#of me. I don’t want you to conceptualise my existence away from you. I wish to see to exist. I have no object permanence.

[icterid-rubus]

Bumble perosn asked for a second date and my friend who called me a ‘babe’ on the way to the airport asked to see me next week so I’ve done the grown up thing and planned an immediate out of state visit with my sibling.

[light-yaers]

No Saints: Chapter Two

This content is explicit and is 18+

Warnings: Graphic sexual content, violence, implied effects of PTSD, death and explicit language.

Read on Ao3 here | Fic Masterpost

Word Count - 5.7k

Chapter Two

If the time without Mando for those three weeks had led you to a mad sense of loneliness, the days after your previous encounter with him had driven you to insanity.

You woke the next morning with a start—the dream you’d been having was more than you’d ever bargained for. You cursed as you sat up in bed, bringing a hand down to between your thighs.

“Oh, fuck,” You let out breathily, before you had to laugh at yourself to move on from the absolute embarrassment that your own body had put you through. You showered immediately, indulging in the flood of hot water more that morning than you’d ever done previously.

You had to stare at yourself in the mirror afterwards, noticing the blush on your cheeks that was still present from the night before. You pointed at yourself sternly, towel wrapped around your uncontrollable body.

“Snap out of it—stop it,” You told yourself.

Never before had a man reduced you to a puddle with a single touch—of your legs. It wasn’t even anywhere remotely private, just the upper portions of your thighs. But that bottle; he’d known what he was doing, placing it almost harshly in the crevice closest to the most vulnerable asset your body possessed. Pushing your thighs together afterward had been the last straw. If he’d lingered, you wouldn’t have been surprised if you’d erupted just from the tension in the room, just from the involuntary clenching that your legs were betraying you with.

Mando would never find out about that dream, over your dead fucking body. You could almost imagine his reaction; the subtle chuckles from beneath his helmet, transforming into something else as he inched ever closer towards you, sprawled, ready—

“Kriff!” You yelled into the mirror. You shook your head a few times to get the image out of your head, before vowing not to go there, at least until your workday was done.

You grudgingly got ready to open up shop, checking inventory and wiping down your work desk. You wished you’d somehow dragged him to your bedroom instead the night before; seeing the desk in daylight only increased the tightness in your gut. Dank farrik... today wasn’t going to be easy.

But you endured.

You repaired blaster after blaster, adding modifications to old models and polishing until you thought your fingernails would fall off. You wasted no time over the blunt conversations with hunters, only saying what you needed to and waiting to get paid.

This went on all week. The same old grind, the same desperation within your gut. You tried to stay focused and productive, not stopping even for a minute, since your mind would immediately float back to the Beskar clad hunter if you did. You found yourself in your firing range a lot more often, choosing to practice and keep your mind straying from thoughts of him—

Thoughts that, despite the one-track mindedness of your pulsing heart, also ended up travelling to softer realms. You wondered if he was safe, if he was okay. You wondered if he was well-fed, well-hydrated, well-rested—

You wondered if he also felt the loneliness of his solitude more so after your last encounter. Stars, you wondered if he missed you.

I feared continuing to visit you would become a habit I could no longer break...

Oh, man. That sentence alone reduced you to a red-faced mess, but more so towards the gentler side of things. Mando had a heart, that was certain—he also had a cock, that was definitely certain. You slammed your fist on your work desk, making yourself jump at the sudden display of utter madness.

You’d never had to cope with this level of sexual frustration, but stars, it was real. You’d never been bothered, not really. Nevarro had been sparse in offering you that kind of intimacy, but you’d had it occasionally. A few visiting hunters, here and there, taken in by the immediate attraction of a cut-throat killer and the intelligence of a woman mechanic such as yourself.

But nothing had ever come of them; no weekly visits, no long term plans. You didn’t particularly want anything either. Having attachments only existed to make your life a lot more difficult, especially given the nature of most of the people you’d acquainted yourself with over the years.

There was no telling when they could accidentally mess up and never come back to collect their pay from Karga.

You realised that was why Mando had been so reluctant to return, after your small confession of enjoying his company. He, too, knew what his job entailed. God forbid, he never came back. God forbid, you were killed in your own shop. It was a definite possibility, but one that you didn’t often allow yourself to conceptualise.

You were too lost in thought to notice someone walk into the shop, but when you finally looked up, you immediately restored yourself to a professional.

“Can I help?” You asked, not wasting time to give him a smile. He was a young man, probably no older than yourself. His outfit was typical of all first-time Guild members; too big for their boots, too cocky looking with the way they peered around a room. They were the worst customers by far.

He sauntered up to the desk, slamming his blaster down and hardly meeting your eye. “Cartridge needs replacing,”

“Six hundred credits,” You said in return, not bothering with any niceties. “Upfront,” You added. Immediately he rolled his eyes, but nevertheless dug into his deep pockets.

“Seems a little pricy, don’t you think?” He perked his brow at you, finally meeting your eye, only to send you a playboy smirk.

“If you don’t like my prices, change the cartridge yourself,” You offered bluntly. He scoffed, going to place his credits on the desk, but he stopped abruptly. You sent him a questioning look, before he fully retracted his hand and put the credits back in his pocket.

“Four hundred,” He offered up. Your eyes widened immediately, as laughter burst from the back of your throat. You couldn’t stop the chuckles from escaping your mouth, all the while his face was dropping ever so slowly into a scowl.

“You’re really trying to haggle with me?” You let out, but your voice was already turning more poisonous. You got paid fucking pittance with the amount of work you actually got around here, and this fucking kid was really trying to undercharge you even more? No. Not fucking today. “Get out, kid,” You said, scowling at him warningly. “And good luck getting a cartridge change on this kriffing planet without me,”

He gulped worriedly, and you knew you’d got him. He started shuffling in his pockets again, getting out his credits once more.

“Okay—six hundred—,” He gave in.

“Eight hundred,” You interrupted. His face utterly dropped, revealing some of the wimpiest puppy dog eyes you’d ever seen on Nevarro. This kid was lucky he hadn’t been beaten up in the bar already. He smelled like Daddy’s money and cockiness. “For that insulting attempt at a haggle, eight hundred. Upfront,”

You saw him struggle against the rising anger in his throat, just waiting for him to either explode, or hand over the credits like a good little boy. Either way, you were prepared for a fight. It’d been a while since a newcomer had challenged you; and you liked a challenge.

He pulled an empty hand out of his pockets slowly, as you watched him with an unbothered expression. He was seething, you could see the red winding its way up his neck—

And then his blaster was pointed at you, right between the eyes.

You let out a colossal sigh, but more than anything, you were sort of thankful. What a way to expel your frustrations this would be. The saddest part was, though, that this kid was just so stupid. He’d come in for a fucking cartridge replacement; that meant his gun was fucking caput. He wouldn’t have been able to shoot you even if he’d tried.

“You’re cute,” You let out finally, noticing the slight wobble of his arm the longer he kept up the act of being threatening. “Go on—shoot me,” You prompted, raising your arms in a fake surrender.

When he didn’t pull the trigger, you made it easier for him. You came out from behind the desk, walking round towards him. He began to falter, backing himself up into the corner of the shop. “Hey—just, wait—wait there!” He yelled, and you did as he said, rolling your eyes unenthusiastically.

“Come on, do it. I’m an unarmed, poor, alone woman in her little shop on such a horrible planet. Shoot me. You’d be doing me a favour,” You pouted at him sadly, taking a melodramatic approach before you knew what your plan would be—

Kicking his ass.

When you saw him falter, just for a second, you chose then to strike. You grabbed his blaster, pulling him towards you as you snapped your elbow down on his arm harshly—the crunch was enough to determine you’d just utterly broken his damn arm, but his screams were even more so in that favour—

He let out an excruciating groan, tearing up suddenly and dropping his blaster to the floor as his hand seized up. You pushed him away, hoisting a knee underneath his ribcage as he let out another yelp in pain. He stumbled back into the wall, next to the door, as tears slowly dragged down his cheeks. He was clutching his limp shooting arm close to his chest, taking in deep breaths and letting out wracking sobs.

Maybe I’m a sadist, but fuck this guy.

You couldn’t help but smile, going to pick up his blaster as he continued to whimper at his snapped arm. He lolled himself over to the door, slamming it open with his foot and backing out of your shop. You dangled his blaster in your hands, before fucking launching it at him—

He let out another yelp, ducking out of the way before it slammed right into his pretty boy face. You strode out of the shop, watching him flail about like a fish out of water to grab his gun, before booking it round the corner and probably off the planet as quickly as he could.

