#i like the concept as well of the complete divorce from english

[neomachine]

[ladyhindsight]

Hi, I saw that previous ask that was sent by someone else about the parallels between the Shadowhunter society and Israel and it reminded me about the way that Cordelia is portrayed in TLH. When CC initially said that there would be Iranian characters (Cordelia and Alastair) in TLH (before the series was released), she was asked on her tumblr blog if these characters would be Muslim. She said that they cannot be Muslim because Shadowhunters do not follow any religion therefore they are all atheist. But this was really strange to me because in all of her books, the characters reference God a lot, their swords are named after angels in the bible, they are always quoting bible verses, and they also reference events that happened in the bible. So it always seemed like to me that the entire shadowhunter society was based off of religion. If Shadowhunters are all atheist then why are they always talking about God and the bible? In TMI, it’s stated that the two first Shadowhunter parabatai were Jonathan and David who were close as brothers; this is referencing Jonathan and David from the bible. It’s stated that the entire Shadowhunter race was founded when the angel Raziel mixed his angel blood with human blood which means that in this universe angels are REAL. I also think it was stated that Raziel was sent down by God or something but I can’t remember. the demons of hell (Asmodeus, Belial, etc) are also real. Hell is real as well apparently.

So basically the implications of this are that Cordelia assimilated into the Shadowhunter religion rather than her own. Since she’s a Shadowhunter that means she’s half angel.. so of course she can’t be Muslim because her entire existence disproves that in CC’s view. So since CC chose to make angels and God real in her universe, and also saying that Cordelia and Alastair cannot be Muslim, what is she even trying to say?? That God and angels and the bible are real but other religions aren’t??

Not to mention that Cordelia and Alastair are half white by father and have English first and last names (just like all of CC’s characters of colour..)

The faith of Raziel has been a previous discussion point on the blog years past, so I'll reiterate some points here. The topic has rared its head every now and then again, mostly because it is inconsistent and senseless and pretty insensitive to the whole concept of religion.

Clare created a religion for the Shadowhunters to follow, to believe in Raziel as their angelic creator, and formed some base rules for it, which essentially are that Shadowhunters have their own religion and thus don't practice others, and the Ascendants have to convert from the any previous religion to the one of the Nephilim. When discussing Sona, it is stated that "some Islam and Qur’an stories have been blended into Sona’s beliefs, though she is not exactly Muslim as Shadowhunters do not conform to any mundane religion and have their own where they worship Raziel." Which is still yeah, alright, but the whole faith in Raziel is still contradictory at best.

How can you draw so much religious inspiration while at the same time divorce yourself from it completely? The Nephilim religion is based on their creation, mundane religions also based on creation myths, so how is the Nephilim one the one everyone has to adhere to when all the stories are true? It's ludicrous that the Shadowhunters are brought up with such doctrines as "all the stories are true", basically act atheistic, but also at the same time demand other people from other religion to join their faith instead and adhere to their doctrines in which you wouldn’t necessarily believe in.

It seems "all the stories are true" don't apply to religion but fantasy elements such as witches, warlocks, vampires, werewolves, and faeries. With religion (Abrahamic ones to be exact), Clare is being picky.

The Shadowhunters aren't even particularly religious themselves, they have no culture or customs surrounding the faith of Raziel, no rites or holidays or sacred traditions or anything. They might as well be atheistic in the sense that none of the characters, sans Cristina (and her family?), practice the Nephilim religion. But even with Cristina, how does her faith show other than her belief in angels and her religious medallion she wears? Clare not being particularly religious is really reflected on the fact that not much though went into this. Previously when discussing Jonathan Shadowhunter, I said that:

Jonathan’s country of origin is never told, but of course from when the map was what it was during the Crusades. Not that it really matters because we can pretty much deduce they were Europeans since the First Crusade was initiated by the Latin Church and was partaken by the contemporary European kingdoms and empires. There’s also the fact that the roots of the birth of the Nephilim are in religious wars, and trying to remove Jonathan Shadowhunter and the origin of the Nephilim from that is evasive. Okay, let’s leave this thing here and go do this completely other stuff, totally didn’t just try to invade another land and get distracted. It’s interesting to note some liberties authors and filmmakers take when it comes to representing a part of some culture, religion, or myths. What makes inspiration differ from misrepresentation and all that. The wiki states that: “Jonathan then transformed his sister, Abigail, and his friend, David, into Shadowhunters. Inspired by the tale of their coincidental biblical namesakes, Jonathan and David took that story and became the first parabatai, performing a ritual where they took each other’s blood, spoke the oath, and inscribed the runes upon each other.” In Books of Samuel, Jonathan and David, bonded by a strong friendship, form a covenant by taking a mutual oath. “Now it came about when he had finished speaking to Saul, that the soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as himself.” It’s funny that an author writes their coincidental biblical namesakes when there is absolutely nothing coincidental about it. It isn’t just that Clare was inspired by the writings in the Old Testament, she outright writes that her characters took that story, being coincidentally named the same, and created the parabatai bond based on it. They acted on religious texts. And of course, Jonathan’s sister just happened to be named after the second wife of King David. [...] Why is their faith so centered on Raziel alone when their universe is obviously filled with other god-like beings and entities? I guess it’d be fine if Raziel was worshiped as a patron but didn’t exclude other faiths and the Nephilim didn’t outright demand you to just drop the religion you practice. Why is it suddenly the Shadowhunters’ business what you can worship and what not? There plenty of polytheistic religions so why can’t the Shadowhunters be polytheistic too? It’s nothing away from worshiping Raziel.

Clare made ground rules for the Nephilim religion but failed to ask the follow up question that essentially makes the basis crumble. Let's even consider Jace Herondale who first said that he does not believe in angels or a god. As the series progress, it becomes all the more evident and rather glaringly so that angels (Ithuriel) and Raziel himself/themselves(?) are very real. Jace experiences no growth or acknowledgment as to this. When Jace is faced with Lilith, he throws her and Sammael's love and Sammael's earlier demise at hands of the archangel Michael at her face, names his angel blade Michael when fighting Lilith, but at no point do we really see how did we get from point A to point C where any of this contradictory behavior is realized or discussed between the characters. Or even acknowledged that holy shit, these biblical beings actually exist.

Hell, even The Last Hours has God (or a god?) himself smiting down Belial, a fallen angel, and NO ONE EVEN BATS AN EYE. Most Shadowhunters are really apathetic towards heaven-level stuff happening right in front of them. In some other older post I said:

The thing that strikes me as particularly odd is that they constantly cite the Bible, and their oaths—the parabatai one, for instance, from the Old Testament—are of biblical origin, and Jonathan Shadowhunter himself was told to be a crusader, yet none of it is considered Jewish or Christian. Angels are inherently religious beings, and Abrahamic religions and whatnot where they appear are far older institutions than Shadowhunters are as a race. I just don’t see it as a good idea to draw so much from their religious mythology but completely cut ties with their spirituality and meaning.

[Here's a link to a post compiling some of the earlier pondering on this mess.] If you want, you can also check my Jonathan Shadowhunter tag, I've been sent some great thoughts about him and the Nephilim creation.

Part of the problem also lies, once again, within the worldbuilding, the major lack thereof, because I don't think materializing the Princes of Hell was in the early plans for Clare, at least considering books 1-3 of The Mortal Instrument. None of it was essential to her nor a primary objective in the development of the Shadowhunting world.

[arkiwii]

Will start with this one then, that I wrote to pass time in the plane

It would be funny if we put an animal between the hands of two unfunctional divorced lesbians don't you think

There's a lot of mistakes and typos probably, I didn't had time to proofread and I'm not native English speaker, so my bad

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Somehow, Silence and Saria end up having to take care of an injured Musbeast… Of course, things can only not go well when these two have to do any sort of collaboration, especially when it involves a being's life.

Characters

Silence, Saria, Ifrit

Warnings

Description of injury, description of surgery, injured animal

________________

"May I know what you were doing here?"

A dry voice, normally known to be soft and calm, reached the ears of the silver haired person. This one is found forced to stop her tracks to look up towards the origin of the familiar voice, slightly moving the paper sheet she was observing from her sight.

It was a normal day, nothing really special; just a calm evening in Rhodes Island. In those summer days, it was common for operators to take it easy, simply doing the work they were supposed to do, without doing much, and rarely had to face emergencies. Adding to this, some operators decided to take vacations, taking profit of the sunshine, hanging out with their friends or family, which resulted in turning the normally noisy and busy ship into a calmer and emptier one.

Well, of course, with the exception of these two. The Liberi and the Vouivre simply had no concept of "vacation" or "break", it seems. Why spend days, or weeks, chilling at the beach, when you can work twelve hours per day? The Infecteds' lives don't take a break. Medicine and science discoveries neither.

And even less the condition of their protected one.

"I was printing a copy of Ifrit's health report." The taller woman replied in a monotone voice, with not a single emotion. The facts, straight and direct to the point, nothing else was needed.

A complete opposite to the medic in front of her, who frowned behind her round glasses, grasping at the documents she was holding. "How does it even concern you? You're not part of the medical team." Now that she thinks about it, how long has it been that Saria was looking at the reports of Ifrit's condition? Maybe since the very start - her heart skipped a beat at the thought, suddenly scared about what it could mean, or what intentions the defender had to do such a thing. Under the mess of thoughts, she slightly raised her voice, suddenly seeming aggressive, or at least, on the defensive. "Are you trying to keep an eye on your experi-"

"I'm just making sure she's fine." The tall woman frowned, yet her voice remained neutral. Finally a bit of emotion, even if it seems to be disbelief that her co-worker was still believing that she only had intentions to hurt this child. "Now, I will leave, to not bother you more. Good day."

With a tail wave, she simply just walked away, passing in front of the brown haired Liberi, who was ready to let her leave with not a single additional word, or a goodbye. But she barely took any steps further that rushed footsteps made her stop, followed by a screaming voice.

"Sillleenceee! Quick, I need your help!"

The sudden voice of the younger one immediately changed the hard expression on Silence's face, who quickly turned toward its source in surprise - followed by the Vouivre, who could not help it.

"Ifrit? Is everything alri- Wait, what is that?"

The owl squinted as the Sarkaz approached, noticing a mass of brown fur and feathers in her arms that she was unable to identify at this distance. Saria took some steps forward, closing her distance with the researcher until she was just next to her. "It looks like…"

"I-" The child finally stopped her course to take a few breaths, now just in front of the two adults. "I was playing outside and- And I found this beast… It seems very injured!"

"Wait, Ifrit, breathe." The concerned Liberi put a hand on the blonde child's shoulder. Her gaze turned then to the creature in her arms, quickly analyzing it. "It's still breathing, but it's rather slow… I will have to analyze it in a proper place, come with me."

She made a sign to Ifrit to follow, who did so, under the silent stare of the defender. But contrary to what Silence secretly wished, the horned child will not miss an occasion to include Saria in this affair. "Saria! You will help too, right? You're so good at helping people, I'm sure you would do amazing!" Her little tail swinged as she spoke, an excited smile on her face.

An excitement that was not shared by the two of them, the first was looking at the kid with surprised eyes, while the second ruffled her feathers up. "Saria is bus-" She went to grab Ifrit's arm to drag her away, but she dodged it and returned in front of the Vouivre.

"Busy with what?! It's summer! C'moonn, I'm sure she would help a lot… Just like with me before!" The bright orange eyes of the child seemed to wet up as she begged. Memories of the old times where she and Saria used to collaborate in Rhine Lab remade the surface, against her will. The former director did not know what to say in the entire situation, a part of her wished to accept, but never she would break the boundaries of Silence, boundaries that included staying feets away from the scientist.

"That's up to Silence if she wants help." That's all she replied, redirecting her gaze to the Liberi, this reply betraying that she was indeed up to offer a hand. That's now a situation that the owl has to face. Many replies, many thoughts appeared in her head, as she opened her lips slightly as to say one, but none came out. Her mind screamed to refuse, her heart screamed to accept, and she was just here, fighting mentally to make a decision. Just one, any, but one-

"...Fine. She can come." She deeply sighed, to herself or to the situation, she didn't know. "I might need more pairs of hands anyway." An addition that was not that necessary, if not to convince herself that she did not accept because she wanted Saria to be around. "Now let's not lose more time."

"It really is a nasty wound…" Silence squinted as she was analyzing the Musbeast on a large operation table that was carefully draped with a tissue. The creature was showing a big wound on one of its forepaws, similar to a bite, probably made by a hound. It was covered in dried blood, mixed with fur and feathers, despite the medic's attempt to shave around the it for a proper look.

"Will it survive?" Ifrit was still here, looking as well as the wound. Even if it was not a suitable sight for a child, she was not any child, and it was probably something she was very used to seeing, if not worse, in the operations she had taken. Her tone was concerned - even if she could play the overconfident side time by time, she can't hide her sensitivity to other being's health. In the meantime, Saria was preparing some tools in silence.

"The chances are high, yes… Don't worry, we will try our best to save it." She kindly smiled to the child, gently ruffling her hair with one hand, which was replied to with an awkward laugh from her. "You should leave us to take care of it now… You can go back playing outside, I will tell you if anything happens, alright?"

"Alright alright." The kid walked away, giving a last glance to the beast, but then her gaze switched to the two adults. "I will go but, I better not catch you two arguing or something, OK?" Ah well, it was not words she expected to hear from someone as young as Ifrit, so Silence couldn't help but chuckle at it, but nervously.

"Not when a being's life is between our hands, no." She only replied this, her voice suddenly lowering mid-sentence, realizing how much of a lie it was - after all, they both argued a lot about Ifrit's life. The young Sarkaz then squinted at them, doing the hand sign for "I am watching", before leaving the medical room, carefully closing the door behind her.

An awkward silence installed itself between them very soon after. Both simply just stranded here, their bodies turned to the door. Finally, the Vouivre was the first to break the quiet ambiance.

"...Just like the old times."

She couldn't help but raise the corner of her mouth in nostalgia, while the Liberi did not dared a look towards her, instead focusing her attention on the patient. "Except it's a beast. I hope that you at least have some knowledge in animal health." After putting on a medical mask, the brune owl grabbed a tool holding on a cotton that she dipped in disinfectant.

"I don't. I may be useless after all." She followed her co-worker by putting on a mask as well, but soon got surprised by the sudden reaction of the creature under the cotton being pressed on the wound. "Ah, wait, do you need me to hold it for you?"

"That'd be nice." The owl dryly replied, allowing the Vouivre to move to the other side of the table to place her hands on the creature, who was panicking and breathing. "Be careful to not hurt it. And don't let it go." She whispered a warning before going back to her task to clean up the wound.

"I'm not as…" Saria instinctively replied, but upon realizing this reply was surely useless, she finally just nodded. "Alright." She was holding the beast against the table, tight enough to not allow it to leave despite its struggling attempts, but also not too tight to hurt it.

Seeing this beast trying to break free under her hands only reminded her of another problematic little beast.

"Ptilopsis is not with you?" she finally asked, and realized that she had not seen Silence's assistant at all today, despite the fact that the two are normally always sticking around each other. The concerned one barely looked up at the question, still focusing on the beast who was now letting out small cries. "No. She went out with Mayer this morning. They're going to get new materials for Lutra Workshop. I thought that letting her go outside with someone else would do her goo-" She suddenly stopped herself to sigh, the noisy creature under her hands refusing to calm down, masking the words of the Liberi. "You're a noisy one, you know that?"

She gently rubbed a finger behind one of the ears of the beast, hoping that this kind action would help it to calm down, under the warm look of her co-worker. "Seems like the pain woke it up." She simply commented with a smile, not moving her hands one bit from the creature.

"At least it's a good sign." The brown haired one shrugged, finally setting down the tool she was previously using to clean up the wound. "But it's going to be a struggle for when I'd have to sew that wound."

As she spoke, she looked around for her next tool, while the Vouivre gave her an interrogated look with round eyes. "Shouldn't we put it asleep first?"

Her question stopped the owl, who then moved a hand on her chin, knitting her eyebrows. "Maybe? I don't know how it works… Ketamine?"

"That might be too strong for a Musbeast."

"You're right." The medic slided a look to the animal, who seemed to have relaxed now that the wound wasn't touched anymore. "Maybe propofol then? I'm really unsure what is the best…" she moved a hand to her forehead, grabbing some of her hair as she looked in the void, trying her best to think of a solution. Unfortunately, she really did not know anything about animal medicine, having studied human biology more.

