#i am offended by no question and i view curiosity as an opportunity

[detransdamnation]

My bad no not dysphoria i meant the learning disability part in the prev ask

Gotcha. My apologies. As is evident, my learning disability affects my reading comprehension lmao

Before I answer this, I think I should give some necessary context since I have never named my specific disability (and would prefer not to, at least publicly, for the sake of my privacy). My learning disability does not impact my cognition; in other words, it has no bearing on my IQ, my ability to communicate, my ability to take care of myself, and so on and so forth.

However, my learning disability does impact what I am able to do academically, which spills over into a myriad of everyday life skills. My learning disability is also very severe.

Now that that’s been said,

In a friend group or acquaintance circle, I don’t expect—or even necessarily want—for other people to help me with things, largely because they can’t. I honestly do think that that is the absolute best way for someone to be supportive of me, is to accept that they cannot help me, they cannot explain things to me, and they cannot help me understand anything that I do not already understand. I don’t mean that to be pessimistic. It’s just the reality of the situation.

This incessant want to help is a pattern that has expressed itself throughout my entire life and it is annoying for a couple different reasons, one of them being that “help” only ever centers my learning disability when it would otherwise exist in the background.

I can generally “hide” my learning disability throughout my everyday life, and even in areas where my struggles are more prominent, I can usually brush them off. As a result, people don’t tend to fully grasp just how severe my learning disability is until they try (unwarranted) to help me through something that I struggle with—because it is only then when they realize that I do not actually have any foundational understanding of any of the concepts that are involved. In the areas that my learning disability affects, I have the comprehension of a child.

So, they have two options. They can meet me at my level and attempt to explain something to me the same way they would explain it to a child—which, although probably objectively better than jumping straight into something I am completely clueless about, has also never been accomplished without my being infantilized, or talked down to, to some extent.

Alternatively, they can take my age into account and explain something to me the same way they would explain it to any other adult—but then that doesn’t generally take into account what I can and cannot comprehend. Sure, my feelings may be spared, and it’s arguably the more ethical approach in that I’m not being treated light years younger than I am—but then they’re not actually teaching me anything at all because the approach assumes that my understanding of the topic at hand is far more advanced than it actually is and is able to be.

Even if either of these approaches worked and the person was somehow able to explain something to me whilst still retaining my dignity, it still all comes down to the therapy-resistant part of my learning disability. I do not retain anything I learn in my problem areas. I cannot retain anything if my learning disability is involved. Even where there is a line of success, it is part of an unsuccessful cycle.

These efforts are also made when I never ask for them. The onus, then, is on me to either A) grin and bear it, or B) interrupt the person and tell them to stop. Once again, this is a lose-lose situation. The former makes me feel guilty because I know that their efforts are going to waste; the latter usually makes the person feel awkward, and then I’m made out to be an asshole because they were “just trying to help.”

Most everyone wants to be the person to give that one explanation to make it all “click,” yet for some reason, it is never considered that this made-it-make-sense explanation does not, in fact, exist. I believe the fact these explanations are attempted, anyway, speaks to an ignorance of the nature of learning disabilities in general, even if they are held subconsciously (i.e., “Sure, you have a learning disability... but it also depends on how you’re taught”).

In many cases, I also believe it speaks to a greater discomfort with how my normal differs from that of people who do not have learning disabilities (or even those who do, but do not have a case as severe as mine).

I have accepted where I am at and I have tailored my life to accommodate my deficits. This does mean that I walk through many areas of life, navigating them through pattern recognition and logical reasoning, but not really understanding what I’m doing. I will always be a bit clueless when it comes to many concepts and skills. I will never be able to do certain things without outside guidance, or even at all. None of this will ever change. I have made peace with that. I am content despite my challenges.

But there are very few people who are content with my contentedness. It is my own experience that people like to think that they are accepting of my disability right up until they come face-to-face with the fact that my disability results in inabilities and they do not like that. They can say they understand or that they sympathize to my face—but they do not truly understand and they absolutely do not sympathize because they still evaluate me as if I have a non-disabled brain and it shows in their constant attempts to help me “improve” or “understand” or “do better.” It all too often insinuates that my successes as a person can only be deemed successful if I achieve them in the same manner as a person without a learning disability.

Some alternative ways that a person could actually support me include (but are not necessarily limited to) asking if I would like something to be explained before explaining it and not offering up an explanation on an entire thing when I am only asking for clarification on a specific part. Respect my limitations, do not challenge them. Never assume that I can do something. Also never assume that I cannot. The most supportive people in my life are the patient ones who are unafraid to ask questions and actually listen to my answers.

Above all else, as previously stated, the best way that one can be supportive of me is to accept that they cannot help me—because through acceptance of my struggles, I stop being a poor thing that needs to be “taught” and am instead seen as a whole person who just happens to have a learning disability. This is all that I want and expect from my loved ones.

I hope this gave you some perspective, Anon. However, I can speak only for myself. Please remember that the best way to support someone with a disability is to ask the individual how you can do so.

[justfangirlthingies]

Marry your Daughter (Legolas)

This is a songfic for the song 'Marry your Daughter'

The story plays in between The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, well actually it doesn't really matter when it plays

This is my first time writing for Legolas, so just bear with me ok?

Summary: Legolas makes his way to (Y/n)'s father to ask him a very important question or rather ask for approval.

Idk what race you wanna be, so if you're an elf just consider this as an Elvish conversation, for any other race it'd be in English I suppose.

Warnings: none? I think? If you find anything lmk though

Word count: 1640 words

A young ellon walked through the halls of the castle. He strutted through the halls with grace, not letting anyone see how nervous he actually was. He had only seen your father two or three times. Needless to say, he hadn't really had the chance to properly get to know him those few times. Legolas came to a halt in front of two large willow wood doors, which were guarded by two wardens. The two bowed before him briefly, before one of them entered through the doors. Probably announcing the young prince's arrival to the king. When the doors opened once more, the prince was shown into the room, the doors closing behind him. The ellon walked up to the man sitting upon his throne and knelt before him. Just casualties amidst royalty.

Once Legolas got back onto his feet, he heard the king's voice speak up. "Legolas Thranduilion, prince of the woodland realm, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" He asked.

The man you were currently courting took in a deep breath and tried to keep his shaky exhale as quiet and unnoticeable as possible, before he spoke up "Sir, I'm a bit nervous 'bout being here today. Still not real sure what I'm going to say. So, bear with me please if I take up too much of your time"

At that, the older man cocked an eyebrow, genuine curiosity overtaking his features. He already had a hunch that whatever this was, had to be about (Y/n), his only daughter and also the oldest of all his 3 his children. "Your Majesty, as you know, your daughter (Y/n) and I have been courting and I wanted to-to" The elven prince cut himself off, the nervousness coursing through his veins finally seemed to affect his actions. In the heat of the moment, he decided that maybe it would be easier to get this off his chest if he just showed the object, which he had been carrying with him for a few months now, to your father "See in this box is a ring for your oldest"

Your father's eyes widened at the object. Yes, he expected some kind of talk, but not that kind of talk just yet. The box in Legolas' hands was decorated with intricate and highly complicated looking patterns. Though the ring he did not get to see. "She's my everything and all that I know is-" The blond stopped his sentence and sighed, finally looking up at your father and maintaining some intense eye contact. "it would be such a relief if I knew that we were on the same side. 'Cause very soon, I'm hoping that I can marry your daughter and make her my wife."

"And how do you think that would turn out? What would you expect of a union with her. How would it benefit (Y/n)?" The monarch asked in return, his eyes still trained on his future son in law.

Legolas saw this as a good sign. He had not denied the request to give his blessing to this marriage, yet. "I want her to be the only girl that I'll love for the rest of my life and give her the best of me 'til the day that I die"

"What if I said no?" A smirk graced the king's lips as his (e/c) eyes bore into the young ellon's blue ones. The elf's face fell as he failed to notice the playful shimmer in the older man's eyes. He quickly retained his proud posture and continued on, answering the old man's question "All due respect Your Majesty, I do not mean to offend you, but I am asking for your blessing and possibly your approval, but in no way am I asking for your permission because I'm most certainly gonna marry your princess and make her my queen. She'll be the most beautiful bride that I've ever seen." The elven prince smiled at that thought. At the thought of you in your wedding dress. He would stand, waiting and watching at the altar, while you'd make your way down the isle. "I can't wait to smile. When she walks down the aisle. Preferably, on the arm of her father." The king watched as Legolas' brilliant blue eyes glimmered with love, happiness and admiration at the mere thought of you. He also took notice of the determination that sparked from the ellon's eyes. "On the day that I marry your daughter"

"Why (Y/n)? How can I be certain you will not mistreat my daughter?" Was all your father questioned in response. He was curious and wanted to make sure the man before him really was genuinely in love with you. Because of the fact that he always heard the way you talk about Legolas, he knew you were utterly in love with the elf. However, no matter how much you might have adored this man, your father wanted to create his own picture of the prince, without including the opinions of others. He simply had to judge for himself, if Legolas was worthy of his 'little girl' or more like, as close to worthy as one can get because in his opinion, no one was, is or would ever be good enough for you. The younger male immediately answered the other's question, ready to take any chance to prove himself to the man you called your father "She's been here every step since the day that we met. I'm scared to death to think of what would happen if she ever left. So, don't you ever worry about me ever treating her bad"

"You have already thought all of this through, haven't you?" The king chuckled slightly. A sign is what Legolas saw this as. A sign, that he might indeed get a blessing for this union. With that thought in the back of his head, he smiled and eagerly nodded his head yes "Yes indeed, I have most of it thought out already. If she has any extra wishes or wants to alter or make changes or additions to anything, she can do so. After all, it is in my interest to make this perfect for her. I've got most of my vows done so far, so bring on the better or worse and 'til death do us part. There's no doubt in my mind. It's time. (Y/n) and I have discussed the topic quite a few times, though I do not think she expects me to ask her nor has she any suspicion of my plans just yet. Which is why, the way I view it, this is a tremendous opportunity to surprise her. I'm ready to start, I swear to you with all of my heart."

Your father slowly lifted himself from the throne and walked up to Legolas "You swear, you say?" The man was intimidating, but the ellon stood his ground "Indeed. I swear it. I'm gonna marry your daughter and make her my wife. I want her to be the only girl that I'll love for the rest of my life and give her the best of me 'til the day that I die. yeah I'm gonna marry your princess and make her my queen. She'll be the most beautiful bride that I've ever seen. I can't wait to smile as she walks down the aisle, on the arm of her father. I know she would want you to approve and to have you there and so would I, on the day that I marry your daughter.

"It seems like you really do mean it..." The older one thought aloud. "I mean it, I really do" Legolas spoke up, he hadn't even properly acknowledged that your father was now in very close proximity and that what he said was more of a statement than a question. With that, Legolas remembered your first encounter, a dreamy look took over his features for a moment as he spoke "The first time I saw her, I swear I knew, that I'd say 'I do' "

The ruler over your kingdom took another look at Legolas before he announced "If that really is the case, which it seems to be and if (Y/n) really wants this, there is no stopping my stubborn daughter" he laughed loudly "then I suppose I have no choice, but to give this marriage my blessing."

I'm gonna marry your daughter and make her my wife. I want her to be the only girl that I'll love for the rest of my life and give her the best of me 'til the day that I die

The blond's eyes went wide. Had his ears deceived him or did he really just hear what he had heard? At that the old king chuckled "You better treat her well..." He hesitated for a moment before finishing his sentence and patting the elf's shoulder "...son."

The elvish prince nodded, his eyes widened even more at the sudden contact and with the biggest of grins plastered on his face, he replied "I will, do not fret."

I'm gonna marry your princess and make her my queen. She'll be the most beautiful bride that I've ever seen.

"I better not regret this decision" Your father muttered "You will not regret it, I assure you" The younger male responded immediately.

I can't wait to smile, as she walks down the aisle, on the arm of her father...

"I expect I still get to see her regularly." He paused "And you as well, I need to know what kind of man I just allowed entry to my family." Now it was Legolas' turn to laugh "Of course. We will visit as often as we can and you may come and pay us a visit as well sometime......adar"

...on the day that I marry your daughter

Taglist: @ateez-star @littlemissnoname13 @gwlvr

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

LETTER OF RESIGNATION

Englewood, New Jersey June 8, 2021

Dear Joe (copies to Head of School, Board Trustees, & English Department Colleagues),

I became a teacher at Dwight-Englewood because, as a parent, I loved how the school both nurtured and challenged my own children. Today, I am resigning from a job I love because D-E has changed in ways that undermine its mission and prevent me from holding true to my conscience as an educator.

I believe that D-E is failing our students. Over the past few years, the school has embraced an ideology that is damaging to our students’ intellectual and emotional growth and destroying any chance at creating a true community among our diverse population. I reject the hostile culture of conformity and fear that has taken hold of our school.

The school’s ideology requires students to see themselves not as individuals, but as representatives of a group, forcing them to adopt the status of privilege or victimhood. They must locate themselves within the oppressor or oppressed group, or some intersectional middle where they must reckon with being part-oppressor and part-victim. This theory of power hierarchies is only one way of seeing the world, and yet it pervades D-E as the singular way of seeing the world.

As a result, students arrive in my classroom accepting this theory as fact:  People born with less melanin in their skin are oppressors, and people born with more melanin in their skin are oppressed. Men are oppressors, women are oppressed, and so on. This is the dominant and divisive ideology that is guiding our adolescent students.

In my classroom, I see up close how this orthodoxy hinders students’ ability to read, write, and think. I teach students who recoil from a poem because it was written by a man. I teach students who approach texts in search of the oppressor. I teach students who see inequities in texts that have nothing to do with power. Students have internalized the message that this is the way we read and think about the world, and as a result, they fixate on power and group identity. This fixation has stunted their ability to observe and engage with the full fabric of human experience in our literature.

In my professional opinion, the school is failing to encourage healthy habits of mind, essential for growth, such as intellectual curiosity, humility, honesty, reason, and the capacity to question ideas and consider multiple perspectives. In our school, the opportunity to hear competing ideas is practically non-existent. How can students, who accept a single ideology as fact, learn to practice intellectual curiosity or humility or consider a competing idea they’ve never encountered? How can students develop higher order thinking if they are limited to seeing the world only through the lens of group identity and power?

Sadly, the school is leading many to become true believers and outspoken purveyors of a regressive and illiberal orthodoxy. Understandably, these students have found comfort in their moral certainty, and so they have become rigid and closed-minded, unable or unwilling to consider alternative perspectives. These young students have no idea that the school has placed ideological blinders on them.

Of course, not all students are true believers. Many pretend to agree because of pressure to conform. I’ve heard from students who want to ask a question but stop for fear of offending someone. I have heard from students who don’t participate in discussions for fear of being ostracized. One student did not want to develop her personal essay — about an experience she had in another country — for fear that it might mean that she was, without even realizing it, racist. In her fear, she actually stopped herself from thinking. This is the very definition of self-censorship.

I care deeply about our students and our school, and so over the years, I have tried to introduce positive and constructive alternative views. My efforts have fallen on deaf ears. In 2019, I shared with you my negative experiences among hostile and doctrinaire colleagues. You expressed dismay, but I did not hear any follow up from you or other administrators. Since then, the stifling conformity has only intensified. Last fall, two administrators informed faculty that certain viewpoints simply would not be tolerated during our new “race explicit” conversations with our new “anti-racist” work. They said that no one would be allowed to question the orthodoxy regarding “systemic racism.” The message was clear, and the faculty went silent in response.

The reality is that fear pervades the faculty. On at least two separate occasions in 2017 and 2018, our Head of School, standing at the front of Hajjar Auditorium, told the entire faculty that he would fire us all if he could so that he could replace us all with people of color. This year, administrators continue to assert  D-E’s policy that we are hiring “for diversity.” D-E has become a workplace that is hostile toward educators based solely on their immutable traits.

During a recent faculty meeting, teachers were segregated by skin color. Teachers who had light skin were placed into a “white caucus” group and asked to “remember” that we are “White” and “to take responsibility for [our] power and privilege.” D-E’s racial segregation of educators, aimed at leading us to rethink of ourselves as oppressors, was regressive and demeaning to us as individuals with our own moral compass and human agency. Will the school force racial segregation on our students next?

I reject D-E’s essentialist, racialist thinking about myself, my colleagues, and my students. As a humanist educator, I strive to create an inclusive classroom by embracing the dignity and unique personality of each and every student; I want to empower all students with the skills and habits of mind that they need to fulfill their potential as learners and human beings. Neither the color of my skin nor the“group identity” assigned to me by D-E dictates my humanist beliefs or my work as an educator. Being told that it does is offensive and wrong, and it violates my dignity as a human being. My conscience does not have a color.

D-E claims that we teach students how to think, not what to think. But sadly, that is just no longer true. I hope administrators and board members awaken in time to prevent this misguided and absolutist ideology from hollowing out D-E, as it has already hollowed out so many other institutions.

Sincerely, Dana Stangel-Plowe Upper School English Teacher P’16, P’19, P’21 dstangelplowe89@gmail.com

==

More, including school documentation: Teacher Dana Stangel-Plowe Speaks Out About Dwight-Englewood School - FAIR

[lumen-adstrum]

Hi! I read your works and I really really like them! So I would like to make a request! How about a felix × fem!reader pre-timeskip? Felix is so in love with her but he tries to deny it and he avoids her a little for this purpose. However, he gets really jealous when a suitor is pestering the reader non-stop so he pretends to be the reader's boyfriend to scare away the suitor? Thank you! And take care please!

A/N: Aww thank you so so much!! I’m so happy you like them! I’m sorry it took me a while to write, but I wanted to make this one a bit longer than my other works! I hope this is to your liking! Please stay safe and in good health! -Evelyn

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ABSENTION

Two months had gone by, the Verdant Rain Moon had settled in full with plenty of showers and rainbows making an appearance. [Y/N], like many other students, attended the monastery with intentions of growing not only in power but as a person too. Along the way, she met many new faces, some familiar ones too. Felix was among the many she had made acquaintances with. 

He was prickly, blunt, and beyond harsh in the eyes of many, those same people constantly ridiculed how she could stand trying to talk to him. All he ever did was scoff and brush them off. Perhaps he did those same things to her as well, but she could tell he was listening even as he pretended not to. After all, Felix had a little quirk: nodding his head subtly to himself as he pondered her words. His stubborn facade of aloofness had always struck her as cute rather than hurtful. 

However, she had noticed as time passed… he seemed more and more avoidant, and their conversations were more one-sided than ever, hardly even a nod to himself now. [Y/N] wouldn’t lie, it had begun to sting the longer the dynamic continued, having grown attached to him. She had extended the concern to his friends, Ingrid and Sylvain, but as far as they knew, he was the same Felix they had always known. 

Even during lectures, he no longer sat in the same row as her, instead settling for a seat on the opposite side of the room in the very front. Any time the professor paired them together for an activity or job, Felix didn’t even bother to spare her a glance. It was disheartening in ways and in others it was utterly infuriating. 

Today was no different. She watched with a silent glare as they both tended to the horses, her hand dragging the brush gently down the stallion’s mane. Felix made silent work of cleaning the saddles and reins, not once did he say anything! Not even a scoff! “Felix?” Her voice was borderline accusatory just saying his name and he paused in polishing the leather briefly, but still, he didn’t look at her or reply. She at least knew he had heard her. 

“I thought you had gone deaf, glad to see that’s wrong. However, this outcome is irking me a lot more.” Open with her thoughts, Felix finally looked at her with a rather pointed expression on his face.

“Whatever are you talking about? Can we get this done?” His reply is curt, turning back to the saddle to continue with his work. The girl grits her teeth, knowing he wouldn’t budge. It was unheard of for Felix to avoid confrontation… but for the time being, she was exhausted constantly trying to corner him and pull an answer out. At this rate, perhaps it was time to just let Felix do his own thing, after all, plenty had warned her about how he treated people as if they were the plague themselves. Some truth certainly rang in it now.

With the stables looking sufficient, the horses cared for and the riding gear repaired and polished, [Y/N] was the first to turn and leave, unlike in the past where she would try to get some sort of response from Felix at least. The man remained behind for a moment, watching silently as she walked away before releasing a quiet sigh of his own.

He hated upsetting her, truly he did. However, the last thing he needed was a distraction or something he viewed as an unnecessary quality of life. Felix had always and continued to put logic first and his feelings behind him. This was no different. He would lie to himself, saying things like; “I can do without. She and I weren’t that close anyway. It will be easy to forget.”

Except, he couldn’t do without. They had been close and she had been on his mind at every waking moment of every single day that passed. He felt as if it would drive him mad, but Felix seemed adamant that time would erase his fickle feelings. Days went by where the girl no longer spared him a glance, and if their eyes would meet by chance, her face would turn stern before quickly looking away as if he now repulsed her.

Sylvain was quick to notice, blowing a long whistle as his cheek laid in his hand during a lecture. “Didn’t think she could make those kinds of faces at you…” His voice seemed surprised, but in reality, both he and Ingrid knew Felix had a talent for stepping on toes. “I guess you finally chased another one off.” 

“Sylvain, shut up. I am trying to read.” The exasperation was clear in Felix’s voice, flipping his pages wildly before stopping at random. However, even with his face turned down at the book and his brows knitted in concentration, Sylvain picked up the key clue the man wasn’t reading just because his eyes didn’t move from their spot. Ever the observant student deep down, the man sighed and rolled his eyes.

“You call me stupid at every possible chance yet can’t even admit to yourself how you’re feeling. It’s kinda sad really.” Before Felix could even jump at the opportunity to start a fight over the exchange, Sylvain perked up a considerable amount with clear curiosity. Turning his head to try and spot what the other was looking at, Felix spotted the sight of interest. [Y/N] was accompanied by a student sitting in on their lecture, one from the house of the Black Eagles to be exact. The two were getting along well despite the house rivalries, and the man seemed to certainly be enjoying himself. 

“I forgot about him, Callun Forge, I heard their fathers are good friends. Apparently [Y/N’s] pops is trying to marry her off. Guess it makes sense he’d be first in line, looks like he’s been waiting for an opportunity like this.” Sylvain’s words pulled again at Felix’s temper, slamming the book closed and standing to pardon himself from the room. The redhead faked shock, looking after the swordsman before snickering to himself with a shake of his head.

“You really shouldn’t rile Felix up like that Sylvain, you know how angry he gets.” Ingrid’s lecturing from behind fell upon deaf ears. The slam of the door caused [Y/N] to jump briefly, glaring at the spot Felix had been just before the noise. However, her ‘lovely’ company continued merrily chatting her head off.

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It went on for days, the man’s incessant talking. It never ceased! At the rate things were going, she could feel annoyance boiling just at the sight of him. She knew her father meant well, and that she couldn’t upset the suitor considering the bonds their fathers shared… but he was making it harder and harder every day. Even now, Callun was following her around the monastery as she went to have lunch. “-You should have seen it, [Y/N], I was a true hero that day. The Goddess herself would have been enamored.” She rolled her eyes in secret.