“Pleasure doing business with you!” You yelled after him, waving sweetly as the last of him disappeared round the corner of the street. “Prick,” You whispered under your breath, scoffing at the entire encounter with this kid.

Sure, you’d missed out on six hundred credits, but fuck it. Men were so quick to think they had the upper hand, especially the dumb ones. If a bounty hunter was experienced, they’d always have their guard up, no matter what you looked like at first glance, and they certainly wouldn’t have underpaid a Nevarro resident. That was a fucking death sentence. You just happened to be gentler.

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” His modulated drawl came from behind. Within seconds, your heart was in your throat. You turned to him, trying to ignore the way your face was immediately gaining colour.

You smiled at his helmet, taking him in wholeheartedly. God, you’d missed his silence. It was oddly comforting—not like white noise, not like static, but just the subtlety of his breaths travelling through the modulator.

“He had it coming,” You replied, taking a few strides towards him. “Little shit tried to haggle me for a fucking cartridge replacement,”

“I know,” Mando said. “I saw him go in,” He revealed. Pins and needles spread all over your body with no warning.

“You—saw all that?” You questioned, but by the amused tilt of his helmet, he’d already answered your question. He saw all of it. His visor probably had heat signature capabilities, which meant he’d seen you breaking his arm, kneeing him in his ribs and heard all the rest.

“You can fight,” He said it in the same tone as when he’d talked about your shooting. Like he was impressed. Or proud.

“There’s lots I can do,” You let out, allowing the cockiness of your voice to seep through. It was a joke, just an attempt at a laugh, but Mando took it in a different direction.

“I don’t doubt that,”

You tried not to utterly collapse as his tone turned into more of a growl. It hit you in your very core, causing that familiar feeling in your gut to start back up again, much against your efforts to push it down for the past week.

You headed back to the shop, Mando close on your tail. He shut the door behind him, and the sound of him twisting the lock hit your ears pleasantly.

He often did it, even before the subject of whatever this was between you had risen. Maybe he didn’t want people following him; didn’t want people catching on to his secrets of where the hell he was getting extra information.

“You’re back earlier than I thought you’d be,” You said, trying to spark a conversation like normal, despite the 6ft mound of sexual tension that Mando had brought inside the shop with him.

“I got lucky,” He explained. “Caught up to a runner on a whim. It was an easy fight,” You grabbed your water tankard as you made your way to your usual stool, sat opposite the hunter. “Much like the fight you just won,”

You sent him an amused smile. “He was a puppy. I probably scared him away from Nevarro for the rest of his life,”

“If it wasn’t you who’d done it, he’d probably be dead by now,” Mando added. He was right; others wouldn’t have been so lenient on a fool who ran their mouth like him.

“That’s a nice way of easing my conscience about breaking his arm like a twig,” You scoffed out, taking a drink of water.

“Does your conscience need more easing?” He questioned, and you looked at him plainly. This was a double-edged sword— if you said yes, it only proved that at times you felt uncomfortable about the way people dealt with things here. If you said no— would he think you to be harsh?

No. He kills people for money. A broken arm is nothing to him.

You shook your head sternly. “He got what was coming to him,” You replied. “No one insults me in my own establishment and leaves unscathed,”

Mando settled in his seat, leaning back against the wall. “Good girl,”

Your gut coiled immediately. Fuck— this man. This fucking man. He knew exactly what he was doing with his words, and he knew it well by the way his helmet tilted towards you once again.

You were torn between punching him in the stomach or utterly jumping his bones, but you did neither. You only squirmed in your seat, praying that his thermal sensors weren’t picking up the rising heat between your legs.

The silence was broken by something you weren’t expecting— a groan— from his stomach.

You glanced at his Beskar covered belly then back to his visor, smiling subtly. “Hungry?” You questioned.

Mando visibly tensed. “It’s fine,”

You knew he couldn’t eat freely. That would require taking his helmet off. From the way he’d warningly told you to look away while he sipped at whiskey before, you knew the helmet was a part of who he was. If you were to hazard a guess, you’d say no one alive had ever seen his face—

No one had ever trickled their eyes across his features, his eyes, his nose. Even drinking in the same room as you had taken six months of built-up trust for him to perform.

You stood gently, heading to your work desk and opening up the cupboards beneath. You laid out some basics— bread, butter, some cheese, leaving it on the desktop before you grabbed your favourite blaster.

“I’ll be out back,” You told him. He stood abruptly as you turned to leave.

“You—,” He began, halting you. “You didn’t have to,”

“Just eat, Mando,” You scoffed out. “I don’t want you going hungry in my home,” Your cheeks flushed as soon as you’d finished talking. That was personal—it implied you wanted him to be comfortable, you wanted him to enjoy his time with you.

You nodded at him once, making your way outside to the courtyard and shutting the door behind you. You chose to shoot away your embarrassment; how many times did you have to check yourself? How many times did you have to think back on your words and realise you’d said something stupid?

You shot three times, only hitting one target dead centre. You cursed at yourself, repositioning your feet and forcing yourself to breath slower.

Would he leave if he knew you were starting to care for him?

You shot once, missing the target entirely. Fuck. Come on.

Would his guards go back up if he realised that you enjoyed his visits more than he’d ever fully know?

Twice more— you skimmed the edge of the target on both.

“Fucks sake,” You muttered, only getting more flustered as you failed with each blast, instead of getting rid of the frustration within you.

You breathed out slowly, allowing your body to fall into a stance naturally. If you overthought your shooting, you always failed. If you felt it—felt the trigger and the barrel and visualised the blast, you always got it spot on.

But, evidently, you were distracted.

You aimed at the target, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth, but your arm had started to shake subtly—

You felt him behind you before you could turn around. He positioned himself parallel to you, shoving his chest into your back and bringing his hand up to steady your shooting arm. He gripped his fingers around your forearm, twisting you slightly until he was happy with the way the shot lined up.

Your eyes widened when you felt his other hand come to sit snuggly upon your waist. His hand was large enough to squeeze you tightly, balancing you as you realised you’d been tilted to the left the whole time.

His helmet shone in your peripheral, coming to hover over your right shoulder and tilted toward your face. You didn’t waver—you kept your eyes forward and focused on the target before you, despite the fucking urge to look at him—

Stars, it was a strong urge.

“You know how to do this already,” Mando spoke coarsely. God, his voice sounded like butter. It wasn’t helping. “What’s got you this shaken?”

Bastard.

He knew it was because of him. And he was relishing in that fact. Without a second thought, you pulled the trigger—and it missed. Again. You were ready to explode, but instead, you gasped.

Mando moved his hand from your waist to wrap completely around your stomach. You could feel the strength in his muscles, in the way he was hugging you from behind. Your legs started to waver next, as if they’d completely forgot how the fuck to stand up.

“Try again,” He prompted, his voice deepening with arousal. He was enjoying himself. He was enjoying you like this, like a toy, like a game. You imagined his eyes trickling down you from this angle, feeling your pulse quicken as his grip on you didn’t falter. He could definitely feel the shake from your legs; they were positioned just below his groin.

You forced yourself to ignore these feelings, tensing all of your muscles to somewhat numb yourself from his touch, before you fired again.

It missed—unsurprisingly.

His arm immediately moved once more, snaking its way beneath the soft fabric of your shirt until you felt cold Beskar upon the bare skin of your tummy. Oh, fuck—stars. The breath hitched in your throat before you could stop it, as a moan trickled from your mouth involuntarily.

It only riled him up more, as he slammed his body closer to your back. You heard the unmistakable sound of his strained modulated breathing, feeling nothing but his body pushed up behind your own, his hand tightening its grip on your bare stomach and digging into your flesh slightly.

“Try. Again,” He spoke roughly, like it pained him to talk.

You gulped down the need to yell. You wanted to tell him he wasn’t helping. You wanted to tell him to wind his hand further up your shirt, but instead, you were hit with the want to frustrate him even more.

You kept your gaze plastered on the target, but you allowed yourself to don the smallest of smirks. “What happens if I miss again?” You whispered out.

Mando wasted no time with giving you a physical demonstration. He pushed himself further into you, shoving his arm further up your shirt until his palm laid in the space between your breasts. You shivered at the sensation of cold metal upon your soft, supple, skin—skin that was rarely touched by anyone else by yourself.