"We can still make an attempt." Saria's voice, still calm, finally stopped Silence in her train of thoughts. "If anything, we would still have tried." She closed her eyes for a bit, finally moving one hand to gently give pets to the beast, brushing the long feathered antennas on its head.

"I don't want to make Ifrit sad if we fail." The Liberi turned her head away, showing a concerned expression despite herself. While the white haired defender was burning with the urge to put a hand on her shoulder, to gently stroke her feathers, to give her comfort like she used to do, she did nothing. She only responded, but in her normally strict voice could be heard some kindness.

"We won't. I promise you that I won't let it happen."

Silence only took a short breath. Can she really trust the person she wanted away from her? She ended up closing her eyes, but then adjusted her glasses with a gloved finger, before turning back to Saria and nodding to her.

No, she can't trust her. But she does not have much of a choice.

It's been such, such a long time since the two conversed this way. None of them can recall how long, but it's been too long, it's all they knew. It was hard for Silence to accept that when it did not come to Ifrit or Rhine Lab, talking with Saria was really pleasing. They both seemed to be on the same level, on some understanding, with a common goal; to protect those in need.

It's when Silence thinks about it that she could not help but feel a slight pain in her chest. On one hand, she craved to forgive Saria, to come back to her side, to feel the comfort she used to give her, this feeling of security and trust. But on the other hand, she was scared to do so; scared that she might be making a mistake, that she might lose the ones she wished to protect and save, that she would fall in the hands of Rhine Lab again.

It was not hate that she had for Saria anymore, not with those years spent with her in Rhodes Island. It was fear. For herself, for Ifrit.

The operation went well. The deep wound on the beast's arm was nothing to be afraid of anymore, sewed back and covered with a bandage to prevent any contact with it. The Liberi was now washing the tools she used, while the Vouivre was reorganizing them, peeping at the sleeping animal time by time. It should not be long before it awakens, now.

"What is the plan now?" The white haired one asked after another look, without looking at the other person in the room.

"Well, obviously it can't be left in nature this way." Silence replied, cutting off the water a moment to speak. "We'd have to keep it around until it's fully healed."

"In Rhodes Island?"

"Maybe. Unless you know somewhere else to keep it - I don't. In a dorm, with someone to watch it carefully, it would suffice." She finally dried up the tools she was washing, walking back near Saria to put them back in their places. "I'm not sure if Ifrit is a good candidate for this, however. As much as I trust her, you know how she can act impulsively…"

"And about you and Ptilopsis?" The dragon took a step backwards to not get too close to her co-worker, and decided to instead focus back her attention on the animal.

"I don't know if Ptilopsis would be alright with it. But even so, it might be difficult for us, as we tend to be often distracted, or focused on work…" Other candidates would surely fit better, but as she thought of Mayer or maybe Magallan, she could not help but decide to play a bit with Saria. "How about you? Let's see how great Lady the former Director is with animals." She caught herself smiling, suppressing this expression the moment she realized she was doing it.

"Not that great." Saria waved her tail, betraying how nervous she felt about it, despite her expression staying neutral. She stared at the Musbeast, who was now slowly waking up. "But I don't mind trying if it's better."

The room went quiet as the two were now staring at the little one. It seemed to be really confused, proceeding where it was and what happened. Instinctively, it went on its paws, and attempted to walk, but soon fell on the table, causing a pressed movement from Silence.

"Ah, be careful-" But the moment she took a step forward, her hands raised as if to grab the animal, it immediately freaked out, and tried to get up instantly to run away. It was not that fast, limping slowly, but still fast enough to escape Silence. Thankfully for her, Saria, who had way better reflexes in this kind of situation, jumped forward to gently catch the animal before it could fall. "Ah… Thank you Saria." the Liberi sighed with relief, glad that the beast was alright, despite its slow movements to escape Saria's grip. It seemed that it was still tired and confused from the anesthesia, but no less ferocious.

"You're welcome… I will have to be careful and keep a constant eye on it, then." her eyes moved to the Musbeast, trying to make sure to not hurt it with her firm hands.

The owl nodded to confirm it, before turning away slightly. "I will continue to clean everything up, and as well contact Mayer and Joye to bring some pet food while they're out, we'll definitely need it. As well as a cone… And pet special medecine…" she started to mumble, a hand to her chin, her eyes straying away. For a moment, the Vouivre was just standing here, the animal in her hands - who calmed down after realizing how meaningless its efforts were - her orange stare on her co-worker. At the moment, she simply just lost herself looking at her, not realizing it. In fact, it's Silence who remarked it first, frowning in confusion at Saria.

"Saria? You can go now. I'll take care of the rest."

"Ah- Right. My apologizes." She nodded politely, feeling her tail swinging in awkwardness, before leaving the room.

A soft knock on her door made her perk her head up.

"I'm coming."

Soft morning sun rays drowned the dorm in warm colors. It was the next day, and Saria had spent the rest of the day in her room, watching her new protected one. Even if it has been a single day, the place was now covered in an overwhelming scent of pet food that she felt like she would have a hard time to get rid of.

As she said, the draconic one stood up to walk to the mechanical door, allowing this one to open, revealing the short brown haired Liberi behind.

"Good morning, Silence."

"Good… morning, Saria." Silence's voice sounded strangely hesitant, as if she was not planning on greeting the person in front of her, but was still caught off guard by the greeting, politeness forcing her to reply despite herself. "I brought the medicine for the beast. Is everything alright so far?"

She tried to slide a look behind Saria, with great difficulty considering how she was built compared to Silence, but upon seeing her struggle, the Vouivre took a step aside to allow the smaller one to see - and maybe enter. "Nothing concerning. It seems to be doing fine, but is still trying to get used to it. Ah, you can enter if you don't mind."

If Silence doesn't mind? Of course she does mind. The idea of entering in the dorm of the person she trusts the least is not making her feel the greatest. She only looked inside, quietly, but decided to shut the thoughts in her head. She's here as a medic, a professional, to help a living being - she doesn't have time to put her personal life in it. Forcing herself to keep a neutral look, she entered the place, and quickly spotted the beast on the bed. At least, it seems like it got used to Saria's presence enough. She placed the medicine she brought on the desk in the room, noticing how clean and organized this one was. Of course, she already knows Saria well to know that her dorm would be very neutral and clean, as if it was unoccupied and untouched since she started to work at Rhodes Island. The only noticeable elements would be her shield, her clothes, documents, and… A slightly burnt feather. Silence frowned at this sight, but did her best to ignore it and focus on the matter, as the dorm's owner closed the door to make sure the beast wouldn't try to flee.

"So let's see this…" Silence muttered as she approached the animal, who was already staring at her with big eyes, the antennas and ears on its head perked up in alert, despite the big plastic cone around. The moment the Liberi was a little bit too close, it stood up, and walked backwards, until its butt hit the wall behind. "Still scared I see…" She whispered, but couldn't help a very slightly amused smile at the animal when it tried to turn around, but the cone hit the wall. Saria approached as well, but simply sat on the bed, before raising a hand carefully at the beast to allow it to sniffle it.

"It's alright, Quill, don't be afraid…"

"Quill?" The Liberi blinked at the name. She really was not expecting Saria, ex-director of the Defense section, known for her cold behavior and for being more sturdy than diamond itself, to be attached to a small fluffy animal that she met a day ago. And apparently, Saria herself was not expecting it, as she stiffened up, waving her tail around nervously. "I was thinking that a name would be more friendly… And, its feathers remind me of yours."

Ah. As soon as she said those words, a very awkward silence took place. The Vouivre, who was looking away, slided a look at the owl, whose expression was… really hard to describe. Surprise? Anger? Fluster? Guilt? Tender? Disgust? A mix of all of those at once? Whatever she was dealing with, something could be guessed; she did not want to deal with it. "I… Hum. Could you try to hold it please? I need to examine its wound."

After that, no more words were exchanged between them. Saria obeyed, picking up the small animal after gently reassuring it, and held it in a way that its arm would be easier to see. The Liberi quickly looked at it - maybe too quick, Saria can guess it's the fact that she had to be closer to her that was making her act this way -, before noting in a low voice that it seemed all alright and starting to heal up. She then went to take the medicine, asking for Saria to force the animal's mouth open for her to put it in its throat. Everything went well, and after being released from Saria's hands, the beast gently jumped out of bed - well, "jumped" in the best way it could -, before hiding under it.

Now, it was just the two of them. Silence did not dare to look at Saria again, instead turning around. "I'm leaving the medicine here. One pill every morning until it's all healed up. I guess you can do the check ups yourself." She walked away to the door, leaving Saria to reply with an agreeing growl, but she finally built the courage to call for the Medic before she leaves.

"Olivia."

"Don't-"

"I'm sorry."

The look of anger on Silence's face upon hearing her first name suddenly vanished at the apology. She finally let out a sigh, looking towards the door, but did not take another step. "Listen I… I just don't know what to think about it. I was hoping you would have forgotten…" she looked behind at the desk, towards the feather, where the defender's eyes followed. "I just need a moment." The feather tufts on her head lowered, but she finally left before Saria could reply anything else.

Since this day, Silence never visited again. Sometimes, it would be Mayer or Ptilopsis, even Magallan once, and of course Ifrit - always supervised by one of the first two. They seemed always glad to see the little beast, who started to feel more at ease at the sight of new faces. They would even bring some treats time by time, Mayer would bring a Meeboo to play around, or take note of its anatomy to perfect her robots. Ifrit was always eager to play or pet the animal, even though she was often asked to leave it alone, as it could not do much in its stade, and Ptilopsis took the role of checking in to keep track of its health.

But never Silence. Saria grew worried about it, sometimes asking news to Ifrit or Ptilopsis, but it seemed that she was doing fine. So she was really just giving her the cold shoulder - she was used to it after all. It was probably better for Silence, staying around Saria against her will probably have stressed her up.

It has been a week now. The cone around Quill's head - name officialized as Ifrit loved it - was removed, and it seemed that its situation was better. Saria would of course not spend all her time in her dorm, she would often wander to the training room, or check around Rhodes Island to see if any operator was in need of assistance or anything. The ship really was calmer and more silent in summer, it was almost boring. At least, she could somewhat entertain herself with Quill. And speaking of it, she was spending this evening sitting on her bed, the small animal laying down on her lap as she gave it a few strokes on its head, gently sliding her fingers on the length of its feathers, her mind somewhere else.

The feathers were extremely soft. She always loved the feel of the texture of those on her fingers, the palm of her hand, against her body. While slightly ticklish, they still brought something to her; a feeling of warmth, of sweetness.

Eyes closed, she could almost feel her presence again. Her head resting against her, and her hand gently brushing her hair and feathers. Bright memories of a past she could never live again. Why wouldn't she fight for it? She could - but she thinks she does not deserve it.

The accusations were false, but the guilt was here. She could, no, she should have known. She should have stopped them before. Before it happened, before these innocents were harmed. It was too late now to go back, but she will still try. She will keep on protecting them, and try to stop those who did it. Even if she was now alone, it was certainly better. So the ones she cares about won't be hurt if she fails. And she won't hurt herself.

She opened her eyes again when the fluffy creature yawned, moving her hand to not disturb it. But as she did, she caught something shining under the light of her room, on its forepaw. Muttering reassuring words to the beast, she picked up its leg to examine it. Now that she thinks about it, it has been a while since Ptilopsis did a check up, maybe she decided it was not necessary anymore. As Saria looked at the wound, she squinted, before catching up what got her attention between the black wires that were used to stitch back the injury; black crystals.

“Saria..?”

It’s a small voice that welcomed her as she opened the door. It was pretty late in the evening, but never too late for the literal night owl that is Silence. She was of course in her laboratory, where she spent most of her time, and that’s where Saria found her. The expression on her face was strange, she seemed surprised, but also not glad to see her; and the Vouivre could not help but notice how her hair seemed greasy and messy, as if she had not taken care of herself for the whole time.

“It’s about Qu… The Musbeast.” she hesitated, thinking that hearing that name again might not do her the best. Silence seemed to relax a bit, maybe was she afraid that it was about her or, maybe, the both of them. “Ah. Did something happen?”

“It got infected.”

She blinked once, then twice, before readjusting her glasses. “I did not know it could happen… I should have watched it more carefully.” Her eyes seemed to wander away, as she lost herself in her thoughts, the way she always did. “How is it feeling right now? Joyce reported to me it was getting better, and nothing was alarming.”

“That’s the case. There’s no sign of an advanced stage of Oripathy, just a few crystals have appeared on its wound.” Saria’s voice remained calm as always.

“...Alright. I will go take a look. Is it still in your room?” As she spoke, she took off the lab coat she still had on her, revealing her clear brown turtleneck under it.

“Wait,” Saria called out the moment the Liberi was leaving the laboratory, getting her to stop in her tracks to look at her. “Have you taken care of yourself recently?” She dared to ask this question, earning a frown as a reaction.

“It’s not about me.”

While Saria’s tone barely changed, someone who is used to hearing her like Silence could guess a certain concern behind it. “The beast can wait, it’s not in an emergency state, you should try to at least take a sh-”

“I can take care of myself- and, w-what are you trying to achieve with all of this anyway?” Contrary to the person in front of her, Silence could not keep her voice calm, and raised her tone slightly, showing a certain anger - or maybe fear, or maybe both, even. It was as if she was afraid of a certain conclusion, that she had been rejecting for long, so long.

Saria could play the innocence card, and ask what she meant by “all of this”, but she did nothing, only opening her lips slightly as if the words refused to leave. She already knew what she meant, so instead she simply looked down, her tail swinging slightly behind her, but soon rolling up around her legs. “I can’t forget.”

The next second, she could only hear a deep inhale from the owl, who closed her eyes as if to calm herself down. But instead of replying, she only turned herself to walk in the hallway. “We’ll talk about it later. But first, let’s take care of this.”

They simply walked for a bit, in complete silence, Saria staying a certain distance from her co-worker as if it was preferable for her to forget that Saria was here at all. Once they arrived, and after a scan from Saria’s ID card to open the door, they were greeted with the animal in the center of the piece, who immediately rushed under the bed upon seeing them. Silence took note of how it walked, it seemed that it was getting way better, only slightly limping. After allowing Saria to catch the Musbeast, she joined to take a look at the wound. Saria could hear her click her tongue before she stood up.

"It's not looking very bad, it's only at early stages… But I don't know how to deal with that." She sighed before sitting on the bed, but keeping a distance from Saria. She was tired, visibly, but still tried to hide it. "Is the treatment the same as humans? How long can it survive? I don't know anything about its biology either." Her eyes focused on an indeterminate point, as she tapped her fingers on her second arm, now turned into a wing. Saria stared at her for a moment, letting go of the Musbeast who decided that it was getting hungry.

The situation was awfully similar to what happened back in Rhine Lab. A patient both had to take care of, yet they could not understand, but a will to save it regardless. That Ifrit was a human child and Quill a simple animal does not change that both deserve a life. But this time, no one was to blame; it was only nature.

She balanced her tail, her hands now resting on her laps. "I guess there is not much we can do… But that does not mean we can't try."

"I guess." Silence's voice sounded deeper, surely due to her tiredness. It would be hard to deny that she has been neglecting herself. "I would have to take a sample of its blood when I will remove the threads… I just don't know how to announce it to Ifrit now."

"There's nothing we could have done to prevent it anyway." Saria nodded, before looking at the beast who was curiously staring at them, sniffing the air as if to get hints if Silence was an enemy or an ally. "The least we can do now would be to give it a good life."

Silence's feathers tufts dropped slightly at these words. "But… I could probably try to find a way to cure it. If I work hard enough…"

"Olivia, you already work enough." The taller woman's voice was strict at those words, but still somewhat full of concern. The Liberi could have been mad at the sound of her name, but at the moment, her mind was too focused on the matter, and too tired to pay attention, that hearing it again sounded more of a habit than something she would reject. "You do a lot for Ifrit. And not just her. For Ptilopsis. For this small Liberi woman you met as well. For Rhodes Island as a whole." She would have liked to offer way more than just her words - to be able to hold her again, to reassure her like she used to do. But not right now. "You need to take care of yourself too."

Silence sighed deeply, closing her eyes to not reopen them, feeling way more comfortable this way. "I feel like I'm hearing Joyce… Since when did you care about us?"

"I always did." The amber eyes of the draconic one looked away, at the Musbeast, who was now approaching them to jump on the bed, before taking place between the two of them - but closer to Saria, to whom it was the most used to. Both looked at it silently, eventually Silence dared to approach a hand to gently pet it, noting that it was as soft as her own feathers.

