I’ve looked forward to answering all of your asks and writing all the blogs I have over these past almost 5 months, I think it’s best if I spend some time away for now. With the sequel fast approaching, I’m doing what I always do: hoping for the best and preparing for the worst. I’ve met some amazing people along the way, that’s for sure. And who knows, maybe you’ll see me active in the tags sooner than we think. Until then, it’s been an absolute pleasure! Enjoy the sequel, all of you. 💜

[tales-from-exo-planet]

BARCELONA | PATHCODES VOL. II

ACT I. “The Sea” Length - 2,922 Mood - Despondent, Yearning Pairing - Tao x Reader “Afterwards, I paused and watched the sea and the sunset I found that this world is as beautiful as you say it is The you and I that left The vacations that we've had Right now, can I hug you one more time? I want to thank the you from before for giving me different outlooks towards life ” “19” by Tao

_____________________

Days were spent memorizing scents. Textures. Sounds. Taste.

The fluttering and trilling of a distant woodlark.

The crash and drag of the churning ocean tides against the ragged rocks and beaten sand just beyond your window.

The tolling of the chapel bell.

The chattering of children as they zoomed by on ringing bikes.

The click clack of so many people coming and going.

The lonesome whistling of the train in old town.

The smell of lavender soap on your grandmother’s hands as she returned to dress your bandages.

Her kiss at your brow while her weathered palms cupped your tearful cheeks as she whispered, “mi querida, dulce _____. Descansa ahora.”

She would gently hold your wrists down before leaving, reminding you through gesture alone to not scratch away at the fresh bandages she’d wound tightly around your skull, protecting your healing corneas and eyelids.

Days passed listening to your aunt read your school materials to you that had been mailed upon your request by your academic advisor. You refused to attempt reading on your own, doubting your vision could have been restored as the physicians claimed.

“____ no quiere ver a nadie en este momento. Querida necesita descansar,” your aunt would murmur into the phone outside your closed door.

You did not wonder who intended to visit.

In your life, you had never wanted the solace you faced now, but for every moment that passed since the terror that had been witnessing for the last time the feral snarling grimace of someone you had once been so fond of, you were grateful for the reprieve. You treasured the distance you could keep without having to make excuses for it.

There were whispers at night from your grandparents, and aunts and uncles and cousins. Tearful conferences arguing about whether to pursue charges on your behalf since you would not discuss the case further with them.

You briefly remembered waking up in your hospital bed, screaming as if your eyes were still burning and vomiting at the smell of rotting flesh, startling your family who waited for you to rouse from extensive recurring reconstructive surgeries.

“Este hombre dice que pagará por ello, mi ____. Querida, hay alguien que quiere ayudarte a ti y a nuestra familia. No podemos costear sus cirugías y lamentamos. Pero él quiere hacerte justicia. Por favor, mi querida,” your uncles pleaded.

In the end, your grandmother made the choice as you knew she would.

She answered his call, and invited them to your house after allowing you a prescribed sedative earlier that morning.

“We are thankful to you, Sir. Please. She is all that we have. It has been difficult for us to believe this could happen to her. On our own, we can do so much but with help there is more that we can do,” you could hear her huffing as she and your grandfather bent to their knees and each grasped at his hands. You knew your uncles were biting back their pride.

“Please. This is something we are more than willing to help with. Again we deeply, and sincerely apologize that while in our care ______ was hurt to the extreme that it happened. What help we can offer can never undo what happened, but we will take special care of her from now on with your permission.”

Despite the fog of your sleep aids you could remember the smell of them after they had gone. You could discern the remnants of her sweet, airy, and his subtle smoldering scents dissipating amongst the heated conversation within the kitchen below as your grandmother prepared the family’s evening meal of fideuà.

“We don’t have to wait for the court. We can have our revenge,” your uncles would bluster.

“And then what would happen? It’s already in the news. Let’s not take it further,” your aunts would caution.

“Why do we have to stop? We are her family,” your grandfather roared.

“Where is he now when she needs him…” your cousins questioned.

“Where he had always been…” your uncles murmured derisively.

They quieted at the shushing of your grandmother and you heard the stairs creak at her weight as she climbed to your bedroom, the savory mixture of fire roasted tomato, starchy pasta and fresh seafood inspiring yearning gurgles in your stomach.

“Querida,” she would say upon entering your room and you could see the smile in her voice that was only for you.

She set the tray on your desk before rushing to help you sit up in bed, propping you up with multiple pillows.

“Ahora querida, ¿ves lo que hice para ti? Ven a comer,” she would breathe before blowing on the spoon she brought to your lips. She would wrap your hand around her hand after your first bite, and place hers over yours, guiding you up and down at your urging.

You felt a familiar tugging at your throat as a lump of unshed tears threatened to overcome you.

You bit it back as she fed you, pausing to wipe your mouth, again placing the napkin where she meant to clean you and then replacing her hand with yours to allow you to finish the action, before she prepared the next bite.

“Querida, aquí hay un poco de agua,” she would say as she brought your left hand down to the cup on the tray resting on your lap. You shivered at the difference of temperature of firm warmth in her hands and the cold resolve of the icy glass but held on to bring the glass up higher to your face until she paused to put the straw between your lips.

When you were full, she cleared the tray away, her weight lifting clear and away from where you rested day in and day out.

“Abuela, no me dejes, por favor. Por favor,” you choked out, whimpering at how laborious it somehow was to speak again.

“Querida, querida. Shhh shhhh no no,” she cried out, leaving the tray and empty dishes on your desk with a clatter, her bare feet thumping against the wooden floor as she returned to you, wrapping her arms around you though she was mindful of avoiding your bandages.

“Quiero ver, quiero ver. Estoy asustado. Quiero que todo vuelva a ser como era,” your heart exclaimed, pumping out its forlorn declaration within your grandmother’s embrace.

But what your grandmother heard instead was your tentative, “¿donde esta mi padre?”