You couldn’t stop yourself from squirming, slamming your free arm back until you were gripped onto the undershirt beneath his Beskar. You already knew your knuckles were white from the sheer force your fingers had clasped onto him with—Stars, how you’d love to tug off his armour this way.

It was his turn to growl then, as his arm only tensed over your skin. His shooting arm was still and steady as ever, next to the wobbles of your own—you were jelly. And there was nothing you could fucking do about it.

“Hit the target and I’ll stop,” He offered. Your brain flooded with an idea, something to make him realise how fucking bad you wanted this. Abruptly, you swiped your arm upwards to the sky, firing the blaster without any hesitation. It soared up into the air before it disappeared into the approaching dusk of the Nevarro sun.

It was an obvious message; don’t fucking stop.

Before you had the chance to process anything, his shooting arm moved at light speed to grip your inner thigh. You squirmed uncontrollably, immediately trying to shove your legs together, but Mando’s knees intercepted you. He made it impossible to move your legs, boxing you into this stance like a doll.

He was covering you on all sides; your back, your front, your sides. You were effectively trapped in this man’s grasp, doomed to suffer a game of hit the target while your body fought against your attempts at any form of concentration.

“I—,” You began, stuttering through your words and fucking forgetting how to speak, as his fingers started to crawl further up the crevice between your thighs. “Don’t want you to stop,” You forced out, causing a moan to burst from Mando’s lips.

You had to release your grasp on his shirt from fear that your fingers were about to fall off, but that didn’t stop you from moving your hand closer to his waistband. As you struggled to reach around, your hand grazed over his bulge—

Without warning, Mando peeled himself off of you, letting out the most ragged groan that you’d ever heard him produce. He stumbled backwards as his arms swiped away from your skin, until you heard the slam of Beskar against the wall behind you. You swivelled round immediately, still shaking from the fucking pleasure you felt, but you were more concerned about his sudden collapse.

“Mando?” You questioned, rushing forward towards him as he slumped against the wall, but he stuck out a hand, halting you before you could properly approach him.

“Fine,” He breathed out. You saw the strenuous way his chest was inhaling and exhaling, hearing the utter strain of his breaths from beneath his helmet. You let him stay like that for a few minutes, allowing him to catch his breath as you also tried to regain your full composure. Stars—you could feel the warmth of yourself between your legs. You’d bet that you were dripping, and it wouldn’t have surprised you in the slightest.  

Your limbs were still overcome with that jelloid sensation, refusing to move in ways that you were used to and instead forcing you to adopt a sort of groaned hobble. When Mando finally looked up at you, red faced, sweating, breathing calmer and still clutching the blaster by your side, he let out an amused scoff.

“You were right,” He finally spoke. “It’s overwhelming,” He groaned when he got himself up from the wall, straightening himself as his desires slowly faded away. You were coming back to yourself too, feeling the utter amusement of the entire situation.

How long would it take two touch-starved loners to actually have sex, without one of them collapsing before it?

You finally walked over to him, tentatively reaching out to grab his forearm. He let you drag him back to your former position, but without the burning sensation of the sexual tension from before. You gently placed his hand onto your waist, bringing his other to the forearm of your shooting arm.

It was the same position as before, the same stance, the same proximity—

Without hesitation, you fired the blaster, hitting the target dead centre. You relished in the achievement, despite knowing you’d had the ability to do it all along. You took comfort in the fact Mando hadn’t removed himself from you just yet, that he was settling into the nooks of your body, your waist, your lower back, feeling comfortable enough himself to stay placed next to you.

It was a sorely missed sensation, just being close to another human being. You could feel Mando realising this same exact feeling; feeling himself getting used to this level of intimacy once more, with it not necessarily being just sexual, despite both of you having those very strong urges.

“I wonder what had you so shaken before?” He cooed in your ear. You rolled your eyes instinctively, turning around to look at him face on. It prompted him to move both hands to sit on your waist—a new feeling, but one that you both seemed to like.

“Shut the fuck up,” You let out, smiling all the while.

“That’s rude,” He hit back with. You could practically hear his smile beneath the helmet.

“Don’t ask such idiotic questions, then,” You gave him a single smack on chest, not expecting the Beskar to fucking hurt that much. You immediately doubled over, clutching your wrist, before you started jumping on the spot at the tingling pain your hand was throbbing with.

Mando was amused. The prick.

“I tapped you, what the hell is Beskar’s problem?” You stuttered out, waving your hand about and flexing your fingers to avoid numbness.

“It doesn’t like you,” Was all he said, before grabbing your arm and dragging you back inside the shop. He shut the door while you jumped up onto your desktop like normal, dropping your legs over the side, still holding your hand.

“Well, I don’t like it,” You retorted. You looked up at his visor, shooting him a smirk. “I’d much rather you weren’t wearing it,” You let out in a whisper, somehow hoping he wouldn’t entirely hear it, but of course he did.

Mando let out a modulated sigh, heading to sit on his usual seat in the shop. You tried not to giggle at his exasperation, but it was simply comedy gold. This stoic man, reduced to absolute pieces by the subtle graze of your fingers over his, very hard, cock.

“We have time,” He replied, before a tense silence flooded through the shop floor once more. You were exhausted after such a hard week, it was true, and this encounter had only sapped up your last remaining energy. You expected Mando felt equally as tired, slumping himself in the chair and continuing through the aftermath of earlier.

“We have time,” You repeated, feeling a welcoming sweetness to replace the ferocious fire in your gut from before. It was fluttering and warm; it made you feel giddy, instead of ravenous. Mando’s helmet tilted to you on the desk, and you smiled at him smally in recognition.

“I should go,” He let out, almost sadly. “I’m need to meet with Karga,”

You tried not to think about how elated you felt at that fact he’d come to see you before meeting with Karga. He’d landed on Nevarro, fresh from his bounties and ready for more work, and he’d come to you before all of that. Stars, it felt good.

“He’s bad news,” You said suddenly, copying his words from the week before. Mando only sighed once more, before forcing himself to stand and sling his satchel over his shoulder.

“I’d watch that smart mouth if I were you,” He threatened, but you only smirked at his response.

“Oh yeah?” You began. “What are you gonna do about it?” You let out playfully, not thinking anything serious about your choice of words.

Suddenly, Mando stormed towards you, getting in close—he shoved his body between your legs as you sat atop the desk, hands gripping the backs of your knees to keep them secure around his sides. You were taken aback, looking up at him like a fucking rabbit in headlights, while one of his hands came to rest on your chin.

His thumb swiped back and forth over your bottom lip gently, all while you stayed absolutely still. Frozen, pulsing, a bit terrified, but mostly turned the fuck on.

“I like your smart mouth,” He growled out. “But not when I have to leave,”

Stars, what the fuck. You were melting immediately once more, all too aware of the way his hips were pressing into you—you could feel him, you could feel the throb.

You had no control over the way your cheeks fucking blushed. If you got any redder, you would have looked to be dowsed in fresh blood. You ignored the hammering of your heart, the heat radiating from your very body, while you tentatively raised a hand to his helmet.

You placed your hand on the cold, hard metal of the mask he never took off, somehow still being surprised about the feeling of the surface—hard, cold, smooth, perfect. As far as you were concerned, this was Mando’s face, this was what he looked like always.

As much as you wanted to delve beneath the armour, you were also a realist. You didn’t expect to ever see his face, as much as you ached to. You didn’t expect to ever kiss his lips, as much as you craved to. You didn’t expect the Mandalorian to unwind fully with anyone, let alone you—

But beneath all of that, was hope.

“Stay then,” You said it before you could analyse the words in your brain. Mando didn’t remove himself from you, but you felt him tense up. “After Karga, stay here tonight,” You repeated.

You fully expected Mando to retract his grip from you, to leave without a word, but instead he got closer to you. He pulled your legs around his waist, leaning himself down to lean his arms on your work desk, until his helmet was all you saw. You wondered, if you squinted, would you see his eyes beneath?

“I can’t,” Mando said finally, before you felt him pulling away. You took your chance, though, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and bringing your lips to his helmet. You kissed him where you expected his cheek to be, navigating the indents and curves in the Besker, before pulling back and sending him a saddened look.

“Be safe, then,” You gave up, allowing him to leave the safety of your legs, wrapped around his hips snuggly. He looked incredibly reluctant to leave, but nevertheless, he grabbed his satchel, slinging it over his shoulder like you’d seen him do a thousand times—

And he left.