"I still don't know if I can really trust you." She finally started, her eyes not moving from the creature who was still showered in tender pets. "I'm afraid to. I'm afraid that if I go back, things will get worse, that I might lose her. But this time we spent together… Taking care of this beast… It just reminded me of the days in Rhine Lab, and how much I missed them." She finally let go, and now brought back her two hands together, before staring away once again. "Even if we were running towards a bad end, things were easier, and we were happy together… But now, I'm afraid of being blinded again. Of being used."

Saria could only listen in silence. Her heart tightened at the words, it has been so long since she heard Silence speak her heart open this way. She only nodded to show that she saw listening, even yet the Liberi woman could not see it.

"So long story short, I don't know what to do. But I need time. I'm still afraid for Ifrit. And I still don't trust you." She took a sharp breath, before sliding a look at Saria, finally. "But either way, we both are working towards the same objective, right? So you better not break my trust again, and my heart."

Maybe Saria was dreaming, or maybe she really did see a smile on Silence's face. Or maybe this one was so tired that she was not paying attention anymore. Her head dropped to look at Quill, now simply laying down against her lap, comfortably. "I won't. That's a promise you can trust."

"I wish." Silence whispered, her eyes closed, before letting once again calm install itself between them. It was a strange conversation they just had, never they spoke this way. Exposing each other's heart, so calmly, and yet, despite the terms they were on now, they could still somewhat find a common goal to fight for. To protect Ifrit.

"Alright," the owl finally stood up after a moment, feeling as if she was falling asleep, and despite having found a consensus, she absolutely refuses to fall asleep on her ex-lover's bed. "I won't take any longer. I still have work to do."

She walked towards the door, Saria looking at her do so, blocked by the small animal who seemed to have fallen asleep near her.

"Good night, Olivia."

Silence stopped just in front of the door, but did not look behind. "It's Silence, until otherwise. Good night, Saria."

And now, it was just Saria and Quill again. Now alone, the Vouivre could not help but drop a tender smile, whispering to the pet next to her, as if it could hear her.

"She really is something, huh…"

[laesas]

For fanfic ask game 👀, 🌝 and 🖊 please!

OMG I ended up writing so much for these that I'm gonna have to put the long answers under a readmore! But short answers:

👀 Do you have any WIPs that you would never let see the light of day? If yes, what are they about?

KimKen dubcon interrogation... 👀

🌝 Who is one character you haven’t yet written for that you would like to?

Weirdly as of late: Chan! - I'm entering my Dilf 4 Dilf divorce era someone give me pre-canon ChanGun I'm begging.

🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP.

Chay + Tankhun hours under the cut!!

Thanks so so much lovely!!

✨📝 Writers Ask Game 📝✨

💌Send me one here!💌

👀 Do you have any WIPs that you would never let see the light of day? If yes, what are they about?

Soooooo. I there's only one fic that I've actually written up that won't ever see the light of day and that's the 4k or so of the initial ideas and concepts for the KimBig - Kim ended up coming across as more distrustful of Big than he is (because it's Big POV we dont get to see inside his head), and it ended up coming across as a little too "Vegas". While he's rude to Big in canon he isnt actually hugely distrustful; he's banking on Big serving Kinn over Korn to get information on Porsche and the potential mole(s).

I love the energy but it felt very 2-dimensional and I couldn't wrangle the context it to make it work. Plus I absolutely love the emotional vulnerability I've created in the KimBig 2.0 from Kim's perspective - it feels a lot more realistic. I realised if I wanted to use the first dynamic I'd definitely have to make it happen with someone Kim didn't trust at all (cue Ken).

So in short: The rework where it's KimKen - Kim suspects that Ken is the mole and goes all knife-to-throat femme fatale while accusing Ken of sleeping with Vegas. Which he is btw. But that's beside the point lol.

🌝 Who is one character you haven’t yet written for that you would like to?

Considering the rest of the content of my blog you absolutely could not guess this but yeah! Chan...........? the last few weeks I've suddenly been gripped with a bunch of swirling thoughts about his relationships with the three main family boys, with Big who also grew up in the household and how he's not allowed to pick a favourite bodyguard (big) or a favourite sibling (kim). Plus all the nuances of his loyalty to Korn and interactions with the minor household as well.

Chan + Vegas' dynamic particularly fascinates me! Vegas often uses english as a show of status: to include his family and exclude lower ranking bodyguards who are primarily thai speakers (eg. speaking english with macau at the dinner table, speaking english to Porsche and using weird idioms to throw him off balance). In ep 14 he pointedly says 'know your place!' in english to Chan. To any other bodyguard it would be another layer of pulling rank but Chan is acting on Korn's behalf and completely fluent in english so the effect is competely different, as is his response. There's a kind of implied superiority that Chan is immune to, both because of his proximity to Korn, AND because of his fluency in english. IDK if I've explained that well at ALL but there's something super interesting there ✨ Point being: Chan's english fluency vs Vegas' pointed use of english my beloved.

Also I joke about him and Gun giving "divorced" energy, but I feel like ChanGun has the exact same energy I love from KenBig but with even more hatefucking and complex ranks and loyalties. I am entering my Dilf4Dilf divorce era it seems. Rotating them in my mind as we speak.

🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP.

I'm currently reworking the first chapter of my KimChay which starts with Tankhun and Chay bonding hours! Chay's trying to get Tankhun to let him learn self defence and Tankhun is deflecting.

“What-?” Chay says, momentarily distracted. Khun pounces. “Yes! Robots, I helped him build them, you know! It was like a video game! No need to learn fighting when you can shoot with the computer or make explosions from the safety of your safe room! They were so helpful when- Owh. I don't want to talk about it actually.” “When what?” “I’m bored of this topic now, it’s not interesting to me anymore.” “P’Khuuun,” Chay whines, hopping up onto the dresser and trying more and more ridiculous angles to lean himself into Tankhun’s eyeline as he dips and dodges around Chay’s encroaching face. Chay eventually gives up and grabs hold of his wrist, the way he does with Porsche, the way he did with-  Khun startles and tenses, wide eyed, milliseconds from snatching it away.  “Sorry-” Chay starts, removing his hands, but Tankhun’s arm stays frozen in mid air for a moment before he comes back to himself. Chay watches in the mirror as Khun settles his expression, when he’s satisfied he turns to look up at Chay. Level. His smile is soft but his eyes are blank. Chay’s seen that mask before. “It's fine,” Tankhun says quickly, it sounds clipped and strange. His smile is bright as a camera flash and gone just as quickly. “Could you- in my closet-” He frowns, “You should swap the jackets. You forgot one. I picked it out for you and you forgot it and now your outfit is all wrong. Go and fix it-” he clicks his fingers “Pol. Help him fix it now.” Pol nods, smiling at Chay and walking them back through the wardrobe doors. He beats Chay to the jacket and crouches to pick it up from where it was slumped on the floor. Chay reaches out to take it, suddenly desperate to leave and go back to Tankhun, to fix things, to apologise and tell him he was right and that the jackets do look better the other way around. Pol doesn’t let go. “Hold on, he needs a moment sometimes,”

It all ends up ok in the end! Tankhun is fine really!

In my mind Chay has very much latched on to Tankhun as a stabilising presence (which Tankhun has revelled in because very few people trust him that way). Tankhun is able to support Chay because he just inherently understands a lot of what Chay's going through, but because Khun is so overwhelmingly supportive, sometimes Chay forgets that the root of the understanding is that Tankhun is still traumatised too.

BUT it is fine. And crucially after he calms down, Khun doesn't let Chay shrink and go all apologetic and pliant the way he does when Porsche feels bad. Chay is allowed to feel bad for hurting Tankhun without that requiring him giving up all his autonomy and reasonable requests. I think that's a pretty important thing for Chay to learn - and that theme of autonomy becomes important in his conversations with Kim later!

THANKS SO MUCH FOR ASKING LOVELY LOVELY EGG!!

[theskyexists]

gundam ep

The funny thing about Miorine is that she’s fanservice. she’s fanservice for ME and it isnt even entirely divorced from your regular shit fanservice. those see through tights whatever they’re called in english. BUT IT IS EFFECTIVE ON ME, ME!!!! because miorine is a whole person, stubborn, smart, passionate, and most of the girls just wear their normal gender-neutral uniform animated to look like normal regular unsexyfied human beings. SO THE SE THROUGH TIGHTS ARE ACTUALLY EFFECTIVE. THEY ARE A CONTRAST.

I LOVE HOW MIORINE HAS MANAGED TO FIND A WAY TO DUEL. SHE’S TRULY THE QUEEN WITH A KNIGHT AND SOLDIERS AT HER BECK AND CALL NOW

i already know that they are going to very effectively lift this conflict from ‘game’ to ‘battle’, from queen to commander

lololololol whatever her name is is protecting the honour of her 12th backup boyfriend.

her mother CRIES at her daughters being such an incredible team that Aerial can even push through a supressor (oh...she lost a husband to such technology of course...)

i do really like shaddiq, but he really thought he could beat the gundam with an ace team and suppressors? i mean that does make sense but.... why didnt he fight for miorine before i wonder....those tomatoes are such great visual metaphors - unripe.

they did say that one can refuse a duel. why not just refuse duels suletta?

SHE EVEN LETS SULETTA TAKE CARE OF THE GREENHOUSE IN HER ABSENCE THE FUCKING POWER OF THIS METAPHOR

they bought out TWO development teams. why are the high schoolers testing out these legs. did the development teams make them and sent them to the school for testing? why?

this is - as far as i can tell - completely unrealistic economo-babble lol

i love the league woman and mio negotiating. honestly it really goes to show that mio has no concept of how possible it is for your space pilot to kill you

they need a ‘spacious’ place. the whole school, the whole forest around teh school???

what the fuck. Delling had his son, heir to the house, clean spaceships? what is going on in these parents’ minds???????

shaddiq is funding an earthian community?

‘you work for peil yet you’ve been helping us’ WHERE IS THE BOUGHT OUT PEIL TEAM??

oh evil pretty Elan is so good at being seductive. i feel honestly like this anime was made for me lololol.

there is truly zero doubt in my mind that people can survive in space and theyre not adapted. these people live their whole lives in space without problem! what the fuck are tehy talking about

how did miorine buy a spaceship and not a pr team? i can only intuit that the video makes for a non-threatening impression and maybe that was her intention...

WHY are they bringing the whole team and the goats....

how the fuck do these kids get to drive a spaceship lol

AH. that’s how she convinced Delling. he’s got a Gundam project of his own that she convinced him she could deliver essential data for....

Suletta is so fucking annoying for being so goddamn fragile lol. makes ya want to shake her.

damn ok instead she gets punched first in teh boob (no problem) but then mio gets a hit on the solar plexus. the writers for this show are really good. the loose threads are getting tied up, the characters have multiple motives, and comedy is combined very well with drama.

Damn miorine KNOWS what she wants. And what she wants is Suletta.

ok so apparently groomly duties are also cleaning her room lol. this was super gay. fascinating how they stick to homosexual relationships being accepted and ordinary, but they still play with the audience’s expectations - suletta’s and miorine’s expectations of friendship romance and intimacy, the political game, japanese inclination to dismiss romance between girls as not actually real and the possibility that despite homosexual relationships being ordinary in this world they are not the SAME as straight relationships and interact IN-WORLD with everything previous.

LFRITHS!!!!!!!!!!!! VANADIS CONNECTION

wtf theyre doing an all out atttack. woudlnt sneaking in work better

ohhh shaddiq is betting on Jeturk man dying in the attack. hm

why is prospera so convinced that suletta will find THEM

the intro is actually really good

how in the hell did suletta survive that.

shaddiq didnt even fucking warn miorine or nika that this was gonna happen

ah.......jeturk was not the one who sent guel away. Shaddiq deliberately put him in harms way....if it was shaddiq. probably. the writers were cleverer than me.

I LOVE how sulettas shounen fucking phrase got Elan killed, Jeturk killing his dad, and Suletta indoctrinated to KILLLLLL. some pmmm shit. they went: lets use the tropes you know and MASH THEM TOGETHER WITH WAR!!!!!!!

the visual metaphors in this are so simple and beautiful. her moving forward was bout friends and connections and self-confidence in social situations one episode ago. NOW IT IS ABOUT MURDERING

they havent even confirmed a kill on delling

oh that was the last one. the quality of this series is the best in years and years.

god guel got such a terrible terrible terrible deal out of life now. if shaddiq is responsible... wait hold on. maybe guel left of his own accord to go work a shitty job.....that makes more sense than shaddiq putting him in harms way. normally anime spell so much out but not this bit.

[jacks-manidiary]

This is probably very off-topic for this blog, but who cares. Every now and then I& look into age regression because it sounds like a helpful concept, but it feels like absolutely everything people enjoy about it is foreign to me&. It feels like the typical image of a child I& see there is completely divorced from what children are like in reality. I& can't tell how much of this is me& not being American and how much is growing up too fast.

For the not-American part, I& didn't even know English as a child, so anything in English is already alienating in that regard, and anything in my& native language plain doesn't exist. When I& see tips for regression, it's stuff like "watch [insert American children's show]! Eat [insert American snacks I&'ve never even tried in my& life]!" And it's like. I& guess these tips are translatable into my& native culture. Not like we didn't have Ukrainian cartoons. But it's certainly alienating nonetheless.

And for the other part, you never really... feel like a child when you actually are a child? Actual real life children typically don't like being babied? Doesn't apply to everyone, of course, but it feels weird because as a kid, if someone started calling me& "little" or telling me& "you behaved so well today" I& would be offended that they're not taking me& seriously. I& was a really philosophical child! I& had a complex inner life when in 1st grade!

Point is, it's probably just not for me& but I& really wish it were. It's a weird disconnect. And I&'m wondering if anyone else experienced something similar.

[milfsarahmccool]

tbh i’m not wild fussed about whether or not jerin becomes canon since the core of Derry Girls is the power of platonic/familial love (which is refreshing as fuck) but from a storytelling perspective this relationship makes sense as the end point for the show.

Let me explain why.

Within the conventions of Irish Literature there is a tradition known as the National Tale which sees a novel or play conclude with the happy marriage between an Irish woman and an English man, which acts a symbolic representation of the ideal relationship between Ireland and England. This tradition has its roots in colonialism. We can trace land politics alongside gender politics - ‘feminine’ Ireland is subservient to ‘masculine’ England just as a wife was expected to be subservient to her husband.

The tradition of the Anglo-Irish romance can found throughout the Irish literary canon, from Maria Edgeworth to Dion Bouccicault to Sean O’Casey to Brian Friel, Irish writers have utilised this trope to varying degrees according to their political motivations. Some, like O’Casey and Friel invert this trope, demonstrating how unrealistic this relationship is and many wonderful literary critics have written on how reductive this trope is by pointing out how it denies female characters personal agency in favour of reducing female bodies to political playthings. But that’s a discussion for another day.

That brings us to Lisa McGee and Derry Girls in particular. This ‘text’ is innovative in that it interrogates The Troubles through the lens of teenage girls. Instead of a gritty drama-documentary about paramilitaries or hunger strikers this is a family comedy in the vein of Bouccicault with touching emotional moments reminiscent of Friel. (And it’s no surprise - these are playwrights Lisa McGee would have studied during her time at Queen’s University Belfast.) 

Alongside the ‘National Tale’ there is a concept known as the Aisling Tradition. ‘Aisling’ means ‘dream’ in Irish and this literary device sees female characters in plays become the personified version of Ireland - again, depending on your political persuasion this could be used to demonstrate Ireland’s subservience to England however others such as W.B. Yeats used it as a rallying cry to ignite Nationalist passions and encourage young men to take up arms in defence of ‘Mother Ireland’.

If we follow tradition, Erin as the main character becomes representative of Ireland or at the very least the North (’Erin’ literally means Ireland after all). Erin is young, idealistic, and completely helpless in the face of the chaos that surrounds her. Northern Ireland itself is a young state, and after its formation in 1921 there was the hope that civil conflict would end at last. As we know, this was not the case. By the 1990s Northern Ireland had the status of an unwilling child of divorce between the Irish Republic and Britain. But Erin, unlike many of her literary ancestors, is not without agency or without depth. She is perfectly imperfect (like all the characters in Derry Girls) she is human. Here is where Lisa McGee diverts from the trope and re-shakes the ‘Aisling’ model for a modern audience. 