Felix sat with Sylvain and Ingrid, a typical arrangement, but hearing the babbling fool coming from a mile away, his eyes stared at the entrance of the dining hall with an intense glare. Soon enough, [Y/N] walked through with the same man attached to her hip. He’d had enough of seeing him. Callun showed up to every lecture, every job and even accompanied them on their latest mission. He’d heard rumors that he would be asking to join the Blue Lions soon. Over his dead body. 

Every tale he spun had Felix scoffing, and today was no different, but the second his hand bravely took her’s, he was practically fuming. “Felix?” Ingrid’s voice was cautious, leaning into view. “Why do you look so upset?”

“I’m not.” His reply was venomous, enough to prevent her from asking further questions, but the second he watched the man lean in to whisper something into [Y/N’s] ear, a Cheshire like grin on his face, Felix snapped. The way he shot out of his seat, hands slamming on the table before he paced their direction caught the attention of a few students. The closer he got, the more he could tell that her companion’s advances weren’t appreciated. Possessively, one of his arms found it’s way around her waist as his other hand smacked the offender away with a pointed glare.

“Hey, what the hell is your problem man?” He had guts, that was sure. Perhaps he hadn’t understood the fact Felix was more than just bark. Even [Y/N] looked bewildered, but he didn’t miss that small glimpse of relief.

“Do you make a pastime out of courting ladies that are already committed?” Felix sneered out the words, and the man’s face contorted into confusion at first before a slight trace of fear hit his eyes. His glare hardened further as he pulled the girl closer to his chest as if to prove his story. “What are you standing around for? Scram.” On command, Callun turned tail and ran. It wasn’t long after he could feel [Y/N’s] head tilt up against his chest. When Felix looked down, he was met with a pointed stare, unreadable at first but it soon turned into a devilish smirk.

“I get it now!~” Her voice was sing-song, tauntingly sweet as her finger jab against his chest accusingly. “You don’t seem like the type to get jealous, Felix. Or the type who runs from his problems. I guess you’re full of surprises, huh?” She had every right to embarrass him right now, after all the unnecessary pain he put her through, she felt he deserved a little punishment. “You know, you could’ve just said you liked me.”

“I like you.” Her teasing quickly backfired. Felix admitted it, unwavering with an honest intensity in his eyes. “Let’s… talk about this somewhere more private… please?” His eyes strayed to peering eyes uncomfortably, and the girl was quick to take his hand and pull him outside and into the unoccupied greenhouse. 

“Spill it Felix, you spend weeks not talking to me and acting like I’m a nuisance. Then all of a sudden Callun shows up and you’re quick to jump up and make a scene. I’m not here to be wanted just when there’s competition, you know?” Her voice is accusatory at first, but by the end, it softens almost sadly. It pulls at his heart and he finds himself regretting his choices in the past.

“I don’t want you just because another man does, I did like you before that. It’s the whole reason I avoided you. I don’t need that commitment. It’s a distraction.” His voice is laced with frustration before it also softens but in a defeated mannerism. “Or at least I tried to convince myself it was. [Y/N], you confuse me. I’ve never felt this way before. I don’t like not knowing what will happen or how I’m feeling.” He shows vulnerability, something he tries to never do.

It’s silent for a moment before she gives an exhausted sigh and then pouts. “You’re no fair. It’s hard to be mad at you, you know?” Her body leans against his, and hesitantly he wraps his arms around her before dropping his head gently atop of her’s. 

“I mean it… I like you.” His repeated confession is met with a hint of a giggle before the girl nuzzles into the crook of his neck to sneak it a simple kiss. 

“I like you too, but you’re the one who has to explain this to my father. After all, he’s going to be very confused about why I never mentioned you.”

“Don’t talk about that right now.” Felix’s lecture sounds stern, but there’s a hidden smile placed on his lips and an expression of fondness washed over his face. He was lucky to have someone who understood his irrational ways and would accept his flaws. He wanted to do better in the future, he’d promised to himself he wouldn’t neglect her. [Y/N] meant so much to him. He wanted to make sure he expressed that through his future actions.

[sunritual]

Robots don’t need to be sentient to destroy us.

Navy mock neck long sleeves big orange and little white stripe on tube cage sides

A veritcal line stretch waistband

Cross cross and straps back

Square high neck

Scarlet polka dots around can light blue text and beach image as front

Blue stroke red inside square, blue triangle rainbow with eye and funky font

Y either know a particular topic or not , but it’s hard to pin down intelligence on one category

Cream background , ice cream pink script name kinda bev hills hotel script looking ish

Move your mouth in a differ way

Supersonic vibrating butt cleaner

Half magenta half red violet a blue teacup in the center with white floral frills thick serif font

Pink background am orange flower in a vase white present ribbon n red as a table

An app that familiarizes people with science - through experimental learning ― hands on experiences that make it seem less top down and authoritarian , and more like a set of steps that we take, things that anyone can do to get closer with nature and the world

A social media philosophy app - teaches what others said and gives people a chance to express their views , postulate, argue, etc gadfly? How would be avoid a shit show, how can we make social media more humanitarian. how can we care about people while also expressing deeply held ideas , how can we encourage users to examine their deeply held ideas without alienating them. How can we discourage hatred and abuse and groupthink with design? How do we slow people down and encourage them to recognize the human behind the screen. Street epistemology? Socratic dialogue?

Socrates - asking questions. Breaking it down to bits. Deeply understanding their argument. Asking about different possibilities and circumstances. Take vast assumptions and show scenarios that make go against them.

Build fact checking into apps

Narrative self vs experiential

Walks you through steps of the sciefitifc method and encourages you to explain how you feel each step actually helped you- then walks you through a scientist doing the same for their reasarch

Republicans only want to be free in the specific ways that benefit corporations

Are Christians more willing to support the death pen early because they already believe in the cruel and overstepping punishment of hell?

Where did the idea come from that you need to remain impartial when trying to persuade

The idea that there is someone in a similar but different dwelling, hearing similar but different sounds and feeling similar but different feelings is wild

We synthesize sets of traits, and particular actions in a super biased culturally constructed way

With the way we see things as humans- we categorize things into groups that aren’t really reaaal ― paratheletic groups

I just want the people and jobs that benefit society

Connection to nietzsches Dionysian art and eckheart tolle/Taoism

No matter your personality, there is probably a part of the world that you would fit in with naturally.

An ordinary girl is selected as one of the representatives of earth in the first meeting of various alien species after one advanced planet discovered and United 10. Confused as to why she was chosen, she goes on her journey meeting

Wha ba Bada da da da da dada he’s a wha ba ba dadada as a matter of fact it’s not my fault if you came up here thinking that you would win

Wanting to break boundaries and rules for the sake those who are hurt by the rules

You are imagining the best case scenario of the life you want to have and experience Ming the reality of the life you so have.

Yes her drips cosmetics line to students i. Class

Chez it people can goldfish people

Your personality flows where a system needs it to go to maintain balance

Ah you fucking saw a tik Tok about that didn’t you

Coincidence and intention are two sides of a tapestry, my lord. You may find one more agreeable to look at, but you cannot say one is true and the other is false.””

Clay busts with abstract art and philosophical musings (throws up)

Do a sketch a day

What if someone ran for president as an impression of a famous person

Full stemmed flowers, wiggly text creeping behind

Balloons of various sizes and cooors holding people and things

Kelly green cream hot pink black

Green outline one pink air brush cream background black marks

Emdr applebees , bat mitzvah toasts Amitals bat mitzvah , Fiona - i like her better just kidding ,

We tend to learn words by synonyms and not definitions

A bully who takes a kids lunch money everyday all through out high school and secretly puts it in a Roth IRA and presents it to them at graduation

Set up drum set

When it comes to something we have no knowledge of or evidence or proof being certain is the most illogical thing you can be

Getting a degree in philosophy is the not going to college of going to college

It ain’t what they call you it’s what you answer to

You don’t just get to jump from bright moment to bright moment - part of the job is the frustrating ones and the climb to get to be actually good. It’s gonna be bad in the beginning but it’s a measure of how dedicated you are to your craft. Frustration is the process.

You have to decide whit shit sandwjicj you prefer - everything is gonna suck some of the time but if you pick your dream you’ll have those bright moments and at least that shit sammie will be worth it - the bad parts of job you have no interest in don’t add up to anything. If you love what you do you will accept the downsides.

People are like tape. Going through the world collecting bits and pieces of things but none of those things are really them . We can identi ft with them and create with them but we can also escape from them.

I wonder what all these people think about being alive

Curiosity makes everything play. It invites exploration. It makes me see opportunities everywhere makes everything new

Bias to action. Try things. Get your hands dirty, fail Fortean and find what works. Remaining nimble and constantly rethinking

Reframe the problem. Step back, re-examine the problem, examine biases and be open to new solutions

Clay matches clay fire

The differences and similarities between us

Looking back, historical events seem bound to happen, but a few small events could’ve stopped them. Thinking diffently.

“They became revolutionaries despite themselves”

Artists way workbook design

I’m at Eton having to walk around to quell the feeling of being so exited about the future and my possibilities and so sure of success and beauty and magic and love and adventure. I’m going to make beautiful pictures I’m going. To tear down the status quo I’m going g to make people feel like they have on antigravity. I’m so a part of it i made it. I’m a muse I’m it omg I’m so exited - listening to John Denver

Joy is just a thing that he was raised on love is just a way to live and die.

The only thing that made Abe Lincoln Abe Lincoln (tm) was doing what Abe Lincoln (tm) did. The actions that he took made him a hero in history. There was nothing i ate in him that made his great, his actions did. Whatever help inate qualities may have gave him in terms of doing the actions that made him what he was could be negated by pma and doing the damn work to get yourself to where you need to be. Believing it so makes you inclined to take the actions that improve your skills and get to to the point where you can do the things it takes to be who you want to be.

Little vases

I feel like we’ve become addicted to finding things wrong with what people say. Silence the critic. It’s fine. Most people have the best intentions. It’s not that serious. The group you are offended for likely aren’t mad anyway. There is way more you can do - they don’t care about picking the right term

I wanted a very simple menu that could maximize customization options in The shortest amount of time possible for a very fast paced food truck. The system allows the customers to design their own grilled cheese sandwich but ideally would save time by not requiring each guest to decide which cheese and which bread from a long line of choices.

I feel I’m so afraid of being dunning Krueger that i tell myself i am terrible at everything no matter what i actually think about my abilities. You can just say your a beginner you don’t have to say you suck. Plus thinking you suck doesn’t make you any better, honestly worse. You don’t have to rate your abilities just focus on the future, make sure your doing baby steps and make sure they are the right baby steps

Chives ward off insects

Loving thebsunlightttttyt!!

I don’t think music is really something that needs to be critiqued for me ― it’s more about feeling it’s about magic and truth and light or darkness. Getting whatever needs to be out out. it all serves a purpose and is for an audience , if your not in that audience then there’s no need to comment

I have to is weird backwards idea that it’s Nobel to be like you know what I’m not good at this imma bow out. But that is so wrong you have to struggle through it. Pike how i feel like my thoughts are more concise then my writing. There’s no glory in not trying to improve that. You have to awkawardly write until you can beautifully write.

[omg-baeyoung-baeran]

Maybe I Should Resign: Chapter 3

For easier reading, try this link.

Jumin Han was known for being a very busy man. His interest was easiest to pique when it involved their company’s profit and reputation—excluding his hobby formulating cat-related projects. Given his position as the heir of the famous C&R International company, each day was a working day to him.

It was difficult for any business man to approach him, since his schedule was mostly filled with appointments and business trips… so imagine how odd it was for people to see the heir allot an entire day per week for something unrelated to company matters.

“Mr. Han will no longer accept business-related calls every Saturday due to a shift in schedule. Any emergency call will be forwarded to the person speaking, Jaehee Kang, his chief assistant. Again, we apologize for the sudden changes.”  With that, she hung up the phone and sighed.

Things had been hectic as usual, but she was not happy with the additional task. If her boss was not accepting anything concerning the company on Saturdays, that meant there would be an extra load on her shoulders.

 “Assistant Kang,” the last voice she wanted to hear for the day called from behind her.

She turned to look at him and gave a slight nod. “Yes, Mr. Han?” she acknowledged. The words had not even left his lips, and she can already feel the psychological stress his words were gonna cause her.

“Ah,” he spoke while she mentally embraced what was about to come.

There was silence for a few seconds as he continued tapping on his phone

“Make sure to only accept calls coming from the emergency line. Unless a call is made from that line, you will be free on Saturdays.”

“Understood,” she answered abruptly, her focus immediately going back to the computer on her table when her boss turned to leave. Slowly, her exhausted mind processed the information she heard. 

Wait, I thought I heard “free” for a second.

“Eh?” She thought she heard something crack when her head forcefully snapped to look at the door behind her. It was like her head was the only part that understood the situation while her body remained facing the workload before her.

Perhaps it was his imagination, but Jumin thought he heard a noblewoman’s laugh from the other side of the door he just exited.

Dark eyes squinted at the sound. 

Strange….

Well, he had no time to delve deeper into it. He had a day to prepare for, and he promised a certain person he would get a contract  of agreement signed within the afternoon. “Let’s get this over with.”

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

The days quickly passed by, she noticed.

“I guess time really flies when you’re having a good day.”

Ever since the incident, her neighbours began to leave them alone. Most were even sucking up in hopes to appeal to the man they thought was her suitor. It astonished her how people can quickly turn into a new leaf the moment they realize they might need the person they used to abuse. 

“Sister, will the fabulous man be visiting our home again?” Riri asked, her hands diving into the bag of chips she bought using the money she gained from doing errands. 

Hannah pondered, her gaze glued on the old, wooden ceiling. There were small cracks all over them, but their ceiling and walls were much more sturdy than the floor they walked on. It may look worn, still… she was happy to have a home.

“I don’t think so. I think we’ll only meet such a person once. It’s even a miracle he was here in the first place.” 

“What do you think was he doing here ? Do you think he’s a politician who wanted to pretend he’s helping people to get votes?”

“What? How do you even know that? And no, I don’t think so. He would have dressed poorly to convince people he can empathize.”

Hannah continued with her cooking while Riri returned to her bag of chips. It was certainly peaceful; it was peaceful before Sana ran into the room, flailing her arms around happily and squealing.

“How was your date, Big Sis? We never got to ask!”

Hannah giggled at the youngest’s antics. 

“It’s not a date, Sana, and it went surprisingly fine to be honest. I was expecting him to make a bit of fuss, since most rich people don’t like the market.”

“Do you want to see him again?”

Hannah contemplated Sana’s question. Remembering the time they spent together, she can clearly recall having a good laugh with the man during their wayfaring. However, would they even meet again?

Where does he even live? Does he work near their place?

“I don’t mind, I guess. Though! Next time, I won’t forget to ask his name.”

It seemed like fate got rid of her troubles of doing just that.

It was an early Saturday morning when she finally embraced the fact that she had the mental capacity of a guinea pig. She was standing in front of the counter where her childhood friend was working as the barista, hoping to get a job as a waitress or a dishwasher in the small yet packed cafe. Less customers usually came in the morning, so the atmosphere and the scent of brewed coffee gave her a sense of serenity.

“So you’re saying… you left your job because you’ve been sending love letters to the wrong person?”

“No, no, I resigned before I got a bad performance evaluation. I don’t want my mistake to affect my job application once I switch work.”

Her friend stared at her incredulously. “What?” she exclaimed, “Were you not getting paid enough for your job? Why were you planning to switch jobs?”

Hannah shook her head, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. “My goodness… every time I talk about this, I am reminded of how idiotic I am. Salary was great, but I felt like choking in my sweat and tears each time I went to work.”

As they were waiting for the boss to arrive, the conversation of two middle aged women caught their attention.

“I think the CEO of C&R made the right choice in creating a cemetery business if they have already bought the Life Care hospital.”

Hannah’s ears perked up at the mention of her former boss.

“Agreed. Hospitals and pharmacies are necessities, but none of us can escape death. But that aside, when do you think will the heir of C&R replace his father?”

She discreetly watched the two women converse on the table near her. They were mindlessly talking about the current news written on the newspaper they were holding; and when they tossed the paper on the table, Hannah could not help locking her eyes on the cover of the newspaper.

It was a familiar face…

…it was that familiar face.

“Jennie! Quick! Hand me a newspaper!” She wildly pointed at the stack of newspapers displayed over the counter.

Jennie knit her brows but did so anyway. She calmly handed her the rolled paper whereas Hannah seized it from her grasp, and this caused her to look at her friend in an offended manner with her hand on her chest. “Okay, I demand an explanation.”

Hannah’s eyes bore a hole on the headline as she gaped at the face of the man printed on the paper.

Ju-Jumin… Han?

Like how Seven once told her to shout his name and he would come to her in 0.1 seconds, an expensive-looking car suddenly crashed against a tree just outside the coffee shop. Everyone inside gawked at the accident, but their jaws did not drop further until a classy man in a formal attire casually stepped out of the car, seeming like nothing ever happened.

“Woah, who’s that guy?”

“I guess rich people park their cars by crashing it.”

“What a waste! That car could have bought me a good wife.”

“Are they shooting a movie? It looks so cool!”

From the huge glass windows of the place, they can see the man approaching the entrance door of the cafe, which was enough to create ruckus among the customers. Hannah squinted her eyes to get a better view of the man from the distance. He was barely visible from all the people blocking the way; yet the second she saw his hair, her body immediately made a quick turn and swooped under the table where the middle aged women sat.

They did not notice her move for they were busy observing the man that just entered the room.

He stood by the door, towering over the people who went to surround him. Many of them asked for a photo whilst some asked for an autograph, but none of them were spared a glance.

“Are you perhaps the suitor of Mei’s daughter? Hannah?” an elderly asked, effectively distracting him from his search.

He bowed politely at the older woman. “My apologies. I didn’t notice you, Ma’am.”

She waved at him dismissively and laughed, “It is fine! You are quite a tall man and I have aged terribly, so it is natural for you to not see me.”

He smiled, and Hannah was a hundred percent sure she heard dreamy sighs all over the room.

“Yes, I did come here to see Hannah. Have you seen her?”

“Ah, yes! She was just over…” she trailed off as she pointed at the empty spot where she had last seen the girl, “there?”

Jumin blinked. 

“Oh, my… I swear I saw her there just a few moments ago.”

After a few seconds of silence, a woman screamed from the table near the counter. “Ah! What is that?” She stood and stepped away from the table with her companion.

Jumin decided to ignore them and headed towards the barista. “Excuse me,” he started, “have you seen a woman with long brown hair and brown eyes? Her mother told me she came here looking for a job.” 

While they were busy chatting, Hannah took the opportunity to switch hiding spots. Unfortunately, before she could crawl out, the previous women lifted the tablecloth, revealing her hunched figure hidden under the table.

Everyone fell silent.

Black slacks and black leather shoes soon entered Hannah’s line of sight, followed by a gorgeous face that blinded the darkest part of her soul.

Jumin kneeled on the floor, one knee touching the ground and one supporting his arm. She had never witnessed such a serious face appear so innocent and child-like. His typical aura of mystery was now replaced by a glimmer of curiosity.

“Why are you there?” he asked in a soft voice.

I feel like a terrified kitten getting coaxed to come closer to him.  “I… I-I was just,” she squeaked and patted the floor out of the blue, “checking if the floor here is sturdy.” She laughed awkwardly.

He stared at her for a moment then offered her his hand. Once she placed her hand in his, he pulled her up and gently grasped her arm to support her balance. “I was hoping we could go somewhere today.” 

Hannah’s cheeks burned red when he even crouched to brush the dust off her jeans. “Oh, thank you,” she muttered. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s alright.”

She can smell it. The scent of jealousy was so potent that she could literally see the dark atmosphere around them...

...or maybe it was from the smoke the car crash was emitting.

“I think we should get your car fixed.”

“It’s fine. My butler has ordered a new one prior to my departure. He somehow predicted this will happen.”

Okay, it’s either his butler is a psychic or he’s just a terrible driver.

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

She had no idea how they ended up this way. 

Jumin sat next to her inside a cab. He was whispering to her—albeit blatantly—if they were supposed to give the driver a tip or if that would be insulting to his profession. Hannah felt like dying inside from embarrassment, because she was certain the driver can hear their supposedly inaudible conversation.

“Wait, I am not sure if this is a good idea.” She lightly nudged his elbow.

“What is not a good idea?”

“You know… hanging out with me.”

He took a glimpse at her fidgeting fingers, his face blank as he watched the passing scenery slowly change from a disorganized place to a clean environment. “So you’re aware of who I am? And next time, don’t just go with a person you just met for a day,” he stated apathetically.

“Sorry… Sir… I didn’t know until today. If I had known earlier, I wouldn’t have told those people you were my suitor—and! I wouldn’t have brought you to the market. I… it is not my intention… I mean, I don’t want to involve you in a scandal.”

She knew she was blabbering, and she did not have a clue if he was listening either. All he was doing was having his arms crossed with his gaze up ahead. This was creating a debate in her head between jumping off the car or pretending she never said anything; she was leaning on choosing the former.

“It is nice that you worry about my reputation, and I appreciate it,” he began, “but tell me... were you the one who had been attaching sticky notes on my cup of….” He turned to look at her but then paused.

He wondered what she was doing, since she was slowly and quietly opening the car door…

...while the car was moving.

“What are you doing?” he bellowed. He quickly pulled her waist and shut the door, earning them the attention of the driver.

“Is everything alright?” he asked.

“Yes, pardon us,” he responded coolly, but his glare on the girl said otherwise.

“Sorry! I wasn’t thinking straight! I thought we were at the mall already.” Obviously, that was a lie. She badly wanted to escape her current predicament, and it was the only way she could think of.

“Be more attentive when you are traveling. You could have died.”

“Yes, Sir!

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

The incident had temporarily changed the conversation. However, she knew the topic was bound to return to the unanswered question; so when it did, she could not stop herself from cringing on the inside. My goodness! I blame my parents for giving birth to me without my consent!

Okay, she was just being stupid.

“I only want to know if it was you.” He leaned on his seat and waited for her answer.

She was letting the fancy music inside the restaurant fill in the silence between them. As a straight-forward man, he never liked probing for answers; therefore, the action only made him narrow his eyes at her.

“Do you know you are suspected of theft?”

Alright, she really needed to talk.

“What?” she gasped.

“An important document has gone missing,” he continued as he scrutinized her expression, “and we are performing an investigation on all employees that left the company from the day the document was last seen till the day it was found to be missing. It is best if you cooperate, Ms. Hannah.”

“Wha—what does the notes have to do with this matter?” 