You sat in silence for a while, while the darkness set in outside. You turned no lights on, opting to roam around your shop in almost pitch-black, just for the fucking hell of it. Stars—you’d been fucking blue-balled, and so had he. Both times, you’d got close to getting there, but something always faltered before either of you had the chance.

Not that you thought that was a problem. If anything, it spurred you forward, increasing your fantasies surrounding the inevitable unwinding that you’d give him, or more excitedly, he’d give you. You’d be lying if you didn’t think about it all the fucking time—the prospect of Mando making you cum had plagued you for the better part of three months, but now that this had happened, you were getting incredibly impatient.

As much as you wanted to go full throttle, neither of you could fucking take that right now. Not after so long without being touched, not after reacquainting yourselves with the feeling of sexual intimacy; and, possibly, romance.

You were a hard-skinned woman. Making and repairing literal killing machines was your job. You’d hurt, maimed, injured too many people to remember the exact amount, and you knew Mando’s numbers most definitely topped yours. Yet this feeling went beyond the want to be railed by this man—

Maybe, just maybe, you wanted to care for him, too. You wanted to know his past, you wanted to know about Mandalore, you wanted to know what the Beskar and the helmet meant to him— Stars, you wanted to know his favourite colour.

You wanted him to stay. Even if he couldn’t fathom sleeping in your bed, even if the Beskar stayed on completely. You spent most of your days waiting for him to return to Nevarro and, just this once, you wished you could wake up to him.

Kriffing hell. Get it together.

You were pulled from your thoughts when your foot slammed into a box of parts on the way to your bedroom. You fully deserved it, walking around in a pitch-black workshop like it was easy as pie. You grappled at air to find the doorway to your bedroom, almost catapulting yourself into your drawers, until you finally stumbled across your bed.

You got in, not bothering to strip, or wash your face, or brush your teeth—

You got in and hugged your damn pillow. All the while, listening for the familiar sound of your door being lockpicked, hoping that maybe it would be the Mandalorian.

[thexfridax]

Translated interview (with omissions)

The female gaze: An interview with Céline Sciamma

Michael Ranze, filmdienst.de, 2nd of November 2019

// Additions or clarifications for translating purposes are denoted as [T: …]. A couple of omissions in the first interview, but I provided links to existing articles with more information. I’ve also added extracts from two more interviews with Céline below. Aaaaand... I believe this is it for German Portrait interviews! 😅 //

A conversation with the French director about ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’.

The French director Céline Sciamma already garnered international attention with her debut film ‘Water Lilies’. She is now a regular at the big film festivals. Her recent film ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’ is a multi-layered love story between a female painter and a young noble woman, whom she has to paint.

Interviewer: Your first three films ‘Water Lilies’ (2007), ‘Tomboy’ (2011) and ‘Girlhood' (2014) are about the coming-of-age of female characters, about their search for identity, including sexual identity. Where does this great interest in the world view of young women come from?

Céline Sciamma: I was lucky enough to make films as a young woman and to talk about things that I know about and understand. That’s why my first three films were closely connected to the childhood and youth of the heroines, and their female identity. I’m also pursuing the same theme in my new film ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’, this time with grown women. In the other films there was always the desire for love, which is also self-discovery. Love is fully lived out this time – this creates some kind of dialogue. I am 40 years old – I now have to talk about these things. (laughs) [T: Also see here, here, here or here about her previous films]

I: But there’s also the theme of female solidarity, especially in ‘Girlhood’…

CS: Yes, indeed. The more my work develops, the more it deals with the theme of friendship, sorority, but also the ability to enjoy life to the fullest. This also includes solidarity, these small islands that women can establish together. My films open up the space for this idea, this is much more radical in ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’ than in my previous films.

I: But you also wrote the screenplay for André Téchiné’s film ‘Being 17’, where the two main characters are adolescent boys.

CS: That’s the same kind of work for me. It’s about creating characters without objectifying them, and to find access to their experiences. The female gaze is not only about filming women. It’s also about being aware about the images and representations. You have to pay a lot of attention, when you are inventing or composing something. Otherwise it becomes conventional, or you create characters that are empty. That applies to men and women. The male gaze is damaging for male representation in my opinion. I thought that it would be interesting for me to do it differently.

I: How did you work together with André Téchiné on the screenplay?

CS: This was the only time in my career as scriptwriter that I worked on the script with someone else. I admire Téchiné’s work. My first cinephile emotions are linked to his films. It was therefore a lot of fun to enter his matrix and get access to his thinking, on the one hand to participate, and on the other hand to support his goals. The fact that he wanted to do a film about youth motivated me to make him a young film director. [T: Also see here about her work on ‘Being 17′]

I: He is now 76 years old.

CS: Yes, exactly. He was 73, when we worked together. But it never felt like there was a huge age hierarchy between us. I admire him very much, he really fuelled my ambitions, we have a very intense relationship.

I: What do you like more: writing scripts or directing films?

CS: This has changed. I always liked the balance between the two, also the fact that I didn’t always have to follow my own wishes, but could immerse myself in another logic and worlds, and distract myself. But over the years I realised that I don’t want to lose any more time. It’s of course not a waste of time to work for others. But you sometimes have to put up with long project delays. For the first time in a long time I don’t have any screenplay assignments, and I like this feeling. But you never know what may happen. I was really blessed with some projects. For ‘My Life as a Courgette’, it just gave me joy to write a film for children. If something like that comes along again, I would do it immediately. [T: Also see here about her work on ‘My Life as a Courgette’]

[T: Omitted Q&A about the reasons why she did a period film, but see here, here or here]

I: What are the challenges when you recreate a period, which was so long ago?

CS: You have to do a lot of research, especially about the situation of female artists. You really have to dig deep, because no one wrote a thick book on it. The other challenge was the collaboration with others. That is the beauty of cinema. The costume designer does research about that period, so does the set designer. This is my third collaboration with Thomas Grézaud (he also worked with Sciamma on ‘Girlhood’ and ‘Tomboy’, editor’s note). He always suggests something, which is then incorporated into the film. When it is about historic films, then accuracy is very important. But sometimes it’s also interesting to consider what is not in the picture. For example, there is not much furniture. We built the few pieces ourselves, out of wood and with cotton. It was more about believing in cinema, in action, in clear lines.

I: So you work closely with the costume and set designer?

CS: Yes, there is a close coordination. I wanted some kind of uniform for the characters, for example. We then looked at various costumes. They were not supposed to be out of silk but rather heavy fabrics, which restrain the actresses, force them into their roles and at the same time describe the sociology of their characters. I also wanted pockets for the costume of the female painter, even though others told me it would be anachronistic or too modern. Fact is that pockets existed back then and that they vanished in the 19th century. The ‘femme bourgeoise’ [T: middle-class woman] was invented, and fashion went backwards. I liked the idea of this silhouette, which was even accurate. That is our job: We try to give a presence to these women from back then.

[T: Omitted Q&A about how the actresses were recruited, it mentions the circulation of gazes between the three, the physical and psychological contrast between Adèle and Noémie, Céline describes them both as strong, intense, determined and courageous actresses, she also wanted to create an iconic and fresh couple; see here or here]

I: You spoke about the ‘circulation of gazes’. Between the actresses there are short and long gazes, shy and curious ones. How did you conceptualise this ‘ballet of gazes’?

CS: That was already in the script, especially the rhythm of the gazes, when they look at each other. The actresses were very much aware about that. It’s not about dictating what they have to do. But it’s rather a way to start the conversation, to show their connection or communicate their intentions. They have to ‘dance’. I call it a collection of gazes. As you already said: We have this gaze, we have that gaze. It changes with every scene. And it shows how good the actresses are. If it’s in the script, then the actresses are very, very good [T: this was weirdly worded]. Otherwise they might suggest something that doesn’t fit. You have to see straight away that they desire each other. And it’s brilliant how they do it.

I: I liked the beginning of the film, when Marianne jumps out of the boat to retrieve her large case. A woman isn’t supposed to do that, so it shows that Marianne is different than others…

CS: And the film also shows that: She is not a woman who follows the rules. She jumps into the water to get her things. The important thing is: The film also jumps into the water. The camera also dives in, we swim with her. That’s two pieces of information: This character will be an active one, and the film will join this jump. [T: Also see here]

I: There are only women on the island…

CS: No – we just don’t show the men.

I: The island seems like a refuge or even a utopia.