As for James, he is the perfect modern translation of a ‘Stage Englishman’ - a standard comic character in theatre which pokes fun at English soldiers who would come to Ireland and become enamoured with the ‘oddities’ of the culture and beauty of the landscape, completely ignorant to the fact that by virtue of their presence they represent the colonial oppression of the land they so admire. While James is not in Derry by choice he serves the function of ‘Stage Englishman’ in that his confusion about cultural norms (eg. wakes) not only provides comedy for an Irish audience but articulates the thoughts of an English viewership who are similarly at a loss. 

So why do I think these two will get together?

Well their romance would solidify this iteration of a National Tale narrative in a modern way - if Lisa McGee ends the series (as I assume she will) to coincide with the signing the Good Friday Agreement then the start of a relationship between Erin and James dovetails the hope and beauty of young love conquering all with a climatic historical moment heralding a new era of peace and hope in Northern Ireland.

Many have pointed out that trying to build in a romantic relationship would upset the friendship dynamic of the group as a whole and while I don’t necessarily agree or disagree with that line of thinking, it’s my personal prediction that any confirmation of a romance between Erin and James would occur in the final minutes of the last episode - so we’ll never get to see if it ruins the dynamic of the friend group. 

*cue Dreams by The Cranberries playing in the background*

[vermillioncrown]

music in fanfic

long long ago, i threatened to write a little brain vomit on music in fanfic. it's never going to become less relevant of a topic, so why not now?

i gotta start with two concepts before i discuss music within fanfic

the concept of "musicking"

link is to adam neely, a jazz musician that does a lot of interesting music-related video essays and content. he discusses his breakdown of disliking a certain genre, and the concept of "musicking" that was part of his process of understanding his dislike and whether he can learn to like it.

tldr: it's the definition of music as an activity, in which how a piece isn't divorced from the listener, the artist, and the context in which its presented and engaged with.

in this vein, every entity along the way of music bears some 'responsibility' for the complete context of a piece. something like that.

think of how many variables that is, creating slight variations to how someone perceives a piece of music. we can generalize sentiment, but with generalizations always comes exceptions. perception of music depends on its context.

music is not a universal

another link to adam neely, in part of a huge video essay discussing music theory. the video is very relevant to how i try to portray music in dream before daybreak, but the pertinent part is in the link.

our definition of music is colored by our cultural/societal standards, not just individual perception. it's like how different languages work - some aspects of grammar and syntax or whatever have analogous ones between languages, but some parts have no direct counterpart. and that's not a deficiency, it's just how that language works. ie. chinese doesn't have tense. you just need to know via context. nor does chinese have articles, which makes it a nightmare for my parents to figure out how to write a sentence in english. in contrast, i'd say there's a flexibility with english that's not present in chinese. less context is needed to engage with something.

definition of music depends on society and culture.

=

mismatch in medium

so we have this thing, music, that's presented, and then it's up to an audience to interpret it.

writing also aims to convey an idea, and the words work to guide a reader's understanding. a writer can choose words, sentence structure, all sorts of writing blah blah to control that understanding. fanfic has the guide rails of canon to help, too.

but once you add music, you add a humongous degree of freedom for the reader. each piece, just by the title, means something different per reader. without the context of presentation for the musical piece, there's nothing to anchor the reader to a specific experience, either. reading is done in multiple contexts, too - there's no way to force an experience if you NEED a reader to know a song (what if they're reading in public, at the checkout line, in the doctor's office, on the toilet, etc)

at best, one's mention of a piece of music can provide a shorthand understanding of what the writer wants to convey.

neutral, it holds no meaning to the reader and is superfluous.

worse, the reader disagrees with a writer's implied conveyance via a piece of music and it detracts from the writing.

it's not the same as poetry, even going just by lyrics. there are additional elements that provide context for the lyrics. we can try to take the lyrics as-is, but that's not how those lyrics are typically presented and absorbed. then it's like a losing battle trying to separate lyrics from the rest of the musical context. this can adulterate the writer's intent with using a piece unless that intent is clearly conveyed via writing.

=

personal approach to using music within fanfic

enjoying music is a big part of being human, so its usage and reference within fanfic shouldn't be avoided. it can be a quick way to relate to your audience, but also a turn-off for others, as well.

i prefer to break down why a piece is personally meaningful within a fic. is it something i was listening to while writing (for tone, texture, lyrical content, behind-the-scenes mood, etc)? is it something meaningful within the narrative, too (serious or joking, larger theme or a moment, idk)?

can it be broken down into descriptions that don't need the actual piece as a reference? if i'm already trying to shape a reader's thoughts with the narrative, why can't i add additional prose for what i want the music to try to convey? it's not about the exact piece - it's what that piece means. in the same way, i try to avoid namedropping the piece unless the title is actually relevant, or can be a meme (never gonna give you up as an example).

with all of this, i hope it's understandable why i get fussy and disagreeable with other people's assignations of music with what i write. we're not the same people. let's say even as fellow writers - unless we lived the exact same life, given similar premises that we're trying to execute, the end product will not be the same. so goes our musical experiences and sentiments.

finally, i'd rather leave the piece there and let the reader approach it on their own. everything they need is in the writing. music is bonus, behind-the-scenes content.

[dykrophone]

people on the trans umbrella who see this...hi. so I started teaching a couple of months ago, and the thing is my education was very cisnormative and I want to change that with my students? and gender as a concept comes up a lot, from basic shit like explaining the point of different pronouns in english grammar and while talking about systemic issues like gender inequality and as the person teaching them about these things I want to do it in an inclusive way?? and one thing I'm struggling with is kind of, well, explaining the point of gender as a concept divorced from sex. like, sex as I understand it is a completely utilitarian difference which exists as an accepted social construct for (to put it bluntly) procreation purposes and its effect on how you're perceived and how society treats you and what it expects from you, which is easy enough for them to get. traditional gender roles and gender presentation is also something I'm able to explain, but I don't think I'm the best person to explain how you can identify as a particular gender or why that's an important distinction? like "people can express or identify as whatever feels comfortable to them and it's human decency to respect that" is easy enough to explain, but I want to do more than that. I personally feel like gender is a social construct but I know that's not true for everyone, and I'm not really able to explain the point of it existing. I don't personally feel any connection to my gender or understand why it's relevant most of the time for me (i don't particularly have a problem with my assigned gender either but my only feelings about it are related to the way it influenced me via social conditioning growing up and how it's always gonna influence how people see me) but I know it is important to a lot of people and there is a reason, I'm just not the right person to explain it?? because it's not something I've experienced or will ever completely understand, at least not well enough to explain it to other people. so i was wondering if anyone could like maybe give me sources to idk media where it's been explained in a better way or maybe even have a conversation about it? no pressure obviously and I know having to explain your identity is fucking exhausting, but I'd be really grateful because I'd rather you know. have actual trans people explain it

[mirrorforevers]

the wrong side of the bed • damon albarn/reader

smut with feelings, i guess. sorry if is this is too long – this prompt excited me too much. i hope you guys like daft punk - though this is not a songfic, but you’ll get why - and i promise i’ll write something not involving sadness and alcohol someday. this is unbeta’ed, and english is not my first language, so have mercy

thank you so much for the music teacher prompt, anon! hope you enjoy it x also, just in case you haven’t read my graham/reader fic yet, here it is too.

tw: unprotected drunk sex

word count: 4.477

Music has been a very important escape mechanism for you recently. Your job has been hellish, and getting your degree has also been a chore - in the midst of so many deadlines and professional disappointments what has been a light for you is Damon Albarn, your newly divorced music teacher who is old enough to be your dad.

You detail these little “buts” as a mantra whenever the subject is him, whether in internal monologues or when you talk about him with your close friends. You never really believed in relationships between two people of very different ages, and you felt like you needed to remember those details whenever you could to keep that completely carefree crush from becoming something you couldn't control.

You started taking classes with him every Saturday after you were cast on your city’s production of a musical. You knew it was a very small step for a career in the industry, but it was very significant for you. You were exhausted from any activity that involved learning given how tired you were from college, but learning music with Damon was definitely something that you didn't even place in the same mental category. It was with him that you vented about how your week was, how you missed your parents who lived absurdly far away from you, it was with him that you shared the small victories of the day-to-day that were too insignificant even to share with your longtime friends. Which is funny, since this symbolic relationship was built in a matter of 2 months. Damon, in the beginning, was very reserved and “gray”, and it was amazing how in a matter of such a short time he shown himself to be someone so energetic, observant and empathetic; although a little bit of a control freak sometimes. When the wild waves of life seemed to take you everywhere at the same time and left you lost, despite so little time in your life, Damon became a constant.

And it worries you.

What are you going to do when the money to pay for his classes runs out? Certainly, although significant, what you had seemed to be was, above all, a friendship of convenience. You were very different people, with very different aspirations, and especially at very different points in life. As much as you liked each other *as friends* and considered yourselves people you wanted close by, Damon had a well-lived life to sustain. He would not have time much less willpower to listen to your complaints and insecurities in a context that did not involve an exchange relationship. At least, that's what you thought.

Saturday was also one of the two days you could wake up late, so in addition to having a rare time for your leisure, you were able to rest at least a little more than normal. That particular morning, you noticed that there were two missed calls from Maggie on your cell phone. Maggie was one of the producers of the musical. She used to bring you very decisive and very good news. If she called you, you did whatever it took to answer her right away. An unbelievable wave of anxiety takes over you. “Hello, Mags, you called?” You say, excited, but very nervous. Dealing with people who have your dreams constantly in their hands is somewhat stressful. You bite your nails.

“Hey, Y/N, yes. Um. You okay?”

“Yeah, thanks for asking. What happened?” You notice that Maggie's tone is different. The funny thing is that everyone is always so apathetic in the artistic world, and Maggie was the only person you knew so far that showed any kind emotion.

“So… you were dropped.”

Ah.

“I’m-I’m sorry?”

“You… were dropped. We made some changes here and there and you won’t be on our show anymore. If anything changes again, we’ll call. I promise.”

“Thank you. Bye.”

“Good luck, kid.”

Um.

Your stomach drops, and for a moment you feel like you've been punched. Maybe you've been wrong all along.

My God. My God. My God.

You feel like your entire world has collapsed around you. There aren't even reasons for you to keep going to class. All that effort and money spent... are now in the trash.

Artists spend a lot of time investing in themselves. You always have to become better. Faster. Learn techniques. Reinvent yourself. Stay beautiful. And you don't believe that in your first real experience in this world... that happened. Most likely a friend of the director took your place.

My God.

You swallow the tears, after all, you told everyone you knew that you knew how this world worked and you wouldn't be shaken if something like this happened. No one is watching you right now - but you still feel that you would disappoint them if you cried.

But you couldn’t smile anymore. Nothing could take away your expression of shock and uncertainty.

Not even funny posts on Reddit. Not even funny memes sent by your friends in the morning.

Nor the message from Damon confirming the class of the day.

I won't be able to go today ☹, you type, and you erase it.

Hey, I got dropped from the musical. you type, and you erase it.

How are you doing? Definitely not.

I’ll be there! 😅 You hit send.

Hope we finally figure out that bloody solo, he replies.

You do not answer.

You change your clothes, without your motivational playlist playing in the background this time. The beginning of a great plan going on in your life was no longer there. You didn't even pick up your headphones and the subway ride was completely silent, except for the ambient sound.

You arrive at school, and Damon welcomes you with the usual tight hug, and wide smile. You give a yellow smile in response, and he immediately realizes that something is out of place. “Is everything okay?” His expression quickly changes to one of concern. Your stomach drops even lower. Maybe it hit the ground by now.

“I…”

You don't want it to end. Your dream ended, but not this, too. This cannot end. “Can we try another song today? One not from the musical?” You ask, exasperated.

“Uh… I mean-”

“Please?”

"Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?" He laughs nervously. “But... the musical’s why you’re here. I’m confused--”

“I know, but pretty please?” You insist, cringing by now to keep from crying.

“Um. Sure – but did something happen? Tell me. I’m-I’m here to help.”

“I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. Please.” You feel your voice weaken more and more. You don’t wanna cry, though your eyes are already burning. “Please, Damon.”

“Right. Okay.” He says, raising his hands in defeat. He starts collecting his material.

“What are you doing?”

“No class today. Something clearly happened and we need to talk it out.”

“I-I got sacked. But there’s no need to…”

“I got it. C’mon. I’m not a monster, I won’t charge you for talking it out. All we’ve worked for… fucking cunts.” There’s the visceral side of him. “You gotta tell me how it happened.”

“Okay.”

He only leaves your two chairs in place.

After you two sit, he starts. “This happens quite a lot in this world. And every student reacts the same.” Though this sounds a little too insensitive, you imagine it’s the truth, and his tone does the job of conveying his compassion. “Did they call you? Or did you find out through somewhere else, like Patti LuPone?”

“Huh. At least they called me. They just straight up told me I’m no longer in the cast.” You say, totally not comforted by that. But it would be even worse if you found out by other means. “I don’t know what to do now.”

“Don’t let your spirit be broken by that – you’re really talented, and I don’t like paying compliments. You know that.”

“Talent is not enough sometimes. That’s also something you’ve said to me before.”

He goes silent, and you start apologizing in the same instant.

“No, no, you didn’t hurt my feelings.” He interrupts you. “That’s true. But you’re really young, I shouldn’t have said that to you. Shit like that happens all the time. We learn a lot from it and you have your entire life ahead of you. That was… limited of me.”

“I know I’m almost getting my degree, and there’s other things for me to do… but fuck. I-- I really wanted that. You know how much.”

“I do. I also know exactly how you’re feeling now. We’re always so excited when this kind of thing happens. We plan our entire lives based on that one fragile and uncertain plan, and then boom, it’s gone. We always count on the fact that we’ll eventually have to decide between our career and something else when the choice comes, but what do we do when it doesn’t come? I know how that feels. Also--”

He grabs his guitar. You roll your eyes. “Don’t tell me you have a song for that.”

“I don’t.” he answers. “But I do have a story to tell you.”

For the next two hours, he tells you all about a very ambitious audiovisual plan that he tried to engage in his early 30s. Among countless questions and answers, Damon Albarn showed you through his history how very determined he really was. He goes into the most minute details about the ideas he had for a film and several concept albums for a virtual band that, in your opinion, sounds like something very innovative and, at the same time, incredibly palatable to the mainstream. You thought that the band he was part of when he was even younger was already very wronged because, from what you heard from the demos, they were really incredible, but the fact that such a project didn't go ahead ... just proved to you more and more that talent sometimes really wasn’t enough. Just when you thought you couldn't admire that man more.

“So, believe me when I say I know how that feels.” Goddamn. He looks at his clock, and almost jumps at how the time flied. “Bloody hell, I have another student in like, 5 minutes.”

“God, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. This is a tale very few people know about. I’m glad I shared it with you.”

“…That had potential. Don’t give up on it.”

“Don’t give up on your plans either. I really mean it when I say you’re talented as fuck.”

You couldn’t help but smile through the dried tears and puffy eyes. You say your rushed goodbyes. But before can you leave the room, he holds your arm. “Wait. I know it’s hard, but don’t spend the rest of the day thinking about it. Do you want to do something tonight?”

“Uhhh—what you have in mind?” You can’t believe your ears.

“I don’t know. Do you drink?”

“More than I should.”

“Perfect. So I know a place we can go. Any preference of hours?”

“After 7 pm, I guess?”

“Works for me. I’ll send you the address soon then.” He says. You stand still, frozen, still processing what just happened. He’s blinking as if he just told you how’s the weather outside. “Now you can go.”

“O-kay. See you in a few hours then, Damon.”

“See you in a few hours, Y/N.”

You tried to hide your excitement, in vain. You smiled like an idiot.

This was one of the scenarios of your daydreams when you were walking around, talking quietly to yourself. Damon Albarn, your newly divorced music teacher who is old enough to be your father, just asked you out. You don't care if it was pity. After such disappointment, you allow yourself to create a little more of that stupid, inconsequential hope that your life would take an exciting turn for the first time.

He sends you the address a few hours after your class/conversation, when you were starting to get ready to meet him. It was a pub that you already knew well, and had visited with some friends in the past. You choose a dress that has become your “uniform” recently, for valuing your body type well and for translating your style in a way that is both stylish and very comfortable. When you finish getting ready, you take a deep breath. There is a world of difference between what you wanted to happen and what you think will happen. But you do not care.

The tragic call you received in the morning barely crosses your mind on your way to the pub.