“They were borderline suspicious. Also, upon further investigation, the date the note was first received was in the same month the cameras were placed in a loop, so did you or did you not write those notes?”

“I did but I….”

I was meaning to give those to Seven, but I didn’t know he lied about being in charge of the coffee—wait a second! Camera? Loop? A secret agent gathering data inside C&R?

Puzzle pieces clicked together.

“I honestly have no idea about the document you are talking about, but I did write those… notes.” Shit, what do I say? SEVEN! As if on cue, a familiar red head entered her peripheral vision. 

With a single huge gulp from her glass of water, she swiftly stood up and excused herself.

Seven thought it was like a scene from a movie, where a lovely lady would grab a man’s shirt and lead him into a secluded place for some romance—except he was slammed too roughly against the wall.

“Hey! Ow! I’m a sadist not a masochist!” he whined. His hand went to rub the back of his sore head.

“Seven, what the heck did you do?” she demanded, her fingers tightly tangled on his jacket. “Now, C&R is suspecting me of theft—what the heck did you do?”

He thought he heard a demon growl at the end of her rant. “Wait, wait! Explain to me what—”

“I was attaching notes on one of the cups on the tray that you were supposed to be serving because I wanted to at least make you happy and—”

“Aww, you really did tha—”

“Hush! And I had been doing it for months but it turned out I was actually sending it to Jumin Han and I have been sending it on the same month you placed the camera on loop and that was the same month you entered C&R—”

“Wait! Was the cheap kitty stamp on his table from you? You gave it to him?”

“That was supposed to be for you!” Her high-pitched voice cracked from her hopeless desperation.

Seven’s scandalized gasp made a few heads exiting the restroom turn to them with cautious glances. “That thief!” he snapped, his head whipping towards the wall where Jumin’s seat would be.

Hannah sighed and dropped her hands to her sides. She looked at him with teary eyes; her lips quivered to express her anxiety. This stirred a heavy feeling inside his chest, for the least he wanted to do was make his best friend cry. 

“Seven, pleeaase take this seriously,” she begged him.

“Okay, okay!” he whispered; distress was evident in his voice. “Don’t cry! Just!” He cupped her face and squeezed her damp cheeks together. “Shhh… don’t cry. I’ll tell you what to do.”

As promised, he gave her a plan. It was not an intricate one; in fact, it was simple enough to be realistic and easily remembered. She thought it was a perfect lie.

With a peck on her forehead, he twirled her like a princess in a royal ball then gave her back a light push. 

“Now, go!”

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

I didn’t realize how huge this restaurant is. She walked with her vision focused on the black locks of Jumin’s hair from afar. It’s embarrassing but I hope it works.

“It happens to him almost everyday. I’m sure this will be believable, but expect to lose whatever friendship you developed with him. He is known to hate those kinds of people.” Seven lectured, raising one finger in the air as she eagerly nodded at him.

“Sounds fair,” she mumbled to herself before settling herself back in her seat.

Jumin gave her a look she could not fathom. “Are you well?”

“Yes, I just needed to compose myself… because you see,” she stammered as she bashfully tucked her hair behind her ear. “Being told that I’m a suspect is alarming, but I was being truthful when I said I did not take anything from the C&R. You are free to inspect me, Mr. Han.”

He remained still.

“A-And! I sent you those letters and notes, because… I was,” she took a deep breath before continuing, “I was hoping to… be… your… ro-romantic… interest.” She felt like she was choking the words out, and she could literally feel her neck disappearing from how much her head pushed back into her shoulders.

Ehmehgersh. Kill me.

She could not find the courage to meet his stare.

Why is he taking so long to speak?

Reluctantly, she lifted her face a little to check what he was doing…

...and he was peering at her.

“I didn’t—”

“Jumin.”

She was taken aback by his sudden word. “I’m sorry… what?” 

“Just call me ‘Jumin’.”

It must have been the effect of stress and paranoia, but she thought she saw a serene smile grace his lips.

However, his next words confirmed it.

“I would like to properly court you, Hannah.”

0-0-0-0

Hope you guys liked this chapter! And have a rare gif of Juju after crashing his car

[scendant]

THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; Mun & Muse - Meme.

fill out & repost ♥ This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm.

tagged by: @zhrets​ aka THE stinky boy, Thank 4 teh Tag-desu uwu *glomps* tagging: @foxcharmed​ / @heroeth​ / @garuvusu​ (do it twice i dare you gabby) / @icarise​

My muse is:   canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless / complicated

Is your character popular in the fandom? YES / NO / KINDA

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom?  YES / NO

Is your character considered strong in the fandom?  YES / NO

Are they underrated?  YES / NO

Were they relevant for the main story?  YES / NO.

Were they relevant for the main character?  YES / NO

Are they widely known in their world?  YES / NO.

How’s their reputation?  GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL.

How strictly do you follow canon?  / I follow canon as much as I can, but it’s important for me to note that Elesis has many versions of herself depending on exactly which time I write her. For the most part, for panfandom interactions, I go for a more general approach incorporating canon into her story (as she did travel solo across dimensions for a hyper-extended period of time), but making it so that it wouldn’t have a tremendous effect on the actual canon of the story (by making her forget every world where she’d traveled, which gives opportunity for plots to revolve around that). I try to follow canon but, the game was a 2008 KMMORPG that was a patchwork mess and character identity is left highly to fandom and individual interpretation. My Elesis is nearly an original character at this point. I’ve thought about what made sense for her for a long time. She is a childhood character that had a significant impact on why I decided to rp, the kind of person I am today, and liking her and maining her in the original game inspire a lot of my love for similar characters.

SELL YOUR MUSE! Aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals.  / Elesis Sieghart provides a lot of introspection. She is interesting because she is multifaceted. She is a leader---a Savior, going by the way canon sees her. But she’s not. Several times in canon, namely in her background and in an implied alternate dimension, she leans towards revenge over justice. Her goal has been, and always has been, to enact revenge on the villainess who took her father away from her. Her reaction to seeing her father die in front of her is anger, and then a desire for vengeance. In the alternate universe mentioned, she is so overtaken with rage that she transforms into a shell of herself consisting of her determination and her desire to kill----something that isn’t common among characters like her. Likewise, all throughout canon, she forced her way into a leadership position that, gradually, she begins to doubt and resent. She was brash, had an ugly personality, trampled over others’ opinions and yet---she cares about them so much. She’s a leader because she treats everyone she meets as equals, but she isn’t a leader-type because she’d rather seek anger in her friends’ name rather than protecting them in the present. Elesis always, always, looks towards the past for her actions rather than the present and she is fundamentally flawed as a protagonist. Not to mention, she is selfish and she takes her enjoyment of battle to extremes. Rather than being a forgiving and kind protagonist, she is ruthless and nearly totalitarian in her desire to fight over doing the right thing. She would rather die than retreat for the safety of her friends. She is angry, but it’s kept inside. She is lustful for violence, but she has to keep up the image of a good leader. She’s constantly on a breaking point one way or another, and I love that about her and I hope my interactions can spark some of that curiosity to go beyond what she is on the outside.

She’s a character that has a lot of potential for relationships. She has so many experiences that have changed her over and over again that she cherishes and is referred back to often. She’s a lot of contradictions in one woman, and to weasel your way into that takes a lot of effort and it’s rewarding. That’s how I want to portray her.

Now the OPPOSITE, list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?).  Elesis isn’t digestible. She’s kind of basic looking and her words are far and few in between. I think she’s a very difficult character to love----she’s an easy character to gloss over because she’s not bombastic like a lot of others are. Speaking not so much from a fandom perspective (because she is very loved in the fandom, namely GC’s Korean fandom, where she’s one of the most popular characters) but from the perspective of roleplaying and seeing the kinds of characters people tend to prefer----Elesis is just not it. She’s not that consumable, and threading with her (and me in general) takes a ton of time and back and forth before she gives way to cuter threads or in-depth things. She’s not really defined by anything outright. It can easily be said that she isn’t anything. Her character doesn’t seem consistent----she’s a lot of things at once, rather than being “a good girl” or “an evil woman” or “a villain” or “sweet and candy-like” or “a sultry femme fatale”----she’s none of the easily definable. She’s a lot of everything, but she isn’t any one of those descriptions. She’s a protagonist but she doesn’t act like one. She’s a warrior but she longs for something more normal, something more regular. She’s a knight but she has never been knighted. She’s not easy to take in and it can seem very pretentious, to make one character absolutely nothing. It’s off-putting and it turns people off. Also, I don’t tend to talk about her until prompted to, nor do I talk on the dash a lot about her, nor do I have many followers in the first place. All of those things make her a character that people might just not want to write with, and that’s 100% okay.

What inspired you to rp your muse?  / She’s important to me. After leaving tumblr for 2-ish years following a lack of interest and seeing how toxic the dashboard was and how toxic the rpc twitter community was, I left and I didn’t look back until now. In the end, though, I want to write. Writing makes me happy. rping Elesis makes me insanely happy. I never brought her to tumblr because I didn’t want her to be ruined for me, and I’ve reached a point in my life where I’m confident enough in my own identity and my love for this character that I’ve been thinking of in silence for years to put it out in public and start writing with old friends again.

What keeps your inspiration going?  / I love one (1) beautiful titty redhead sword woman. 8+ years in my lil’ brain still going strong 3:

Some more personal questions for the mun.

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you give your character justice?  YES / NO

Do you frequently write headcanons?  YES / NO (though I want to)

Do you sometimes write drabbles?  YES (all of my replies tend to be drabbles 3:>) / NO

Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day? YES / NO

Are you confident in your portrayal?   YES / NO

Are you confident in your writing?  YES / NO

Are you a sensitive person?  YES / NO

Do you accept criticism well about your portrayal? / Truthfully---no. Not about Elesis. About any other character, or rather---about every other character besides Elesis, I will accept criticism. But I’ve thought about Elesis for way too long and for way too many years of my life, changing her as I go, so much so that it’ll feel too personal to me to accept criticism. But if it were any other character, I’d readily accept it.

Do you like questions, which help you explore your character?  / Absolutely please please please please---it’s so hard to talk to people one-on-one about her as is, as it is for everyone about their own muses. I love questions. I love answering them.

If someone disagrees to a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why? / I’d be curious, truthfully. But it’s not bad. Anyone can disagree and if that’s the case, but ultimately, my headcanons for Elesis are my own and that’s not going to change even if someone else told me it was “wrong” or “bad”.

If someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it? / I don’t really care. I’ve thought about this stupid meathead woman for far to long to feel offended at someone else’s disagreement of how I write her. Plus, Elesis Sieghart, as well as every single character of the Grand Chase, can have many, many interpretations due to how vague and up in the air their canon information is. It’s just how it is...

If someone really hates your character, how do you take it?  / The only situation where I’d feel upset would be if it were a close friend telling me this after a while of talking about her---and it’s happened before. But overall, it made me sad for a minute and then it was “whatever”. They love her now, and things are good and right in the world. Someone else’s dislike of Elesis doesn’t really effect me outside of close friendships.

Are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors?  / Absolutely! If something is off, please tell me or correct it in the reply <3

Do you think you are easy going as a mun?   / I’d hope so. I don’t view rp as my life or as a main hobby, so I don’t tend to be here often and I write as I feel like it. As a mun I kind of just write here as I please because I know the people who are interested will continue to be interested and those who aren’t, I’ll know with time. In terms of friendships and rp, I do like to be talked to if I share my discord because I don’t share it often. I want to be able to develop and write and do all of those fun things I never got to do in the past due to the fact that when I used to rp as a main hobby, I was a minor---shipping back then was difficult for me, as a minor. 3: But now that I’m a lot older and, well, Legal, I can do a lot more things and explore more dynamics that I felt like I just wasn’t mature enough to do in the past. I guess, in that case, I’m a bit more higher maintenance. I hope I come off as easygoing, but I do get very intense about writing, I like it so much.

[piperjalali]

Piper! Your job is to mingle with the fast food workers at rest stop 88, and see if any particularly friendly workers will give you a key to any of the building’s back doors. Bored Macon restaurant employees have been itching for someone interesting to pass through, so make sure to give ‘em a show!

Piper can feel the heat of every eye in the rest stop on her as she makes her way through her ice cream. It’s a powerful feeling honestly. All she’s doing is sitting here, wrapping her lips around a spoon and yet none of them can take their eyes off of her. 

Well. Maybe the dress has something to do with it, but Piper will maintain that it’s mostly her doing. 

Some may say that walking into the rest stop in a very cute thrifted wedding dress was overkill, but to that Piper would say that she had this very cute thrifted wedding dress and she was going to find an opportunity to wear it if it fucking killed her. Besides, go big or go home right? 

Piper makes sure to sniffle pathetically as she shovels another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth, swallowing down the icy treat with a stifled sob that she knows from experience sounds genuine. She can see the fast food workers buzzing behind the counter they’re meant to be working at, all crowding together and whispering as they try to pretend they aren’t sneaking glances at her when they think she isn’t looking. But she can see them in the reflection of the window she’s facing, clear as day, watching her like she’s some sort of cheap show. 

Piper isn’t particularly offended. Honestly, she kind of is (a cheap show that is). 

Piper lets out a shuddering sigh as she looks out the window dramatically, tears falling down her cheeks leaving behind black smudges of mascara. She dips her spoon into the little plastic cup again, only to blink when she discovers the cup is empty. 

Right on cue Piper starts full on sobbing. 

Even through her wet eyes Piper can tell feel the atmosphere in the room shift from mild curiosity to full on panic. Customers sneak peeks at her. The employees seemingly try to decide who’s job it’s going to be to approach her. Piper hiccups particularly pathetically as she swipes at her wet eyes, checking the reflection subtly and-- oh, there you go.

One of the employees is breaking away from the pack to approach her. 

Aw, he looks sweet. Kind of on the skinny side, and definitely a bit young. Even through his blatant panic, he’s got a certain softness in his eyes that she can work with. 

This’ll be a breeze. 

“Um, Miss?” His hand hovers over her shoulder hesitantly, and Piper makes a point to startle like a frightened baby deer. “Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just… wondering if you were okay?” 

“Oh.” Piper blinks at the guy, eyes big and wet and innocent for a moment before she looks around the restaurant as if just seeing the havoc she’s caused for the first time. Her face contorts in horror. “Oh! I’m so sorry! I-I didn’t mean to cause trouble for you, I am so sorry, I’ll leave--!”

The moment Piper moves to collect her ‘things’, which honestly is just here measly little plastic ice cream cup, he jumps into action.

“No, no, it’s okay!” His hands flail around as he quickly moves into the seat beside her, obviously trying to calm her down. Piper stills long enough for him to think that it worked. “I-- I’m Kit. What’s your name?” 

Kit. Aw. 

“... Lola.” Piper replies hesitantly, and Kit gives her this big encouraging smile. It’s a bit patronizing honestly, but genuine so… She’ll give him a pass. 

“Hi, Lola. Rough day, huh?” Kit tries gently, and okay pass revoked because no shit, Kit.

“A-a bit…” Piper replies as she stabs her spoon weakly into her empty cup, unshed tears building up in her eyes until she finally releases another wet hiccup. 

“You wanna tell me about it? I’m a pretty good listener…” Kit tries gently, and he actually sounds sincere about it. 

Piper takes that sincerity as a good sign that Kit will believe pretty much anything. Soft people are gullible, after all. She should know, she is one. 

Her lips pulling into a weak smile for a moment before she hesitantly says, “... Okay.” 

♡ ♡ ♡

“He cheated on you with your best friend? The maid of honour?” Laura (at least, Piper thinks her name is Laura) repeats in disbelief. Piper bobs her head in a nod as she sucks the last of the ice cream off her spoon, watching the crowd around her at the fast foot counter look at her in varying expressions of awe and horror. She’s sat on the counter like it’s a pedestal, a full head above them all so they all have a good view of her telling the story. The transition from her lonely table to here wasn’t nearly as hard as you’d think. Bored nosy people really don’t tend to question a lot when it comes to a free show. 

“Can you believe it?” Piper asks almost shrilly as she gestures wildly with her spoon. Certain members of her newfound audience shake their heads in answer, and Piper can feel a curl of satisfaction in her stomach. She’s got ‘em hooked. “He didn’t even tell me about it! I had to catch the two of them together in the confessional booth!” 

There’s a string of gasps throughout the employees. The rest stop is pretty much empty by now. It’s just her, Kit, and the members of staff that have circled her in search of entertainment Piper is happy to bring. 

“God, Lola, that’s horrible.” Kit says gently, and it’s actually kinda heartfelt. Piper honestly hopes he at least has a foot fetish or something. She really needs something to hate about him. 

“I know. I lost two...two of the most important people in my life today, and everybody at the wedding knows, and I was just so embarrassed. I had nowhere else to go, so I just… kept driving until I found myself here. And I saw you guys sold sundaes so…” Piper looks down at her three empty sundae cups by her side pointedly, before a heavy calloused hand lands on her knee. She blinks up at the owner of the hand in surprise, only to be greeted by a lot of tall, a lot of blond, and a lot of muscle. She’s pretty sure this guy is the fry cook judging by his apron. Will definitely probably have a key to the back. 

“You can have as many sundaes as you want, darlin’. On the house.” He says gently, but his smile is a lot less pleasant than Kit’s. The kind of smile a lion would give a gazelle just before it pounced on it. 

“Thank you…” Piper trails off pointedly, and his shark like grin just widens. 

“Lance.” He introduces cockily, and Piper has to wonder if that’s a name to be that proud of. 

“Thank you, Lance.” Piper repeats again, lips pulling into a sugary smile as she slides her hand over the one he still has on her knee. “You’re so sweet.” 

Lance’s ego seems to inflate like a balloon at that. Good to know. He’s probably her best bet. 

It’s probably time to change gears. 

“You wanna know what the worst part is?” Piper turns to the gaggle of girls on her other side at this, meeting all of their gazes with her own pitiful one.

“There’s a worse part?” A redhead --Cindy, she thinks-- blurts out in surprise, and the brunette beside her elbows her in the side. 

“What’s the worst part, Lola?” The brunette asks hungrily, and Piper knows it’s a lot less that she actually cares and a lot more than she’s living for the trainwreck Piper is presenting her life to be. Oh, if only she knew. 

“We’d been dating since high school and I… I was saving myself for him.” Piper lets go of Lance’s hand to tuck her hair shyly behind her ears. “And I thought he was saving himself for me, but based on all that skin I saw in that booth... he obviously wasn’t.” Piper looks at the girls hopelessly, watching as they all melt in the kind of sympathy that only comes from a similar experience. “Oh, I feel so silly. I just… I just missed out on all that stuff for nothin’.” 

“Aw, sweetie.” Laura reaches a hand out and pats her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze with a blunt, “Men are trash.”

“They really are.” The brunette agrees solemnly. 

“Uh-huh.” Cindy seconds gently after her, and honestly? They’re not wrong. 

“Well, now that the two of you aren’t together, you can try all of that stuff you missed out on.” The girls all blink at the interjection, turning to Lance as Piper does. He’s stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, gaze roaming over Piper as he shrugs unapologetically. “I’m just sayin’.” 

“Lance! Stop hitting on the girl, she just ran away from the alter this morning!” The brunette snaps as she slaps Lance’s thick shoulder. Lance only arches his brow at the girl in return. 

“Yeah, that means she’s single, Rita.” Lance says. He meets Piper’s gaze in a long drawn out way he probably thinks is real sexy. It isn’t. “She can act like it.”

Well. An opening is an opening right? 

♡ ♡ ♡

God, he tastes like burgers. 

Kinda gross but also kinda brings her back to high school. 

Piper pulls back from the kiss with a perfectly practiced girlish gasp, straightening up enough to feel the steering wheel of Lance’s old dodge press into the small of her back. His chapped lips travel down the column of her neck, and his hands wander dangerously high underneath her white skirt, but well. 

This is all about as sexy as a wet paper towel if she’s honest. He’s got big meaty hands but no idea what to do with them.

His fingers edge dangerously close to her underwear and Piper rolls her eyes at the ceiling of the car. 

“Hey, hey, wait--” Piper says as she grabs his face, trying to drag him away from slobbering all over her neck long enough to meet his gaze. But Lance’s head is apparently as thick as it looks, because her words fall on deaf ears, the hand under her skirt hooking in the side of her underwear and tugging. “Hey--” Piper’s breath hitches a moment as Lance continues to do no such thing before she’s fisting a hand in Lance’s thick hair and sharply tugging his head back with a firm jerk, voice like honey on the edge of a knife as she snaps, “I said wait.” 

Lance blinks up at her in blatant shock, but Piper merely gives him a demure smile in return. Her gaze falls to her hand as she walks her fingers daintily up his shoulder and says, “Not here.” Piper pouts and juts her head towards the pitstop window, noticing about five different people suddenly busying themselves with menial things at the attention. “Everybody can see.” 

“So?” Lance asks as he slowly relaxes with a big toothy dumb smile, and god. She can’t wait to see someone shove a gun in his face. 

“So...” Piper replies slowly as she leans in to whisper in Lance’s ear, fingers loosening their hold in his thick hair as she says, “I think we should take this somewhere more private.” Piper pulls away just enough that she’s nose to nose with him, batting her eyelashes prettily. “How about… I get out of here, get myself lookin’ all pretty for you and meet you back here later? You’re closing right?” 

“Yeah,” Lance grunts as he slides a hand up and over the swell of her ass. Piper pretty vividly imagines breaking one of his meaty, grubby, greedy little fingers and smiles. 

“Well... I’ve never had sex before, and I’m willing to bet that you’ve never had sex in an empty rest stop before,” Piper smiles almost shyly as she pulls back to sit back on his lap, eyes twinkling. “It’ll be a first for both of us.” 

“Holy shit,” Lance breathes, giving her ass a squeeze presumably for emphasis. “You’re pretty dirty for a church girl.�� 

Piper ducks her head bashfully and she giggles like she imagines Lola would giggle. Soft, shy and innocent. She looks back up at Lance through her lashes and decides to finally get this over with. She chews on her lip a moment before smiling around the meat of it and hesitantly asking, “...Speaking of… you think you can get me a key to the backdoor, stud?” 

Lance’s thick caterpillar brows almost look like they’re crawling towards each other as they knit together. “What? Why?” 

“Well, let’s just say I’m not exactly planning on wearing anything suitable for any eyes but yours tonight, and I’ll need a way to get in…” Piper purrs seductively, and she can pretty much see the moment Lance puts two and two together, the moment that key is as good as hers. Her shy smile becomes a full on grin. “So? Is that a yes?”