CS: Yes – that’s true. In cinema, it is about what you decide to show in the picture. I didn’t want to show men, because then it would have been about the pressure and dominance that existed back then and still does. We now look at what is possible, at the potential of the women. You can also call it utopia, but these are not imaginary futuristic dreams, it is based on life experiences, maybe on a higher level, if it was more based on reciprocity. And political utopia – there has to be a place, where the economy doesn’t determine everything, where there is no sexism or racism. These places exist, in families, communities, maybe in a city. This culture has to grow. This utopia arises from experiences that we make and transform to ideas.

[T: Omitted Q&A about the cinematography of Portrait, but see here or here]

—

Interview with director Céline Sciamma (extracts)

Sportello745, moviebreak.de, 9th of October 2019

[…] Interviewer: In your debut film ‘Water Lilies’ you contrast the uncontainable, awakening hormones of the main character with a perfectly synchronised swimming team. In which way does the landscape characterise the emotions in your new film?

Céline Sciamma: In Water Lilies, it was about what’s on the surface and what’s hidden below. I guess, even with synchronised swimming it’s less about control but more about what you don’t see and the effort you have to make underneath. I don’t think I rely on symbolism too much, I get often asked about the meaning of, for example, colours. That’s not really how I think, I try to embody certain things and be less metaphoric. But maybe in this film the tension is between love and art and beauty. The landscape does fit into this tension very much. [T: Also see here or here for Water Lilies]

I: Did the paintings that you researched have any influence on the language of the film, and if yes, which paintings in particular?

CS: Yes, they did. It was especially the self portraits of female painters, because these pictures were quite different from what you would expect. There was a specific painting, which was actually not from the 18th century but from the 17th century, it was from a woman called Judith Leyster, a [T: Dutch; also see here]. Her work was misattributed to her husband. In the picture, you can see her painting, she smiles, you can see her teeth. I have never seen something like that. It helped me to be courageous, which means it made us invent something new and not be scared of being unconventional. That is exactly the kind of female contribution to art history: When Virginia Woolf writes, she reinvents literature, she revolutionises it [T: also see here or here]. When Chantal Akerman films ‘Jeanne Dielman’, it is a revolution for cinema [T: also see here, here or here]. The voices of women are not only limited to ‘Hey, we have a little story to tell’, but it is always about reinventing art. It is about creating something new instead of the same old. […]

I: When did Marianne paint the eponymous ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’ in your opinion, shortly after her encounter on the island or many years later?

CS: I think, she painted it a couple of years later. That is her memory. When I commissioned the painting, I originally wanted to have 20 frames, maybe even that Marianne’s whole work is based on this moment. A kind of ‘usual suspects’ situation, where everyone reappears. But this moment [T: at the bonfire] is definitely the matrix for what she will do next, and I think, [T: the painting] was made years later […].

I: At the end of the film the love story between the two is ‘concluded’. On the one hand, the ending is bittersweet, because the love has been immortalised in a painting. On the other hand, it is also quite sad, we see Héloïse crying. It felt as if this great piece of art, which tells the story of the two women, can never be exchanged for the love that was lost. What do you think?

CS: We tried to spark a dynamic where the end of the love story doesn’t mean that they spend eternity together or die. It was about getting rid of the sentiment that the victory of love is mutual possession. Their love for each other made them curious about love itself and art. For me, the last scene addresses how art deeply affects us and how love makes us more emotional towards beauty. […] At the end, Héloïse feels the music she would never have felt if she had not loved. Love as curation for being curious about the future, about art, about beauty. That for me is a positive dynamic, even though it is heartbreaking, which was on purpose. At the end, both women are more open, and that is the dynamic of emancipation, which I love. And it is positive to talk about it.

—

Sciamma: ‘I want to show images of daily life that are missing’ (extracts)

Patricia Batlle, NDR.de, 29th of October 2019

Interviewer: You had a very lively screening of your film ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’. There were standing ovations from the audience, and there was an animated conversation with you and the lead actresses Adèle Haenel and Noémie Merlant. Were you surprised to be so warmly welcomed in Northern Germany?

Céline Sciamma: It’s funny because you are sometimes cautioned that other countries have a less welcoming culture, but not to take it personally. So you prepare for different types of audiences. But then the reception in Hamburg was really, really warm. It doesn’t surprise me, because I believe that film is a nation, that film culture is unique and unites the viewers [T: PORTRAIT NATION FTW]. A cinema is sometimes like a country. I travel around a lot with the film and I feel the warmth, this fire in the cinema across countries. […]

I: You address topics like menstruation and abortion that are rarely shown in cinema – especially not in love films.

CS: Yes, why is that? That is crazy! This clearly is part of the pleasure of the film, part of its political intention. To show images that are missing, although these are images of daily life. Our story should put our audience on an emotional rollercoaster, where the images have an unusual relationship with the story and are surprising. That is the power of new images.

I: Four women play an important role in your film, men are on the sideline. The names of the women stand out all the more. The self-confident painter is called Marianne. The name is synonymous for the Republic of France – was this on purpose?

CS: I have to admit: I didn’t think about that. I didn’t think about the Marianne of the Republic, when I wrote the script. The names of all my characters are related. In my debut film ‘Water Lilies’ my main character was called Marie, in ‘Girlhood’ she was called Marieme, and here she is called Marianne. It’s like a thread that runs from film to film. But it’s true: It is France! I like the fact that you noticed this. (laughs) […]

—

Articles:

https://www.filmdienst.de/artikel/38732/interview-celine-sciamma-zu-portrat-einer-jungen-frau-in-flammen

https://www.moviebreak.de/features/interview-mit-regisseurin-celine-sciamma/item?item=2

https://www.ndr.de/kultur/film/Sciamma-ueber-Portraet-einer-jungen-Frau-in-Flammen,frauinflammen106.html

Picture sources: [1], [2]

[13yearslater]

Science?

My personal belief is that my being trans is biologically rooted, that my gender identity is innate. The neurobiological/hormone wash screwup in utero and brain/body map theories fit neatly with my own experiences and beliefs. I didn’t choose to be trans, I didn’t want to be trans and my gender dysphoria preceded any real sense of social awareness of expectations of my gender. It was always there, it never went away, it only got worse, however hard I wished it away or tried to be ‘normal’. The phantom penis phenomena also ties neatly into the body map theory.

I’m a logical person, I like science, I like facts, I like to find the inner workings of things and to know the hows and whys.

For a long time I wanted an answer. I’d love to have gone back to my own creation and be able to see the point of divergence; to know which part of my brain made me like this and how it happened. Was it genetic, was it hormones, was it neurological, was it idiopathic? I’d still love to know, but I don’t need to know. 

Aside from wanting to settle my own curiosities, I thought that having definitive proof that being trans is not only real but also not a choice would make my life easier. That I would no longer face the scepticism that I faced earlier in transition, that the ‘but biology’ arguments would fade from existence, that the misconceptions about it being a choice or perversion would no longer be valid. I thought people would be kinder, more understanding and more accepting if they had solid proof that this was not a choice but a naturally occurring anomaly. 

I understand what it’s like to want proof of something, to not blindly believe something on face value. Unfortunately, that’s the stumbling block for me as a trans person. I don’t have tangible evidence to show you, I can’t pull out my brain or put you in my shoes for a week to experience how real this is. When I say I’m a man or that I’m trans there has to be an element of faith or compromise in accepting that I know who I am more than your ideas and opinions do, that there are things out of your sphere of experience and understanding and your inability to relate to or conceptualise them does not make them any less real. A lot of that hinges upon how I come across; how articulate I am, how intelligent, how relatable, how well I fit into your expectations of my gender; whether I am legitimate enough or ‘man enough’ to be believed.

In terms of shifting public opinion of trans people and their validity, I don’t think science would help that much. Not only are we in a time where people are choosing to disregard science in favour of conspiracy theories (You can hear it now, can’t you? Transgender lobbyists, fake science etc etc), but we see time and time again that it isn’t about science at all. We see people condemn trans people based on religious beliefs that have no scientific basis or evidence whatsoever. We see the ‘but biology’ arguments from those who claim to hold science in the highest regard, only to default to opinion and insult when introduced to further science. It’s always about science until their very basic understanding of science doesn’t suffice, then it’s “yeah but you’ll always be a woman”, “when they dig you up they’ll find a female skeleton”, “SHE SHE SHE SHE SHE”, “well I identify as an attack helicopter”, “you'll always have female DNA” and so on.