Upon arriving, you find Damon - always so punctual - sitting in the corner of the lounge fiddling with his cell phone while he takes a few sips of a drink that you have no idea what it is made of. You never took him for a complex drink guy. He is really full of surprises. You feel slightly self-conscious out of a sudden, stomach churning in anticipation. He raises his eyes, and his gaze meets yours. His usual welcoming smile makes all your worries go away. You couldn’t help but smile wide too.

“Hello there. A stark contrast to this morning’s Y/N.” He notes, looking you up and down after you two share a tight hug, that smile still there.

“My plan tonight is to forget everything that happened before we talked, okay? Just let me forget about the call!” You answer, playfully, trying to pretend you weren't in the least ... affected ... by the way he received you.

And the time you spend together goes as usual. It’s amazing how there’s no space for awkward silences between you two. To one thing you tell him, he brings you three more things to tell, and vice-versa. You two just… click. You make each other laugh, and even if things don’t go the way you daydream about, which is totally okay, given that he’s twice your age and you’re not sure if you can handle the implications that age difference has, you’re glad to call him a good friend. He’s amazing, and you’re having a great time with him.

By your fourth beer and his fifth fancy drink, your conversation enters a territory that hasn’t been truly explored by you two yet. His romantic past. You only knew he was divorced because he mentioned it very vaguely one day, nothing else. You didn’t know why, who was her, or when. But apparently, he was about to tell you.

“We were both really… young… and didn’t have a clue of what we were doing with our lives. She was a musician too, Justine. Not anymore.”

“Because of what happened between you two?” You ask, the beers gradually taking the indiscretion filters out of you.

“Maybe. I don’t know. She seemed tired of everything. She wanted a life I’m not sure I would be able to live. I also pressured her a lot, I tried to create a version of her that somehow fitted all my expectations and, long story short, we weren’t right for each other. But I still think she’s incredible. I still admire her a lot. Not sure how she feels about me though.”

“Are you still in love with her?”

“Oh, no. There’s a big difference in admiring someone and being in love with them, kid.”

After that sentence of his, for the first time that night, an uncomfortable silence hangs between you - Instant Crush, by Daft Punk, almost ironically, starts playing on the pub's speakers. You feel like you're in a movie.

You're still a kid, aren't you?

“Definitely.” You finally answer him, finishing 70% of the bottle in a few gulps. You become a bit more lightheaded after that, and your eyes start to struggle to focus. You try to hide how slurred your voice wants to sound. “I confess I still don’t know how to really differentiate between the two.”

“Oh yeah?” His wistful tone gives place to one of amusement. “You never told me about your exes. Feel free to.”

“This is not about them.”

He turns to you, after a one-sided staring competition with his own cup. His voice is calm, and somehow even deeper, when he asks you: “Then who is this about?”

You gulp. The cramped space you were sitting on somehow feels even smaller. And hotter. You feel drops of sweat sliding on your belly. You’re sitting by his side, not in front of him, and that interaction feels almost… primal. You two are trapped by a huge table in a corner very few people can see.

“I think I need to go to the loo.”

He lets you, and you feel his eyes following you to the restroom.

My God. My God. My God.

You take a much longer time to do everything than you really need while reflecting on the dialogue you just had. You feel the ground is starting to spin, and the desire to sleep on literally any place grow. You’re drunk. And confused. And anxious.

You spend some good minutes staring at your own face in the mirror before you return to your table. He’s still in the moment, judging by the contemplative look on his face. This is the point of no return.

This is no movie – this is a fucking RPG.

“It was full,” you justify.

“Yeah, it’s always pretty crowded in there.”

That goddamn awkward silence again. You try to talk at the same time, but he wins.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Yeah.” You clear your throat. “It’s… about a guy. He’s a…current… thing. Not from the past.”

“Right.” His tone is serious, more teacher-like than he has even acted while actually teaching you.

“I met him through an ad. I was looking for music teachers in my area and I found him. He had a fair price.” He was now smiling in disbelief, shaking his head. You’re both tipsy and you don’t care if your words are slurred anymore.

“And?”

“I have classes with him every Saturday. It’s the event of the bloody week for me. I can’t believe I’m saying that now because at first he seemed quite intimidating and not open to any meaningful interaction. Like, all frowns and monosyllabic answers and all.” You steal his drink, and he’s not even bothered. “We talk a lot, and even though we talk every day I somehow always thought he didn’t give a fuck about me when we were out of class. That he only saw me as a student, not as a friend, you know? I think about that chap every single day too. He’s handsome--like. Fuck. And he pays attention to everything I say. He’s always so nice to me, he makes me feel welcome. A part of… something.” You take a few more sips, and he gently takes the drink out of your hand, mouthing an ‘enough’. “He’s old enough to be my dad and I feel guilty for thinking of him that way. He invited me for drinks when my world fell so I could get my mind out of the shambles my life’s in and I almost died because I’m madly in love with him for a while now, but I don’t want to ruin everything. I don’t know what to do now. People shouldn’t start things thinking of how they’re going to end, but, you know?”

“They should, though. He’s indeed too old for you. And your life isn’t in shambles.”

“But…”

“Everything sounds pretty lovely in theory, but, he’s probably thinking that he’s going to slow you down in a way. You’ve got too much life to live. He’s probably really tired of everything he’s already lived.”

“But I love him. He makes me laugh! I don’t wanna have children.” You whine.

He muffles a laugh. “It’s not that-“

”Please take me home tonight.” You plead; your tone more serious now. “I know what I’m doing, I know where I am. Just please take me home.”

“Y/N…”

“Please, Damon. If you don’t feel the same then fine, call me an Uber and I’ll get over it.”

That triggers something in him, apparently, and he kisses you deeply and intensely. His hands caress your back and the whole kiss, though a little disjointed because of the state you’re both in, is full of affection and love. His lips taste of strawberry vodka, and your mind is spinning.

When your lips part, you stare at each other for a while, thousands upon thousands of thoughts per second, unsaid. “Are you sure you wanna come with me?” He asks, kissing your hand.

“Yes. I am.”

-

After he fumbles with his keys, you’re finally in his apartment – it’s surprisingly nice and tidy. Judging by how carefree he’s with his looks, you imagined that characteristic would overflow to other aspects of his life.

From the Uber drive home to his door, his hand never left yours.

He locks the door, and you stand staring intently at each other, sizing each other up like men before a fight. This time, you start the kiss, with a little less hurry than before. But the desire is still burning hot on both of you.

“Do you have any idea of what you’re doing to me?”, he murmurs, discarding his jacket while he does his best to not break the kiss. You take this as a signal to start taking off your clothes too, starting by kicking off your shoes. It has become a choreography of sorts - his hands grasp your buttocks and pulls you closer after you’re done with them, drawing a gasp from you.

“I wanted you for so long.” You reply, your hands exploring his body below the fine fabric of his shirt. You motion to take it away from him, and he lets you, completely entranced by how red your lips look from everything it went through. He guides you to his sofa, quickly adjusting it so it’s comfortable enough and serves as a bed for both of you.

He lies down first, eagerly waiting for you to stay on top of him. You finally do, and you feel like a goddess from the way he looks at your body. You take off your dress, and now you’re almost fully exposed to him. You have no bra on, and his hands immediately travel to your breasts, fingers running tantalizingly over your nipples to get them stiff and erect before he pinches them between his fingers, smiling at the whimper his actions elicit. You start bucking your hips on the rough fabric of his trousers, and you feel him harden below you. “God, you’re… something else.” he whispers, and you respond with another whimper, biting back a full on moan when your clit hits the perfect spot. You separate your legs a little further so you can feel him better, drawing a groan from him. He takes this a signal to take his jeans off, eyes not leaving your hips.

Now that a distance of an entire layer is shortened between you, the contact is even more intimate, and the bulge of his cock straining against his underwear is driving you mad. You’re aching for him. He brushes against you and your moan is higher than you expected, and you immediately cover your mouth in order not to wake up his neighbors. As he feels the wet heat of you around his painfully hard cock, he takes your hand out of your lips, grip then tightening on your hips as he pushes you down right on to him. Your moan is even louder. “Let them hear.”

“Fuck-Damon-I’m getting so close--” As if you just gave him a command, his hands now grab the flesh of your inner thighs, massaging them further and further up until he reaches the center of your arousal, and the sound you make when he pulls your panties to the side and runs his finger between your folds while still grinding against you is somewhere between a whine and a whimper. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he says, voice rough from how excruciatingly aroused he is. “Come for me, baby.” Your clit was more exposed now, pressed more tightly against him and you whine in relief when your orgasm finally floods through your body.  

Before you could fully recover, he finally frees himself from his underwear and, with your help, effortlessly aligns himself with your (quite ready) entrance. You bury your head in his neck the moment he enters you in one swift motion and your moans are almost like cries by now - the overstimulation is driving you insane. You take his face on your hands and give him a passionate kiss while he gradually picks up a merciless pace inside of you, the more heated the kiss becomes the more shamelessly you ride his cock. “Shit,” he mutters, massaging your breasts in an almost desperate way. It’s too much - you’re almost becoming one.

You could tell by how frantically he fucked you now that he wasn’t going to last much longer. His thrusts were becoming irregular and you were so close once again. His head falls forward, buried in between your neck and shoulder - his cock twitches inside of you and his movements become staccato, his mouth curving into a beautiful ‘o’ shape as he comes inside of you. His movements stop before you could reach your second one, but the entire situation you were on was so arousing to you that just by touching yourself while still feeling him inside was enough. Not letting you alone in this, one of his hands focus on one of your nipples while the other one is below yours, providing pressure above your clit. And like that, you come undone a second time, head above his shoulders.

For a few minutes, your panting was the only thing that could be heard inside of the apartment.

“Thank you. You were amazing. ’s been quite a long time.” He notes with a tender kiss on your forehead. After a while, and with much reluctance, he slides out of you, and gets up to fetch a warm, wet cloth and carefully clean you both, finally collapsing next to you with a groan.

“It was everything I expected.” You confess, smiling.

“Did you… think about me like that when you…?”

“Of course. But let’s save this talk for another Saturday.”

[cargopantsman]

Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here

Trigger warnings: All of them, because I am lazy. Also none of this is sensical.

Utter, hyper-caffeinated brain noise.

The problem with the concept of a "sense of self" is it already tries to concretize an amorphous abstract. It makes us want to point at some thing and say "Well... that's me." Whether it is a set of ideals that we try to live by, a set of activities that brings us a sense of joy or fulfillment, or, gods forbid, and entirely different and other person that "completes us."

I've always had an affinity for trickster figures and shapeshifters. The wearers of masks, the truthful liars, the artisans of duality, yada, yada. Since I was a child my first instinct has always been to blend in. If into the background, great, but if need be, if I needed to blend into the social fabric around me, I could do that too. To throw this into the high school backdrop; I wasn't a social butterfly, I was shy as could be, but I got along with the jocks, the goths, the nerds, the art freaks, the band kids, the preps, the whatever. Where ever I was I could fake that I belonged there. I was comfortable drifting in between worlds. (Looking back, I could have caused a lot more chaos with the information I was privy to at the time...[Oh, there's a constant point. I'm good at keeping secrets, keeping confidence. I'll lie my ass off to keep a secret.]) Does any of that really help drive a sense of self though? When your natural instinct is to mirror, to blend, to fade? When your point of pride is walking into a room unnoticed and, even better, leaving a party unseen? Does being a ghost count as an identity?

"Expression of Will" comes to mind... what does that mean? Ok, so some abstract thing is inside of you and you manifest it objectly outwardly. I was an artist. I made images in my head and "kind of" manifest them on paper. Some times people see that paper...  I was a writer... images in my head "became" words and some people saw that. I combined them into comics. Some people Saw that. Is that a lasting affect? Maybe the fights I've been into?! That time in 2nd grade someone was picking on a friend and I laid them out... the time in 8th grade someone was picking on me and clocked them down. Or in high school when someone decided to start some rumors and I held them up by their throat in the air until they turned blue? That was an inward thing that manifested outwardly. Nevermind good or bad, but was any of that... me?

Hmm. The beast. The primal... come back to that later.

"Expression of Will," "Expression of Will," "Expression of Will" ... What the fuck even is "Will"? Is this why philosophers get their heads so far up their ass? Is it a desire? The will to live.... living requires eating and the amount of times I forget to even do that... Maybe been looking at the phrase all wrong...

Will to Live (noun) It isn't a thing.

Will (verb) to (preposition) Live (verb)

Why does that sound better?

Desire to Live (noun)

Desire (verb) to (preposition) Live (verb)

Okay, that feels better even, but still... Sense of self, will, desire, expressions thereof. Are these just the aimless desires and wills? The fleeting flights of frivolous fancies festering forlornly in frontal cortices?

The self with the will can direct the desires towards living. "Get in the fucking robot Shinji!" "I don't wanna"

The (ghost) with the (strength) can direct the (impulses) towards (being). Getting too close to a concept of a soul on that one huh?

Forget self. It's a useless moniker right now. There is no self. It's just this mind alone for the first time in its entire life. (Not alone alone, there are friends, but they've learned more about me in the past two weeks than the past 6 years so...) "What did they learn?" asked the projection of self that defines itself by interactions with other.

I thought we were forgetting self.... not an option really. Sentience is a bitch like that. But they've learned I'll put up with a lot of bullshit under the guise of strength and integrity when I should've callously called this whole thing ages ago. That I can shut myself down completely in the interest of bodily-self preservation. (Not Self-self preservation, fuck the English language). What did I sacrifice? What did I shut down?

Everything.

That is less than helpful.

The Beast. Vince. Your Shadow.

My Shadow...

What do you desire?

Blood in the cut, tears in their eyes, power over someone that wants that power over them...

Do you want that? I don't want it, I just need it. No... I want it.

Is that all you are? A sadist? An animal?

Maybe... probably not though. A caretaker, and a sparring partner. A trickster and a shapeshifter. A crafter whose tools are destruction.

Next problem, grandeur. Mythologizing everything. But how to see a thing if you don't blow it up/magnify it?

You lack a sense of self because no one ever tested your sense of self. No one actually fought you for who you are. To find out who you are. The ex didn't. An old friend did until she got scared by what she found there.

You don't want to be yourself because it's not nice is it? You were raised to be nice.

College. I controlled the group. Never hit anyone after high school aside from set matches in classes or sparring for funsies. They all saw my eyes and stopped if they were getting out of hand.

The Dom-Friend.

Don't use the d-word on me.

Destroyer? Yeah, that one's fine. That one fits. He says as he carelessly tosses lit matches around his entire life. Can we bring up the phoenix or is that too grandiose? Why shouldn't it be grandiose? We spend every day of our lives going through the same kind of tedious bullshit all the time why not make our inner lives a bit bigger, a bit richer?

A bit darker.

Why do you want them to bleed? Hurt and comfort. That's a big theme, a trope if you will. Why not have both at the same? Why not let her think that I'm about to kill her but let her rest in the trust that I won't? Why not let me think that I'm about to break her while believing she is the most precious thing in the world?

Caretaker. A caretaker kills all the time. Tearing out weeds, uprooting the prized plant to move it to a better place for its growth.

Growth.

The self isn't going to be found just in ones self... not in another either. No, the self has to be found in everything. The things one wants to run to and run from. The soul (oops) is formed by what it crashes into right? The mind recoils from traumas races towards panaceas, why not, if one can, flip the polarity on the two. Bring the darkness screaming into the light so you can see it, bring the light quivering into the darkness so it can loose its terrifying brillance. Balance in all things right?

You're not a very positive person, they say. No... I'm not. It lashes out in bad ways sometimes, sure. Control, control, you must learn control. But being negative isn't bad. Not if you can grow from it. No plant can survive the sun for 24 hours. Trees sleep in the winter. We sleep, we heal, we grow.

Self-Destruction!! That's a fun one... seven fucking months downing a bottle of whisky a night. Whooo boy. Do Not Recommend.

Got a nice stay in the underworld though and trudged up a lot of shit. Now I'm sitting here with my ears ringing because I finally hit the personal limit on Monsters and my brain is overclocked enough I can finally see shit at 4 angles at the same time. I am a god damned quantum supercomputer of emotions right now.

Faith and faithlessness are the same thing. Have faith, trust the future, don't expect anything, don't plan your now for your future. Sounds sadly like live in the moment type bullshit, but life is weird and people are complex. Shifting drifting clueless animals that want to be safe but don't want to get stuck in anothers arms even when there is one whose arms are so safe.

The damage runs deep... and two people with damage running that deep. Hmm. How much healing can falling do? The other just puts a bandage over a puncture wound and both try to ignore it, but then the blood gets pumping, the heart pounds and poisons surge to the surface. It's neither one's fault really. Life is a trial of knives and we don't always have time or concern to tend the wounds properly. There's always something else that needs to be taken care of first.