[echristides-blog]

Blogs

Methodology - 11/12/19

Dear Blog,

As a part time student at the beginning of a three-year journey of a qualifying degree and as placement won’t begin until January 2020 I thought I’d take the opportunity to embark on this adventure by looking into what spurs my curiosity and interest along the way, letting my intuition, reading and teaching guide my methodology and inform my self-growth:

My main approach was visual, searching for art exhibitions at galleries that really spoke to me and I felt very drawn to, this includes one film that was heavily based on the mental ill health of a fictional character. This method allowed me to experience, be influenced by the visuals as well as view the artist or subject through an art therapy lens - looking and thinking like a trainee art therapist. The most important part of this approach was supplementing my reflections with qualitative scientific input from art therapy literature and from peer-reviewed articles in related fields giving elements of validity and reliability whilst enhancing my learning as I explored different areas and possible meanings under the concept of art therapy.

Having come from a musical background and understanding the influence sonic environments have had on me, one blog is of experimental thinking - again approached scientifically, as I am interested in exploring the idea of using sound in an art therapy setting. My research has shown that this is still a developing area in the context of art therapy even though some professional writing has been contributed here. I feel this approach would have been more complete for me had I made some response art to an environmental soundscape.

Two blogs are purely experiential, based on the process of making my own  piece of art and experiencing working with different art materials. I felt I had to document important realisations that shaped my understanding and learning of the art making experience for myself and also what it could be like for clients in therapy.

I also felt it was important to include some reflexivity in my methodology as this is key in developing practice and I hope this is reflected in a number of my blog posts. Because of this, I believe that a reflection on personal therapy could have been a good addition here.  

Back to School! - 01/10/19

Dear Blog!

I have just come home from the ‘official’ first day at uni. Going back to academia makes me a little anxious… Will I quickly remember how to be a student again? How will I juggle work, study and life? I’m a little nervous about the journey the MA Art Therapy will take me on. Even though I have a cloud of thoughts above me, it was great seeing familiar faces from the Foundation course – we bonded and shared experiences so feeling that sense of safety was comforting… The Foundation taught me that Art Therapy is a creative route to better self-understanding but its unpredictable process is a little bit of a scary thought. I guess all these emotions will be coming into play at some point, this is an MA in Art Therapy after all.

Today was very exciting. In fact, as soon as our lecture on Research and Enquiry began I couldn’t wait to get started! This emotion continued throughout the taught lessons.  I'm already thinking of areas in Art Therapy I want to explore; sound/music in art therapy, the intrinsic properties of art materials, gender in art therapy, art and psychoanalysis, art therapy and the criminal mind. So here I am, my mind travelling at 100 miles per hour after having a plethora of information thrown at us. Although I'm loving that we can navigate our way through the course, I do have to slow down as I know that my starting point is research, research, research!  

I found it quite intriguing today that I started doodling during our Research & Enquiry class as I realised that I was doodling the same shapes I drew on the first day of the Foundation. Although the patterns were identical there were differences in size, in colour and they were positioned on different parts of the page in my notebooks.  This was very interesting to me... (Interesting…a word I’m sure I’ll be using a lot…). I do wonder what the role of an intuitive image is? (Case & Daley, 2013: 124). While doodling has been associated with being disinterested in a primary task, recent research shows that the act of doodling releases mental stress, which in turn improves focus and helps memory and recall performance (Gupta, 2016: 17). Dr Robert Burns relies on doodling to reveal what is going on in the unconscious, claiming that the way that EEG leads transmit brain activity to a piece of paper, one’s hand also does (cited in Pillay, 2016). Even though I believe I could try to make sense of my doodling, I’m certain that art therapy theory, psychoanalytic theory and neuroscience could shed a lot more light here...

Word count: 434

(Doodling in first lesson Sep 2019)

(Doodling in first lesson September 2018)

References

Case, C. Dalley, T. (2013) ‘The Art Therapy Handbook’, London & New York: Routledge Taylor & Francis Group.

Gupta, S. (2016) ‘Doodling: The Artistry of the Roving Metaphysical Mind’, Journal of Mental Health and Human Behaviour, Vol 21 (1), pp.16-19. doi: 10.4103/0971-8990.182097. (peer reviewed)

Pillay, S. (2016) “The Thinking Benefits of Doodling”, Harvard Health Publishing, https://www.health.harvard.edu/blog/the-thinking-benefits-of-doodling-2016121510844 – Accessed on 02/10/19 at 19:15.

If ‘Joker’ (fictional character, 2019) was in Art Therapy… - Reflections 07/10/19  

Dear Blog,  

Last night I went to the movies to see Joker, a psychological thriller focusing on the main character’s mental illness. This film emphasized that what we are at birth and what we become and why, are very different identities. Everybody has a story...  

The film makes it known that Joker was never really in a nurturing environment, loved or cared for and that he had a very dark upbringing. It was a memoir of the criminal before he became destructive to the world around him. Joker is a fragmented individual and sees a therapist who didn’t succeed in developing a therapeutic relationship between them. The irony is that Joker seemed to be collaborative during their sessions by opening up about his emotions but she wasn’t very interested in understanding him or responsive to his needs.  

It made me think about the significance of the art therapist, the art therapy process and its multitude layers of containment through the different therapeutic relationships within art therapy. In his therapy journal he wrote “The worst part about being human is mental illness”, which striked me in particular as he was aware of his disturbances but was really struggling to deal with them. I guess he was trying to fight his demons alone. Mental illness is like being in a prison you can’t free yourself from and no one can understand the suffering if they haven’t experienced it. His sense of powerlessness lead to him making use of a gun - he used it for physical, emotional and psychological protection. It became his shield, forbidding anyone to upset him. It really saddened me that the therapist failed to create that “holding environment” and that she in fact discouraged emotional nourishment (Murphy cited in Liebmann, 1994: 16). What if he missed his last chance for positive change because the professional was incompetent?  

Perhaps the art therapy setting and process would have been more suited to Joker as he is a very visual individual, constantly daydreaming and painting a clown’s face on his. His imagination made him creative but he was only able to be this expressive alone. It felt like he was self-soothing himself through his creativity but even his creativity was imprisoned in his own sense of self. Art therapy allows one to be free and creative through play in what Winnicott calls the “potential space - an environment which can tolerate the successes and failures of experimentation, but which is ultimately reliable” (cited in Liebmann, 1994: 16). We can’t release on humans the pain and aggression we can release in the art therapy room... His creativity could have been his way out.  

Word count: 434

References

Murphy, J. (1994) ‘Mists in the Dark’, in Liebmann, M. ‘Art Therapy with Offenders’. London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers.  

Joker (2019), [Motion Picture], Todd Phillips, USA: Warner Bros. Pictures – Viewed 07/10/19.

Sound in Art Therapy - Reflections 15/10/19  

Dear Blog,  

Yesterday in our Introduction to Art Therapy lecture we talked about how to approach our first art therapy session as trainees. How we could prompt a client if he or she is struggling to engage in art making was a question posed and this triggered a thought I have a lot of faith in... Although usually the visual sense for humans is perhaps the more dominant, we are nevertheless multi-sensory and senses can stimulate subjective experiences. Art Therapy is a creative way in to the psyche just as much as externalizing what is part of the psyche is – therefore, exploring creativity when utilizing art therapy is very important. “Sound can be an invasive phenomenon of everyday experience in that it assists our engagement with, immersion in and commentaries with the environment in which we live” (Taylor & Fernstrom, 2017: 4). I am very interested in non-musical sounds evoking memory and emotion as there seems to be a lot less written about it in comparison to great work on memory and music.  

Sound has the capacity to mark time, place and narrative “making the past psychologically present or problematized, creating a dialogue between the present and the past” (Bao, 2013: 208) and we fathom sound in terms of phenomenology, memory, imagery, associations and even phantasy. As sound is tied to different experiences, the use of sonic prompts can elicit memories and involuntary memories. “Our ability to interpret the world around us crucially depends on how the brain organizes meaningful auditory information in memory” (Hendrickson, Walenski, Friend, Love, 2017: 2). This could strongly suggest that sound has potential to aid a client into and through the complex process of art therapy sessions. So, it can very much be considered to be a stimulant... Referring to good and safe practice, could it be risky for some clients to be played recorded sounds during an art therapy session? Perhaps it could be, but the acousmatic approach creates an illusion for the client, it allows the client to be connected and disconnected with the sound at the same time as the actual source of it would be unknown. Sound is also ephemeral and what could be triggered in the art therapy room when sound is played can be contained by the therapist, by being in the art therapy room and maybe even in the artwork itself. Furthermore, there seems to be a particular interest in the natural soundscape as a therapeutic resource and it being used as a calming agent (Franco, Shanahan, Fuller, 2017: 1). Of course, this is all very subjective but more research is without doubt needed here as I am a firm believer that nature can be a healer in many different ways...  

The effect of sonic elicitation is multisensory as sound evokes visual, tactile and olfactory as well as auditory memories (Harris, 2015: 22) and this fits in to art therapy very well as art therapy is a whole body experience. It has been stated that multimodal sensory input can drive positive mental states such as tranquility, unlike monotony, which is a cause of stress (Franco, Shanahan, Fuller, 2017: 2). Allowing sound to play an active role in the triangular relationship (therapist-client-artwork), to prompt and be part of a therapeutic relationship seems to be a creative avenue to explore... And creativity is not just a non-threatening way to access and express memories and emotions but has the power to create a corrective experience in the brain (Perryman, Blisard & Moss, 2019: 80).  

Word count: 563  

References  

Bao, Y. (2013) “Remembering the Invisible: Soundscape and Memory of 1989”, Journal of Chinese Cinemas, Vol 7 (3), pp. 207-224. doi: 10.1386/jcc.7.3.207_1.  (peer reviewed)

Franco, Lara S. Shanahan, Danielle F. Fuller, Richard A. (2017) “A Review of the Benefits of Nature Experiences: More Than Meets the Eye”, International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health, Vol 14 (8), pp. 1-29. doi: 10.3390/ijerph14080864. (peer reviewed)

Harris, A. (2015) “Eliciting Sound Memories”, The Public Historian, Vol 37 (4), pp.14-31. doi: 10.1525/tph.2015.37.4.14.  (peer reviewed)

Hendrickson, K. Walenski, M. Friend, M. Love, T. (2015) “The Organization of Words and Environmental Sounds in Memory”, Neuropsychologia, Vol 69, pp. 67-76. doi:10.1016/j.neuropsychologia.2015.01.035. (peer reviewed)

Perryman, K. Blisard, P. Moss, R. (2019) “Using Creative Arts in Trauma Therapy: The Neuroscience of Healing”, Journal of Mental Health Counselling, Vol 41 (1), pp. 80-94. doi: 10.17744/mehc.41.1.07. (peer reviewed)

Taylor, S. Fernstrom, M. (2017) “Acouscenic Listening and Creative Soundwalks: Evoking memory and Narratives Through Soundscape Exploration”, Leonardo Music Journal, Vol 27 (27), pp.3-6. doi: 10.1162/LMJ_a_00999. (peer reviewed)  

‘Protreptic’ (2018) - Reflections 26/10/19

Dear Blog,

I recently came across artist Despina Zaxaropoulou and her eight hour a day, three-week long performance Protreptic in Bangkok and became fascinated with the power in endurance art... I decided to watch a clip of the performance and view images taken from it without reading its short descriptive summary to have a more authentic response to it... Dressed in an almost completely transparent dressing gown, Zaxaropoulou lies silently and moves around on a wooden transporting container inviting audiences to interact with her... Her purpose was instantly and unmistakably made clear to me, it was that effective and meaningful...  It pushes the artist’s physical and mental strength to the maximum, makes the power relations between artist and audience prominent and tests boundaries. She embodied herself and her inner reality into her artwork, becoming the image under the gaze and available to be physically handled by many different individuals. It was very interesting to see different reactions to Zaxaropoulou’s loss of autonomy and even though her body language seemed sorrowful... she was still objectified and touched in a sexual way by some. From a trainee art therapist point of view my immediate response was to want to create a safe space for her and hold that space for her... my mind couldn’t stop thinking about the significance of complete respect for the client’s intrapersonal meanings...

From an artist’s point of view I really admire her bravery in her performance. It made me question my own art practice and how stepping out of my comfort zone is something perhaps I should attempt more often as my artwork consists of only my own personal experiences, emotions, memories and fantasies. Although I felt very uncomfortable and bothered by the performance – Zaxaropoulou being exposed, vulnerable and receptive to many different interpersonal experiences, reminded me that “creative work has been associated with ‘a-ha’ moments of self-realization... that stimulate personal growth” (Hinz, 2017: 143). Being experiential is often about taking risks and experimenting with different environments, materials and exploring the psychodynamics. Sitting with uncomfortable feelings and being reflective as well as being reflexive is necessary for my own creative practice and development as an artist and as a trainee art therapist. These different thought processes have shifted my perception of me as an artist and have made me eager to transcend my boundaries and embrace challenge and uncertainty. They have spurred further curiosity for learning and I feel I need to honour those interests.  

Word Count: 407

Reference  

Hinz, L. D (2017) “The Ethics of Art Therapy: Promoting Creativity as a Force for Positive Change”, Journal of the American Art Therapy Association, Volume 34 (3), pp. 142-145. doi:10.1080/07421656.2017.1343073. (peer reviewed)

First Art Making Session in MA! - 29/10/2019  

Dear Blog!  

Today we finally made some art work at uni! And it was really, really, REALLY liberating. Since we started I haven’t had the chance to sit down and take my time to make art and today’s session just proved to me how long overdue it was to do so, especially being on this course...  

We were told to bring wool and newspaper to today’s class last week, but we were only told today that we would each be making a person and I really enjoyed having that direction. I enjoyed working in silence in a quiet room, getting lost in the moment without any distractions as I was able to tune in with myself. Usually, I instantly get a visual response to an exercise but this time I hadn’t, so I knew I would go by my method of “what feels right” to make art. This is how I selected my materials and then let the process take its course. From the selection in front of me I ended up using only the earthy materials such as string, crinkled shredded paper, tissue paper, curly moss and stuck to earthy colours. It was interesting to me that I didn’t end up using every material I chose in the beginning, even though I tried to incorporate them, certain materials and colours didn’t feel suited.  

I realised I was spending a lot of time on the legs and was feeling irritated trying to get them looking and feeling the way I wanted them to. When I became conscious of this, I started asking myself why the legs were so important to me...  

I then worked on the arms, needing them to take a slightly firmer form but I still needed them flexible so I used curly moss. I wrapped the body in white tissue paper to give it a lighter, transparent feel visually. Finally, the head I felt needed “consolidating” so I sewed all around the newspaper with navy and beige string – as if I was bringing my thoughts together, sewing and securing them all in one place. Interestingly enough, I didn’t want to hide the newspaper effect and was picky only using parts of it that had no images but I only thought about how fussy I was after I had finished making my piece. At the time I only wondered why I chose those two shades of colour of string...  

I instantly felt at ease with my creation and connected to the entire product. As I had some time left to reflect on it I thought about my emotional journey when making it; the time it took to get the legs looking springy and unrestricted – flexible and ready to run, made me think about how much I love freedom and spontaneity, it made me question if I am struggling with that part at the moment. The body felt as light as a feather, the arms were spread out and bendable... perhaps because I feel like I am on a new adventure. It wasn’t long before I realised that the head seemed to be the only solid and heavy part of the body... maybe because I have much to think about and organise at the moment... I felt I identified with my piece and my object became real to me, it had its own existence in the space and its positioning became an important decision. Today’s session seemed to have mirrored my invisible reality, it was enlightening and educational and even though not in a therapy session, felt the concept of the triangular relationship come alive.  

Word count: 596

  ‘Same Bed, Different Dreams’ (2018) by Song Dong and Psychoanalytic Thinking - Reflections 02/11/19  

Dear Blog!  

I came across the works of Chinese artist’s Song Dong today in London’s Pace Gallery and was captivated by his art work Same Bed, Different Dreams (2018), which represents the expansion of Asian cities and their modernization that has not only changed the face of the cities but the citizens lives with it. His concept and artwork resonated with me on a metaphoric and symbolic level, and its title seemed to meet my intuitive feeling towards it quite well: that his artwork was dream related... It made me question if the title was a conscious or unconscious attempt to be ambiguous.

In Freud’s Interpretation of Dreams (cited in Strachey, 2010: 338-339) the unconscious surfaces when the censor is frail, which occurs during sleep and the repressed comes out in a dream-form... a dream is a thing that is pictorial and is capable of being represented. This to me was Dong’s unconscious sitting within the physical space – or should I say his psychical space – in concrete form. 

A very large beautifully crafted, multi-coloured and polished dream-like case made out of many different windows in the centre of a pale room makes itself known. In it were household objects including crockery, pendant lights and decorative knick-knacks... objects that carry history, memory, emotion. Dong having constructed it by using rubbles from old Beijing confirmed to me that its every detail was meaningful and left me feeling that past and present were undefined here. According to Reiser (cited in Fonagy et al., 2012: 78), the manifest dream draws out past and current life issues and conflicts, in hope to resolve them. Perhaps these raw materials and objects inside are more raw than they seem… Dreams disguise impulses and substitute them with symbols – an operation accomplished by primary processes of the unconscious where the repressed return in confusing ways through visual imagery (Rocha, 2012: 20). Both, dreams and artwork have their own dimensional measurements and in Dong’s artwork, the dream could be preserved in the large dream-like case. The pendant lights dangling in it are lit up, which could suggest psychic activity. Lacan wrote that “dream is a phenomenon of psychic activity” because the unconscious is always at work and never sleeps... so perhaps this is what is being presented by Dong unconsciously (cited in Rocha, 2012: 17). Although the dream-like case is completely closed, one can still see through it, some windows are more transparent than others giving an indication that the hidden parts of the psyche are reachable through dreams. I have always been fascinated with how personal, mysterious, enchanting and unfathomable dreams are. I hope to inform my practice with psychoanalytic literature but I know that it could take me a lifetime trying to understand some of it. Even though exploring psychoanalysis feels like stepping into a whole other world, I believe it is a study that sheds light on the bigger, deeper and most complex parts of the psyche. Dong’s political artwork displays the relationship between his life and his art... And I can’t help but wonder if he was to bring this to an analytic setting, what would come up?  

Word count: 510  

References

Fonagy, P. Kachele, H. Leuzinger-Bohleber, M & Taylor, D. (2012) ‘The Significance of Dreams: Bridging Clinical and Extraclinical Research in Psychoanalysis’, London: Routledge.  

Freud, S. & Strachey, J. (2010) ‘The Interpretation of Dreams: The Complete and Definitive Text’, New York: Basic Books.

Rocha, G. M. (2012) “The Unconscious: Ideal Worker?” International Forum of Psychoanalysis, Vol. 21 (1), pp. 17-21, doi: 10.1080/0803706X.2011.624546. (peer reviewed)

‘The Anthony Gormley Experience’ - Reflections 07/11/19

Dear Blog,

Today I finally managed to go and see Anthony Gormley’s exhibition and what an interesting one it was. I had booked my ticket last night for this morning as I wanted to go in with a fresh and clear mind to simply experience it. The focus was the body: we all have a body but the world within it, is unique every time.  As I was walking around each room my responses to his different artworks were authentic and instant to what was happening in that present moment: What I was feeling, what I was thinking, what I remembered, what I imagined, what it made me question, what it made me want to do… it all came to consciousness. Seven rooms really spoke to me:

Clearing VII (2019) Approximately 8 kilometres of aluminium tube coiled against the space, restricted by the walls, ceilings and floor to bounce and expand. I felt I was in a child’s scribble and wanted to play in it – it activated a physical impulse and I felt I was part of the artwork.

Subject II (2019) A single life-size male body form made of steel bars became my complete focus and it was his posture that really captured me – he seemed sorrowful and I felt the impact of that emotion. Perhaps the heaviness of the material that he was made out of played a part in the intensity of that emotion making it more prominent that he was alone and seeming lonely in the space...

Matrix III (2019) An enormous cloud made out of steel mesh, its density increasing as you walk towards its centre and looking up at it whilst walking beneath it triggered a memory. I remembered swimming in deep water unable to see the world above it and swimming towards the surface – remembering the feelings of fear and relief that came with that experience, essentially reliving it.  

Lost Horizon I (2018) Many identical male figures made out of cast iron, positioned in many different ways across the ceiling, walls and floor.  Walking amongst these figures, I noticed that the male figure was Gormley. It made me think about him and his life experiences, every figure felt like it had a different story to tell about him. I became very aware of these presences in the room, I realized I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what I was feeling with each one but their presence was intense – making me think even more.

Cave (2019) A steel sculpture on an architectural scale imitates a hollow human form. Going through this hollow body I felt my visual, auditory and tactile senses heighten as it got completely dark; using my eyes to spot anything possible, my ears to hear what I could and touch to navigate myself though the darkness. At the same time I felt like I was walking into the unknown as sensations were very present but not obvious. This artwork stimulated and activated my body and mind together, and led to a combination of observations on the self, experiencing my own body as an entity – externally as well as internally.  

Drawings II Exiting the Cave led to a room with more basic and natural material artworks. Gormley used his own blood to make drawings representing the interior of the human body, which I found very uncomfortable to look at making me want to turn away. I was quite surprised to have felt quite nauseous at the sight of that and it made me realise just how disturbing I found it. There was something about his blood, its varying texture in the artwork and being displayed for many years now that didn’t sit well with me at all and made me question why. Why was I affected this much?  

Host (2019) Gormleys final room was kept separate by a single solid piece of stone, a room consisting of earth, water and air where water covered the whole ground. This room is the only room left uninterrupted by visitors. Still, it offered me an incredibly soothing experience by gazing at it and smelling the humidity that was produced – I was so drawn and nourished by it, I wanted to sit there. I realised this was the only room I felt so relaxed by as it made me imagine that I was looking out of a window to natural landscape, envisioning forests and being by the beach. It was the perfect note to end on as I felt safe near it... bringing to the surface my strong connection and love for natural surroundings… It also made me think about the counter-transference in therapy, the feelings a therapist feels in response to the client or the clients artwork as Gormley’s exhibition certainly did that...

This exhibition was all experiential reminding me of Hakomi Psychotherapy: based on mindfulness, Hakomi is body orientated psychotherapy accentuating somatic awareness (Rothaus, 2013: 208). The body is a powerful resource as it stores influential information and can guide us to deeper places in the psyche. It seemed as if Gormley took the role of the therapist using his artworks as experiments to evoke experiences for the visitors… gently accessing unconscious material and bringing it to conscious awareness so that it can be processed. Having gone first thing in the morning allowed me to be relaxed, and being calm helped me to be more open and receptive to new experiences when engaging with the artworks. This is a vital part of mindful self-study as it allows you to focus on body-mind connection in the here and now and “the quality of mindfulness heightens mental imagery”, which in turn could increase degree of healing (Morgan cited in Rothaus, 2013: 212). In an Art Therapy setting I could have externalized my body-mind experience, have the process and my artwork contained before safely reflecting on it… A really rich combination of approaches to consider…

Word count: 977 

Reference 

Rothaus, M. E. (2013) ‘Hakomi and Art Therapy’ in Rappaport, L. ‘Mindfulness and the Arts Therapies: Theory and Practice’, London & Philadelphia: Jessica Kingsley Publishers.