What it comes down to is that people don’t like change, they don’t like things they can’t make sense of, understand, that they can’t put into a neat little box. They don’t like things that are different, they don’t like “other”, they don’t like the lines to be blurred, they don’t like things they can’t relate to, things that question their beliefs, things that make them uncomfortable, things that challenge their view of the world. They hinge it on the idea that it’s about science, but it was never about science. 

It would be naïve of me to believe that even the most definitive, 100% scientific proof of trans people being valid and naturally occurring would erase these views. They’d still exist, just under a different guise; possibly a more honest prejudice rather than hiding behind the excuse of science.

So the science doesn’t really matter to me. I believe there will be a time when more research is done and we have more understanding of why people are trans, but ultimately, it’s unlikely to have an impact on my life outside of satisfying my own curiosities. My life and the way I live it remains the same, my treatment remains the same, the attitudes of those around me will largely remain the same. I don’t need a study to prove to people that I’m worthy of living without ridicule and prejudice.

[crackcrocs]

DEATH WILL ONLY BE THE BEGINNING #1

1. The backbone to my emotions

As someone who  cannot conceptualise  time in any way whatsoever, I want to say sorry to my loved ones. I'm aware I still need to send my friends messages every once in a while and remind them I still want to be their friends and I need to actively work on this. I need to overcome this fear stopping me from being present and accepting peoples love and support. I want to break free from me and I want to feel content being on this earth, I want nothing more than to enjoy experiences with my loved ones. I love you I love you.

I am a young charismatic, creative individual learning to do things differently so I don't always have the same outcomes. I suffer from a Cluster B Personality Disorder; under the same umbrella of mental health I also experience extremely intrusive thoughts on a daily basis, that can become obsessive and compulsively hyper fixated thoughts in an instant. I have anxiety, depression and a lot of the time I’m deeply dissociated to a point where I struggle to believe I’m even real, even when I do know I am real- I have no attachment to my limbs or body as a whole and only feel alive in a spiritual sense or when I self harm. I don't want to get too into my illnesses; as I’m not someone who really likes labels, just know that everyday is a battle and each personality that exists within me is different. I wouldn't say drastically, however its evident for me and living with so many different masks can be intense. Especially when you've tried to convince people that you're just one solid mould in the hopes they don't perceive you as an intense person. I am going to try to take you through a few of my altars and moods starting with the emptiest subconscious alters that I call the backbones of my emotions to the more powerful  energetic ones that haven't managed to yet consume me over the years. I hope this can give people an insight.

Overall I present a pretty confident front, I like to appear like I’ve got my life together even though I’m so far from it, sometimes I’m not sure ill even find the strength to go on long enough in attempt to get my life together, which is a real problem but it's the sad truth. Don't waste time reading this if you're easily triggered as this piece of writing will consist of real and genuine feelings. I’m in no attempt trying to create content for people who enjoy turning blind eyes and wishing they didn’t see this so I’ll give you a fair warning. I'm not responsible for your triggers, whereas I’m responsible for the things I’ve done. I might have cared too much at one point, but I will not hold myself captive to those situations nor will I regret them. I want the lies, deceit and hurt that I’ve committed against loved ones to end, my secrecy has done enough damage and its exhausting pushing people away even though that’s not usually the intent, truth is I am so embarrassed of myself. I'm private, secretive and mysterious but I’ll also talk about my childhood trauma after like 5 minutes. I guess this says I’m happy to talk about my trauma because it's what I know and am comfortable with, I just struggle to tell anyone the real suicidal me behind my problems. I hate that I’m so young and feel like a dead person already.

I tend to act out or distance myself due to fear which isn’t clear at first if you know me, but does become obvious. I might appear as someone with no care in the world, like I’m unbothered, but I assure you that's the African pride combined with the Leo pride. I also don't want people to treat me like a footstool, which has happened when I’ve come off ass too passive. I care so much and over think absolutely everything, it's literally my only way of thinking. I have little to no self esteem and I have no clue who confidence is unless under the influence of something, be it weed, alcohol or psychedelics (which I don't take much of because I enjoy them and don't want to abuse them) I mean I can function sober, I don't even like to be out of control high or drunk, but as Chief Keef once said, I hate being sober. #i'mTrash4thereference. Although I’m not fully healed and functioning yet, I’m a developed character with both positive and negative traits. At the moment I’m going back and fourth between 'just stop trying' and 'you cant give up'. Sometimes depression is kind of like looking at yourself through a window, there’s this part of your brain that understands it'll pass, but you’re so far into despair that its impossible to see the way out, its a lot like being trapped. I am having a bad patch right now, the difference between this one and the last one is I’m more self aware with less of a desire to go on. At least I’m no longer suffering from paranoia and thinking everyone's out to get me all the time or that I’ll get trafficked walking home from somewhere, but depression and mania are so bloody invasive and there’s always that little voice in my head telling me ill never be good enough. Executive dysfunction kills my motivation because I have so many things to do and I cant pick anything to start first, it gets worse when my depression gets worse too. I'm not lonely though; I have a few people who care for me- and while I'm trying to not involve them in the metal episode, they are around to talk to and that means so much. My friends are super encouraging even though I've only briefly mentioned that I'm having a sad time right now, and that's awesome.

I hate that no matter how much better I get there's still this deep desire to get worse. I don't feel like a real person. I just feel like a collection of what people want me to be and various mental disorders. It would be so cool if I could admit to the world I have a personality disorder without feeling disgusting and without fear.

I've had plenty time to reflect upon every bit of thought that created the barbed wire surrounding my logical brain, I want to feel okay to be alive, but I so strongly just want to die. I am tired of fluctuating from feeling extremely vigorously suicidal to passively suicidal; where I just don't have the energy to carry it out myself. It's gotten way past the point that it doesn't matter what kind of day I have, I think about killing myself all day. Sleep is an escape from life and I'm always tired and wanting to 'sleep'. Deep down I feel like I’m waiting for the right time to end my life and it's not the right time yet because I still have a footprint to leave behind, I still have journal pages I want to burn. I cant just jump off the highest accessible building or mall car park I could find just yet- I don’t just want to ruin others by hurting them with my death. It's sad to think I grew into this mindset, waking up wishing I was dead.

Being abandoned by many people in the past made me doubt people and think everyone was out to get me or wanted something from me, it made me feel hurt and lone. So I felt it would be better to let people down before they could hurt me so I wouldn't repeat the same cycle when forming new connections. It wasn't intentional but I could just silence myself due to fear.

I just found myself feeling immensely hopeless, like I was too internally enraged at the external world to be able to trust anything of it. I definitely do want to get better because I’m tired of feeling this way, it's so exhausting and I hate pushing people away from me like I’m poison. I need to allow people to accept all of me.

Before picking up these coping mechanisms when I was younger and more insecure; I wanted to be a part of the world, I had this strong urge to fit in. I had to learn how to manage my anxiety and socialising became more exhausting stemming from my fear of being 'odd' or 'different', I didn’t want to be called out for being different- it was not a compliment at that age, it always felt like a being the joker in the card deck. I was intensely afraid of being judged or labelled as such. Being told I was a 'weirdo' didn't help at all, that type of criticism is what got to me the most. People made me feel like I needed to change, like I was too African, even in a joking manner it didn't help- because although I was okay with who I was, I did feel like I had to change and westernise myself to fit in. I ended up hanging around with people that didn't care, doing stupid things I didn’t even want to do, dating people I didn't connect with. Eventually I got tired of people using me for entertainment, tired of catering to those who refused to understand. I still have to admit there were many periods that I lowered my frequency to be on the wavelength of others that did not match mines at all, I hate that I'm someone who always feels the need to explain myself so people don't think I'm a bad person and even though I don't owe it to everyone and now I am able to make better choices and I'm no longer easily influenced, it still hurts that i was ever around people that made me feel like I was over exaggerating my mental health or uncomfortable to a point where I learned to downplay it or the mention of it. Now as a coping mechanism I’ve become so facetious and sarcastic about my trauma it's a struggle to take myself seriously at times. Users and abusers belittled me to such a point where I felt they'd underestimated my intelligence and most of all humiliated me. It made me tired of justifying myself so now most days I’m just a mute, but I really do finally have good people in my life who deserve some sort of explanation and it's a shame they don't get to be experience a truly present consistent me. It’s just after having the wrong eyes on me, I don’t want anything to see me. I hate attention because I’m so embarrassed of myself I don’t want to be noticed. People looking at me make me want to kill myself.