She waited a beat, smoothing your hair from your face, swaying as she hummed a familiar church hymn.

“Él sabe,” she muttered against your forehead, kissing you once again.

You snuggled deeper into her embrace, waiting though you already knew the story.

Your father had always been an innovative, amicable man serving his centuries old marine family well from the time he started learning the trade as a young child. He had never met a stranger and had never known an enemy. What he lacked in academic triumph he exceeded in his street smarts and business savvy.

But for all that he acquired for his family, and doted on them, he was still naive to the true nature of the world.

Your sunny, docile father was interested in furthering the potential reach of the family business and fearlessly approached a neighboring Catalan mariner company despite the protestations of his family. He braved the seas, confident in his quest and the purpose of his business venture. And upon reaching land, he was struck by the fair island beauty of the businessman’s daughter for he hadn’t been prepared for her.

She watched him as he delivered his speech, her eyes cutting between her father and brothers and the main from the small Eastern Barcelona mariner company. Despite the odds, he prevailed as if it was destined to be and as promised he performed the duties as chosen delegate of his family, sharing the profits and reaping the benefits. Benefits of rising early and casting himself into the throes of the tide promised not only a hearty catch but a brief moment to gaze upon the beauty of that fair subdued lady. Gazes returned and transformed into sweet notions and dreams and love.

Hushed, hurried, hopeful love.

Of this love you were conceived and cherished.

Of this love the two dreamers hoped above all that was real in the chance to see their secret embraced.

But your Catalan grandparents refused to acknowledge their love, forbidding their marriage, claiming instead that they would disown her, turning her belongings out into the ocean that had carried your father into her arms.

Seeing the fear and confusion on their beloved daughter’s face, they relented for a brief moment.

And during that brief moment of innocent, blissful plans made by your equally innocent parents, age old political tensions resurged restricting the abilities and freedom of your mother's Catalan family, a blow that resolutely doomed their loving union to fail.

On the day of her departure, her family pulled her aside while your father waited at the pier, that she would be allowed to be received into the home of her lover to bear her child but she would never see you grow up. She would be given two weeks time and then would return to never again see either of you.

You never knew if she was angry or if she cried while she was here with your father and your family because no one said so. Instead everyone talked about the way she smiled, the way she laughed, they way she sang, the way she danced through her labor pains, the way your father looked after her, and the way he held her and nursed her during her labor as he had promised right alongside his mother and sisters and sisters-in-law.

Even after you were born, your mother remained bright and cheerful, singing to you as she nursed, talking to you throughout the day as she cooked, reading to you, and praying over you.

It was only on the night of her departure when your father was packing his bag to return with you both to spend two weeks with her family in return as he had thought he had promised, that your mother stopped him at the door where her father and brothers waited and told him the truth, tearful only in front of him.

She was promised to another man in order to protect the family business and to protect him, her lover and her daughter, from financial ruin. If she agreed to marry this man, her family would not harm her lover and her child. The contract would be dissolved, and they would part amicably.

Your father listened and grieved where he stood, watching her as she was carried away from him, her doleful eyes on him as she screamed out begging for more time, her cries disturbing the midnight air. He watched, his posture slack until it seemed that she was swallowed by the ocean and gone from him and you forever.

He dissolved at the open front door, evaporating into the misty night air, becoming a phantom not only to his family, but to you his daughter. A phantom who existed only on the high seas.

You startled awake at the scent of burning tobacco in the air, turning your head towards your door as you would habitually do though you knew he was already gone.

Days were spent remembering scents, stories, sights.

Days were spent waiting for comfort.

“Papa…?”

You whimpered despite what you knew to be true.

You waited for her too though you remembered in a very deliberate out of body way their positions in the sand as if you were playing chess upon your downstairs dining room floor with your cousins goading you on to challenge your grandfather.

You remembered who was close.

You remembered who had run and who had only watched.

You remembered the hospital though you frantically tried to forget at first.

You remembered _________ (Edinburgh Reader) riding in the ambulance with you.

You remembered her telling you to hang on, and telling you that she was here. That Tao had gone ahead in the first ambulance but that everything was ok.

You remembered Tao’s shouts.

You remembered that because he had forced you back that he been doused across his left arm and shoulder.

You remembered the searing pain coursing through your body as you scrambled and fought the water that you fallen into.

You remembered hearing grunting and punches landing. Screaming. Shouting. Running. Sirens. Curses.

“You crazy fuck!”

“Stop Tao! Stop!”

You remembered someone’s burning flesh and the singeing of your nose. You remembered his scent of clove soap, sun rays and cinnamon toothpaste.

You remembered his voice. “I got her. I got her. Just tell them to come this way!”

“Oh dear God. God, please hurry! We are here!” _______ (Berlin Reader) exclaimed, dropping composure completely.

You remembered them. You remembered all but her.

And somewhere in your heart you knew how pitiful you were then.

Safe from those memories now, and progressing forward in the days that came after the sudden appearance and disappearance of your father, your family came to speak with you about their offer.

“You can begin therapy now and we will return to see your doctor for the next assessment.”

“Now that we have completed your research and your paper that can be submitted to your advisor.”

“They are offering you a job now that your graduation is secured.”

You listened, orienting yourself from where each voice of your family emanated, considering all that they advised.

You knew that their advisements were not suggestions and that they were merely informing you of the plan that had been decided.

You attended the physician appointments, grateful to feel the fresh air on your skin, and to smell the proximity of the salted water of your ocean.

Arranged for you were potential cosmetic and transplant surgeries if approved by your physician and yourself, payments were already secured.

You were allowed time to consider as you proceeded with occupational therapy.

And as you re-entered society you waited, doubtful of whether you knew who you truly waited for.

Gradually you allowed phone calls, and texts, turning on the phone you had requested was shut down.

Your cousins were more than happy to help you with reading through and discarding messages and voicemails.

You were afraid to ask who appeared in your notifications most often though they told you anyway.