   ‘Other Spaces: Vanishing Point & Our Time’, Psychosis & Realizations - Reflections 10/11/19 

Dear Blog,

I have always had a very strong interest in Psychosis and having studied music even composed an electronic piece based on my understanding of an episode of Psychosis. My purpose of composing music like this was to try to interpret psychological disorders guided by my readings so that I can raise awareness on how difficult it is to be on the other side and to help me understand sufferers state on a deeper level. By doing this I felt I would be able to relate and connect better with these individuals. Vanishing Point and Our Time are exhibitions I visited that played with one’s visual perception. Both in dark rooms Vanishing Point used laser lights and projected beams of light to a vanishing point, and Our Time used smoke and a kinetic light installation that swung back and forth – both playing with reality and illusion.

Psychosis is the severe distortion or even erosion of the normal functions of perception, thinking and feeling and of the capacity to communicate (Sass cited in Killick & Schaverien, 1997:134). For me the visual nature of this exhibition resembled a hallucinatory experience placing me in the mind of a psychotic client. From a trainee art therapist point of view, this exhibition made me panic slightly at the thought of some tricky but vital questions… How could I contain a severely psychotic client? How would I approach this? Where would I begin? I took a moment to consolidate my thoughts and reverted to our core learnings so far… I have to create a safe and facilitating environment for the client, which means being resilient and being able to tolerate different behaviours, by providing safe art materials and a place where artwork could be stored, by having a regularity of sessions in that same space. With all clients and especially clients suffering with severe mental health problems, getting them to experience a level of relatedness to the art therapist through repetition is essential. According to Killick “containment can be mediated through the experience of continuity” (Killick & Schaverien, 1997: 50). And what if there is no artwork?! I remembered my tutors words: “It’s still art therapy!”.

I am also a very firm believer in body language as it is penetrative and a universal form of communication. Searle focused on the therapist’s facial expressions being fundamental for the symbiotic relationship between the psychotic client and the therapist stating that through the therapist the psychotic client can recognise their aliveness (cited in Killick & Schaverien, 1997: 219-220).  

I am beginning to understand the complexities that come into play with the different clients and the importance of not being reactive to alarming thoughts but responsive – remaining patient and having faith in the process. This exhibition and the readings that followed highlighted that as a trainee art therapist I have to learn the language of each of my clients and adapt my way of working to their needs in order to get them to connect with me and engage in art making. Although I am trying to prepare myself for my upcoming placement as much as possible, I understand that I can’t know fully what to expect… The responsibility for improving the mental well-being of another and thoughts on what my counter-transference will be in the process, are thoughts that make me a little... or a bit more than a little nervous…

Word count: 552

Reference 

Killick, K. & Schaverien, J. (1997) ‘Art, Psychotherapy and Psychosis’, New York: Routledge.

Charlotte Salomon’s ‘Life? Or Theatre?’, Looking at Her Paintings - Reflections 16/11/19  

Dear Blog,

What an exhibition... I am so captivated by how deep and penetrating it was...  

“The war raged on and I sat by the sea and saw deep into the heart of humankind”, she said and she really did (Salomon cited in Felstiner, 2009).

Salomon, a German Jew in Berlin lost her mother at the delicate age of 9 and grew up living in fear witnessing the heartache and devastation the Nazis spread when they came into power in 1933. Her father eventually remarried opera singer Paula Salomon-Linberg and Salomon fell madly in love with someone her step-mother worked with, Alfred Wolfson, only to be sent to stay in southern France with her maternal grandparents due to dangerous circumstances. After witnessing her grandmother hang herself, her grandfather brutally let her in on what was being kept from her all these years – that their seven family losses where suicides, including her mother’s.  

“I will create a story so as not to lose my mind” (Salomon cited in Felstiner, 2009).  

Salomon created a series of autobiographical paintings attaching tracing paper, writing words and melodies, adding a narrator and introducing characters giving them a theatrical effect... I thought about why she chose to paint the way she did...

Her paintings presented her internal and external reality in a very defined and cohesive manner. She used paint, a medium that could be messy and which can be daunting when there are issues regarding control (Robbins, 1987: 109). Everything happening in her life was beyond her control but her choice to use paint, for me, was a sign of wanting that power over how her life story was illustrated – a valuable challenge of tolerating all the toxic feelings depicting her struggle through life. This left me with an incredible impression of her inner strength and her being well-balanced. Perhaps her faith in religion gave her that power... “Dear God, just let me not go mad” (Salomon cited in Felstiner, 2009).

Her paintings shift from bright to dark colours and her writing from witty to grim as her story proceeds. They start becoming colourless and dull as she began feeling fed up with feeling fed up and she contemplated committing suicide herself. Colour communicates the felt experience and makes a visual statement about a person’s current state of being (Robbins, 1987: 107-109). Their flatness could metaphorically represent her lifeless life. But Salomon’s paintings were all of notebook size and of a repetitive style of painting completely limiting her body movement, which according to Robbins are signs of offering herself containment and of protecting herself (1987: 113).

Salomon seems to have had experienced cumulative trauma having lost her mother, being away from her father and her lover, being in the midst of war, not being able to communicate with her loved ones... Emotionally and psychologically exhausted by it all she fought to live every day. Her efforts at art therapy saved her, she confronted her harsh reality and realised that death can’t be worse than what she was she was mirroring in her images, which made her want to live... “I will live for them all” (Salomon cited in Felstiner, 2009). Research has linked psychopathology with avoiding thoughts, emotions and memories but Salomon engaged with her process over and over again...769 times before being killed by the Nazis (Skeffington & Browne, 2014: 116).  

“Keep this safe, it is my whole life” (Salomon cited in Felstiner, 2009). Salomon’s artworks are incredibly inspirational and influential as they document honorable aspects about her and make it evident that she was her own art therapist. In an audio-visual recording at the exhibition, it was said that Salomon was an introvert. Externalizing her mental images the way she did, may have been a conscious wish to be able to communicate them to someone other than herself (Schaverien, 1992: 83-84). This was her life but I think it was her desire for it to be unreal, for it to be theatre...  

I walked out of the museum feeling so moved and emotional over Salomon’s life story... her pain, her fear, her struggle. I was astonished at her outlook on life, how she relied on her creativity to regenerate strength and ignite hope in a dark hole. I felt very grounded by the way she made me think about the way I see my own life and how she made me look at it from the outside, as if that too were theatre...  

Word count: 715

References

Felstiner, M. L., (2009) “Charlotte Salomon: 1917-1943", Jewish Women’s Archive. https://jwa.org/encyclopedia/article/salomon-charlotte  – Accessed 16/11/2019 at 17:15.

Robbins, A. (1987) ‘The Artist as Therapist’, New York: Human Sciences Press.

Schaverien, J. (1992) ‘The Revealing Image: Analytical Art Psychotherapy in Theory and Practice’, London & Philadelphia: Jessica Kingsley Publishers.

Skeffington, P. M. & Browne, M. (2014) “Art Therapy, Trauma and Substance Misuse: Using Imagery to Explore a Difficult Past with a Complex Client” International Journal of Art Therapy, Vol. 19 (3), pp. 114-121, doi: 10.1080/17454832.2014.910816. (peer reviewed)

‘Leonardo: Experience a Masterpiece’ (2019) - Reflections 17/11/2019  

Dear Blog,  

I visited the National Gallery today to see Leonardo: Experience a Masterpiece (2019). As well as being one the world's most famous painters, Da Vinci is known for having extensive knowledge in scientific subjects that fed into his artwork such as architecture, science, mathematics, engineering, anatomy, geology, astronomy, botany, palaeontology, cartography and the list goes on. This exhibition focused on Da Vinci's the Virgin of the Rocks (1508) by introducing unknown truths in four different rooms that allowed me to reacquaint myself with his famous painting ultimately making me see it in a new light.  

Entering the Mind of Leonardo as he begins his journey of creating the Virgin of the Rocks, his thoughts are text written backwards and reflected on mirror surfaces so that they could be read easier. "He who is only good at painting figures seems to be a poor master" (cited at the exhibition). I wondered how he meant this.. I wondered how he meant "figures"… Could he have been insinuating that one can only master figures if his soul invests in it? Was he insinuating that a true artist should master how to depict elements of divinity in his figures? His connection to religion perhaps? An unclear yet powerful statement, where I felt he meant both... This mirror effect was done against a backdrop of the Italian Alps and it stated at the exhibition that many of Da Vinci’s geological sketches and observations were situated there so he must have felt something special about this location. According to Andric he was constantly striving for the heights, which could reflect his desire to elevate the spirit (2016: 7). This led me to think that he wanted viewers to experience the search for meaning in what is around us, to search for mystery that exists in the world and is to be sought and to acknowledge that we are part of this mystical and miraculous creation. According to Gal (cited in Vladislav, 2004: 53) searching is a method by which we implement and connect with faith, and is kin to art.  

With this in mind I left that room to move on to the next looking for the bigger picture and tuning in with what was around me - a circular hall that connected all rooms in the shape of a cross. This reinforced the feeling that his own spirituality played a bigger part in this painting than I had thought...  

The Studio. "The figure that does not sufficiently express with action the passions of its soul is not worthy of praise" (cited at the exhibition). Da Vinci refers to the "figure" again and its "soul". This seemed to imply spiritual art, which is dependent on the artist's capacity to understand spirituality and on the experience of the knowledge of God in order to achieve "art in spirit", otherwise known as iconography. (Vladislav, 2004: 58-60). Scientific investigation that was carried out on this painting using infrared reflectography and hyperspectral imaging revealed lost content beneath the Virgin of the Rocks we know today. So if we are to think of Da Vinci as an iconographer, this piece of work would not be one of self-expression or scientific precision but rather a method and practice towards transfiguration of his nature through his experience of the revelation of the holy by which he would be able touch upon the mystery of incarnation of the Divine (Vladislav, 2004: 56-59). His first attempt can't have been definitive enough in what he was trying to portray and it seemed Da Vinci was trying to transcend his painting methods and touch elements of divinity in his work, as if he was aiming for perfection.

How he achieved that was by mastering two techniques that were introduced in the third room - The Light & Shadow Experiment. "Your tongue will be paralyzed by thirst and your body by sleep and hunger before you can show with words what the painter shows in an instant" (cited at the exhibition). Da Vinci paid great attention to Chiaroscuro and Sfumato, skillfully shading and blending in colours. Translucent layers of paint are at once seen as ethereal and the light radiating is from within the figures outward, "enlivening the action of uncreated grace” – Da Vinci not only worked towards making an instant impression that he was depicting sanctity but also that he was able to do that, he had stated that "perfect faith is perfect knowledge" (cited in Andric, 2016: 9). It is through the artist's ascending journey looking for Truth that he begins to see that "good art" is done in a more human way and "spiritual art" is reflecting what he practices within (Vladislav, 2004: 62, 65).  

The Imagined Chapel. The Virgin of the Rocks was to be an altarpiece for a chapel in the church of San Francesco in Milan but the church was demolished. Only artworks that have an adequate symbol of holiness used for uniting the invisible and the visible, where the artist contemplates the image of God within his own soul mirroring his glory, are able to have a permanent place in the church – works of art that are a shared activity of the Creator and the created (Vladislav, 2004: 62-63, 66).  

I feel his in-depth knowledge into the order of the world made him search for the beyond, made him search for God. That this painting wasn’t about what Da Vinci is much known for – his scientific precisions in art and science, but much much greater than that. 

Going to this exhibition reminded me of our lecture on Supervision. It made me realise that total objectivity when seeing a client's artwork is quite impossible as we all have our biases. It highlighted the importance of having a supervisor to see what I can't or to put me in different thought processes. Even though it takes some pressure off knowing that I am able to share clients artwork with another, it also made me feel that much more responsible to be open to seeing that there is more than just one way of viewing artwork and that it is important to try to look for those different ways and those details on my own before relying on supervision. Every different way of viewing artwork could lead to a real depth of one’s psyche just as the way I viewed Da Vinci’s Virgin of the Rocks. Moreover, my experience and reflection on this exhibition directed me into thinking about spirituality and religion in art therapy as it often is a big part of who we are and it can be a big part of our everyday life and lifestyle, which is an extremely interesting area to explore. It also made me think about art therapy in palliative care as end of life gives rise to the feeling of spirituality whether one has a faith or is agnostic or atheist. However, palliative care is an area I’m not ready to go into...  

Word count: 1,134 

References

Andric, N. (2016) “Religious - Philosophical Aspects of the Novel ‘The Romance of Leonardo Da Vinci’ by Dmitrij Merezkovskij”, Russian Literature, Vol. 86, pp.1-20, doi: 10.1016/j.ruslit.2016.11.001. (peer reviewed)

Vladislav, A. (2004) “Art and Religion: Creativity and the Meaning of Religion of ‘Image’ from the perspective of the Orthodox Icon”, Theology Today, Vol. 61 (1), pp.53-56. (peer reviewed)

Experiential Workshops: Material Realizations - 02/12/19

Dear Blog,

We have now started our experiential workshops after having been given the foundations on art therapy theory and art therapy practice. I am gradually feeling teaching beginning to merge together - what feels like - "the separate pieces" of the first year of the course and I can now understand the direction in which it is going. (Now that I mention separate pieces I'm remembering my doodling on the first day of uni, how that too was separate pieces floating around in a section of my notebook page, maybe there's an emerging meaning...).  

(Doodling in first lesson Sep 2019)

These workshops are familiarizing us with different art materials... Our first workshop was working with dry materials: marker pens, pencils, coal on sticks, chalk and pastels. The second workshop was working with wet materials: paint, water colour and ink, where different sized, shaped and type of paper were used in the first two workshops. The final workshop was with clay and plastecine. This was really great as it put me in a position to ask myself why I work with certain material and why I don't work with other, why I like some and why not other. It made me wonder to what extent is the use of certain material subjective and to what objective? Being restricted to a group of materials each time, allowed me to explore the intrinsic properties and to reacquaint myself with those I seldom choose when art making, but in this blog I will discuss material experiences that stood out for me.  

I was instantly drawn to certain material: coal as I associate it with historical times and keeping warm in the cold, the mysterious effect chalk can have when it is smudged and its sharp dusty lines when it isn’t, ink reminds me of sentimental writers and poets of a previous era such as William Shakespeare, Edgar Alan Poe, William Blake and Ralph Waldo Emerson that I love to read, clay being 3D really brings emotions and thoughts to life in an organic way and requires a lot of physical handling that arouses the senses. I became aware that there were symbolic and metaphorical meanings behind the use of these materials that I identified with and this was confirmed to me during the art making and also in the way I used the material. As we were only allowed to use coal tied to a natural tree branch from a distance, I believe drawing a tree with it was from an unconscious driven force related to that. This generated further questions... What if coal wasn’t attached to a tree branch or natural object? What if it was attached to something else or not attached at all? How would this affect my art making instincts and decisions? Knowing how much I love nature, would I have felt disconnected to the art making process and art product if the medium in between wasn’t natural? Is this what it could feel like for a client with a disability?... Although I like using water colour with brush effects and layering different colours, I really struggled to use anything more than a single colour to do this as I found that the size and shape of the paper really influenced my working with this material. In a similar manner with regards to paint, although I tend to mix different colours to get blends as well as create thicker and looser blends, the workshop only had certain colours available that I couldn’t make use of in a satisfying way so having a limitation in colours became very frustrating...  Why are certain blends so important to me?

(From left to right: paint, paint, ink, water colour)

(Coal)

Pencils and marker pens have never been a preferred medium for me even having rubbers provided in the workshop I found pencils were too definitive needing a lot of control to create something representative of me and marker pens rather aggressive and unforgiving, which in turn made me feel uncomfortable... But I questioned now if this is can be absolute as what is emerging in these workshops are the different material associations and the different experiences of their materiality in the structured workshops. It was intriguing to me that I actually ended up reacquainting myself with most of the materials through the different processes and my usual ways of creating art with certain material often changed. This stirred new emotions and I thought about how these processes made me feel... Ultimately, the material processes became unpredictable. At the beginning of this blog I wrote about the workshops familiarizing us with different art materials but I think it is wise to add, that they are familiarizing us with different art materials through different personal interactions. As an artist I am so use to having a variety of materials to choose from with no limitations where having directive workshops urged me to consider art making in another way as they tapped into something specific within me, perhaps contacting other areas of my psyche that I knew not about but thought I had, that are completely unconscious...  

(From left to right: chalk, pencil, marker pen)

(Clay container)

Most importantly, these workshops have now started to make me think in more complex ways when considering clients and different settings... What are certain client groups in need of and how could I meet their needs? What could be helpful and what could be harming?...

Word count: 900

[thedefinitionofbts]

Upon Your Existence (2)

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3

Pairings: Jeon Jungkook x Reader (ft. the rest of BTS)

Genre: Science Fantasy, Fluff, Angst, Royal Au

Words: 8.1K

Description: …and so they just meet each other in these stories written inside these worlds built in their minds. Of course some will be sad, and others happy, but that’s just the way the universe is…chaotic, imperfect, but magnificently beautiful.  

As the sun vanishes in sync with the rising moon, red lanterns glow luminously in the crowded courtyard, bringing the palace grounds to life. Court ladies, guests, and members of the royal sphere gather for the much-anticipated celebration. Dancers dressed in festive costume rush to the center stage, beginning their elaborate performance as music and sounds of laughter fill your ears, submerging you in a haze.

You weren’t particularly fond of imperial parties such as this one, overly extravagant and fundamentally pointless, other than the fact that it was part of tradition and a deliberate way of displaying wealth and power. You didn’t like the noise, the blinding lights, the fancy props, or the amount of wine every one drowned themselves in. It was uncomfortable, aggravating even. Your eyes search for an opening to make your escape, hoping that the eclectic assortment of activities will be enough of a distraction to conceal your empty seat next to your mother, the empress.

Luckily you find your opportunity just as she stands to serve your father wine. It’s a hasty getaway; one that you are not so unfamiliar with, as you have taken the exact same course of action at every other party that has threatened to swallow you in mind-numbing boredom.

The music diminishes the further you run, and the air finally feels breathable. You stop when you’re sure it far enough your head stops spinning, still trapped within the palace walls but at least it was a more peaceful area. It was quite, sans the chirping of crickets and occasional breeze that rustles the leaves on the trees.

You exhale a long sigh of relief, finally able to relax.

“Nice, isn’t it?”

You head whips around to the source of the voice, heart almost leaping out of your throat. “Who’s there?” You hiss, pupils shooting in various directions until it lands upon the figure sitting comfortably on the bench. It’s difficult to tell, but you can at least make out that he is a man.

He only chuckles at your alarm. “Don’t worry, I’m a prince not some assassin.”

You take a step closer to examine him. “Are you sure you are a prince, and that you are even allowed to be here?” You eye him suspiciously, his plain brown rob making it quite obvious he’s either lying or in disguise. Judging from the design of his attire, he must be from the state of Jeon, if you weren’t mistaken and if those private tutoring sessions where finally paying off.

“I am.” He answers with a slightly amused grin and a mysterious glint in his eyes. “But are you sure you are allowed to be here?”

The audacity. You make an offended face. “I’m a princess! Is it not obvious?”

He tilts his head to get a better look, making you suddenly tense at the weight of his inspection. No man has ever had the guts to stare so intently at a princess, especially not one as highly ranked as you, the first daughter of the emperor’s main wife. Even princes would not even dare to look a princess in the eye unless they were arranged to be married.  

“Who knows?” He comments nonchalantly. “You could be a commoner trying to sneak into that party.” He nods towards the vivid lights filling the palace you had barely just been able to escape.

“What commoner could get their hands a dress made of dragon silk and embroidered with golden phoenix feathers?” You cross your arms.

He shrugs, feigning oblivion.

“And for the record, I was sneaking outof that party.” Your revelation causes him to cock a brow.

“A princess sneaking out of one of the grandest celebrations in the land?”

“Ugh, not you too” You frown, sighing heavily. “I don’t particularity enjoy being the center of attention, especially not when the sole purpose is to celebrate my birth.”    

He looks up with the sudden realization, eyes wide but not completely in shock. “Let me guess, you’re the emperor’s first daughter.”  His expression is hard to read, not as stunned as you would expect, but you usually have to give people a few minutes to let these things sink in.  

“Took you long enough to figure out. Did I not just say this dress is-“

“Right, dragon silk and phoenix feathers…” He drops his gaze, face flushing ever so slightly as he nods, smiling to himself for not putting two and two together earlier.

“And you? Why are you snooping around here?”

At that he looks up, lips still curved upward. “I too just came out of there.” He tips his head toward the direction you had come.

“Oh, were you among the princes who attended?” You attempt to recall if you saw him among the group of what your mother would call “potential suitors”, but all you can dig up from the depths of your recent memory is a crowd of faceless men.

“Wow, I must really be unappealing.” He clutches his chest, pretending to be hurt.

You laugh, throwing your head back at his self-deprecating statement. “You’re…” You glance back at him, scrutinizing his features under the silvery moonlight.

As you take a moment to allow your eyes trace over the outline of his profile, you find yourself lost in how contrasting yet complimentary the details of his appearance are. His skin is glowing with youth, nose tall and perfectly shaped paired with lips that are small but plump. His jawline is sharp but his cheeks are still impossibly soft. And then there are his eyes, large and round orbs that seem to hold the stars.

“…above average.” You swallow finishing your sentence with a blatant lie and praying he can't tell you’re flustered because truth be told he was way beyond average. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever met a prince this attractive.

“I’m honored.” He grins, making your heart do things it’s never done. “It’s not every day the crown princess ranks you above average in looks.”

Your cheeks are on fire and you have to look away. “Well, there aren’t many handsome princes.”

“So are you saying I’m handsome?” His face lights up playfully.

“No! I mean, yes!” You face palm at your give away, squeezing your eyes shut and cursing your lack of composure.

He holds back a laugh, choosing to let his attention be drawn towards the surrounding area. It’s too dark to make out the trees and shrubbery, but you’re too caught up in your own embarrassment to notice him absorbed in his own thoughts. The moon is so round it almost looks fake, hanging like a giant silver coin in the dark indigo sky, so close it’s like you could touch it if you reached up.  

A moment later, he speaks again. “Well, for the record, you’re just as beautiful as they say.”

At that you turn to him, meeting his gaze. Time stills with only the sound of crickets chirping and the muffled noises of the celebration present to signal it’s still getting later.

“May I ask your full name?” You manage to request.  

“Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.” He replies, lips twitching up at the corners.

“Jungkook...” You repeat, solidifying the syllables in your head. “How long will you be staying here?”

“A while actually.”