Divorce is a helluva drug. It is maddening, the freedom to finally to be yourself is line having the lineart stripped off, there is a terrifying infinity in front of you and the only thing to do for awhile is melt. Let the slings and arrows just pierce and sink in. Anyone else tries to push the sludge of you into a shape might get hurt when they find the arrows. I want to go absolutely feral in a way. In a way the whole COVID mess is keeping me under lock and key so I'm just prowling around the empty house like I always have been, but now there's some sense... of purpose.

I'm raging against any depression, the executive dysfunction is going to have a talking to. The sense of self is going to be found in stripping this house down to bare walls and making a blank canvas. Bring everything down, ruin it all, start again.

My self is emptiness, it always has been. I can be anything, but I should be wary of ever wanting to be something. (My career options are AWESOME). But this is a different emptiness than before. Before I pulled the trigger and splattered the brains of the marriage across the floor I was just a void, and inky black pit of nothingness. Somehow, having the Shadow rise up and finally start getting along with the rest of me, the emptiness isn't.... void. It's just nascent possibility and that shouldn't scare me.

It does, of course, terrify me. First time in 40 years being legitimately alone is terrifying, should have done this kinda thing when I was 20, but... I was an idiot back then (60 year old me laughs from the future). But I think I can get a grip on the concept that "I" don't exist, but I'm real... ever changing ever dynamic, not who I was while I was married, but a mix of the me before, a angry beast now, and something yet unseen in the future.

[arcticdementor]

Hindsight may very well be 20/20, but with that caveat out of the way, some events truly come across as historical in their importance even as they play out in realtime. We might not know what the results will be, but we can feel that something quite big is happening. Watching the fall of the Berlin wall was one such moment in recent history, and watching the twin towers fall was another one.

The retreat from Afghanistan should not have made the list, or least not the top of it. Yet, it has clearly already made its way there, being widely seen as something truly momentous by most if not all the people observing it. The reason it shouldn’t have had those same connotations as the fall of the Berlin wall is because it was not only planned in advance and decided upon by the 45th president, not the 46th, but because almost everyone at this point wished for the war to just end. But it is how it has ended that has really thrown back the curtain and shown the world the rot festering beneath. The Soviet Union was dying in 1989, when it completed its withdrawal from Afghanistan. It still managed to do so in an orderly fashion, with a symbolic column of russian APCs crossing the bridge over to Uzbekistan. The leader of the war effort, one Colonel-General Gromov, symbolically rode in the very last BTR, and then proclaimed to the gathered journalists that there wasn’t a single russian soldier behind his back.

The American withdrawal, by contrast, is a grotesque spectacle, laid bare to the eyes of the world in realtime thanks to the wonders of modern technology. The Soviet attempt at braving the graveyard of empires could, if one was charitably inclined, at least be construed as some form of tragedy (”we tried to help, but in the end, we accomplished nothing”), and the russians did their best to make the entire thing appear somewhat dignified and solemn. Thirty years later, the scene is closer to a black form of comedy. The American consulate was evacuated by helicopter, about one month after president Biden referred to just such an evacuation from Saigon as an example of how Afghanistan and Vietnam were not comparable. The entire government collapsed within a matter of hours, not months. Throngs of people gathered around the airports, desperate to escape; American authorities had no more guidance to offer american citizens stuck in Afghanistan than to ”shelter in place” and then presumably ask the Taliban for a visa once regular flight traffic resumes. Desperate people even clung to the airframes of departing cargo planes before falling to their deaths, like a grim re-enactment of frozen and starving german soldiers trying to escape by clinging to the last planes leaving Stalingrad.

…

There may be a deeper aspect to this than a lot of people might perceive at present. On the level of pure geopolitics, the utterly embarrassing debacle of America’s withdrawal from Afghanistan can only serve to make China more bold in any future confrontation over Taiwan. The American eagle is faltering, and its rivals will not sit idly by for long. But this is probably the lesser of the big consequences of Afghanistan. There is another, much more significant implication of the collapse of the American project here, one with much more acute bearing on the immediate future of American society itself. To understand why, it’s useful to reflect on a certain political and historical point made by Carl Schmitt in his by now nearly hundred year old essay, whose english name is often rendered as The Crisis of Parliamentary Democracy. The essay is well worth a read in full today, and the reader might be surprised (or maybe not) at how relevant many of the descriptions of the ongoing political crisis in 1923 may seem to us today, nearly a hundred years later. The most relevant passage, however, deserves to be quoted in full:

”In the history of political ideas, there are epochs of great energy and times becalmed, times of motionless status quo. Thus the epoch of monarchy is at an end when a sense of the principle of kingship, of honor, has been lost, if bourgeois kings appear who seek to prove their usefulness and utility instead of their devotion and honor. The external apparatus of monarchical institutions can remain standing very much longer after that. But in spite of it monarchy’s hour has tolled. The convictions inherent in this and no other institution then appear antiquated; practical justifications for it will not be lacking, but it is only an empirical question whether men or organizations come forward who can prove themselves just as useful or even more so than these kings and through this simple fact brush aside monarchy.”

What Schmitt is saying here is very important, and it might very well end up being the true cost of the Afghanistan debacle. Every ruling class throughout history advances various claims about its own legitimacy, without which a stable political order is impossible. Legitimating claims can take many different forms and may change over time, but once they become exhausted or lose their credibility, that is pretty much it.

…

What Schmitt is saying is that when the legitimating claim for a particular form of elite is used up, when people no longer believe in the concepts or claims that underpin a particular system or claim to rule, the extinction of that particular elite becomes a foregone conclusion. Once Napoleon came along, it became increasingly impossible to actually believe (or at least effect a suspension of disbelief) that kings were born to rule and had a right to rule. As such, the only argument kings were left with in order to be tolerated by their own subjects became practical in nature: look at how useful this king is, look at how well his administration runs, look at how much stuff you’re getting out of letting him sit on the throne. But once you are merely left with practical arguments of that kind, as Schmitt rightly points out, your replacement becomes a question of simple empiricism. The moment someone more useful is found – like, say, a president – out you go, never to return. The replacement of Louis XVI with a republic was a world-shattering event. The fall of his nephew, Louis Philippe I, in favor of another republic, was a mere formality by comparison. By the time of his fall, not even Louis Philippe himself believed in kings being some sort of semi-divine beings. Certainly almost none of his subjects did.

…

Moreover, on a more practical level, the war in Afghanistan became another sort of crucible. In very real terms, Afghanistan turned into a testbed for every single innovation in technocratic PMC governance, and each innovation was sold as the next big thing that would make previous, profane understandings of politics obsolete. In Afghanistan ”big data” and the utilization of ever expanding sets of technical and statistical metrics was allowed to topple old stodgy ideas of dead white thinkers such as Sun Tzu or Machiavelli, as ”modern” or ”scientific” approaches to war could have little to learn from the primitive insights of a pre-rational order. In Afghanistan, military sociology in the form of Human Terrain Teams and other innovative creations were unleashed to bring order to chaos. Here, the full force of the entire NGO world, the brightest minds of that international government-in-waiting without a people to be beholden to, were given a playground with nearly infinite resources at their disposal. There was so much money sloshing around at the fingertips of these educated technocrats that it became nearly impossible to spend it all fast enough; they simply took all of those countless billions of dollars straight from the hands of ordinary americans, because they believed they had a right to do so.

…

Put plainly: managers, through the power of managerialism, were once believed to be able to mobilize science and reason and progress to accomplish what everyone else could not, and so only they could secure a just and functional society for their subjects, just as only the rightful kings of yore could count on Providence and God to do the same thing. At their core, both of these claims are truly metaphysical, because all claims to legitimate rulership are metaphysical. It is when that metaphysical power of persuasion is lost that kings or socialists become ”bourgeois”, in Schmitt’s terms. They have to desperately turn toward providing proof, because the genuine belief is gone. But once a spouse starts demanding that the other spouse constantly prove that he or she hasn’t been cheating, the marriage is already over, and the divorce is merely a matter of time, if you’ll pardon the metaphor.

I suspect we are currently witnessing the catastrophic end of this metaphysical power of legitimacy that has shielded the managerial ruling class for decades. Anyone even briefly familiar with the historical record knows just how much of a Pandora’s box such a loss of legitimacy represents. The signs have obviously been multiplying over many years, but it is only now that the picture is becoming clear to everyone. When Michael Gove said ”I think the people in this country have had enough of experts” in a debate about the merits of Brexit, he probably traced the contours of something much bigger than anyone really knew at the time. Back then, the acute phase of the delegitimization of the managerial class was only just beginning. Now, with Afghanistan, it is impossible to miss.

It is not just that the elite class is incompetent – even kings could be incompetent without undermining belief in monarchy as a system – it is that they are so grossly, spectacularly incompetent that they walk around among us as living rebuttals of meritocracy itself. It is that their application of managerial logic to whatever field they get their grubby mitts on – from homelessness in California to industrial policy to running a war – makes that thing ten times more expensive and a hundred times more dysfunctional. To make the situation worse, the current elites seem almost serene in their willful destruction of the very fields they rely on for legitimacy. When the ”experts” go out of their way to write public letters about how covid supposedly only infects people who hold demonstrations in support of ”structural white supremacy”, while saying that Black Lives Matter demonstrations pose no risk of spreading the virus further, this amounts to the farmer gleefully salting his own fields to make sure nothing can grow there in the future. How can anyone expect the putative peasants of our social order to ”trust the science”, when the elites themselves are going out of their way, against all reason and the tenets of basic self-preservation, to make such a belief completely impossible even for those who really, genuinely, still want to believe?

…

I find it very likely that most future historians will put the date of the real beginning of the collapse of the current political and geopolitical order right here, right now, at the US withdrawal from Afghanistan. Just as with any other big historical process, however, many others will point out that the seeds of the collapse were sown much farther back, and that a case can be made for several other dates, or perhaps no specific date at all. This is how we modern people look at the fall of the french ancien regime, after all. Still, it is quite obvious that the epoch of the liberal technocrat is now over. The bell has well and truly tolled for mankind’s belief in their ability to do anything else than enrich themselves and ruin things for everyone else.

How long it will take for their institutions to disappear, or before they end up toppled by popular discontent and revolution, no one can know. But at this point, I think most people on some level now understand that it really is only a matter of time.

[lamortexiii]

Cryptic Mystic: Kindred Spirits

Do you believe that living beings have souls? If you believe in souls, chances are that you also possess the ability to feel strong emotions. On the opposite side of that coin, there are people who feel no emotion at all. What causes such a huge difference in the capability of our brains and the way that we process information? What do souls have to do with this anyway? Are we born this way or simply molded through our environment and experiences? Maybe it’s a little of both…

I’ll start by saying the words “soul” and “spirit” are often used interchangeably - just so there is no confusion with the title versus the term I am choosing to use within the text. Now onto the good stuff.

The term “soul” as we know it today in America was originally derived from the Old English word sáwol first quoted in the 8th Century poem Beowulf. However, this term and its meaning has been seen in other countries including East German Gothic (saiwala), Old High German (sêula), Old Saxon (sêola), Old Low Franconian (sêla), Old Norse (sála) and Lithuanian (siela). The Germanic definition of “soul” is said to mean “coming from/belonging to the sea (or lake)”, because of the Germanic and pre-Celtic belief in souls emerging from and returning to sacred lakes.

Various religions use the term “soul” within many forms of context. All share an abundance of differences within what the term means and how they choose to use it, but all define their beliefs/experiences within a similar concept. For example, ancient Egyptians believed that people were made up of a combination of both physical and spiritual elements that are of the soul/spirit. Shamanism posits that people are composed of two or more souls (termed soul dualism) often called the “body soul” and the “free soul.” The body soul is the vessel in which you live day to day while you are consciously aware of your surroundings, while the free soul wanders when you are sleeping, meditating, or in a trance-like state. While even different yet, Scientology doesn’t believe that people have souls, but that people are souls. Within this religion, people are viewed as being immortal and can choose to become reincarnated if they would like once their life is over within their current physical body. Lastly, Wiccans tend to believe in the eternal nature of the soul; that the soul is immortal and can never die. Most Wiccans believe in reincarnation and view physical death as part of the natural cycle of life/birth/death; that while the physical body may die, the soul can never die.

As you can tell, there are definitely mixed views on what constitutes a “soul.” Most beliefs in the soul are tied to various religions. These are just a few examples, however, there are MANY more religions that believe in the soul and just as many more definitions and viewpoints! For those who believe in the soul, strong emotional ties are present within their respective religions. Remember earlier when I suggested that if you believe in the soul you probably possess the ability to feel emotions on a strong level? Makes sense now doesn’t it? It’s all tied together and comes full circle when explained. Now, I will say there are just as many people who do not believe in the soul, and I do not discredit them in any way. It’s like I always say, you choose what you believe - all are respected here. Learning more about one another gives us all a better understanding of the differences we possess; what makes us unique. I encourage you to do your research on other cultures/religions/etc., but I also feel like that is part of my purpose here - to expand your mind. So... you can just keep reading my blogs to get that monthly dose of information if you’d like. Your choice.

I’ve always found this particular conversation interesting due to the many possibilities that surround us. There is so much that is truly unknown. We take the influences around us: environment, culture, religion, social influences, etc. and we form opinions. We form beliefs. It would be foolish to believe that we know everything, for we do not. However, we can imagine, dream, research, have a conversation about it - we can strive to learn.

The Shamanistic belief in the two souls is quite interesting to me in particular due to my own personal experiences with dreams and meditation. I am sure many of you have had those dreams that felt so real that whenever you woke up you weren’t sure where you were for a moment. I have experienced this several times. My dreams are always so vivid. When I am meditating I find that I experience almost the same intensity that I feel whenever I am sleeping. I have jokingly wondered to myself if the people we see in our dreams are actually there with us because they are sleeping too. Maybe we are all in another dimension together in our dreams or when we meditate? I don’t have the answers to why these instances occur, but I enjoy speculating over them. I have also wondered if the people in your dreams don’t remember being with you, maybe you were in the part of their dream that they didn’t remember. Have you ever awoke from a dream and for the life of you, couldn’t remember it at all? Or maybe you remembered bits and pieces, but were unable to put them all together because of the fragments that you had forgotten? Another thought - maybe the people that you don’t know that you see in your dreams/during meditation are people that you have unknowingly met or will meet in the near future? There are so many unanswered questions. Sure, we have labels that we throw onto these phenomena as we do with everything else, but do we actually know? I don’t believe so. As a matter of fact, I think we are further off than we even begin to realize because the human mind is not capable of understanding these things that we do not know or understand. Again, you be your own judge - that’s just my opinion.

The premonitions that I have had (as mentioned in one of my earlier blogs - go check it out for the backstory/context), have frightened me to my core. The pure emotion and accuracy in my dreams have baffled me for several years. I have learned to accept that I apparently possess some sort of gift and move forward with my life. When I have a premonition it is always random, but due to the repetitiveness of this phenomena, they don’t really come as much of a surprise anymore. There have been times I awoke and I was screaming, crying, and one time I even swung my fists at someone (yeah… whoops). I feel silly using the terms “soul” or “spirit” so I personally stay away from them. However, I do believe that we are composed of something magical that we have labeled and viewed in different ways. For me, to know the human anatomy inside and out, to know how the body functions, to specialize within my career in brain functioning, and knowing the complexities within both neuro, mental, and physical health; it completely blows my mind that we are just these living, walking, breathing, beings that are so powerful - and that there is nothing behind that. That’s it? It just is? We just are? I think not. There are things we don’t understand and may never understand. I believe that we all possess something special inside of us. Call it what you want: a soul, spirit, or any other combination of terms - we are more powerful that we give ourselves credit for. Whatever you believe in, just know that you are a strong being that can overcome any challenge in life. You possess the power to change your life and could possibly go on to change the lives of others if you so choose. Embrace yourself for who you are and what you believe, because regardless of anything I respect the hell out of each and every one of you for simply being your badass selves!

Now, let’s talk about something that lies on the opposite end of the mushy gushy emotional spectrum. The absence of emotion can technically happen to anybody at any given time. For me, I have had 2 memorable points in my life where I went through a several-month period where I felt nothing. There was an absence of emotion. I felt hardened. I couldn’t cry and I most certainly did not feel happiness. 