“There are a lot of foreign numbers here, ______”

“And foreign names…? Is it Toe?”

Giggles.

“Why does your face look like that?”

“You’re blushing!”

“Who is...______ (Edinburgh Reader)?”

“I can’t say some of these names!”

Suddenly your phone chimed.

“It’s ringing!” They sang holding the phone out to you.

“Press the talk button!” They cheered, obtuse to your bewildered expression.

“Hello? ________? Are you there?” Tao asked.

The youngest of your cousins grasped your hands and placed the phone there.

“Put it on speaker!” One of the boys pushed past, bumping against your bed until he pressed the button that raised the volume of Tao’s voice so he could be heard.

He called out to you again, sounding nervous, “______?”

“Privacy! Move!” One of the your younger girl cousins announced corralling your cousins out the door.

Alone together again you were frightened.

But he waited.

“_______?”

You pressed the screen frantically until you heard the electronic click, exhaling at the silence that greeted you.

You slid under your covers, pushing the pillows to the floor.

And immediately, you regretted your cowardice.

You sat up, slightly lightheaded at the rush to your head.

You called downstairs and heard your cousins running back up the stairs at the sound of your voice to help you.

“Did he hang up?”

“Did you want to try again?”

And again they went through your contacts until they found his number again.

“H-hello?” You rasped at the sound of his voice.

[yuniesan]

Girl Meets Season 6 - Episode Two – Girl Meets Roommate

Synopsis: The Journey from High School and into College will test everything Riley knew about her life, her friendships and her love. What life lessons will she learn in her first year of college?  

Previous Episodes [1]

A/N: School is kicking my butt, but yay I finished this part!!!!!!

Episode Two – Girl Meets Roommate

Riley and Lucas had returned from Texas only to have to finish packing and getting ready for the move to school in a few days. In those days her father had become unbearable because his fear of her leaving was heavy on his mind. Every time she thought about leaving the house just to see her friends or to see Lucas her father would follow her to the door and then give her something else to do instead.

“Mom,” she called out once she arrived at the café. “Dad’s becoming crazier as the days go by,” she sighed as she draped herself over the counter.

“Sorry Riley,” her mother said before pulling her up. “He’s afraid of losing you, even though I told him that you weren’t going to be faraway.”

“Why is he different with Auggie?” she asked knowing that her brother wasn’t at fault for her father’s behavior.

“Father’s are more protective of their daughters, also I’m pretty sure that he’s crazy and I should have him committed,” her mother gave her a wide smile as she said the words. She knew that her mother was joking but somedays she wished that her father would learn to let go just a little. “Riley, you’re still seventeen, he’s just worried.”

“I know, it’s just that I wish he wouldn’t worry so much, it’s not like I picked a school across the country, the school is within driving distance.”

“I sometimes wish you had picked a school on the other side of the country, because that way he wouldn’t have the chance to annoy you so much,” her mother sighed, and Riley knew that this had something to do with her giving something up a long time ago, something in California, but her parents loved each other and they would follow one another to the ends of the world.

“Hey Riley,” someone said from behind her and when Riley turned around she saw her friends smiling at her.

“I may have made a call,” her mother said before turning around and getting back to work. “You’re welcome,” she said from the other side of the room.

“Thanks mom,” Riley called out before walking over to where everyone was sitting, the only people missing were Josh, Zay and Cassie.

“Your dad’s becoming a monster, or at least that’s what your mother was saying,” Maya said as Riley sat down in between her best friend and her boyfriend.

“Yeah well apparently me leaving, even when I left for Texas was too much for him,” Riley said before burying her face in Lucas’s shoulder and taking in the smell of Lucas. She wished some days that she could bottle it up and keep it close because it felt comforting to know that he was around even in spirit.

“Well Shawn’s the same way,” Maya said slumping over on the couch. “He actually kicked Josh out of the house a few days ago, and I haven’t seen him since.”

“He went to see my grandparents so he should be back before the new semester starts,” she said as she took her best friend’s hand and held it close, Maya leaned into Riley’s side and stayed there. “By the way where’s Zay and Cassie, I feel like I haven’t seen either of them.”

“No one knows,” Lucas said looking around to see if anyone would say anything but everyone just shrugged. They had all been busy buying things for school, but Zay had still sent them messages until he had stopped completely the day before Riley and Lucas had gotten back from Texas.

Riley was hoping that her two friends were just spending time with their families, and that nothing was wrong. She made a mental note to call both Cassie and Zay when she got home and find out where the two of them had gone off too. The rest of the afternoon the group spent inside the café talking about school and their trip up that Friday for when they would have to move into the dorms.

“Smackle and I are roommates,” Maya said to Riley and she knew that Maya had wanted them to be roommates but somehow felt that for Maya, getting to know Smackle like this would be a big leap.

“Lucas, Zay and I are together, but our dorm is on the other side of the campus,” Farkle added, smiling at Smackle as he said it. “They say absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“I will endeavor to miss you as well beloved,” Smackle said smiling at Farkle, and Riley couldn’t help but think that they had actually become cuter over the years.

“My dorm is in between the guys and Maya and Smackle’s dorm,” Riley said wishing that she had at least gotten the chance to be in the same dorm as Maya but that hadn’t happened.

“We’re actually going to be separated Riles,” Maya said her face sad for a moment. “We’ve never been this far apart before.”

Riley couldn’t help but laugh at those words, “New experiences, plus you heard Farkle absence makes the heart grow fonder,” she said before smiling up at Lucas who kissed her on her head as a way of saying that he understood as well.

“Is Cassie your roommate?” Maya asked her after a moment had passed and Riley just shook her head.

“Nope,” she said thinking about having to meet someone new on the first day. “Her name is Samaira, apparently she went to Einstein Academy, and she lives here in the city as well but I keep wondering if I’ve ever met her.”

“I know her, she is a comparable person to myself, she’s studying to become a cardiovascular physician, but whereas I left Einstein Academy she stayed there and continued her studies among other intellectuals,” Smackle said to them.