“Oh, I see.” You nod, suddenly too nervous to solicit your next question.

Thankfully he jumps in just before the pause becomes awkward. “If you’re free, we could maybe, perhaps meet at the summer garden sometime?”

“I am!” You mentally face palm again, regretting answering so zealously, like you weren’t a princess meant to stay poised.

His face lights up again. “Then I shall be waiting.”

…

Early morning calligraphy lessons were the worst.

Master Lee was one of the best teachers in the land, but that also made him extra strict when it came to your writing. From the way you held the brush, to the form in which you maneuvered your wrist to paint each stroke, he was critical down to the last detail. You didn’t like calligraphy class, never did. Being shut in a room for hours at a time with your instructor breathing down your back was never your cup of tea. It didn’t help that you never saw much improvement in your skills, despite having taken lessons since you were six years old.

This morning was no different from any other, with the sun’s pale yellow rays barely penetrating through the window, open just wide enough to light up the dusty room but not enough for you to comfortable enjoy the view of the outdoors, a place you long to be.

“Stay focused, and loosen your grip” Master Lee’s stern voice echoes from across the room, making you whip your head back to the thin canvas in front of you. The characters you had already written in black ink staring back at you, each more hideous than the last.

You hated calligraphy.

“Master Lee, can you tell me about the State of Jeon?” The query slips past your lips, surprising even yourself, but ever since last night, you had not stopped thinking about the mysterious prince you had met.

“They are craftsmen. Artists. Known for their paintings and music.” He replies, slowly walking around the room. “Why the sudden curiosity?”

“Well, I met a prince from there last night.” You pause, regretting not being more discreet.

“Ah, the eldest Jeon and heir to the throne.” He nods, before stopping to furrow his brows. “Junghyun, was it?”

“He said his name was Jungkook.” You correct, wondering if you actually heard wrong last night.

“Oh, the younger brother.” Master Lee chuckles. “I’ve heard much about him. Yes. He’s quite the talented painter, cares nothing about statewide affairs or politics, but loves the arts.”

Your ears perk up at this newly revealed information. Today was the day you were supposedly meeting him at the summer garden, an arrangement you had hastily agreed to less than twelve hours ago. The thought of it makes your heart pound. Would he actually show up? What if he forgets? And why are you so excited to see someone you barely knew?

The questions continue to spin through your mind, along with fuzzy images of his appearance under the moonlight, the way his eyes twinkled beneath the stars and his alluring smile somehow conveying more than words ever could.  

“Princess Y/N” Master Lee’s abrupt reminder triggers you to jump in your chair.

You look down to see that in the midst of your daydreaming, you had let your soaking brush settle in one spot for too long, causing the ink to drench the cloth sheet, leaving a giant black glob where the end of your stroke should’ve glided smoothly into a pointed tail.

“Sorry, Master” You clear your throat, hoping he won’t report this to your mother, or worse…make you start all over.

You hear him release a loud sigh, the disappointment evident in his features. “One more time” He grumbles.

…

The spring breeze is dry and not so subtly grassy. Warm sunlight drapes over your exposed skin, putting you at peace amidst the subdued, yet perceivable anxiousness building in your stomach. After being inside for so long, the brightness of midday is almost blinding, but your eyes soon adjust enough for you to take in the lovely scenery- the calm surface of the pond blanketed with lily pads and lotus flowers, the small stone bridge drawing a perfect half circle above the water, and the willow trees dancing along the shores.

It’s a scene you’ve been familiar with since you were young. The beauty of the summer garden always drew you to make daily visits, always alone, always for the purpose of escaping the maids who watched your every step, away from your mother who would endlessly remind you of your duties as a princess, and away from confining palace life, even if it was short lived and not even that far away. Trips to the garden were always relaxing, but today your heart is brimming with anticipation.

Your eyes scan the area for signs of the person you had come to see, the person you expect to be waiting for you. It doesn’t take long for you to spot him standing under the pavilion overlooking the picturesque area. His arms are crossed behind his back, and you suspect he has yet to become aware of your presence.

“Prince Jeon?” You voice as you walk up to him, feeling the knot in your chest tighten a tad bit.

He’s initially startled when he turns, eyes stretched wide akin to that of a child’s, but a joyous smiles appears the second he realizes it’s you.

“Princess Y/N” He bows respectfully, causing you to giggle.

“What’s this now? You’re finally convinced I’m not a commoner?”

He laughs. “Would you prefer I ditch the formalities?”

“Sure” You shrug, having never been a fan of the rules of proper conduct to begin with. “When no one else is around, we can just be commoners. So I can just call you Jungkook, right?” The name rolls off your tongue surprisingly well, like muscle memory, despite it being only the second or third time you’ve physically pronounced it.  

“Of course.” He gazes into your eyes for a moment too long, as if waiting for something serendipitous, but it only elicits a choked up response from you.

“On second thought, Prince Jeon works too” You divert your eyes, wishing your heart would stop skipping beats.

He only smiles at that, switching his attention back to the pond.

You decide to change the subject. “You said you would be here in the capital for a while? For what reason?”

“I’m taking lessons like I suspect you do as well, only they’re probably not as fun as yours.”

“Ugh, my lessons are not fun. I hate calligraphy.”

He giggles. “Hey, at least it’s better than arithmetic and imperial history.”

Your eyes enlarge in realization. “Oh, you’re preparing for the imperial exams.”

He scrunched his nose cutely, sticking out his tongue in distaste. “If only I could get out of it. I honestly don’t see the point.”

“You have no interest in obtaining a government position.” You state, recalling Master Lee’s words.

“Not in the slightest.”

The two of you end up chatting for the rest of the afternoon. You don’t actually learn that much about him because you find yourself talking more about yourself than asking him the questions you had formerly been curious about. Prince Jeon is just too good of listener that you don’t feel the need to hold back on anything. He’s not judgmental, and he seems to always know the right thing to say, which has never been the case with a single soul you’ve had the honor of speaking to. You have honestly never met anyone this easy to open up to, not that you had any secrets to hide or anything, but it was just like conversing with a friend you always wished you had, one who genuinely enjoyed your anecdotes and complaints about life as a princess, no matter how stupid they were.

“And so I told my mother that she stole my necklace, even though she didn’t.” You feel nonsensical revealing such an embarrassing story that painted you in such ugly light, but it was freeing to finally get it off of you chest after so many years. “Petty, right?”

Jungkook pauses in consideration. “Petty, but understandable. I mean, she only visited you to receive gifts, and she didn’t even want to be friends with you. Of course you had to find some way to get your mother to stop inviting her over.”

“Exactly!” You exasperate, finally feeling validated. “And here I thought I would never be forgiven for my sins.”

Your outburst makes him laugh. You were about to join him until you feel the side of your shoe break. Looking down, you see the whites of your sock poking through the silken fabric and the sole flapping down when you lift your foot.  

“My mother is going to kill me.” You groan. “You would think the shoemaker would choose more durable material for the royal family.”

“I guess he didn’t anticipate the princess being on her feet for hours.”

You look around to gauge how far you are from the palace; mentally calculating how much more damage you could do if you decide to hobble back on one foot. The summer garden wasn’t that far from the outer walls, perhaps you could make it back with clean socks if you are careful. Only that would probably take double the amount of time, and a glance at the sky tells you the sun is quickly inching closer and closer to the horizon.

Jungkook senses your contemplation. “If you allow it, I can carry you back,” He offers.

You turn to stare at him in disbelief, sensing your cheeks heating up at the thought. “C-carry me?”

He nods as if it was the most normal circumstance to be in, and it only makes your heart pound faster.

“I’m r-really h-heavy though.” You stutter, swallowing the saliva that had built in your mouth.

“I’m really strong though” He smirks, tilting his head suggestively.

You almost choke at his gesture. “I- I m-mean, ok-”

You aren’t even allowed to finish your sentence before he sweeps you off your feet bridal style. Holding your breath and squeezing your eyes shut, you can feel the firm muscles of his arms on the back of your thighs and curving around your back. Swinging your arms around his neck in fear of falling off, you pray that he can’t hear how loud the thumping in your chest is.

“So tell me about the time you purposely got sick just to skip class.”  

“Oh god, you really want to know the details?” You feel the knots in your stomach loosen and your heart slowing down. Either he can tell that you’re nervous, or the part about him knowing exactly the right thing to say is so true it’s uncanny, you decide it’s better to not question it.

The sun was beginning to set, making you wonder where the time had gone. If only all of your private lessons passed by this quickly you’d really be set. Lost in your thoughts and wishes, you continue your stories as he carries you securely all the way back.

…  

You end up meeting Prince Jeon in the garden many more times after that. Spending most of your time chatting, over anything and everything, or just strolling around in silence enjoying each other’s company.

The garden hadn’t changed in all the years you played in it when you were younger, but being here with someone you were slowly falling in love with was an entirely new experience. You could never get enough of that feeling of being with him, listening to his voice tell you words you didn’t even know you wanted to hear, meeting his gaze and catching glimpses of the way he looked at you as if you were the prettiest girl in the world.

You still remember the first time he suggested sneaking down to the village, dressed in commoner’s wardrobe consisting of ragged pants and a brown robe much like the one you had seen him sport the first night you met him.

“No peeking” You warn, looking to make sure he’s looking the other way before you undress.

“I won’t,” He assures with his back still facing you.

You had quickly removed your silken robe to put on the scruffy brown one, glad that it fit well enough to not look like stolen clothing.

“Now we are both commoners.” He giggles, eyes crinkling at the edges.

And just like that, you sneak out of the palace without the knowledge of the royal guards or the maids responsible for having their eyes on you. It’s a short trip once you get past the assorted gardens and the spacious homes of the nobles that encircle the palace just outside the impenetrable stonewalls.

You had only ever captured glimpses of these kinds of villages through the curtain of your horse drawn carriage on those rare instances you traveled for royal affairs, mostly to accompany your father on his visits other states. You had never imagines one day walking along a busy street, exploring the endless commodity stalls and restaurants clustered along cobblestone roads packed with people.

It was thrilling, seeing so many new things and tasting food you’re sure you aren’t allowed to eat, to go where you wanted and not worry about conducting yourself the way you have been told to all your life. You felt uninhibited, and you absolutely loved it.

You loved laughing so hard your belly hurt. You especially loved watching Jungkook’s eyes light up when he found something exciting to show you and his smile when you react in an equally fascinated way. You loved hearing his laughter ring through the air that embraces you, the look on his face when he puts something delicious in his mouth and subsequently offers some for you to try, and his enthusiastic voice when he spots a place he’s sure you’ll like, which you always do. And most of all, you loved the way he intertwined your hands as if proving to the universe that they were meant to remain that way, forming a perfect pair like the sun and the moon. He would hold one to you tightly, leading you through the streets of the crowded village and making sure you were never separated, making sure you were always together.

Everything felt too good to be true, and just when you thought life as a princess was finally starting to become tolerable with the aid of these escapades; you are proven to have spoken too soon.

…

It’s always when things are steadily going well in your life that people have to come and ruin it.

Your future marriage was the one subject you despised more than calligraphy class, and leave it to your mother to guilt trip you with mentions of your responsibility as the daughter of the emperor and how hard your father has worked and will work to build an even stronger empire. So of course you are obligated to agree to whomever she deems the best arrangement for the sake of your ruling family, even if that person was someone you had never met. You had avoided it for as long as you could, but being at the age you were, it was only a matter of time before the agreement had to be settled.

“You’re still going down to that garden to play?” You’re mothers voice rings across the empty hallway just as you were about to leave the palace. You hear her exhale loudly, and you were not in the mood to deal with her.

“It’s one of my favorite places.” You defend, feeling a bit annoyed at her attitude towards you and the things you loved, although you should be used to it by now.

“You’ll never grow up, will you?” She shakes her head powerlessly, acting like she wasn’t one of the main reasons you felt the need to escape in the first place.

“Nope” You answer, running off and allowing your legs to carry you faster than they normally do, wanting nothing more than to get out of that prison of a palace, that life you wished you were never born into.

You try to block out the thoughts of the conversation you had had with her the night before as you race to the usual meeting spot, almost bursting into tears when you see the only person you ever really want to see.  

“Jungkook!” You shout as you jump into his arms, relishing in the manner he lifts and twirls you around in the air so effortlessly.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, when he senses something is not right.

“I, umm, have something to tell you…” You swallow, trying to figure out the best way to break the news. After all, he of all people deserves to know. “My marriage arrangement has been settled.”

There’s a suffocating pause.

“And you’ve agreed to it?” He doesn’t look at you directly, choosing to instead stare blankly at the blooming flowers on the ground.

You search for signs of disappointment, almost in desperation, but find his countenance impossible to read.

“I had to…I’m of age...” You murmur, swallowing thickly.

“Is it some old king who has offered your father his land in exchange?” His voice is stiff, and you can see his jaw clench.  “Or perhaps command of his army?”

“Are you implying my parents would throw me under the bus for the sake of the empire?” You glare at him more sharply than you intend to, feeling your blood start to boil.

He looks up to meet your eyes. “I’m not saying that’s what I’m saying… but that’s exactly what I’m saying.” He inhales heavily. “What’s the point in being the emperor’s eldest daughter if you can’t even make your own decisions?”

“The point is, I have a choice…” You swallow tautly, quickly losing confidence in your own statement. It wasn't a complete lie, but anyone even remotely familiar with the imperial system would know that royal weddings are for the sole purpose of keeping peace between the warring states. Only a fool would believe personal preference was ever taken into account, even if one was the emperor’s eldest daughter and crown princess.

“To choose among those already chosen?” His words aren’t in any way mocking, though you had expected them to be based on how he’s expressed his opinions so far. His tone is rather despondent, and you find it difficult to determine what his stance on the matter is. He doesn’t sound like he cares, in fact, why should he? But at the same time, his expression tells a different story.

“I’ve already chosen Yifan from the State of Wu.” Now you are actually lying. You avoid his gaze as the memory of how your mother had convinced you to agree to the arrangement on the fact that relations between your father’s empire and the State of Wu have always been rocky at best.

“The Prince of Wu, huh?” Prince Jeon nods, staring blankly at the ground and refraining from commenting further.

You cross your arms, unsatisfied with his partial response that you don’t even know what to do with. “What? Is he not a good choice?”

He looks up. “Oh no, no. I have nothing against your…choice…” He walks over to examine the old willow tree by the pond, pretending to be partially distracted which only elevates your annoyance at his evasiveness. “He just doesn’t seem like your…type…”

You smirk at his last sentence. “And how would you know what my typeis?” You counter in the same tone as you walk over to grab his attention.

He turns around just as you sneak up behind him and almost knocks you backwards in the process, but he slings his arm around your waist just before you stumble. “Someone’s who’s not going around collecting concubines.” He flashes you another one of his amused smiles and you can feel his warm breath flutter over your parted lips.

You had heard rumors of Prince Wu’s promiscuous activities, but you didn’t know word had spread beyond the boundary of maid’s gossip.

You groan in defeat, realizing he had seen right through you from the beginning. “There’s nothing I can do about it.” You reveal the truth in a dejected murmur, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes.

There’s a long pause and you fear that he really doesn’t care enough to comfort you anymore, but when you look up to meet his soft gaze that had never left you, you’re unable to move an inch.

“Run away with me.” His hold around your waist is steady, and his eyes are so sincere you forget to breathe.

Your mouth drops open at his statement, at loss for words or any kind of response for that matter.

“There are lands beyond this empire, magnificent places where you and I can be free from all of this that we have no say over.” He gives you a firm, confident squeeze, eagerness written all over his features. “Wouldn’t you like that as well?” He adds in a more tender manner.  

“R-Run away?” You repeat, slowly slipping out of his embrace in an attempt to clear your mind because god knows you can’t think straight when his lips are mere centimeters from your face looking so luscious and soft.

“We can leave at dawn,” He asserts, placing his hands on each side of your shoulders and forcing you to look him in the eyes. The sunlight reflecting off his glassy pupils is enough to convey his longing for you to say yes, and in that moment, you can’t stop yourself from doing so even if you wanted to because truth be told, he could’ve proposed to jump off a cliff together and you would gladly accept.

…

The following morning happens in a blur.

Jungkook comes for you exactly as he had said, at dawn when the first light of the daybreak sun has barely emerged above the treetops. It's dark, and you are not entirely awake. Everything is delivered in hushed voices and whispers of encouragement. You remember your frenzied thoughts, the torrent of worries and questions that spin in your head. They do not plan on slowing down anytime soon, but Jungkook’s grip on your had is the only sedative you need. It's an unspoken promise to protect you, to never let you go.

And that is more than enough to prevent you from looking back. Not when the sunlight finally hits the palace walls, not when it cascades over the summer garden like a sheet of gold, and not even when the last sights of your former home disappears in the distance.

“Will you miss it?” Jungkook’s voice is soft as you continue to stare at the path in front, not realizing you hadn’t said a word to him since the two of you snuck out of the capital. It must have been hours, and he hadn’t disturbed the silence until now, giving you much needed space to let this all sink in.

“I don’t know.” You answer truthfully, still trying to make out what you were feeling. It wasn’t that easy to figure out. You had never done something so daring, so unplanned, so…borderline insane. You couldn’t possibly feel nothing, but would you really miss a place you had always wanted to leave?

“I will” He exhales. “I’ll miss my family, my room, going hunting with my father, the only place I ever knew…”

“So you regret it already?” You cut in, confused by his confession.

He shakes his head, smiling as he searches in your eyes. “I don’t regret any of this.” He holds up your interlinked hands, giving you a tight squeeze. “I never will.”

There’s an uplifting firmness in his tone, full of hope and life, and it makes you certain you won’t ever regret any of this either.

Jungkook had packed enough food to last until the two of you make it to the next village, according to the map he had on hand. You hadn’t even thought of the preparations he had made for this journey, but judging by all the things he was carrying, this was far from a last minute decision.

“You made this yourself?” You examine the flower shaped rice cakes in the small tin box, studying the intricate details and wondering how he managed to make something so beautiful.

“It’s probably nothing compared to what the royal cook makes, but everything tastes good when you’re hungry right?” He takes a bit and you follow suit.

The sweetness of the pastry engulfs your taste buds, making you gasp. “They’re delicious!” You compliment with your mouth full, blushing when he smiles as your delight and gazes lovingly into your eyes.

It is not long before you are back on your feet, making your way along the trail. The path winds into the forest, making it difficult to see the end, not that you could tell if it even had one. You were aware the two of you were walking on an incline, knowing that an impenetrable mountain range acted as a fortress around the capital city. They always looked so far away from atop the palace walls at the watchtower, so majestic and foreboding. You would’ve never imagined you’d one day be hiking up them like this.

“This is going to be a long trip, isn't it?” You sigh heavily, already feeling your legs getting sore. You had never walk for this long, let alone treaded up mountains. You vaguely wonder how Jungkook can carry everything he is and not feel tired.

“I prefer to call it a quest.”

You burst into laughter. “A quest?”

“Sounds more fun that way” He grins.  

“How do you know all of this?” You’re suddenly hit with the urge to inquire, having forgotten to ask him how he had planned such a big move.

“All of what?” He smiles playfully, verging on mischievous.

“About the lands beyond my father’s empire.” You gesture to the endless plains below, the farmlands and rice paddies, all the way to where the celestial sky meets the earth. “Ever since I was young, my mother had always told me all the lands beneath this sky belonged to my family, or at least will eventually once all the states are united.”

You hear him chuckle lightly. “I read about it once. In a book I found in the forbidden library. Don’t ask how I got there. I was five and there was a secret passage.” He grins to himself as he recalls the foggy memory.

“And ever since then, you’ve wanted to run away?”

“Oh, no” He shakes his head, laughing even harder. “I was way to scared to do that…” He falls silent. “…until I met you…”

…

Days pass so naturally, you lose track of time.

The mountains are endless, but the world is breathtaking. You visit quint little villages with children running around, bustling towns full of goods from across the land, and quite farms that extend for miles on end. You travel through various forest filled with the unique scents of varying flora, past grasslands that ripple in the wind, along rivers leading to vast lakes and spectacular waterfalls, witnessing the raw beauty that had been denied to you all your life; places you would’ve never gotten to see had you not chosen to run away with him, and for that you are already eternally grateful.

Sometimes you find him observing the wild flowers on the side of the road, braiding their stems together and creating colorful bracelets that he’s always ecstatic to gift you. Most of all, you liked to watch him when he didn’t know you were there, admiring the care and concentration he pours into anything he does. You’ve memorized the way his eyebrows are knitted and pupils are trained on the object in his hands, almost able to feel the force of his devotion even as a bystander.

You had never seen a man take the time to create something so delicate, something that required so much patience to come to fruition. Your brothers and all the royal men you’ve met in your life had glorified activities such as sword fighting, archery, and horseback riding while poking fun of weaving and braiding as things only suited for women and the weak. But here you were presented with a man who has proven his strength time and time again take part in such a meticulous act while genuinely enjoying the process.

You’ve grown up learning that men were aggressive, controlling and assertive, but Jungkook was affectionate, compassionate, and gentle. He is the rain that showers the earth with love in the form of liquid crystals, the sun that rises each morning without fail, the soft wind that whispers secrets in your ear. He is an open book that invites you to read and turns out to be a story you can never forget.  

You are lying in his arms late one evening, hidden under the arbors of giant trees, when a random thought strikes you.

“Are we any different from criminals now that we’ve essentially broken the law?”

Jungkook hums softly. “Well, I am not a prince anymore, and you are not a princess.”

“We are just commoners then?” You draw circles on his chest, calmed by the motion of his breathing.

“Hmm, I think lost stars would be a more accurate description.”

“Lost stars?”

He points at an opening between the branches, exposing the sky that is now a dark expanse dotted with gems. It’s a view you had never spent enough time looking at, but now that you are, it’s mesmerizing.

“They are so far apart, and yet from here, they look like they are right next to each other, mingling in a place that would be empty without their light.” He turns to cradle you in his arms, an action you are more than willing to welcome.

His body is so warm that you didn’t realize how cold you were until his skin came into contact with yours. Your eyelids are heavy, and you have to fight the slumber that is trying to overcome you. You want to stay awake, to listen to his soothing voice tell you more about the stars, but it’s a battle you cannot win.

Your last thought is not tainted by the fear that he might be gone the next morning because you know you will wake up in his arms. You don’t think you’ll ever be more certain of anything.

…

The cool blue sky merging with the warm glow of the orange sunset is a color combination engraved in your heart.

Along with the mountains casting shadows over the grasslands and the sound of roaring waterfalls that never falter, it is a continuous reminder that this moment had not stilled and that the world is still in motion. Time is flowing like the stream that weaves through the valley, and your heart has never felt so full.

You let your eyes settle on the man standing next to you, his lips glistening from the waning light, hair ruffling in the breeze. He is engrossed by the scenery, but you are enchanted by the sunset reflected in his eyes.