I've been told to move past my rage, to let go and become a grounded and level headed person. I've been told there is hope for all of us. Must be nice to believe that, all I could wonder was what it was like to get angry without getting homicidal and suicidal. Even on most days where nothing extreme would happen besides negative emotions, my brain still travelled to a dark realm. I've come to a point where I want to live in my daydream universe wile I physically rot away. That's my business. Sometimes I feel as though all my friendships are on a timer, or more so it's that my timer is about to go off, so I subconsciously shy away and make sure i have no deep friendships. Just in case my head decides to do something stupid.

I don't want to have no friends, I want to have friends and I do value friendships so much more than entitled relationships, I just have a difficulty maintaining friendships because it's exhausting for me, it takes a lot of energy to be social and on a level that isn't just superficial where I can just let go and allow myself to fully be. Sometimes I have a hard time relating to other people, and thus I may feel I don’t belong or don’t quite fit in- causing me to feel irritated, paranoid or even in pain during social situations. It's not always this bad, and I don't mean for it to sound dramatic. It's different when In person and I’m really relaxed and comfortable with the company. However virtually socialising and expressing will always be extremely anxiety enducing and its something I need to overcome especially going into this new phase of Artificial Intelligence.  So if I start to drift away it most likely isn't a reflection of you. The cycle goes I need alone time to recharge then I realise how long has passed and I just feel so bad I haven’t gotten back, I tell myself I’m an awful friend for dissociating for so long, and then I don’t know how to explain that so my anxiety rises, mood drops and I spiral back into a pit of depression, often wanting to relapse but refraining from doing so. Sometimes I manage to get out of the pit, but by then so much has piled up I don't know where or how to begin again.

I don't feel like I could have a normal friendship as well as romantic relationship. It's hard for me to long term imagine myself being fully relaxed enough to let my guard down and not reluctant to express. I don’t think there’s any condition where ill just be came and enjoy a connection without worrying that the other person isn’t putting in as much effort, or they have an image of me, or that I’ve amplified the emotions and even though I feel them that way do they really understand me or love me as much. Silence is so upsetting and I hate the fact I do it when I'm afraid of myself or don't feel good enough. I never intent for it to become 'the silent treatment' because in reality its not treating anyone, it's more a reflection of what I’m internalizing and not wanting or being unable to project and express those feelings without feeling like party pooper, an attention seeker or 'too deep'. I don't mean to give people false hope, I love the people in my life so much and every one I’ve met on this journey. I'm learning to look at life through a different lens and the people who contributed to my suffering will not be the definition of me. People have led me to believe so much and strung me along, not letting me go- and I realised those entitled controlling abusive relationships were not serving me. I couldn't keep doing it. Now even though I want closeness I end up pushing people away or leaving them in the dark because of fear, especially of something new because I've never experienced anything good and true for a long enough duration of time to rid me of that fear. I also have fear of rejection or hurting, I fear becoming too emotionally invested and becoming co dependant so I end up wanting to avoid the pain than actually wanting to experience the joy and growth the relationship could offer, so I end it before it begins to avoid any possible pain. I feel like I don't deserve these connections,and sometimes the depression runs so deep I have to push people away in case I want to do something stupid- I don’t want them to feel at fault, or obligated to be able to handle me. Sometimes I really can just only be with myself and my thoughts so I hide but it may appear that I’m pushing others away because of my isolation and neglect.

With everyone I know, I get this feeling that they're too good for me, their energy is so radiant and loving but I feel so broken and don’t want to depend on that. I've had perfectly ideal people come into my life and I feel they’re too good for me because I have a lot of work to do on myself first, primarily I need to build up confidence and self esteem because it's the root of most my issues. I want to relate to people, share our deepest fears and wishes without fear of judgement. It's not that I don't want to get better, I simply cannot remember what it was like to have an actual honest to god normal personality. The feeling of being a mentally unstable chameleon is all I have  now. I AM my illness, that's the only identifier I have left. I can't remember normality.

I understand that I’m lucky and I’m not ungrateful for the things and people I do have, it doesn’t mean that my life doesn’t suck because of those lucky things. I often think about if someone created technology to transfer life to another, I’d happily give them mine because they'd live it much better than me, I’m not worth anything to myself. I never wanted to be someone to cause pain on the people I love but now I do, even if that’s just through silence. I just disappear when I haven’t been doing well and  although I know things get better, recovery isn’t linear and that not all my days are bad, I just have extreme chronic feelings of emptiness.

I struggle to trust people because I don't want to be hurt but I need people so much, I hate feeling unloved. It's so overwhelming because I feel everything so extremely as if I’m going to explode.

My sense of self and reality feels destroyed, my future and dreams are uncertain and it's hard for me to move on, sometimes it scares me what I’m doing to people without the intention of it, being too much or not enough- or at least feeling that way. It's hard for me to give myself a reason and it's not on the people around me to fill my empty void, I hate forcing people to be my friend or understand my illness. I cant expect anyone to want to- it feels like I’m holding their hand while they pull it away; and even though it's not the case I feel awful, I constantly feel like I’m in a more pessimistic head space. I'm worried people will realise I'm as pathetic as I say I am.

[lairofsentinel]

Certainly Detroit: become human has a strong component of the concept of parenthood, giving a narrative place where to think about what it is, how it is such relationship, and how humans and androids conceptualise it. 

Parenthood is not an alien concept to explore with android themes because it's all about the concept of creator and creation, a relationship that despite being based on power it has been taught to us to mixture it with the concept of parenthood through religion. Talking about creators is almost the same as talking about parents, despite the nature of each relationship is quite different.

[Spoilers ahead]  Edit 1: I went wild and wrote a big meta. Edit 2: Ok... I was carried away a little bit, I guess.... Edit 3: I’ll stop editing this, otherwise it will be endless. Edit 4: Ok. I’ll stop. I promise.

In our western society, parenthood has been always taught by generation as a unique bond between people sharing blood, but Detroit become human explores it a bit further.

On one hand we see Carl, dealing with his addict biological son who only seeks his father for money. He is jealous of Markus, though. Despite sharing blood, Carl is quite clear that he doesn't favour his own son much, and his main link is with Markus. It’s him who is his son, because there is a lot of Carl in Markus himself.

Carl nurtured Markus with good treatments, with knowledge, with books, with art. An endless list of good stimuli. He encouraged him to practice philosophy and to paint. Despite lacking of those skills in his software, Markus becomes a kind of novel intelectual, and turns out to be a “human” deeply influenced by Carl, knowing about the world from this bubble of culture and art that Carl made for him.

Carl taught him that he doesn't need to reproduce reality, that he can show (with art) something that nobody else sees in this reality, something that it doesn't exist, something that can change reality itself. Art is about wanting a different reality, interpreting it, improving it, and hoping to change it. We see every bit of this later in Markus' actions. For that reason he is the rebel leader in this game. And he is also Carl's son. There is a lot of Carl in Markus himself.

The sentiment is mutual. Markus loves Carl, he worries for him, cares for him, he even missed Carl (androids missing people!) and seeks his advice when he is lost. And Carl, despite the pain of the situation with his biological son, protects Markus as a parent does and never fears him (he leaves his house open to Markus, letting the house software recognise him in a friendly way). Nothing of their relationship has to do with blood, but their father-son relationship is there. It's impossible to deny it.

The parallel of their father-son concept reappears strongly in Connor and Hank's relationship. Slowly, we see how Hank starts to influence Connor with his words and actions to the point when Connor starts to adopt Hank's gestures. These small details bring Carl's words straight into their scenes: “You are my son, there is so much of me in you.” And Hank notices this. But instead of Arts and doubts and identity, it's emotions what Connor takes from Hank. Because Hank is a mess of emotions.

Hank is an old man, grumpy and tired but emotional. I quite find strange when people seem to see him like a stereotypical “hard-boiled” man. He is a fucking emotional mess quite far away from any concept of “stoic char”! XD Sure, he shows a lot of grumpiness and asocial behaviour (mostly due to his deep depression), but he is not the stone-char. He is incredible sensitive to Connor's treatment. The more Connor treats him poorly and tactlessly, the worse he reacts. 