“We love you too Smackle,” Maya said.

“Did I say something wrong?” Smackle asked looking over at Maya who slumped over into Riley’s side.

“I don’t know if I’m going to survive living with Smackle,” Maya said into her arm and Riley rubbed her back.

“You need someone with that kind of honesty in your life Maya,” Riley said to her before turning to Smackle. “Do you think we would get along?”

“I believe so, you two have similar outlooks on life, you believe in the best in people even when some others don’t believe it, and she’s incredibly kind to others,” Smackle said smiling at Riley in her own awkward way.  

When move in day arrived, Riley had almost screamed out the car window, her father had worn a special shirt with her face on it, and then put stickers on the car announcing it to the world that she was going to college. Luckily her mother pulled the stickers off before they left but the man hadn’t let up, he was going to annoy her to the end of time.

“Daddy, please don’t wear that shirt,” she begged but her father just looked at her and got into his car and closed the door.

“Let him have his fun Riley,” her mother said kissing her on the cheek. “We’re taking you to college, when will we see you again?”

“Apparently every week until the end of time,” she said to her mother before mumbling to herself, “maybe I should have gone to California.”

Her mother smiled at her and gave her a hug, “It’ll be fine, I’ll keep him busy so that he doesn’t do anything rash like try to get a job at your school.”

“Seriously why isn’t he like this with Auggie? I need to know,” she asked but her mother just shrugged.

“I think it’s a guy thing I’m not sure, but trust me the moment we put everything in your dorm I’ll try my best to drag him out.”

“Good luck with that,” her father said from the driver’s seat.

Auggie was with Ava for the day while they drove up but Riley had hugged her brother after breakfast, promising that they would talk as much as possible, they had even opened up a special messenger app for them to talk through. Auggie still didn’t have his own phone, but he had a tablet and that was going to be the only way they were going to be able to talk until their parents gave him his own phone.

The drive up to the school was filled with her father telling them stories about Riley growing up, and then him sobbing as he drove saying things like, “I should have cherished those moments more,” or “Why does she have to leave me.” Her mother was laughing the whole time but after putting her things in her room Riley knew that she was going to miss her parents as well.

“I love you guys,” she said hugging them close. “Thank you for being my parents.”

“I love you too Riley,” her mother said as she rubbed her back.

“I don’t want you to stay,” her father protested. “I don’t want you to grow up, I want you to be that little girl in the bay window forever just singing to yourself.”

“Cory,” her mother said trying to pry her father off of her but he just held on tighter. “Come on Cory, we’ll come up for parents’ weekend and spend the whole time up here with her. I ever booked a hotel room for us for that weekend so that we wouldn’t leave until Sunday.”

“Fine Topanga, but don’t come crying to me when our daughter gets in trouble, or when she starts saying that she wants to come home.”

It took her mother another twenty minutes before her father let go of her and they had finally left, her room was filled with boxes of her stuff, and she stood there wondering which side of the room she could take. Her roommate hadn’t arrived just yet and Riley was truly alone, Maya hadn’t driven up just yet because Shawn had made them have a family lunch together before packing up the car. Lucas had to wait until later this afternoon to leave because he was waiting for Zay who Riley still hadn’t had the chance to talk to. He was avoiding her, and she didn’t know why, on top of that Cassie’s phone had been disconnected which only worried her even more.

Riley decided on taking the bed closest to the window, because it would remind her of the bay window in her bedroom and how the light came into the room in the mornings. She started unpacking when the door opened and a man walked in holding a large box. Riley quickly went to the door and held it open.

“Thank you,” he said before walking to the empty side of the room and setting the box down. When he turned around he saw a familiar head of brown hair, and the face of someone she hadn’t seen in a long time, not since sophomore year of high school.

“Mr. Bradford,” she squeaked out, her heart jumping. “What are you doing here?”

“Riley,” he said smiling at her for a moment. “My step-daughter Sam is your roommate, this is a small world after all.”

“Yes, it is,” a familiar voice said from behind her making Riley want to run out of the room. She remembered Missy, she remembered the last time they had seen each other, right before she had been expelled from Abigail Addams for bullying Riley and getting caught.

“Missy be nice,” Mr. Bradford said before pulling her out of the room shortly after another girl walked in, her hair was long and black, but her smile made Riley pause for a moment. This person wasn’t like Missy, she seemed nicer, and if what Smackle had said was right she was a smart person who wanted to be a doctor.

“Hi,” a woman said from the door, her features similar to the younger woman, this was her mother. “You must be Riley.”

“Yes, I’m Riley,” she answered her heart was calming down after the confrontation with Missy.

“I’m Arya, this is my daughter Samaira,” she said pointing out the girl who was going to be Riley’s roommate for the year. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well,” Riley said holding out her hand to greet the woman.

“Mom go help dad with the rest of my things please,” the other girl said before her mother nodded and smiled at the two of them.

“Okay Sam, I understand that you don’t want your overbearing mother around,” Arya said before walking off leaving the two girls behind.

“So,” Riley said looking down at her feet.

“I know about your history with Missy,” Samaira said before turning to Riley. “I’m sorry for anything she has done to you but please don’t think that I’m the same.”

“I don’t even know you, so I won’t pass judgement,” Riley answered before looking up at her new roommate. “Let’s start over, wipe the slate clean.”

“Okay,” she said turning to Riley. “Hi, my name is Sam, I’m your roommate.”

“Hi, I’m Riley,” she said and the two of them laughed for a moment breaking the tension that had built up from the moment Mr. Bradford had walked in through the door. “I picked the bed near the window, I hope that’s okay with you.”

“Yes, because I’m not a big morning person so the wall can prevent the sun from hitting me in the eye,” Sam said smiling at Riley. “I’m not joking either, I turn into a she beast when I don’t have coffee first thing in the morning.”

“I feel like I should have brought a coffee maker with me,” Riley said.