It almost makes you feel guilty for not fully appreciating the beauty that surrounds you in a moment as rare as this, but he is too captivating, the way his features fully capture the essence of the splendor you have soaked in for the past few weeks.

Tracing along the outline of his profile, your breath hitches when he suddenly turns to catch you staring at him. His lips curve upwards matching the dreamy look in his eyes and the faint flush of his cheeks.

You forget to take your next breath as he leans in, irises previously reflecting the sun now reflecting the most dazzling image of you.  

“May I?” He whispers, his lips already lightly brushing yours.

You nod, closing your eyes when he presses his lips deeply against yours, sending shock waves running up your body. You can feel his hands secure your waist, making sure you don’t lose your balance. There is no urgency in his movement, no unhinged desire displayed by his tongue, but instead the action is coated with a tenderness that speaks of unbroken promises. It’s calm like the sunset that was slowing fading, flickering like the stars that were gradually appearing, and delicate much like the way he braids flowers.  

And it is there on the edge of a cliff overlooking the land beneath the earth’s sky, that you share your first and last kiss with Prince Jeon Jungkook.

…

Maybe you had underestimated the power of your father’s army, or maybe this was fate’s way of punishing you for breaking the rules.

You can feel his hand gripping yours as the two of you run as fast as your legs can carry you, and you know he can get away if you just let go, if you just stopped and turned yourself in. The imperial soldiers were really only after you, and maybe if you gave in now, they would spare Prince Jeon’s life and let him flee.

“J-Jung-Kook” You croak between your heavy breathing and your quick glances to check if the men on horseback were closing in. You allow your hold on his hand to loosen.

“I- know what you’re-thinking” He says, gripping your hand even tighter, preventing you from making the sacrifice you had been mulling over.

His words are reassuring, but there’s an undertone of desperation that hints at something more. You don’t have the time or concentration to figure out what it is, but your ears are thankfully sharp enough to pick up his last plea.

“Please, never let go of me” It’s barely a whisper, and you almost think you are hallucinating when you see him turn to set his eyes on you one last time. Those glassy orbs never fail to make your heart skip a beat, upturned lips unfitting of the situation you were in, but nevertheless providing the exact kind of comfort you need.

It’s a kind of smile you hadn’t seen on him before, one that isn’t easy to decipher because it wasn’t making an appearance due to joy or relief or even for the purpose of soothing the tension in your chest. Instead, its manifestation makes you feel a sense of familiarity that does not stem from however long you’ve known him, but more….

More…

What is it?  

…

...

“What happened to him?”

“Hmm?”

“The prince” Namjoon clarifies.

“Oh, he…” You see a flash of red, the sound of horse hooves thumping against the ground, the shouts of men on horseback, arrows zipping through the air, and a deafening cry of pain. “He and I lived happily ever after.” You force yourself to smile, despite knowing that it’s a lie.

Namjoon remains still, and you’re afraid he read past your fabrication. “That’s nice.” He murmurs, smiling to himself and looking at the ground.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. It’s become a habit of yours-convincing yourself to believe in something you know didn’t happen. And it’s not that you weren’t a fan of sad endings, in fact, you’ve always enjoyed stories that made you cry because they were always more memorable that way. But knowing that it was he who met a tragic end was just too…heartbreaking.

“Is it enough to know he only exists in your mind?”

Namjoon’s abrupt question echoes through the lab and disturbs your silent thoughts. You look up to see that he is on his computer; analyzing your brain recordings from the session you just came out of. It takes you a moment to register and come up with a proper response, but you manage to form an honest answer.

“I’ve been convincing myself it is for years.” You exhale fondly, reminded of how hard it was for you to accept the truth and how it still lives as embroidered scar in the center of your heart. The fact that he doesn’t exist is something you’re glad you finally came to terms with because otherwise you wouldn’t be able to do what you do now.

In the past, the thought of him not being real was painfully depressing, leaving you distraught every time you thought about him and how wonderful it would be if he existed in reality. At one point, instead of making you grateful that you could at least feel that sort of happiness in your mind, it became draining and upsetting, always being tangled in wishes that would never come true. It was a difficult time, being in your mid-twenties, so lost in life, both in terms of your career and family. With everyone around you trying to give you unasked for advice, none of it being even remotely helpful because no one understood that you didn’t really want any of that.

And there you were, longing for someone you could barely put a name or face to. It’s ridiculous to think about now, but it’s a past you can’t deny. Luckily, you’ve found your way to a healthier state of mind.

“Do you ever wonder if he’s someone you might’ve met in real life?” Namjoon has turned to peer at you now, expectantly waiting for a response.

You pause, holding his gaze for a bit longer than usual. “I can’t think of a single person he’s even similar to. He’s too perfect.” You chuckle to yourself, feeling like a teenage girl talking about her crush.

“I mean, even in dreams, do you ever see people that you’ve never seen in real life?” Namjoon furrows his brows. “There has to be a source that all of this stems from.”

“My childish fantasies?” You continue laughing, and even Namjoon is forced to smile, shaking his head.

“Tell me more about it.” He walks over and pulls up a chair in front of you, folding his hands and placing them gentle on his lap as if he were waiting to listen to a lengthy story.

“About what? About him?” You cock a brow, finding it peculiar that he’s so interested in your adventures, but he always has been.

“About everything.”

You lay back down on the metal surface, staring at the ceiling. “When I’m in these sessions, I’m not consciously aware that I am and that none of it is real. I meet him for the first time every single time, and yet there is no incongruity in my mind or my memories. It’s like everything is wiped clean, and I start off on a blank slate. I just get this visceral feeling of familiarity and it’s so vague and weak, I just ignore it.” You purse your lips, digging for the right description. “The series of events are already planned, and I can’t change anything even though it feels like I have control over my decisions. I’m actually just living through a story that is already written. There are sessions where I only spend a single day with him others where it spans over the course of years, and yet each one has never felt short of a lifetime.”

“Does he look and act the same every time?”

You shake your head, closing your eyes and trying desperately to recall his face, but you can’t see him. It’s a blank canvas.

“He different depending on the story…but there’s just something about him that doesn’t change. And I can’t describe what it is, but it’s the reason I can recognize him in every scenario no matter what character he plays.” You sigh. “Well, I guess he always looks more or less the same. Maybe with a different hair color, or different clothes perhaps…” You chuckle under your breath, attempting to conjure that heart fluttering feeling you get when you see his physical appearance. “Am I superficial for making him absolutely beautiful?”

The corner of Namjoon’s lip twitches upward as he shakes his head. “No, not at all.”

“But, I think…I think I could recognize him even if I were blind.” You trail the patterns on the ceiling, zoning out ever so slightly. “He’s the only person that can hear me. And in the end it's always almost as if he knows, but at the same time it’s impossible for that to be true. And I know it’s just something that has to do with the way my brain constructs the whole scenario, but I just can’t seem to get over that look in his eyes. I know it’s not real, none of it is, but in that moment, he is the closest thing to reality.”

“What in reality is the closest thing to him then?” Namjoon’s question induces your vision to refocus.

“I don't know. There isn’t anything.” You answer without giving it much thought.

“Then tell me this, Professor Y/L/N,” He diverts his gaze to window overlooking the university campus; the colorful autumn leaves littering the lawns. “Can you accurately imagine a feeling you’ve never felt before?”

His inquiry catches you off guard. “Are you trying to convince me I’m wrong to believe the human mind is as boundless as it is?” You turn to face him.  

“No” He shakes his head. “I’m merely…curious. I find it fascinating that the subconscious mind has such powerful abilities…I also find it hard to believe that a women like you has remained single all these years.”

You can see the hint of rosiness staining his cheeks, but his expression speaks of nothing but admiration and respect. “I have long past those days of receiving such flattering comments. But thank you.”

He smiles widely, a pair of dimples forming where the rosiness once was.

...

[relaxedreptile]

Fourth Period - Part One

Pairing: Baekhyun X Female Reader

Sexual Content: protected sex. Swearing. Teacher!AU.

A/N: Just a tiny, tiny, tiny, Teacher!Baekhyun series I have been working on.

How long will it be? Two to three parts, most likely.

An AU of this nature was requested what must’ve been two months ago, I apologize for taking so long to provide. Finding time to write has become increasingly hard with school starting back up for me and activities that are centered outside of school.

I am trying my very hardest, loves. Please be patient with me.

Stay safe, alright?

Part One Part Two Part Three

“Any boys catch your eye, Y/N?” “Dad, I’m a senior, there’s no face I haven't seen yet. “Because all of a sudden your school doesn’t take Freshman in anymore.”

You made at a face at the inclination of you dating a freshman. Not only was it illegal, you weren’t going to get yourself involved with a kid who only wanted an older girl because he was sick and tired of going after girls with underdeveloped tits.

“Hey, Y/N, my friend said you’re in one of his classes.” “Chanyeol, there’s endless Parks in my school, he probably-” “He said you had our trademark ears, no mistake could’ve been made,” your brother joked with you.

Chanyeol’s teasing caused you to cup your ears with your hands as to hide them while you pouted.

“What’s wrong with my ears?” Your dad asked, clearly offended, while the rest of your family just laughed at him in turn.

“Which friend was it, honey?”

Chanyeol had a lot of friends.

As a child who had grown up playing baseball, it was only natural for him to join the high school varsity team when the opportunity arose. Only thing was, he was recruited in eighth grade.

Being the youngest on the team (and also one of the best), he was welcomed into the team with open arms and was seen as a little brother in the other player’s eyes. Chanyeol spent a majority of his time around boys that didn't match his age, meaning he had friends two, three, four years older than him. There was an abundance of options when it came to a friend of Chanyeol’s and it was impossible to pinpoint who he was talking about unless he gave you some clues.

“Byun Baekhyun.”

You almost choked on your peas.

You weren’t lying when you told your father there were no boys on your mind, because the one on your mind was a man. And also your teacher.

“I- I thought you meant a student…” “Nope, I told some of my boys on the team to scout you out but he was the only one who got back to me.” “I don’t need you sending your boys to spy on me at school. Having you as the new baseball coach is enough, I don’t need more freakishly tall boys up my ass in the halls.” “Y/N, language.” “Someone needs to keep an eye on my little sister while I’m out in the athletic department, god knows you never go over there.” “You have baseball and I have music. It’s not like you ever come to the music wing.” “As a matter of fact, I do. I visit Baekhyun all the time.”

Your fork almost slipped out of your hand at the mention of your teacher, your heart fluttering as the memories of your first class with the man rose to the surface of your mind.

You couldn’t push the sight of him rolling up his sleeves before beginning our warmups, the way he unbuttoned the first button of his shirt midway through the period when it got too stuffy, and we can’t forget the way his beautiful fingers dash across the black and white keys of the glossy, deep red piano at the front of the room.

You took a large gulp of my water and hoped you family couldn’t see you sweating profusely.

“How did I come up in conversation?” You tried to push for more information as slyly as possible. “We were eating lunch when he brought it up, said you were going to be taking voice lessons with him.”

In your school, it was mandatory for all kids enrolled in choir or any other singing group to receive private voice lessons. They could either get them outside of school from a teacher of their choosing, or they could stick with a teacher from your school.

There were three music instructors who focused on singing and they took a certain amount of students organized alphabetically.

Baekhyun seemed to have been stuck with “M” through “R”.

“Okay, you guys are on clean-up duty,” your dad announced to you and Chanyeol.

The two of you groaned in unison at the thought of sorting leftovers and scrubbing plates. Some things never change.

“I want everyone to hold up two fingers, like this.”

He gestured, we mirrored.

“Now open your mouth, enough to fit those two fingers inside and keep them there.”

The class did as he said.

Baekhyun gave us all a note to sing, watching as our mouths got used to the objects keeping it from closing, as well as giggling at how ridiculous everyone looked.

“That is how wide your mouths should be open when you sing, if not more.”

We all nodded our confirmations, waiting for the next set of instructions from our teacher.

Instead, Baekhyun strolled over to his seat in front of the piano, his fingers resting on the keys as he counted silently. He had a habit of only mouthing counts to make sure we kept all of our attention on him.

As if anyone would want to look away.

By the end of the week, all anyone was taking about the new, very attractive choral instructor. You either wanted to be him, or get with him. Everyone and their mother were after this guy.

“Legend has it, a single glance will have you questioning your sexuality.”

You laughed openly at your friend’s comment, the two of you referring to the well-dressed man sitting opposite Chanyeol in the athletic office, the glass windows allowing both of you a good view of them munching away on the lunch your brother had run out to get for them last minute.

You knocked on the glass once, hoping to get your brother’s attention.

There was no indication that he had heard you, so you tapped a couple more times.

This time, you got a reaction, but not the one you had wanted. Instead of your brother turning to glance at you with a fake look of disgust, Baekhyun had whipped his head around at the sound of your fists, and stared at you with curiosity stitched into his expression.

You sucked in a breath to pull yourself together, offering a soft smile to your teacher before jerking your head in your brother’s direction.

Baekhyun got the hint and turned towards Chanyeol, slapping his knee before telling your brother something you couldn't figure out, but were convinced it was along the lines of “your annoying, unattractive, short ass sister-”

“I’m not getting you out of gym class again, Y/N.” You scoffed at your brother’s statement. “That’s not why I’m here, and I asked you not to tell anyone about that,” you murmured before continuing, “I came to get a ride home.”

“No can do, shorty,” Chanyeol ruffled your hair, much to your disgust, “I got practice in ten minutes.” “Practice? It’s not baseball season yet, football hasn’t even had their first game.”

“Pre-season, baby.” Baekhyun threw his arm around Chanyeol’s shoulders and pulled him down to his level. “Your brother here’s gotta keep the boys in tip-top shape.”

He glanced at you for a moment before his eyes rested on your friend.

“It was nice seeing you two. Y/N. Yeri. Next lunch’s on me, Yeol.”

If your brother wasn’t staring at you, your eyes would’ve been glued to the sight of Byun Baekhyun’s ass.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m gonna run before I miss my bus. Uh, bye Chanyeol,” your friend dashed away as you watched her sway her hips a little more than extra. Yeri had had a crush on Chanyeol for years.

“Can I come to practice with you then and get a ride once it’s over?”

Chanyeol considered this as he shoved a couple things in his bag, packing up for the day.

“Are you sure you don’t mind sitting on the bleachers for two hours?” “It’s better than sitting on the bus for half of one.”

Your brother laughed, understanding your hatred of the bus-ride home all to well. “Come on, let’s head out. I can’t wait to see how much the boys try and show off once they hear you’re going to be watching them.”

Chanyeol was ruthless.

You had grown up watching your brother come home from practice whining and groaning about what his coach had everyone do, but you had never seen what he had gone through to receive the muscle soreness throughout his arms or the gross, yellow bruises scattered across his legs.

You would’ve been crying if you were to attempt half the exercises Chanyeol was putting these boys through, but they were laughing and joking and basically playing grab-ass the entire time. Completely carefree.

Chanyeol had started with laps, forcing the boys to run around the track eight times (which was equal to what, two miles?). You pretended not to notice how the boys would pick up their pace significantly whenever they reached the side of the track you were sitting by. After that round of torture, they were told to find a spot against the fence for wall-sits… that lasted five minutes.

Not once did these boys complain, even after Chanyeol made them grab their bats, drop them straight down, pick them back up, drop them, pick them up, drop them… all because #94 (you didn't know his name) threw his bat too hard when they were playing a small game of their own.

If Chanyeol’s coach was anything like he was, I could see why he came home so beat up. I could also see why the team hasn’t lost a game in fifteen years.

“They’re good, aren’t they? Your brother is doing a good job.”

You looked to the right of you and the bleachers, eyes widening when they settled on the image of Baekhyun, dressed in a pair of jeans paired with a white shirt that he must’ve changed into at the end of the day.

You nodded a couple times, obviously flustered but trying hard to hide it. Knowing this was an opportunity to make a good impression on the man, you took a deep breath before facing him.

“I didn’t know baseball was so… hardcore.”

Baekhyun turned to face you once he realized you were speaking to him, and laughed at your obvious expression of surprise.

“You should’ve seen the guy Chanyeol replaced. I was stuck with him and his drills for four years and now I can’t even look at sunflower seeds anymore.” You raised your eyebrow, pushing for more of an explanation. Baekhyun refused to comply, shaking his head in a way that expressed his comical distress and turning back to face the field.

“Makes me glad I don’t play a sport.”

Your eyes hadn’t left his face after he turned away from you, now focusing on the way the one visible side of his face turned up in a genuine smile.

“You have music, that’s enough.” “Says the man who managed to do both,” you pointed out.

He laughed at this, a mental victory for you.

“And yet, look at which one I ended up choosing, the one that, arguably, took me somewhere.”

Thinking back to a few weeks ago, when Chanyeol had been offered the job you had been watching him fulfill before your eyes, you vaguely remember Chanyeol’s pride at assuming he was picked over Baekhyun. Your brother hadn't known at the time that both were “tied for first place” (as always), but seeing as how the latter was employed by the same school in an entirely different academic area, Chanyeol was the obvious option.

“Chanyeol seemed devastated when you turned down that college in America… what was it? Vanderhills?” “Vanderbilt.”

Baekhyun’s demeanor changed with your mention of the University. Within a single moment, it was back to normal, minus the slight somber tone in his following confession.

“Only one student from our school would be accepted by Vanderbilt, but both Chanyeol and I applied. Even though we were both seen as the best-” “They chose you. Probably because of your music, right? You had something extra?”

Baekhyun turned back to face you, gifting you with a dazzling smile that was probably another reason that university overseas wanted him so badly. He would’ve been used all over their brochures.

“I guess I’m the reason you didn't have your brother for four years, right?”

You shrugged in your seat on the cold bleachers, rubbing your thighs to generate more heat.

“That also makes you the reason I got to visit the Grand Ole Opry and Graceland during visits to Chanyeol.” “Anything so my students can have some more exposure.”

You returned the smile he was presenting you with, hyperaware of the blush rising to the surface of your cheeks.

Your teacher broke the eye contact, unfortunately, and glanced uncertainly at the very bleachers your ass was planted on.

There were six levels of the bleachers, each one higher than the other, with space for about ten people on benches that were interrupted by stairs to the higher levels. Once the stairs stopped, the bleachers resumed and it worked like a pattern for thirty-two feet across. Plenty of room for any spectator to sit back and enjoy the game.

So why did Baekhyun decide to plop his ass down right next to yours?

“I could see your shivering shaking the entire set of bleachers, I had to hold them down myself,” Baekhyun defended his actions.

You giggled halfheartedly, mind still racing over the fact that the hottest man you have ever seen is sitting merely inches away from-

“When does the practice end?” You were ripped from your thoughts, reaching for your phone to check how much longer these boys had before they were home free. “One more hour of torture and they can rest.” “Yes, they can rest just to wake up sore the next morning.” “At least I can keep my throat from getting sore.” “Don’t jinx it, maybe I’ll drag everyone out here tomorrow and start rehearsal with a mile or two.”

You recoiled from your teacher, one hand splayed over your heart in a mocking manner.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Baekhyun didn't bother coming up with a snarky reply for your joke, he just settled on laughing and almost rolling off the silver bleachers in the process.

“With those acting skills, I’m surprised the drama department hasn't recruited you.”

You smile sheepishly, neglecting to mention that the drama club instructor actually has asked you to join multiple-

“I’m going to have to head out right now, I’m expecting some sheet music to get delivered today… and no,” your face scrunched in a pout, “you’ll find out what the songs are when everyone else does.”

You flashed him a playful scowl that you both knew you could only get away with because this man sitting next to you was your brother’s best friend. And your teacher. He’s your teacher, Y/N.

Baekhyun stood up and made his way to the end of the bench, stopping his feet as his hand made contact with the makeshift stairway railing.

“They’ve got another hour, you said?”

You nodded once, not really sure where the hell this was going.

Baekhyun glanced out onto the field for a moment, obviously considering something, making a decision.

“Come on,” he ordered, “grab your stuff. I’ll give you a ride home.”

Your eyes bulged outwards as your mind followed suit, going completely blank.

Baekhyun could sense your confusion, your slight panic, and decided to try and save his own ass before you pictures him as some old man luring a little girl into the back of his car to look for his dog.

“I won't let you sit out here for another hour. Who knows, your brother might even make you drag the equipment inside.” The two of you looked over to the field, where bases and bats and balls were organized in stacks and buckets. “Sure, Chanyeol might be a little upset that you won’t suffer any longer,” he laughed as he spoke, “but I think he’ll appreciate one less thing on his plate.”

I silently agreed, appalled by the amount of responsibly resting on Chanyeol’s shoulders myself.

“Yeah, okay. That would be really nice. Thank you, Mr. Byun.” “Seriously? ‘Mr. Byun?’ I even tell my students to call me Baekhyun!” “Mr. Byun has a nice ring to it,” you teased, slipping past your teacher to make your way down the stairs with a bounce in your step that could only be from the promise of alone time with Baekhyun.

The two of you walked towards the teacher’s parking lot at the back of the school in silence, your body in front of his despite you not actually knowing where Baekhyun’s car was parked.

Once the sound of feet pounding on sidewalk was replaced with the sound of feet on gravel, you turned to face Baekhyun, arm outstretched towards the parking lot that was close to empty.

Your teacher seemed to understand the gesture and sped up his strides in search of his vehicle. You took advantage of the opportunity to stare at his ass.

‘It is totally unfair that a dude has a better butt than me.’

“Here we are, your majesty.”

You snapped your attention back to Baekhyun’s smiling face, hoping to God he didn’t catch you checking him out, and looked over at the car to Baekhyun’s right. Only, it wasn’t a car. It was a motorcycle. A full-blown motorcycle with sparkling silver handlebars, smooth leather seats, and navy blue detailing.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

But, oh no, Byun Baekhyun was certainly not kidding. He was already retrieving his helmet from where it was lodged underneath one of the seats, busying himself with tightening the straps.

Your teacher let out a huff of amusement at your reaction to the gorgeous bike, although he seemed a bit offended at your astonishment.

“What? Am I not cool enough to drive a motorcycle?” You shook your head quickly, eyes still locked on the spokes of the back wheel, trying to figure out why they resembled a hexagon with an extra line segment coming out from the center.

“I… I’ve always wanted to ride a motorcycle,” you admit to your teacher, finally looking back up at his face that easily rivaled the beauty of the bike. “Then today is your lucky day,” Baekhyun replied, handing you the helmet he was previously adjusting. “Where’s yours?” You questioned, slipping the helmet over your head before securing it. “I’ve only got the one and I don’t need you getting hurt. Chanyeol would probably kill me if he knew I was doing this, regardless, gotta make sure I get you home without a scratch.” “I’m not a car,” you mumbled.

Baekhyun swung his leg over the side of the motorcycle and planted his butt on the front end of the seat, leaving room for you on the back. You stayed where you were, basically standing in the middle of the parking lot, arms crossed over your body defensively.