The first time this emotional numbness happened was during/after my divorce. For about a year after that train wreck was over I couldn’t emotionally feel anything. I tried to date (ew) and I couldn’t feel love or pleasure. I remember telling a very nice man that was absolutely wonderful to me in every way that I wanted to end things because I couldn’t feel - I didn’t love him. I didn’t want to lead him on, and after a month of dating and not feeling anything I couldn’t bear to see him so attached while I felt absolutely nothing. It was horrible, and I felt a sense of helplessness because I couldn’t just turn my emotions back on like a light switch. It took well over a year for me to bounce back and actually start to feel emotions again, but eventually, I was able to regain them. However, I do feel like I was forever changed in a way. I still carry that hardened exterior, I don’t trust easily, I have a permanent resting bitch face, in conversations, I am way too logical/realistic and cynical for people to even begin to handle, and I struggle with allowing myself to open up to others. Nobody is perfect, and I am sure at least a few of you can relate.

The second time this happened to me was recently. The emotional numbness lasted for a few months, beginning in September of last year to January of this year. For the first time in my life I decided to see a therapist. I didn’t want to, but a couple of people in my life who care about me said that I needed to seek help from someone other than myself (haha). I feel like it may have helped a bit, but I attribute my ability to bounce back to myself and work to change the way I was thinking. I also needed to engage in more self-care because I was extremely lacking in that department last year. So I began doing things on a daily basis that served myself, even if it was for only 15 minutes. Amidst my busy schedule, I needed to make that time for me and so I did. Both instances revolved around heavy stress times in my life - the heaviest I have experienced as an adult. For me, I think that in order to protect itself my the body just shut down and shut off everyone and everything around me. I couldn’t feel anything because feeling and experiencing emotion became seen as a threat. Funny - I still see it that way at times.

Similar to what I have experienced in my life, but much more severe, prominent, and chronic, is psychopathy. Psychopathy is defined as a mental (antisocial) personality disorder in which an individual may appear to hold no morals and exhibit antisocial behavior. These individuals also show a lack of ability to love, empathize, experience emotions, or establish meaningful personal relationships. Psychopaths are sometimes egocentric in their behavior and possess an inability to learn from experience and other behaviors associated with the condition. Take for example Ted Bundy: a calm, collected, calculated, suave serial killer. He appeared to be just like anyone else if you were to see him on the street. He engaged in relationships but did not possess the ability to truly love the individuals he was with (sound familiar?) Even in court he failed to empathize with the families of his victims and appeared to be unbothered - because he was. However, as one of the most well-known serial killers of the modern day, Bundy also had a fascination with murder and necrophelia - which, and I want to reiterate this very clearly, is NOT a common thread with those diagnosed with psychopathy. A lot of people use the term psychopath incorrectly and do not actually understand what constitutes psychopathy. Does being a psychopath mean that you’ll be a murderer? No. Does it mean you can never have a meaningful relationship? While questionable, the answer is no - there is no obsolete here. Does being a psychopath mean you are crazy? Hell no - and I don’t like to use the “C” word in a mental health context because (shocker) it’s fucking offensive. Interestingly enough, there is no written formal diagnosis in the DSM-5 (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual for Mental Health Disorders-Version 5) specifically for psychopathy. Instead, the formal diagnosis for someone who meets the criteria of antisocial personality disorder is said to mimic what most characterize as psychopathy. However, some mental health conditions may have a specifier such as psychopathic features. For example: in the DSM-5, under "Alternative DSM-5 Model for Personality Disorders", Antisocial Personality Disorder with psychopathic features is described as characterized by "a lack of anxiety or fear and by a bold interpersonal style that may mask maladaptive behaviors (e.g., fraudulence)."

While there is an ongoing argument on whether a psychopath is born or made, I say it is a little bit of both - and researchers agree. Children that show a lack of empathy, lack of guilt, and have shallow emotions, defined as callous-unemotional traits, are at increased risk of developing psychopathy in adulthood. These children are more likely to display antisocial behavior, such as bullying and aggression. Will every aggressive child develop psychopathy? No. Will every child who experiences some antisocial behavior develop psychopathy? No. There is a combination of factors that “when the stars align” create a predisposition for psychopathy to develop. It is truly a combination of individual genetics and the environment. So while the genetic factors are what is born within the individual, the environment further aids in shaping how this individual will develop. For example, a child who is aggressive, antisocial, and comes from a home where they are constantly physically and sexually abused is more likely to develop psychopathy, but may or may not depending on their specific genetic makeup. There are literally millions of combinations of neurons and other items that must connect and fail to connect to shape and form a psychopath. As time goes on these traits may become more dominant (indicating psychopathy) or may taper off and fall away (indicating that the person is likely not developing psychopathy and likely has just gone through “a phase”).

It is important to note that psychopathy can also be present and comorbid with other mental health conditions in any individual. The combinations here are endless. I have found that some individuals who experience psychopathy also experience delusions and hallucinations, while others who experience psychopathy have never had a delusion or hallucination in their life. The prognosis relies heavily on a special combination of genetics and environment. Genetics are a predisposition, while environment consists of direct exposures that can predispose but may also be manipulated. Each individual who experiences psychopathy experiences it in a different way and comes from their own unique background, therefore it is hard to pinpoint exactly what “type” of person truly defines a psychopath. Just like anything or anyone else - there are all kinds. We are all alike and the same but yet so very different. We are “kindred spirits” you might say. Whether or not you believe in souls, an afterlife, how we came to be, or what constitutes psychopathy - your opinion is still valid and you believe whatever you choose to believe. Open your mind before you open my blog. Sending you nothing but positivity and love. Until next time, creep it real ghouls and gals.

Cryptic Mystic Blog by PsychVVitch

www.LaMorteXiii.com

[loquaciousquark]

Cut for talk of COVID and irresponsible failure to social distance (my own). Also, some updates on what’s been going on here for the last month or so.

part one:

Very very long story that I am truncating as much as possible. As you all know, I am an optometrist and professor. When we shut down in March, our university made a huge, painful shift to remote learning and our student clinic ceased operations altogether. Neither students nor faculty saw patients from March 15 - the the middle of May. At the end of May, faculty began seeing patients directly in an extremely reduced schedule, and at the beginning of June, we began adding in very limited numbers of students in a rolling schedule that minimized exposure to all involved.

Three weeks ago, my dear friend Jasper contacted me and said that an old friend of hers, whom I will call Carol, was in dire straits after losing her job overseas. Carol has an extremely rocky history: a terrible car accident that left her legs and feet permanently damaged which directly led to a very bad divorce, significant student loan debt (just shy of six digits I think, compounded from the accident, since she used her student loans to pay her medical bills--for anyone reading this, do not EVER EVER EVER DO THIS--student loans are never touched by bankruptcy declarations and you will owe them until you die), and something of an inability to put down roots. She is an English teacher who has taught and traveled all over the world: Prague, Bahrain, Czech Republic, Los Angeles, Rio, etc.

When I first met her about ten years ago, she had come back to Alabama from Prague because a job had fallen through. She was completely broke and living out of two suitcases and a carry-on. She lived with us for three months for free, sleeping in Jasper’s bed because we had no other room for her, and eventually got a job in Boston and moved on. She lasted--I think--about two months in Boston before quitting and taking a job in the Middle East.

On top of her student loan debt, Carol also has significant IRS debt and is in debt to several of her friends. Over the last few years, she took several ill-advised positions overseas back to back without ever consulting a lawyer on her contracts, and did not realize until recently that one of her positions classified her as an independent contractor instead of an employee, so she owed US taxes on all her income for that period of time. Her most recent job in Prague she lost in February because she filed her visa (again, without a lawyer) incorrectly, and what should have been a brief three-week stay outside of the country became a six week stay on the couch of strangers in the Czech Republic while she waited for her visa reapplication to process. However, it was denied, and then COVID hit, and she returned to Alabama with only a portion of her possessions and tons of important paperwork left behind in her Prague apartment. She then unfortunately had two emergency surgeries on her stomach for an acute, unpredictable medical issue, and while she is well healing now, it also added on another forty thousand dollars of medical debt to what she already owed.

She stayed with her mother and sister while she was recovering from the emergency surgeries, but her family is emotionally abusive and very unkind to her, and after a few weeks she left their home and went to stay with Jasper. However, Jasper is also 8 months pregnant with her fourth child, and they both knew it was a temporary thing. Jasper knows that I have a large home with several spare bedrooms, and asked if I would be willing to host Carol for a period of time while she got back on her feet. I knew what I was agreeing to when I said yes, and Carol and I settled on a period of two months. She has now been here almost three weeks.

Frankly, I do not like Carol very much. We are unbelievably different people in every way--personality, temperament, proclivity to crying in front of other people, hobbies, interests, religion, all of it. She is a very nice person, and I think she truly does mean well. But she is the most emotionally needy and energy-sapping person I have ever met, and I cannot tolerate her company in more than small chunks. It is not possible to hold a conversation with her about any subject tangentially related to her difficulties; if I try to sympathize with her loans by mentioning my own, she shuts me down by saying at least I will have the chance to ever pay them back. If I just try to listen without commentary, she’ll wrap herself up in her own stories and talk for hours without ever needing more than “mm”s and “hm”s and my undivided attention the entire time.

She will often work herself up into sobbing tears over her situation(s), and she always informs me immediately of any new development in any of her numerous trials: which are usually negative, considering the situation, and usually resulting in more tears. She has cried on me probably more than a dozen times since she moved in, and she wields “I love you” like a weapon, more to hear the validation of the response than to truly express the sentiment. She constantly asks for advice on her situation but does not listen to any of it--seems more to just want to relive each tragic detail of her life over and over again with an audience, wondering why she’s continually “screwed over in her life.” (Really, really poor financial decisions and constantly trusting her own “intuition” over getting competent legal advice before signing contracts, are I think the biggest contributors.) She has told me so many private details about her personal views, relationships with her ex-husband and mother and sister, her financial choices, and her extensive travel and job history over the last few years that I probably know her history better than my own at this point.

I think she thinks by sharing so much that she is justifying to me her need to stay with me. What is actually happening is that I am forced to help shoulder this enormous emotional load that compounds my own mental health problems I’ve been having since all this started. I have told her more than once that she does not need to justify herself to me and that my home is open to her for two months, no strings attached. I believe she is making all the steps she needs to and do not need reports on her daily activities to “pay” for her lodging or electricity or internet or whatever. This has changed the behavior a little for the better but not stopped it.

There are moments that are not bad. As I have mentioned, she does mean well and want well for most people. She likes Hamlet and loves Jasper, who is extremely important to me. But she is extremely difficult to be around in so many other ways, and the way she constantly exclaims over how we basically think alike on all things (absolutely untrue) makes me think she either will not or cannot read my reluctance to engage on any of these topics.

(An example: I was watching footage of the SpaceX launch and despite my feelings on Elon Musk, really excited about the implications for space travel. She came in, and after misunderstanding for some time that I was not watching Space Force with Steve Carell, decided that the SpaceX program was morally bankrupt, obviously borne of shady backroom government deals, and everyone involved should have used the money to solve world hunger instead. For the record, she had not heard of the shuttle launch, SpaceX, or Elon Musk at all before the seeing the footage.)

(She also until last week had not heard of Playstation, Xbox, streaming as a concept, or any game more modern than the original Mario. Trying to order a grocery delivery online was an excruciating torment for her [took her over four days to get through selecting the items, selecting allowable replacements, and actually paying] and I will not ask her to do it again. She frequently makes comments about video games being a waste of time, and when she sees children playing outside, comments on how glad she is they are not inside playing video games. She doesn’t seem to realize her comments are a direct commentary on me; I think she genuinely does not understand that those games are what I am playing most of my free time.)

Right now, everything seems to hinge on her passing some teacher recertification tests next week and the week after. She spent $150 to give herself less than a week to study from scratch for a test she described as the hardest she’d ever taken. There were several other dates later in the summer she could have chosen, and her deadline is December, but she picked the soonest option for reasons I can’t fathom. She is also in the process of trying to get a car--right now I’m driving her everywhere--and she was ready to hand over $3800 yesterday for a ten-year-old Hyundai with a check-engine light on without even thinking of getting any kind of inspection. She is far more concerned with the color and “energy” of the car than its function, and would not have even checked the headlights and blinkers if I hadn’t prompted it.

She will be here another five weeks or so. We move around each other now better than we did before, and I hope it will continue to improve. But it’s a lot like a rock grinding a groove in the streambed from the repetitive friction, and it’s not the struggle I wanted to be having right now.

part two:

As I mentioned above, Jasper is having her fourth child in a month or so. One of her friends, someone I don’t know, contacted me and said she wanted to do a drive-by “baby sprinkle,” where no one gets out of their cars. You drop off the gifts, talk to the recipient a few minutes from the car window, and move on. I told her that I work in health care and am exposed to patients, so that sounded good to me.

The shower was this morning. Carol and I got up and drove the thirty minutes to Jasper’s house. There were four other families in cars right around the corner, and the “hostess” gave us all balloons to tie on our side mirrors. She told us we would drive around the corner, drop off the gifts, and loop around. Jasper’s husband would arrange for her to be in the front yard at the right time.

Cute enough. We go around the corner with little honks and Jasper sees us and starts crying, and it’s all wonderful and emotional and a fabulous surprise and I’m genuinely excited about it. And then people start parking and getting out of their cars, and Carol and I start looking at each other. They’re full families, too--three of the other moms brought all their kids, and soon enough they’re playing with Jasper’s three boys in the front yard and coming up asking to pet Hamlet through the car window. No one was wearing masks.

And what’s worse, when they all started looking at us expectantly through the car window, we didn’t know what to do. They were handing Jasper her gifts and obviously settling in for a good long chat; the women were hugging, talking about how they are “so over this COVID stuff, please come visit soon,” and Hamlet of course recognizes his original owners in Jasper and her husband so he’s freaking out, and after a few moments, we decided to just get out of the car.

It was the first time I really felt the social pressure to participate in an event I wasn’t comfortable with. I have no issue maintaining my social distance and my mask and my handwashing at work because that is where I have the position of authority, and I have the responsibility to model it for the students and patients--but here, I was a guest at someone else’s house at someone else’s event, and I really, really felt how they might perceive me as rude. While I didn’t know the other women, my relationship with Jasper is extremely important to me, and I didn’t want to make this special event for her difficult in any way.

So we got out of the car and joined the group. I tried to keep my distance as much as possible, especially since I had Hamlet on the leash and there were a half-dozen small children around, but at least twice I looked up and there was someone right at my elbow, and we made small talk for five minutes or so before either she drifted back to the group or I moved Hamlet into the shade away from the rest.

Cars drove by and slowed down more than once to look at us. Jasper’s husband made a comment about rolling his eyes if he saw their family on Facebook that evening. The women planned play dates, all standing very close together, and Jasper opened her gifts (that part was excellent). All in all we were probably there about twenty minutes. 

I should mention that on the drive there, we passed a public park that has a very pretty waterfall right next to the road, and there were probably a dozen families out playing. There was a festival/outdoor market right outside the the park that had a sign up about social distancing, but the fifty or so people we saw shopping there were not adhering in any meaningful way. No one wore a mask.

And what annoys the bejeezus out of me is that I didn’t either. I didn’t even think about it until after we finally got back in the car to drive away. This is the first social event I’ve gone to since the first week of March, and while I wear masks for eight+ hours every day I go in to work, it didn’t occur to me even a single time to put on even my little cloth one that I keep in the car until we were driving away afterwards. I was so flummoxed by every little thing happening differently than I expected--people getting out of cars, how surprised I was by my own susceptibility to not rocking the boat, how normal everyone else made it to stand so close they could bump elbows so that Carol and I became almost excluded from the circle--that it never once crossed my mind. I know masks are more for the protection of those around you, not to keep you from catching what other people are carrying, but I could have set an example. I could have been the health professional I should have been in the moment.

I’m just so disappointed in myself. Disappointed in my own carelessness, irritated that I didn’t say anything, continually frustrated in a deep, gut-wrenching way by the whole situation that requires this in the first place. Bewildered that so many people are “back to normal” while this thing is still spreading, and in brutal honesty wishing I could be like them and just give up the fight myself. I’m not even mad at them. I WANT TO BE THEM. Why am I continually bothering to care and sanitize and mask and stay at home when no one else is? Literally no one would judge me in this state for it more than I’m already being judged (in most cases impersonally, though I felt the potential for it today in specific) for still watching the recommended guidelines.