“Don’t worry, I brought mine with me, so I hope you like cappuccinos.”

“Like them I used to make them,” Riley said before sitting down on her bed. “I used to help out at my mother’s café, it’s called Topanga’s.”

“I’ve been there before, they had the best pastries in the world.”

Riley pulled out a bag that her mother had given her and handed it to Sam, “My mother gave me this before I left, she called it a little bit of home, so we can share it if you want.”

“This is great Riley,” Sam said opening the bag and sniffing its contents. “We’re going to be good friends I know it.”

“And all I needed was a bag full of pastries,” Riley said smiling before she heard a groan from the door making her jump.

“Could you help us?” Missy said as she walked in with a box in her hands. “The fast we get this over with the faster I can go to my school and get away from you all.”

“I’m just going to help them bring my things in,” Sam said gesturing towards the door before walking out with Missy.

Riley just stood there for a moment and looked at her room trying to find a place to start, after a minute there was a knock on the door and Riley was afraid to turn around. She slowly turned towards the door to see a familiar pair of eyes and rowdy hair, she couldn’t help but smile as Zay walked in through the door but she could feel a hint of something in him.

“I asked Lucas to let me come see you before he rushed over to proclaim his undying love for you,” Zay said as he walked into the room. “I figured we could talk.”

“I’ve been wondering why you’ve been avoiding me,” Riley said to him. The two of them had gotten closer over the years and if felt as if this past summer they had grown apart even though it wasn’t possible.

“I sort of was,” he said before settling on her bed. “Cassie and I broke up over the summer.”

Riley couldn’t help but gasp as the words came out of his mouth, she felt responsible for his heartbreak, she had been the one to introduce them. For a moment she didn’t know what to do, they had been so happy she couldn’t figure out what had happened.

“I know that face, and Riley it’s not your fault,” he said looking up at her. “Cassie’s mom got sick again and her doctors told her that it would be better if she lived somewhere calmer and less polluted, Cassie loves her family so when they said that they were moving to Florida she decided to go with them.”

“You broke up because you were going to be apart, but what if she wanted to come back?”

“That the thing, we don’t know what the future holds, but she wanted me to have the chance to be happy even if it wasn’t with her,” he said before the tears began to fall. “It just hurts so much to not have her here with me some days.”

Riley walked over to him and pulled him into her arms, it was the only thing she could do, because he had lost someone he loved, and it was going to hurt him for a while. They stayed quiet for a moment before the sound of her roommate and her family reminded her of her current situation, one that she didn’t want Zay to have to deal with.

“My roommate is coming, if you want to meet her you can stay,” she said and he nodded.

“I’ll stay,” he said smiling at her. “I need a friend, one that knows what’s going on.”

“You don’t want the others to know?”

“Not right now,” he said trying to clean his face so that the tear marks wouldn’t show. “If that’s alright with you?”

“Well if you want a distraction you’re about to get a big one,” she said with a sigh. “My roommate is Missy Bradford’s step-sister.”

“What,” Zay said looking at her with shock. “She’s not like Missy, is she?”

“I don’t think so, according to Smackle she’s a nice person, but for some reason a lot of things are clicking in place from what happened in middle school.”

“Riley,” Sam said from the door. “I brought the coffee machine… oh you have someone here.”

“Yeah, um… Sam this is my friend Zay,” she said introducing the two of them. “Oh, and I brought a mini fridge but it’s still in the box, so I hope you didn’t get one too.”

“No, actually now that I think about it I should have thought of that too.”

“Should I go,” Zay said but Riley shook her head.

“You can help us unpack,” she said to him before leaning towards him. “And help me get through this moment because I don’t think I’m ready for a faceoff with Missy.”

“You got it sugar,” he said smiling at the two of them. “Just tell me where to move things and I’ll help you.”

Riley and Zay had been quiet when the rest of the Bradford’s had come into the room, Sam’s mom was kind to them, but Riley could see Missy scowling at her. When her parents left Missy turned her attention to Zay and Riley and sneered.

“I guess Lucas didn’t stay after all if you’re with this one,” Missy said but before Riley or Zay could say something Lucas came in and towered over Missy.

“I stayed, we’re still together, and if you ever say anything to Riley, or Zay that would piss me off I won’t hesitate to punch you,” he said but Riley moved faster than she thought she could, pulling Lucas away from Missy and settling him next to Zay.

“Missy I don’t want any problems,” Sam said from the other side of the room.

“She started it,” Missy retorted but they all knew that that wasn’t true. “Whatever, you have your stuff now we can leave.”

“Okay,” Sam said before following Missy out. “I’m so sorry about all of that,” she said before closing the door.

Riley turned towards Lucas and put her hand on his face, “It’s fine she wouldn’t do anything around her father.”

“She shouldn’t have been here in the first place,” he said before pulling her close. Too many memories filled the air, the fear of everything that had happened to them over the years because of Missy, and her friends.

“I think I understand now,” Zay said and Riley looked up to him. “I’m guessing around the time she started bullying you in middle school was the same time her father had remarried, because that woman was not Missy’s mother.”

“I was thinking the same thing, and she lashed out at me because of who I was, and what I had,” Riley said with a sigh. “I was an easy target.”

The three of them stayed silent for a moment before Sam walked back into the room sighing, “I love my mother and my step-father, but I sometimes wish that Missy was a better person.”

“We all wish that,” Zay said giving Sam a smile and Riley knew that Sam was about to become a part of their little group of friends.

“I know about your history together, I hadn’t known when they had given me my roommate assignment that you were the same person, but I knew who you were, and trust me I’m nothing like my step-sister.”

“I know, I knew from the moment we spoke that you were a kind person,” Riley said with a smile. “Come on let’s unpack and then we can go to the freshman orientation and you can meet my friends.”

“Sure,” Sam said with a smile.

Riley understood at that moment that her whole life was going to change, because if she could see someone who tormented her over the years and still come out happy then she could survive college. It was going to be hard but she had her friends, her little family, her new roommate and she had Lucas who was willing to fight for her no matter what.