“Aren’t you coming?” “Isn’t it dangerous?” You asked Baekhyun, visibly terrified.

Baekhyun cocked his head to the side and gave an amused smile as he thought about how cute you were acting.

“Don’t worry,” he assured you, “just hold onto my waist. I’ve got you.”

You blushed at his words, glad that the helmet shielded the rosy tint of your cheeks. Not that Baekhyun would’ve noticed otherwise, he had turned away from you the moment he felt the heat from his words rising to the surface of his own cheeks.

“This is like a weird romance movie,” you joked, doing as Baekhyun said and gently wrapping your arms around his small torso. Baekhyun laughed and flicked a few dials, adjusted a few levers. “I’m not sure Korea is ready for a romance movie about a teacher and his student.”

Your mouth stayed shut as your mind screamed that you were more than ready for a romance like that.

“You ready?”

Baekhyun’s head turned on his neck so that he could view your helmet-clad head, smiling at the way your neck struggled to keep everything upright if the way your head was bobbing back and forth was any sign of a struggle.

“I hope your parents don’t hate me for this.”

[thetakenpokemon]

Today we find our adorkable CinnaBunny named Hus.La in a very strange place. Ya see, she was supposed to be at the “Generations” fighting game tournament about 3 hours ago but it seems like the directions they were given have been mis-read. They were supposed to turn LEFT at the concert stage, not right. No matter, surely she could go into this huge building and ask for directions right? She strolled in and they pointed her to the visitor’s area. While she waited for someone to assist her she saw an amazoness Lucario garbed in beautiful white Egyptian theme’d clothing, she almost lo– “Oh. My. GOSH!” She squeeled as she ran up tot he Lucario with a wide smile on her face and stars in her eyes. We already knew where this was gonna go. “E-Excuse me, Miss? Can I just say you look absolutely stunning?! Your Cosplay of Nubia from the popular indie fighting-game ‘HeartGyaaru’ is absolutely stunning! May I get a selfie with you? Pretty please?” the bunny pleaded hoping she wouldn’t mind. Just then, she was reminded of her run-in with Mr. Nori, it would be better to introduce herself. “Ah! I am very sorry, my manners escaped me again. My name is Hus.La! Video Game Extraordinaire! Pleased to me you, Ms….?” she said with a questioning tone hoping she didn’t offend her in any way.

[PoV: Unity]

It’s not rare for me to occasionally walk by the visitor area of the GoT, in fact I tend to do it out of sheer curiosity. Most cases I tend to see the guild’s members catching up with family or simply just guests who wish to learn more about the guild, perhaps even considering on joining.

It’s always an interesting sight whenever I stop by, and it often tends to be along the way of wherever I need to go, so it’s not inconvenient to me in the least.

However just as I was about to leave I hear a loud squeal of excitement, catching my attention. Upon turning I didn’t see anything at first, however the simple action of looking down shows that the source of the noise is a very ecstatic Lopunny.

“HeartGyaaru?” I repeat after she compliments on my ‘cosplay’, even though the name is unfamiliar to me I couldn’t help but smile broadly. “I’m afraid I’m not cosplaying as this ‘Nubia’, however I am flattered that you enjoy how I look~”

When she asked for a selfie, I feel my smile grow tenfold. Surprisingly enough it’s fairly uncommon for others to ask to take a photo with me, not to mention this is also a good opportunity for me to spread my reputation since I am the ‘Face of Venhara’ after all. I open my mouth to agree, but the energetic Lopunny quickly cuts me off to introduce herself, perhaps out of fear of being rude.

This child is full of energy, it reminds me of my youth.

“It’s my pleasure, Hus.La.” I chuckle. “I am Tetishuri Toa, Ambassador and ‘Face’ of Venhara.” I place a hand just under my chest spike. “But if you may, I would much prefer to simply be referred to as ‘Teti’.” I place my other hand over my hip, above one of my sheathed weapons. “As for your request, I wouldn’t mind it in the least to take a ‘selfie’ with you. In fact I’m overjoyed~”

The more I look down at her the more I realize that there’s a certain problem with taking this ‘selfie’, specifically a height difference. I stand almost twice as tall as her, so it would make the selfie rather…awkward.

Then an idea struck me.

“For the convenience for the both of us, would you prefer if I picked you up?” I ask her, keeping my tone cool yet friendly. “It would be rather…awkward if I have to bend over so that you could get a clear shot.” My lips curl slightly with a hint of mischief. “Unless of course you wouldn’t mind taking said selfie with only my legs and stomach in the view~”

[amyddaniels]

Radical Compassion

Find peace through self-acceptance. This mindful vinyasa practice, inspired by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., will help you embody Ahimsa (nonviolence) and love—for yourself and others.

Chelsea Jackson Roberts, PhD

I was 16 years into my practice when I found myself crying profusely in Savasana (Corpse Pose). Lying in this vulnerable posture during my beloved teacher Tracee Stanley’s yoga nidra immersion, I realized I had been treating myself as an enemy. Something happened during this specific Corpse Pose—one of hundreds I’d practiced by this point—that offered a glimpse of surrender, peace, and acceptance. Enveloped in stillness and silence, I noticed that for once, I was not trying to control, critique, or compare myself, and I became acutely aware that I had been missing self-love and compassion: that I did not know how to love myself fully. It was the depth and nurturing that I encountered through yoga nidra that gave me the strength to face the truth and acknowledge the parts of myself that I had been denying, such as my needs for rest and to be taken care of and held.

As I lay there, Tracee’s words moved into every fiber of my body: “We cannot teach what we do not practice,” she said. This statement prompted me to ask myself hard questions: How can I teach my yoga students how to practice compassion with their bodies if I am not accepting all of the parts that make up mine? How can I expect my yoga students to trust me if I dismiss, and lack trust for, the parts of myself that want to be seen?

See also Chelsea Jackson on Diversity + Embracing Who You Are

Because I truly felt held by the yoga and the guidance of my teacher, I felt liberated from self-judgment around these questions. Normally, I would have wiped away my tears and the associated emotions before anyone noticed. I was breaking free from concern for how anyone would see me or interpret this release. With my breath, I let go of the self-talk that would have said I was taking up too much space with my sobbing.

I am convinced that I showed up differently for myself during this particular Savasana simply because it was time to accept my suffering and open up to a practice of radical compassion for myself. Now, each time I step onto my mat, my body remembers that moment of not being controlled, critiqued, or compared. It remembers that the road to freedom from suffering can exist only when compassion is present.

Chelsea Jackson Roberts, PhD

Self-Love in Action 

I remember being a little girl, learning about the work of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and hearing the word “compassion” for the first time. To me, it always seemed like something that could only be shown to someone else. After all, Dr. King spoke specifically about it in regard to social injustice and inequality: He talked about compassion, or a lack thereof, when describing the social conditions African American people had to experience based on systems of marginalization and oppression. He spoke of it while demanding that the government respond to individuals and communities that were suffering because of inequality, and he wanted everyone to know how marginalization and oppression impact us all, not just those denied their basic human rights. He asked for curiosity and empathy: “Here is the true meaning and value of compassion and nonviolence, when it helps us to see the enemy’s point of view, to hear his questions, to know his assessment of ourselves. For from his view we may indeed see the basic weaknesses of our own condition, and if we are mature, we may learn and grow and profit from the wisdom of the brothers who are called the opposition.”

See also Why Every Yoga Teacher & Practitioner Needs Inclusivity Training

Dr. King advocated—and gave his life—for the eradication of suffering based on something as arbitrary (yet real) as race. He sacrificed his life sharing the teachings that remind us that social change, liberation, and connection can be achieved only through radical compassion and nonviolence.

He taught me that it is violent for me to suppress my experiences with suffering and dismiss the consequences of that. Because when I do, not only am I not honoring the practice of ahimsa, which also means nonviolence, I am not practicing yoga. By definition, yoga means to unite, or to join. Whenever I deny myself the acknowledgement and acceptance of who I am, I am in direct opposition to myself. So when I reflect on that “aha” moment in Savasana, and the profound experience of recognizing that I was treating myself as my own enemy, I can fully come to terms with Dr. King’s words. I made space to get quiet enough to listen to the ways in which I was afraid of my own questions, the experiences this body had encountered that carried suffering, and every urge that came up in me to pretend that part of me didn’t exist. From this place, I am able to confront the points of view and narratives that I regurgitate from society—the ones that tell me I am not worthy of rest, to be held, and to be loved fully.

I have learned, and continue to learn, that the moments that call for copious amounts of compassion—for myself and others—are also the moments I tend to avoid, escape, or try to “make better” through impulsive words and actions. I am still working on sitting with the feelings that accompany an unintentional lack of awareness around my words with someone, especially if I offend or hurt them. It is a challenge. It is so much easier for me to rush and defend my mistakes in order to not feel the depths of my actions or to become overly apologetic in an effort to move beyond the discomfort.

Watch Chelsea Jackson Roberts Shares Her Personal Yoga Story

It was during my emotional release in Savasana that I realized I was avoiding compassion in my own yoga practice, too. I was depriving myself of the opportunity to slow down, or practice Savasana, because it meant being still and quiet enough to hear my own suffering crying out for release. Because of this profound moment I experienced, I can see that radical compassion, even if initially uncomfortable, leads to liberation, freedom, and love.

Now, for me, compassion exists in the silence before words or action. It can be found in the moments I choose to stay present and not escape. Compassion allows me to see the points of view of those whom I am not in agreement with in order to learn something about myself and the ways I respond to—and at times lack compassion for—myself. It looks like being still, allowing myself to be held, and allowing the tears to flow. I cried in Savasana because it was the first time I'd been grounded in the reality of who I am and how much I truly owed myself. Each time I step onto my mat, I am recommitting myself to a practice of radical self-compassion so that I can practice that same empathy and love with my students and every single living being I encounter in this lifetime.

Try Chelsea Jackson Roberts' Self-Compassion Sequence to Find Serenity.

About the author

Chelsea Jackson Roberts, PhD is an internationally celebrated yoga educator and the founder of Yoga, Literature, and Art Camp for teen girls at Spelman College Museum of Fine Art. Chelsea is a Lululemon global yoga ambassador who travels the world sharing some of the ways yoga can be used as a tool for social change. As an Off the Mat, Into the World faculty member, Chelsea enjoys writing and speaking about her research and how yoga can be used to understand cultural, social, and racial differences. Chelsea is the cofounder of Red Clay Yoga, a non-profit in Atlanta that provides access to yoga within marginalized communities. Learn more at chelsealovesyoga.com.

[cedarrrun]

Find peace through self-acceptance. This mindful vinyasa practice, inspired by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., will help you embody Ahimsa (nonviolence) and love—for yourself and others.

Chelsea Jackson Roberts, PhD

I was 16 years into my practice when I found myself crying profusely in Savasana (Corpse Pose). Lying in this vulnerable posture during my beloved teacher Tracee Stanley’s yoga nidra immersion, I realized I had been treating myself as an enemy. Something happened during this specific Corpse Pose—one of hundreds I’d practiced by this point—that offered a glimpse of surrender, peace, and acceptance. Enveloped in stillness and silence, I noticed that for once, I was not trying to control, critique, or compare myself, and I became acutely aware that I had been missing self-love and compassion: that I did not know how to love myself fully. It was the depth and nurturing that I encountered through yoga nidra that gave me the strength to face the truth and acknowledge the parts of myself that I had been denying, such as my needs for rest and to be taken care of and held.

As I lay there, Tracee’s words moved into every fiber of my body: “We cannot teach what we do not practice,” she said. This statement prompted me to ask myself hard questions: How can I teach my yoga students how to practice compassion with their bodies if I am not accepting all of the parts that make up mine? How can I expect my yoga students to trust me if I dismiss, and lack trust for, the parts of myself that want to be seen?

See also Chelsea Jackson on Diversity + Embracing Who You Are

Because I truly felt held by the yoga and the guidance of my teacher, I felt liberated from self-judgment around these questions. Normally, I would have wiped away my tears and the associated emotions before anyone noticed. I was breaking free from concern for how anyone would see me or interpret this release. With my breath, I let go of the self-talk that would have said I was taking up too much space with my sobbing.

I am convinced that I showed up differently for myself during this particular Savasana simply because it was time to accept my suffering and open up to a practice of radical compassion for myself. Now, each time I step onto my mat, my body remembers that moment of not being controlled, critiqued, or compared. It remembers that the road to freedom from suffering can exist only when compassion is present.

Chelsea Jackson Roberts, PhD

Self-Love in Action 

I remember being a little girl, learning about the work of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and hearing the word “compassion” for the first time. To me, it always seemed like something that could only be shown to someone else. After all, Dr. King spoke specifically about it in regard to social injustice and inequality: He talked about compassion, or a lack thereof, when describing the social conditions African American people had to experience based on systems of marginalization and oppression. He spoke of it while demanding that the government respond to individuals and communities that were suffering because of inequality, and he wanted everyone to know how marginalization and oppression impact us all, not just those denied their basic human rights. He asked for curiosity and empathy: “Here is the true meaning and value of compassion and nonviolence, when it helps us to see the enemy’s point of view, to hear his questions, to know his assessment of ourselves. For from his view we may indeed see the basic weaknesses of our own condition, and if we are mature, we may learn and grow and profit from the wisdom of the brothers who are called the opposition.”

See also Why Every Yoga Teacher & Practitioner Needs Inclusivity Training

Dr. King advocated—and gave his life—for the eradication of suffering based on something as arbitrary (yet real) as race. He sacrificed his life sharing the teachings that remind us that social change, liberation, and connection can be achieved only through radical compassion and nonviolence.

He taught me that it is violent for me to suppress my experiences with suffering and dismiss the consequences of that. Because when I do, not only am I not honoring the practice of ahimsa, which also means nonviolence, I am not practicing yoga. By definition, yoga means to unite, or to join. Whenever I deny myself the acknowledgement and acceptance of who I am, I am in direct opposition to myself. So when I reflect on that “aha” moment in Savasana, and the profound experience of recognizing that I was treating myself as my own enemy, I can fully come to terms with Dr. King’s words. I made space to get quiet enough to listen to the ways in which I was afraid of my own questions, the experiences this body had encountered that carried suffering, and every urge that came up in me to pretend that part of me didn’t exist. From this place, I am able to confront the points of view and narratives that I regurgitate from society—the ones that tell me I am not worthy of rest, to be held, and to be loved fully.

I have learned, and continue to learn, that the moments that call for copious amounts of compassion—for myself and others—are also the moments I tend to avoid, escape, or try to “make better” through impulsive words and actions. I am still working on sitting with the feelings that accompany an unintentional lack of awareness around my words with someone, especially if I offend or hurt them. It is a challenge. It is so much easier for me to rush and defend my mistakes in order to not feel the depths of my actions or to become overly apologetic in an effort to move beyond the discomfort.

Watch Chelsea Jackson Roberts Shares Her Personal Yoga Story

It was during my emotional release in Savasana that I realized I was avoiding compassion in my own yoga practice, too. I was depriving myself of the opportunity to slow down, or practice Savasana, because it meant being still and quiet enough to hear my own suffering crying out for release. Because of this profound moment I experienced, I can see that radical compassion, even if initially uncomfortable, leads to liberation, freedom, and love.

Now, for me, compassion exists in the silence before words or action. It can be found in the moments I choose to stay present and not escape. Compassion allows me to see the points of view of those whom I am not in agreement with in order to learn something about myself and the ways I respond to—and at times lack compassion for—myself. It looks like being still, allowing myself to be held, and allowing the tears to flow. I cried in Savasana because it was the first time I'd been grounded in the reality of who I am and how much I truly owed myself. Each time I step onto my mat, I am recommitting myself to a practice of radical self-compassion so that I can practice that same empathy and love with my students and every single living being I encounter in this lifetime.

Try Chelsea Jackson Roberts' Self-Compassion Sequence to Find Serenity.

About the author

Chelsea Jackson Roberts, PhD is an internationally celebrated yoga educator and the founder of Yoga, Literature, and Art Camp for teen girls at Spelman College Museum of Fine Art. Chelsea is a Lululemon global yoga ambassador who travels the world sharing some of the ways yoga can be used as a tool for social change. As an Off the Mat, Into the World faculty member, Chelsea enjoys writing and speaking about her research and how yoga can be used to understand cultural, social, and racial differences. Chelsea is the cofounder of Red Clay Yoga, a non-profit in Atlanta that provides access to yoga within marginalized communities. Learn more at chelsealovesyoga.com.

[krisiunicornio]

Find peace through self-acceptance. This mindful vinyasa practice, inspired by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., will help you embody Ahimsa (nonviolence) and love—for yourself and others.

Chelsea Jackson Roberts, PhD

I was 16 years into my practice when I found myself crying profusely in Savasana (Corpse Pose). Lying in this vulnerable posture during my beloved teacher Tracee Stanley’s yoga nidra immersion, I realized I had been treating myself as an enemy. Something happened during this specific Corpse Pose—one of hundreds I’d practiced by this point—that offered a glimpse of surrender, peace, and acceptance. Enveloped in stillness and silence, I noticed that for once, I was not trying to control, critique, or compare myself, and I became acutely aware that I had been missing self-love and compassion: that I did not know how to love myself fully. It was the depth and nurturing that I encountered through yoga nidra that gave me the strength to face the truth and acknowledge the parts of myself that I had been denying, such as my needs for rest and to be taken care of and held.

As I lay there, Tracee’s words moved into every fiber of my body: “We cannot teach what we do not practice,” she said. This statement prompted me to ask myself hard questions: How can I teach my yoga students how to practice compassion with their bodies if I am not accepting all of the parts that make up mine? How can I expect my yoga students to trust me if I dismiss, and lack trust for, the parts of myself that want to be seen?

See also Chelsea Jackson on Diversity + Embracing Who You Are

Because I truly felt held by the yoga and the guidance of my teacher, I felt liberated from self-judgment around these questions. Normally, I would have wiped away my tears and the associated emotions before anyone noticed. I was breaking free from concern for how anyone would see me or interpret this release. With my breath, I let go of the self-talk that would have said I was taking up too much space with my sobbing.

I am convinced that I showed up differently for myself during this particular Savasana simply because it was time to accept my suffering and open up to a practice of radical compassion for myself. Now, each time I step onto my mat, my body remembers that moment of not being controlled, critiqued, or compared. It remembers that the road to freedom from suffering can exist only when compassion is present.

Chelsea Jackson Roberts, PhD

Self-Love in Action 

I remember being a little girl, learning about the work of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and hearing the word “compassion” for the first time. To me, it always seemed like something that could only be shown to someone else. After all, Dr. King spoke specifically about it in regard to social injustice and inequality: He talked about compassion, or a lack thereof, when describing the social conditions African American people had to experience based on systems of marginalization and oppression. He spoke of it while demanding that the government respond to individuals and communities that were suffering because of inequality, and he wanted everyone to know how marginalization and oppression impact us all, not just those denied their basic human rights. He asked for curiosity and empathy: “Here is the true meaning and value of compassion and nonviolence, when it helps us to see the enemy’s point of view, to hear his questions, to know his assessment of ourselves. For from his view we may indeed see the basic weaknesses of our own condition, and if we are mature, we may learn and grow and profit from the wisdom of the brothers who are called the opposition.”

See also Why Every Yoga Teacher & Practitioner Needs Inclusivity Training

Dr. King advocated—and gave his life—for the eradication of suffering based on something as arbitrary (yet real) as race. He sacrificed his life sharing the teachings that remind us that social change, liberation, and connection can be achieved only through radical compassion and nonviolence.

He taught me that it is violent for me to suppress my experiences with suffering and dismiss the consequences of that. Because when I do, not only am I not honoring the practice of ahimsa, which also means nonviolence, I am not practicing yoga. By definition, yoga means to unite, or to join. Whenever I deny myself the acknowledgement and acceptance of who I am, I am in direct opposition to myself. So when I reflect on that “aha” moment in Savasana, and the profound experience of recognizing that I was treating myself as my own enemy, I can fully come to terms with Dr. King’s words. I made space to get quiet enough to listen to the ways in which I was afraid of my own questions, the experiences this body had encountered that carried suffering, and every urge that came up in me to pretend that part of me didn’t exist. From this place, I am able to confront the points of view and narratives that I regurgitate from society—the ones that tell me I am not worthy of rest, to be held, and to be loved fully.

I have learned, and continue to learn, that the moments that call for copious amounts of compassion—for myself and others—are also the moments I tend to avoid, escape, or try to “make better” through impulsive words and actions. I am still working on sitting with the feelings that accompany an unintentional lack of awareness around my words with someone, especially if I offend or hurt them. It is a challenge. It is so much easier for me to rush and defend my mistakes in order to not feel the depths of my actions or to become overly apologetic in an effort to move beyond the discomfort.

Watch Chelsea Jackson Roberts Shares Her Personal Yoga Story

It was during my emotional release in Savasana that I realized I was avoiding compassion in my own yoga practice, too. I was depriving myself of the opportunity to slow down, or practice Savasana, because it meant being still and quiet enough to hear my own suffering crying out for release. Because of this profound moment I experienced, I can see that radical compassion, even if initially uncomfortable, leads to liberation, freedom, and love.

Now, for me, compassion exists in the silence before words or action. It can be found in the moments I choose to stay present and not escape. Compassion allows me to see the points of view of those whom I am not in agreement with in order to learn something about myself and the ways I respond to—and at times lack compassion for—myself. It looks like being still, allowing myself to be held, and allowing the tears to flow. I cried in Savasana because it was the first time I'd been grounded in the reality of who I am and how much I truly owed myself. Each time I step onto my mat, I am recommitting myself to a practice of radical self-compassion so that I can practice that same empathy and love with my students and every single living being I encounter in this lifetime.

Try Chelsea Jackson Roberts' Self-Compassion Sequence to Find Serenity.

About the author

Chelsea Jackson Roberts, PhD is an internationally celebrated yoga educator and the founder of Yoga, Literature, and Art Camp for teen girls at Spelman College Museum of Fine Art. Chelsea is a Lululemon global yoga ambassador who travels the world sharing some of the ways yoga can be used as a tool for social change. As an Off the Mat, Into the World faculty member, Chelsea enjoys writing and speaking about her research and how yoga can be used to understand cultural, social, and racial differences. Chelsea is the cofounder of Red Clay Yoga, a non-profit in Atlanta that provides access to yoga within marginalized communities. Learn more at chelsealovesyoga.com.

[stopsubstanceabuse1-blog]

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Microsoft 70-498 Pdf Dumps Passing Score - Questions And Answers Question Description 70-498 Pdf Dumps Exams Download Passing Score

Microsoft 70-498 Pdf Dumps Passing Score – Questions And Answers Question Description 70-498 Pdf Dumps Exams Download Passing Score

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