I am really, really sick of this. I am so sick of feeling alone in this (of being alone in this, and Carol doesn’t count). Hearing other people saying “there there, you’re doing the right thing” honestly makes it even worse. I want people to stop patronizingly telling me to do things I already know are the right thing to do. I want other people as mad as I am that I can’t do the things I want to and need to do instead of being endlessly patient and noble about all the lives they’re saving by staying home. I’m top-of-my-head-blowing-off furious that so many people are shrugging and saying “well this is just the way it will be forever and alas, so it goes” and acting like those of us who did the right thing and cancelled our plans and our trips and our visits to dear friends but who are mad about having to do it are overreacting. I’m so fucking mad about it. I’ve stayed home for two months and I’ve isolated and I’ve quarantined and my hands are cracking from the constant sanitizer/washing at work and except for today I’ve done everything I’m supposed to do for this, and I don’t want to do it. And seeing people be so heroically virtuous and longsuffering on Facebook feels as alien and upsetting to me as the people who go to the beaches with a hundred of their closest friends.

That’s probably unfair in myriad ways. I’m really too angry, including at myelf, to soften it right now.

I want a vaccine and I want to be back in my classroom teaching to fifty faces instead of a screen in my living room, and I’m honestly freaking sick of waiting at home for them to figure this out. And watching everyone else move on with their lives back to the normal I would kill to have is just one more crack in the dike.

[trad-masculine]

Posture, poise, carriage, *Yawning* & a missing understanding in Western fitness concepts.

While this might seem pedantic, I'll try to keep it from feeling that way.

We conceptualize posture wrong in every single linguistic usage I've seen. It's perhaps a failing of the English language grammatically more than a failure of understanding in the Canon, as I've seen the correct concept described in various places both eastern & western. But never the words themselves accurately modeling the correct understanding of posture.

*Proper posture is the absence of carriage.* The body moves according to itself without an imposed or held sense of correct movement or posture.

Observable poise, the ephemeral elegance of movement found so desired, is likewise an absence of constraint to the body, a liquid form of self embodiment. Poise without poise.

Empty posture is best posture.

*

This concept is far more accessible & vibrant in the eastern physical tradition. Bruce Lee's famous, "be water, my friend." Makes a good example.

[The eastern words also, at least in translation, tend to have these very bizarre anti-concepts throughout. Like Buddhist Anatta or Anatman, no-self. Inspired by this, maybe terms like Anaposture (or Antiposture) are needed.]

*

The correct way to think this through is; your body is a tapastry upon which you put movement. It knows how to live & be, there is no need for you to hold it together. For you to force it to behave, to control it. So, let go of body image.

We were not born to look at ourselves in mirrors, physical or digital.

"Suck in your stomach."

"shoulders back."

"sit up straight."

There are many cues we are told or tell ourselves in the mirror; it's possible some can be helpful in rediscovering the natural state of empty posture. Most aren't. Moreover, putting the cues into your posture is not the correct goal. The correct goal is, literally, catharsis. To empty or rediscover empty posture. To release yourself from holding a posture altogether.

The place in movement to place emphasis is the process of relaxation, not of building tension. The eccentric of the exercise. Controlled lengthening under load. This is where the most muscle building, strength, explosiveness & even tendon injury healing occurs. In the process of lengthening the muscle, relaxation.

Often we flop into a "relaxed" posture. Giving up on the actual process of relaxation before it even truly begins. To move again we must force & pull ourselves together. "Relaxation" synonymous with collapse, proper posture synonymous with pulling a collapsed body together, to maintain the illusion it works as it should.

True Relaxation is a slow & careful process, involving a willingness to enter vulnerability, facing trauma & pain. It's not a letting go exactly, but a gradual releasing of tension. A warm glow of comfort & deeper sense of Being, within one's body. True posture a rediscovering of balance & unity of the body.

*

I don't believe in stretching. I don't mean in the idea of lengthening muscles, of relaxing; but the sensation of pulling on muscles, felt while "stretching." I've never seen an animal do this, or a child do it gladly, except as a demonstration of prideful flexibility. It's not the natural process the body is evolved for, instead I believe in Pandiculation. The *stretching* yawn you might feel in the morning that almost involuntarily sends your arms overhead and contorts & releases your bodies tension along with immense sensation of well being & peace.

Watch a cat get up from a nap, it stretches, or really it pandiculates through several poses, a *ouf* Downward Dog, a *arrgh* sort of Cobra/Upward Facing Dog & a *ahhh* sort of Warrior 3 hind leg extension stretch. In essence, Sun Salutation as an embedded, instinctive physiological & embodied routine.

We too have this same embodied instinct. It starts with a yawn, which is followed by an urge to move in a certain pattern to [realign the muscles of] the body. A posture reset. A process for return to empty posture.

A somatic process of healing.

*

The original Sun Salutation was an encoding of this process. While the normal practice is sure to have some benefit, learning to embody the yawn, to feel the moves innately, is the correct approach. This means abandoning the structure of the poses, & listening to the way your body wants you to move it.

Open yourself to your Antiposture. Following the cue of your body will lead to strange & contorted movements as you first unlock the proper sensation & follow it. Don't force it. Healing in this manner still takes time to progress. Changing the underlying coordination of your body is no trivial feat. It will take successive unwindings & remapping of your brains sense of body to reach an equilibrium of emptiness. Empty posture, Anaposture.

*

With some grasp of the yawn-sensation-movement process, it's very possible to incorporate the process of following sensation within a Yoga, Pilates or other movement routine. Sun Salutation being perhaps the ideal example. When I move this way, it's very loud, with lots of groaning & moaning. It feel *right* in a way that's rather profound. Completely unrepressed movement.

In pursuit of deeper embodiment, this is perhaps the best concept I've ever encountered in terms of value after incorporation. Catching the sensation that impulses movement in tandem with the instinct to move in the process of pandiculation lasts usually only a few seconds, perhaps up to a minute. It can be reignited again after exhalation & a new yawn & breath in, it's intimately woven into breath.

My avatar claims a quote: "Civilize the Mind, Make Savage the Body."

In that sense, this is exactly my conception of a Savage body. A wild body, an animal body. For the body to be in its natural state, ready at a moments notice for action.

*

It's shocking & a frustration to me that most of this understanding I've relayed here is my own concoction. This has never been succinctly depicted is any media of health, wellness, fitness or life. I've collected many, many bits & pieces together to develop this understanding. What I've described is at the very core of mind-body connection. The yawn-sensation-movement process of pandiculation, should be the opening chapter of every fitness book published.

Cats do this when they begin to move. So do children when they wake up, before life Traumatizes them into physical confusion. We know what a yawn is, & the feeling that follows it, of relaxation & some vague anxiety prodding us to move. Well, this is what that anxious prodding is about; to move such that your body recalibrates itself.

Yet this is never properly communicated or described in any physical manual I've read.

The closest I've seen is in Thomas Hanna's book Somatics, & the subsequent derivitive works. They, (the field of Somatics) approach the subsystem of engage-relax that at least memics part of the real thing of Yawn - Sensation - Movement - Relaxation - Exhalation. They get the cues of movement - relaxation - breathing close to right. They also correctly understand what they are memicing is related to what movements the cat does.

But the broader concept of empty posture, or coordinating a yawn with sensation into movement is missing entirely, from what I can tell.

*

The entire concept space is alien, & its at the absolute core of being human, having a body & caring for that body.

Yet this is something with almost a taboo around it. The yawn is completely divorced from the movement pattern that naturally issues from it. It shouldn't be. Don't let it be. Become your yawn when it comes to you.

Embody your breath.

[harryandmeghansussex]

Day 18 of @defendingtheduchesses 's Meghan memories challenge.

Meghan's writing has always been one of my favourite strengths of hers. And I thought I would share one for day 18, so I picked this important one.

'What are you?' A question I get asked every week of my life, often every day. 'Well,' I say, as I begin the verbal dance I know all too well. 'I'm an actress, a writer, the Editor-in-Chief of my lifestyle brand The Tig, a pretty good cook and a firm believer in handwritten notes.' A mouthful, yes, but one that I feel paints a pretty solid picture of who I am. But here's what happens: they smile and nod politely, maybe even chuckle, before getting to their point, 'Right, but what are you? Where are your parents from?' I knew it was coming, I always do. While I could say Pennsylvania and Ohio, and continue this proverbial two-step, I instead give them what they're after: 'My dad is Caucasian and my mom is African American. I'm half black and half white.

To describe something as being black and white means it is clearly defined. Yet when your ethnicity is black and white, the dichotomy is not that clear. In fact, it creates a grey area. Being biracial paints a blurred line that is equal parts staggering and illuminating. When I was asked by ELLE to share my story, I'll be honest, I was scared. It's easy to talk about which make-up I prefer, my favourite scene I've filmed, the rigmarole of 'a day in the life' and how much green juice I consume before a requisite Pilates class. And while I have dipped my toes into this on thetig.com, sharing small vignettes of my experiences as a biracial woman, today I am choosing to be braver, to go a bit deeper, and to share a much larger picture of that with you.

It was the late Seventies when my parents met, my dad was a lighting director for a soap opera and my mom was a temp at the studio. I like to think he was drawn to her sweet eyes and her Afro, plus their shared love of antiques. Whatever it was, they married and had me. They moved into a house in The Valley in LA, to a neighbourhood that was leafy and affordable. What it was not, however, was diverse. And there was my mom, caramel in complexion with her light-skinned baby in tow, being asked where my mother was since they assumed she was the nanny.

I was too young at the time to know what it was like for my parents, but I can tell you what it was like for me – how they crafted the world around me to make me feel like I wasn't different but special. When I was about seven, I had been fawning over a boxed set of Barbie dolls. It was called The Heart Family and included a mom doll, a dad doll, and two children. This perfect nuclear family was only sold in sets of white dolls or black dolls. I don't remember coveting one over the other, I just wanted one. On Christmas morning, swathed in glitter-flecked wrapping paper, there I found my Heart Family: a black mom doll, a white dad doll, and a child in each colour. My dad had taken the sets apart and customised my family.

Fast-forward to the seventh grade and my parents couldn't protect me as much as they could when I was younger. There was a mandatory census I had to complete in my English class – you had to check one of the boxes to indicate your ethnicity: white, black, Hispanic or Asian. There I was (my curly hair, my freckled face, my pale skin, my mixed race) looking down at these boxes, not wanting to mess up, but not knowing what to do. You could only choose one, but that would be to choose one parent over the other – and one half of myself over the other. My teacher told me to check the box for Caucasian. 'Because that's how you look, Meghan,' she said. I put down my pen. Not as an act of defiance, but rather a symptom of my confusion. I couldn't bring myself to do that, to picture the pit-in-her-belly sadness my mother would feel if she were to find out. So, I didn't tick a box. I left my identity blank – a question mark, an absolute incomplete – much like how I felt.

When I went home that night, I told my dad what had happened. He said the words that have always stayed with me: 'If that happens again, you draw your own box.'

I never saw my father angry, but in that moment I could see the blotchiness of his skin crawling from pink to red. It made the green of his eyes pop and his brow was weighted at the thought of his daughter being prey to ignorance. Growing up in a homogeneous community in Pennsylvania, the concept of marrying an African-American woman was not on the cards for my dad. But he saw beyond what was put in front of him in that small-sized (and, perhaps, small-minded) town, and he wanted me to see beyond that census placed in front of me. He wanted me to find my own truth.

And I tried. Navigating closed-mindedness to the tune of a dorm mate I met my first week at university who asked if my parents were still together. 'You said your mom is black and your dad is white, right?' she said. I smiled meekly, waiting for what could possibly come out of her pursed lips next. 'And they're divorced?' I nodded. 'Oh, well that makes sense.' To this day, I still don't fully understand what she meant by that, but I understood the implication. And I drew back: I was scared to open this Pandora's box of discrimination, so I sat stifled, swallowing my voice.

I was home in LA on a college break when my mom was called the 'N' word. We were leaving a concert and she wasn't pulling out of a parking space quickly enough for another driver. My skin rushed with heat as I looked to my mom. Her eyes welling with hateful tears, I could only breathe out a whisper of words, so hushed they were barely audible: 'It's OK, Mommy.' I was trying to temper the rage-filled air permeating our small silver Volvo. Los Angeles had been plagued with the racially charged Rodney King and Reginald Denny cases just years before, when riots had flooded our streets, filling the sky with ash that flaked down like apocalyptic snow; I shared my mom's heartache, but I wanted us to be safe. We drove home in deafening silence, her chocolate knuckles pale from gripping the wheel so tightly.

It's either ironic or apropos that in this world of not fitting in, and of harbouring my emotions so tightly under my ethnically nondescript (and not so thick) skin, that I would decide to become an actress. There couldn't possibly be a more label-driven industry than acting, seeing as every audition comes with a character breakdown: 'Beautiful, sassy, Latina, 20s'; 'African American, urban, pretty, early 30s'; 'Caucasian, blonde, modern girl next door'. Every role has a label; every casting is for something specific. But perhaps it is through this craft that I found my voice.

Being 'ethnically ambiguous', as I was pegged in the industry, meant I could audition for virtually any role. Morphing from Latina when I was dressed in red, to African American when in mustard yellow; my closet filled with fashionable frocks to make me look as racially varied as an Eighties Benetton poster. Sadly, it didn't matter: I wasn't black enough for the black roles and I wasn't white enough for the white ones, leaving me somewhere in the middle as the ethnic chameleon who couldn't book a job.

This is precisely why Suits stole my heart. It's the Goldilocks of my acting career – where finally I was just right. The series was initially conceived as a dramedy about a NY law firm flanked by two partners, one of whom navigates this glitzy world with his fraudulent degree. Enter Rachel Zane, one of the female leads and the dream girl – beautiful and confident with an encyclopedic knowledge of the law. 'Dream girl' in Hollywood terms had always been that quintessential blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty – that was the face that launched a thousand ships, not the mixed one. But the show's producers weren't looking for someone mixed, nor someone white or black for that matter. They were simply looking for Rachel. In making a choice like that, the Suits producers helped shift the way pop culture defines beauty. The choices made in these rooms trickle into how viewers see the world, whether they're aware of it or not. Some households may never have had a black person in their house as a guest, or someone biracial. Well, now there are a lot of us on your TV and in your home with you. And with Suits, specifically, you have Rachel Zane. I couldn't be prouder of that.

At the end of season two, the producers went a step further and cast the role of Rachel's father as a dark-skinned African-American man, played by the brilliant Wendell Pierce. I remember the tweets when that first episode of the Zane family aired, they ran the gamut from: 'Why would they make her dad black? She's not black' to 'Ew, she's black? I used to think she was hot.' The latter was blocked and reported. The reaction was unexpected, but speaks of the undercurrent of racism that is so prevalent, especially within America. On the heels of the racial unrest in Ferguson and Baltimore, the tensions that have long been percolating under the surface in the US have boiled over in the most deeply saddening way. And as a biracial woman, I watch in horror as both sides of a culture I define as my own become victims of spin in the media, perpetuating stereotypes and reminding us that the States has perhaps only placed bandages over the problems that have never healed at the root.

I, on the other hand, have healed from the base. While my mixed heritage may have created a grey area surrounding my self-identification, keeping me with a foot on both sides of the fence, I have come to embrace that. To say who I am, to share where I'm from, to voice my pride in being a strong, confident mixed-race woman. That when asked to choose my ethnicity in a questionnaire as in my seventh grade class, or these days to check 'Other', I simply say: 'Sorry, world, this is not Lost and I am not one of The Others. I am enough exactly as I am.'

Just as black and white, when mixed, make grey, in many ways that's what it did to my self-identity: it created a murky area of who I was, a haze around howpeople connected with me. I was grey. And who wants to be this indifferent colour, devoid of depth and stuck in the middle? I certainly didn't. So you make a choice: continue living your life feeling muddled in this abyss of self-misunderstanding, or you find your identity independent of it. You push for colour-blind casting, you draw your own box. You introduce yourself as who you are, not what colour your parents happen to be. You cultivate your life with people who don't lead with ethnic descriptions such as, 'that black guy Tom', but rather friends who say: 'You know? Tom, who works at [blah blah] and dates [fill in the blank] girl.' You create the identity you want for yourself, just as my ancestors did when they were given their freedom. Because in 1865 (which is so shatteringly recent), when slavery was abolished in the United States, former slaves had to choose a name. A surname, to be exact.

Perhaps the closest thing to connecting me to my ever-complex family tree, my longing to know where I come from, and the commonality that links me to my bloodline, is the choice that my great-great-great grandfather made to start anew. He chose the last name Wisdom. He drew his own box.