[waitingale]

Nine months.

It has been nine agonizing months of distancing yourself from the Queen as the strain of pregnancy – and the questions surrounding her conception – wear on her. You do what you can. Poems tucked under her door, words of encouragement scrawled in the frost on her windowpane, gifts of herbal tea and whispered words of love and support the few times she allows you to see her. It’s not enough, but you make it enough, for you respect Lacha’s reasoning as you always do. You are 32, a child in the eyes of many fey but with a lifespan half as long, to boot. You are unsuitable for the court, and you do not begrudge the simple, painful truth of the matter. You do not begrudge her.

Instead you watch from afar, and you write, and you listen, and you know when the Queen has gone into labor.

And then, suddenly, you don’t know. You don’t know if your child is born yet. If it’s a boy or a girl. You don’t know if they’re healthy. If they’re crying. If Lacha is thinking about you at all, as your thoughts tear you inside out until you dive into the sea and join the fish for the night, your eyes fixed on the moon.

Two weeks.

It is two torturous weeks before you’re are allowed the chance to hold your daughter, and no matter what the rest of the court believes you know she is yours from the moment you lay eyes on her. Bright blonde hair, golden as yours was in your youth, and shining, inquisitive eyes that contain her mother’s spirit and your softness all at once. Or maybe you’re romanticising things; she is just an infant, after all, but she is yours.  The ache in your chest that took root and consumed you for the past nine months eases as you hold her close, as you lean your head down to breathe in a scent you’ll spend the next year trying to capture in words but never get just right. You won’t care, because you know you’ll remember this moment forever.

You finally tear your gaze from the miracle in your arms, and your heart nearly stops at the sight of her mother smiling sadly at you. There is no room for resentment in your heart, not when you can see how exhausted she is despite the airs she puts on for everyone else. Exhausted she may be, but she is beautiful all the same. You step closer and press a gentle kiss to her lips; it isn’t allowed, not anymore, but she allows you all the same, and for one precious, fleeting moment the three of you are a family.

Seven years.

Seven years and seven Christmases have passed, each more lonely than the last. You never believed it would get easier, but you weren’t prepared for how much harder each year turned out to be, the princess growing into a young girl with happy memories and traditions that you will never be part of. You help her make a snowball Christmas Eve morning and you know you will cherish that memory forever, though she’s already forgotten as she skips back to her mother. You hold her gaze a moment too long, though you know nothing in it will change.

And still you wait, and still you hope, and it’s worth it to sacrifice the holiday evening with friends just for the chance that finally comes along, against your wildest dreams. Lacha summons you into a delightfully messy kitchen, classical music and the smell of sugar and vanilla permeating the air, and when she leads you to the princess’s room you understand. She is asleep, nestled under her covers after an evening of too much sugar and excitement, and it hurts your heart as much as it warms it. But your pain is forgotten as you crouch by her head and pull the blankets up to her chin, tucking the corners in gently around her. She stirs; you freeze. You nearly pull back – and then she lets out a long breath you’ll replay in your memories until you’re granted the chance to make a new one. You kiss the top of her head, and you let yourself imagine you do this every night. You let yourself imagine she knows you’re there, and she knows you love her with everything you have. You look over your shoulder, to her mother standing in the doorway, and for another precious half-second, you’re a family.

With Camellia tucked into bed, you offer to help clean up, but instead you and Lacha spend the evening in each other’s arms, moving slowly in time to the music that still fills the room, and you imagine that this is your life.

13 years.

December 31 comes around again, your favorite day of the year but also the most heartbreaking. And this year, the princess is a teenager – barely a blip on the radar in the life of a fey, but you still remember your human father’s excitement the day you reached 13, and it makes you more reckless than usual. You want to gift her something special, though you are no one special to her.

But today, perhaps you can be. Her mother and Hyacinth are tied up in courtly affairs for the day. The princess is alone, and while birthdays for fey are inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, perhaps it is the human in you that wants all of hers to be special. You find her wandering the castle on her own, and it eases any worry you may have had in wishing her a happy birthday presenting her with the small, jewel-inlaid ring. “How could I forget the princess’s birthday?” You answer her thanks just as you always do, as if that’s the only thing that draws you to her. Today, though, you don’t leave as you should, unable to bear the thought of leaving her alone on her thirteenth birthday when she could be with family, even if she did not realize it. You help her build a snowman and write messages for her in the snow, and the smile you receive in return sustains you long after she flits away from you once more.

32 years.

The Princess is half your age now, the same age you were when she was born, but you look at her and still see the baby you held in your arms and promised to protect with every ounce of your being. You see the little girl who brought you a feather because you looked sad, and you tucked it away safely with all the other trinkets she brought to bring you cheer, never knowing how much each sweet, thoughtful gesture twisted at the knife in your chest. She is a child by fey standards, and you will her to hold onto that sunny, youthful outlook as long as possible, even though you’re powerless to influence her. You feel that even more as you watch her grow, blossoming into a lovely young lady as you look on from afar. You see aspects of yourself in her and you love them dearly, as much as they break your heart. She looks at you and sees a loyal member of the court.

50 years.

Yet another sleepless night, but that’s normal for you. You’ve grown used to your solitude, learned to quiet the longing that wraps its tendrils around you with every golden smile or dismissive glance from the two people who carry the largest pieces of your heart. The longing is ever-present, but you’re used to it. You’ve learned to love it, for is it not better to long after something beautiful, than have nothing beautiful to long for at all?

Your feet take you to the water as they always do, your head tilting back to examine the moon, your companion in loneliness. Tonight, however, it is not your only companion. Soft footsteps come up behind you, and perhaps it shouldn’t be such a surprise to see the princess’s feet have led her to the same spot. She is your daughter, after all, and a water fey just like you. You greet her with a soft smile and suppress the paternal instinct that’s dying to check on her, to chide her for being out so late, but you make do with the fact that she is not alone anymore now her feet have led her to you. And neither are you.

You point out your favorite constellations and share the John Keats poem you learned from your grandfather, and you hope the interest she gives you is genuine and not that of the ever-dutiful, ever-charming princess.

[fictionalenneagrambti-blog]

The Hunger Games | Primrose Everdeen [ISFJ] [9w1]

Steady | Idealistic | Philosophical | Stubborn (x)

ISFJs are industrious caretakers, loyal to traditions and organizations. They are practical, compassionate, and caring, and are motivated to provide for others and protect them from the perils of life. ISFJs are steady and committed workers who focus on fulfilling their duties. They have a deep sense of responsibility to others and can be trusted to do what is expected of them. (x)

Si [Introverted Sensing]: Prim can’t bear to allow the things she loved in the past to slip away; long after her father passed away, she “still polished [his] shaving mirror each night because he’d hated the layer of coal dust that settled on everything in the Seam,” as well as “brushed and plaited [her] mother’s hair before school” while she was in her depressive state. Prim takes her cherished cat, Buttercup, with her everywhere she goes, even once her old home in District 12 has been destroyed. She is also resourceful and doesn’t mind getting her hands dirty, eagerly assisting her mother in caring for her patients and attending to daily chores and cleaning, as well as taking care of Katniss during her breakdowns.

Fe [Extroverted Feeling]: Prim exhibits a kind and caring attitude toward every person and animal she encounters, and, as Katniss notes, at one time “cried when [Katniss] cried before she even knew the reason.” Prim doesn’t offer up her feelings as easily as an extrovert might, but she doesn’t suppress them either. She is open and honest, and gives Katniss sound advice instead of just telling her what she wants to hear. At the same time, she does typically know what to say to make people feel better, and her encouragement and positive attitude toward Peeta’s recovery from the hijacking are what keep Katniss from giving up on him.

Ti [Introverted Thinking]: Prim is good at problem-solving, and she comes up with inventive solutions where others stumble. She is the one to suggest that Katniss demand immunity for Peeta in exchange for becoming the Mockingjay because she is important enough to do so, as well as the first to propose trying to “hijack” Peeta back by reversing the technique Snow used to hijack him. When emotional support is not enough, Prim attempts to comfort Katniss with logical explanations: “I don’t think President Snow will kill Peeta… If he does, he won’t have anyone left you want. He won’t have any way to hurt you.”

Ne [Extroverted Intuition]: The unknown makes Prim uncomfortable; according to Katniss, “adventures are an ordeal” for her, and merely going into the woods is enough to terrify her. More often than not, Prim is reserved in new social situations; she does not have many, if any, close relationships apart from her mother and sister. Nevertheless, Prim tries to keep a positive outlook on the uncertain future rather than only considering worst case scenarios like her sister. She is also able to generate new ideas by putting a twist on what has been done before (Si), such as when she suggests that Peeta’s recovery team try to “hijack him back” using President Snow’s own method. 

Enneagram [9w1]: Prim is warm and compassionate, and has something of a calming effect on those around her, so much so that there isn’t a single person who doesn’t like her. She gives away much of herself for others, but she doesn’t ask for a lot in return, which at times makes her overly compliant and afraid to speak her mind. During the war, Prim grows into an independent and level-headed young woman who must often be the one to care for her unstable older sister, challenging Katniss’ perception of her as a fragile little girl who needs protection. 

✘✘✘  Despite her young age, Prim is probably one of the best fictional examples of a healthy and mature ISFJ. She has a really good grasp on her Ti, in particular in the last book, and she really doesn’t struggle with any of the same high-Fe problems that many fictional xxFJs do. It could be because of the 9-core, too.

*** I used images of my own fancasts since I’m not a fan of the movie castings and don’t consider them canon.

[angrybell]

Nationalism According to Donald Trump

By Emina Melonic| November 2nd, 2018

Freedom of speech is under attack both in the United States and in Europe. Naturally, language—the basis of speech—is bound to change organically over time, but today there are efforts to change it in artificial and forced ways. What we say (and ultimately what we think) has become an occasion for control and policing, reminiscent of Philip K. Dick’s short story, The Minority Report, in which people are arrested for “pre-crime” thoughts. It may seem strange to reference science fiction to illustrate a point about the current totalitarian experience but, given the Orwellian reality in which we now live, such references make complete sense.

Examples of this kind of tortured language are all around us. Most recently, the European Court for Human Rights ruled that defaming the prophet Muhammad is not protected speech or expression. The case was brought before the court by an Austrian national identified only as “Mrs. S,” who was fined for comments a court deemed disparaging of a religion (in this case, Islam). She suggested Muhammad was a pedophile because the Koran details his marriage to his third wife, Aisha, who went to live with him when she was 9-years-old.

Mrs. S took her case to the European human rights court, but the judges did not rule in her favor. Mrs. S’s “right to freedom of expression,” the court said, cannot be rendered more important than “the right of others to have their religious feelings protected, and [the decision] served the legitimate aim of preserving religious peace in Austria.”

I’m not interested in delving deeper into the history of Islam or the life of Muhammad, nor do I wish to discuss whether Mrs. S’s statement is valid, especially since we don’t really know the full context and facts of her case. What is important here is that the European court has put the “feelings” of a group of people over and above the rights of an individual’s expression of thoughts.

Forsaking Cherished Identities, Abandoning Freedom

How did Austria and many other western European countries get to this point? Simple: they have forsaken their own national identity in order to accommodate certain religious sects that, for the most part, operate in ways that are incompatible with Western values. This is a direct consequence of choosing globalism instead of their own sovereign and national identity as their guiding principles.

Thankfully, the United States has not fully entered this phase of political and cultural existence and seems to be resisting efforts to drag us there. Still, we do see assaults on free speech and the forceful shaping of language, the sole purpose of which is to serve as a handmaid to leftist ideology. Most recently, the horrific massacre in Pittsburgh has caused some to seek to politicize this mass murder, insisting that language they dislike was the direct cause of the atrocity. Some went as far as to blame Trump for the massacre labeling him an anti-Semite despite the fact that he is one of the most pro-Israel and pro-Jewish presidents in recent American history.

To destroy Trump, the Left has twisted the language, in particular focusing on Trump’s outspoken attack on globalism and his embrace of nationalism. According to the Left, when Trump speaks against globalists, he is really speaking against Jews.

Another recent example of speech suppression involves an American scholar, Yoram Hazony, who complained he is no longer allowed to use words such as “globalist” and “nationalist” because they are just “dog whistles” for something evil and nefarious. Essentially, Hazony is being told what he can and cannot say. When someone imposes on our speech and gives us a directive about the “appropriate” way of speaking, they affirm only one thing—that we, ontologically speaking, don’t exist, or at the very least, that we don’t deserve to exist.

This makes no sense whatsoever. Any intelligent and clear thinking person can see the utter illogic in all of this. But such ludicrous statements should not be ignored. They warrant a discussion of what globalism and nationalism really are, especially in the context of Trump’s recent assertion that indeed, he is a nationalist.

American Identity Is Real—and It Isn’t Globalist

For the globalist Left, any mention of the word “nationalism” immediately is translated into National Socialism. According to the reductio ad Hitlerum argument, if you call yourself a nationalist, you are a white supremacist intent on destroying anyone who doesn’t fit that category. But it isn’t just that which differentiates globalists from intelligent people who embrace their national identity.

The globalist ideology relies on fluidity, primitive emotionalism, mediocrity, and a complete erasure of borders, both physical and metaphysical. It relies on control of the people, on eliminating differences between people and cherry picking as to who qualifies to maintain their difference and who must be erased from existence. It is a collectivist and totalitarian phenomenon that denies the wonder of life as well as the possibility of human flourishing. For this and many other reasons, true American identity is not globalist and never will be.

We struggle with the concept of nationalism, mainly because, historically, we associate it with the schemes of a megalomaniac bent conquering of the world. But the assertion of one’s identity that is connected to the ethos of a particular country (be it America or other nations) is completely the opposite of the left’s vision of Hitlerian nationalism. Indeed, only an authentic embrace of American nationalism can (and did) stand against such a twisted outlook.

What’s happening, in fact, is that real Americans are fed up with being told to decrease or feel ashamed of their existence and presumably disappear altogether. They are tired from constantly being put in a defensive posture against the inane and false statements which are constantly thrown at them. They are frustrated that they have been thwarted in their attempts to live fulfilling and successful lives by people who put the interests of non-citizens over and against their own.

Trump clearly has recognized this and because of this recognition, he has been labeled a nationalist in the blinkered meaning of the term propagated by the left. Is he a nationalist then? Trump explains: “I’m somebody that loves our country. When I say a nationalist, I don’t like it when Germany is paying 1 percent of GDP for NATO, and we’re paying 4.3 percent. I don’t like that.” Trump escapes any kind of already formed political definitions, and so we have to look at what constitutes nationalism according to Trump.

What Trump Means

There are three main elements of Trump’s conception of nationalism: sovereignty, excellence, and human potential. Without understanding each of these elements, it is impossible to understand Trump’s presidency.

Sovereignty, of course, has to do with independence, which is the most fundamental American principle. This concept goes against globalist principles of fluidity, sameness, and open borders. To the globalist, borders don’t matter because they want to erase the lines between countries and ensure the weakening of America in favor of the brotherhood of humankind. And yet, without clear borders, no country can be defined and thus no citizen can claim his or her own voice. As Hannah Arendt writes in The Origins of Totalitarianism, “To abolish the fences of laws between men—as tyranny does—means to take away man’s liberties and destroy freedom as a living political reality; for the space between men as it is hedged by the laws, is the living space of freedom.”

The next two elements—excellence and human potential—go hand in hand and are at the center of Trump’s thought and how he approaches statesmanship. Trump doesn’t subscribe either to conservatism or to liberalism as traditionally understood in American politics, and this is one of the most confounding characteristics of the Trump presidency. Not only has Trump unmasked American and world politics to expose their ugliness and corruption, he has chosen to focus on American excellence and potential rather than be the lord of the swamp. This focus on flourishing and success have been at the core of Trump’s being since even before he decided to run for the presidency—almost all of his interviews, particularly from the 1980s, involve some talk about realizing individual and American potential.

Of course, he puts American interests first—as any American president should do. “I am the president of the United States,” Trump said recently in one of his rallies. “I am not the president of the globe.” What’s more, this America-first approach involves the American people as a whole and more importantly, as American individuals. Foremost on Trump’s agenda is to create an environment in which every American is invited to succeed. But that takes responsibility on the part of every American, something the globalist Left is afraid to acknowledge because they deny the potential of so many individuals and instead point to a politics of victimhood which, naturally, empowers them as caretakers.

By affirming the importance of and responsibility for individual excellence in all Americans, Trump is attacking mediocrity—a trait widely embraced by leftist ideology. The more mediocre the masses, the better they can be controlled and repeatedly made into victims who, ultimately, need to rely on the state for any kind of assistance, including tips on how to think. For the globalist Left, the strong are not supposed to be the model for the weak or to encourage them to get out of the doldrums and into the world of personal freedom and responsibility. On the contrary, for them, the unapproved strong are supposed to slip into weakness until they disappear into the mist of mediocrity.

Trump is a man of action and because of this, he is not interested in “politcking” and ideological posturing. He brings something different to the American presidency, something which is urgently needed today. What kind of precedent he is setting remains to be seen. His actions against the absurdity of our times are louder than any statesman’s words. Trump is a man whose actions are born of his Americanism or, if you prefer, out of thoroughly American instincts. He is not moved by the force of post-modern shifting of reality. He understands the potential and the right of all Americans to comprehend and act upon reality as it actually presents itself. And what is more American than this?