It’s true that it’s hard to judge Hank’s real behaviour because he is interacting with an android, not another human, but he lets his emotions run free quite often. It’s not like we, as players, struggle too much to see what he is feeling in any moment. Sure, there is a deep grudge against androids that makes him react strongly negative to them, so he looks more aggressive to them than when interacting with other humans. He hates machines, but he is absolutely a pro-emotion char. We know this not only by his face, which is an open window to all his emotional states, but also for his behaviour and words. 

During the first case, in the interrogatory , he has a decent scene despite being in front of an android (I was expecting high levels of violence against the android). He is not the one thinking in torturing the android-killer. He cares for the way the android is treated during the interrogatory when he supports Connor in his request to not touch the killer. Even before interacting much with Connor, he respects androids despite his personal grudge (which always surprised me a lot, which makes me suspect that he is thinking in androids as living creatures quite early in the game). 

The whole club scene is him grumpy-ing about how humans don't want relationships anymore because they don’t want to deal with the feelings of the other partner (he explicitly said that). 

He says this after a scene before when Connor saw he was reading these:

He is also the main one in defending the lesbian androids' love. Which is another thing that surprised me. I was expecting his crappy grumpy “old ideas” there, but he was clearly surprised and a bit pleased that he identified love in them. 

I insist, his char is more emotion-sensitive than he truly shows because his depression.

He hates a too rational or too robotic Connor, but he warms quickly when he sees that Connor can empathise and feel and be confused. He loves androids getting emotional.

Hank is a wrecked man whose depression make him look like a “hard-boiled” char but he is far from that. I won't say he is an Ifan 2, of course not, but he is clearly more into emotions than any standard stoic grizzled char. He became asocial because he is tired of how this world works, and a senseless guilt for his son’s death is killing him. He is, after all, into a deep state of depression since he doesn’t care about hiding his suicidal tendencies and his alcoholism. Those things obscure his personality a bit. 

In fact, making more parallels, he and Carl share with their android-sons the opinion that this human world is crappy as fuck.They know the world crafted by humans is dark and cruel.

Carl and Hank have their own parallels as characters, they work as fathers in their relationship with their android-sons, they are also part of that dark world they despise (Carl is a rich person but too lonely in a world that doesn’t understand his “difference” (as a disable person as well as an artist); Hank is a person lost in addictions, in similar addictions that took his son from him). Putting aside their own personalities (which both are sensitive, but in different contexts), both of them greatly influence their son-androids, wishing for a better world for them, because the human one is terrible to them. They truly want to believe that a world made by androids could be a bit better.

It’s also their bond with their android-sons what keeps them alive. Markus was the one giving medicines to Carl in the beginning. It’s also Markus to whom Carl waited for before finally giving up to his ill body. Hank keeps enduring his disaster depression and suicidal tendencies just because Connor keeps him a bit sane. Connection is deeply important in these stories, because in both cases, if the androids remain “too machine”, Hank ends up committing suicide and Carl dies earlier. Their relationships with their android-sons are vital to both. [Check this video about Hank’s endings if he loses faith in androids]

Carl worries for the future of Markus once he is dead, for that reason he kept telling him that he needs to make his own decisions and be his own man. Hank, too, worries for Connor's future, so he becomes a supporter of deviants to the point to tell Connor that his life does not matter if it puts at risk the revolution that was going to be the future of Connor's people. The worry of the future of their android sons is shared.

Carl and Hank have a strong desire for their “biological sons” to be androids or like them. In Carl’s case is obvious, his son is a shame and a disappointment to him, and he explicitly says that Markus is his son instead.

In Hank’s case is the hell of a more complex sentiment. He has a deep wound related to his biological son. Connor being replaced with every death hits right into this wound, this constant reminder that his son is dead while this fucked up android can return over and over. The desire for his son to be an android that can be immortal hits him (which is a contradiction in itself, because he hates androids!), and probably this inner-silent cognitive dissonance makes him a bit more aggressive and sarcastic than usual. He is deeply affected by this fact, and still yet, in every death, he cares for Connor (if their relationship goes friendly).

I particularly love his dirty relationship with Connor, because it's not purely fatherly love, it's also plain hate towards androids that, he thought, were the responsible of  his son’s death. It's such a breaking point for Hank himself to start caring for an android as if it were a “kind of” son. I like to think in it as if it were the human equivalent of the “breaking the wall of the restrictive software” that we see in androids. Hank has this personal breaking point when he starts to care for deviant Connor.

All these small parallels are not by chance. It's a narrative well thought and every detail has been put there carefully. Clearly, androids of this intelligence are alive in its own way, and their parent-like relationship that they can establish with humans is as similar as the ones exclusively done between humans.

And this bond is as important as a human one, and it’s mutual. This bond doesn’t keep the humans alive only. We see that in the last scenes, it helps the androids to live too! when bonding with Hank determines if Connor knows about Cole or not, and that can end up in Connor’s destruction or Connor being saved. In that point, the mutual relationship of saving each other is based exclusively in how much they know each other, in how deeply they bonded and cared for one another. 

The final scene is a testament of how bonding works, how interactions change people, and how little it has to do with humans alone or androids. 

Then, we have Kara’s story. This story drifts a bit with the parallels found before, but still yet it works with the concept of parenthood.

She starts as a housekeeper/ children caregiver android and ends up as a mother. At first we believe that this is another of those parent-child relationship that we saw with Carl and Markus, but in the other way around, where the child is the human and the parent is the android. But by the end, we realise both are androids. Both chars bond like parent-child despite having no blood at all.

Probably this story is the weirdest of the three relationships because in the end, in both of them, the software is what led this relationship. I mean, it’s my way to interpret it at least. Alice was made to be a perfect child while Kara is the perfect mother for our capitalist standards (her model is made to be a house worker plus caregiver of children). So, to me, their relationship is not exactly challenging for them... they are working like their software was intended to; the only “anomalous” thing in this story is that they fullfil an android’s needs instead of a human’s. In fact, in this story, the only one challenging his software is Luther, who also becomes a parent in this android family when his model has nothing to do with protection or care-giving. 

He speaks about becoming what others need; which is not the case of Alice or Kara (this confused me a lot during their story). They are working accordingly their models; but it’s Luther who challenges his own model. Luther’s words describe his own story, not Alice and Kara’s.

When it comes to the conceptualisation of parenthood, Kara's story felt to me like a mere reproduction of the human concept. I didn't find it quite challenging, since Kara and Alice are programmed for it. The only new concept in their story is that they feel fulfilled interacting only between them. It’s like they don’t need humans to feel happy and loved. They can find that among other androids, they can learn from other androids, I think this is the concept to explore with them. Parenthood exclusively among androids. A concept of static family too; since they will live forever in the bubble of the perfect human family, showing that androids can also want to make families, that they claim not to be like human ones, but the hell they look like similar XD.

I mean, I liked it, but it doesn't bring any challenging idea to the parenthood concept beyond the fact that, clearly, some androids want to be family between them, without humans in the middle. In Kara’s story, that family is pretty humanly-standard and humanly-typical (putting aside the racial compound).

In a more challenging way, the couple of lesbians in the nocturnal club breaks more their software in that sense. They stop pleasing humans sexually and enduring disgusting human bodies, break their code, love each other, and want to make a family by their own, far away from humans.

With Kara, I think we explore more the concept of being or becoming someone for the sake of someone else, but this concept is not present IN Kara or Alice, but in Luther. From a heavy loading machine, he became a protector, a guardian, a kind of father in his own android way. I loved that challenge in his char, but I personally think this is a dangerous concept if it goes too far in humans. Nothing good comes from changing too much oneself, disfiguring oneself identity, to please another one. Maybe the parallel here is with Markus and Luther, both of them crafting their own identity, and part of it is a result of turning what others need.  Yes, there is something of the like there, in those two chars when it comes to identity.

I find this dangerous concept kind of ok in this particular case of Luther, in an android context, because it gives him control over himself; it’s his decision in the end, and it’s what gives him his identity, but I feel it’s a dangerous concept that maybe needed a bit more of exploration and some more parallels? I don’t know. I feel it needed more development there, specially because Kara and Alice are not example of this concept, quite on the contrary. They keep pretty fair to their models.

Kara’s story has no parallels with the other two beyond the fact that her motherly love keeps her going on. Or at least, I don’t see them. To me, it’s quite confusing that they stick to their program, yet Luther and the whole story of Kara is about changing oneself to become what other needs.

In a sense, Kara and Alice are accepting their software/nature, just not to satisfy any human, but another android. And Luther is the one taking this concept to the limit; he is now his own persona. This decision is a proof of being alive,  becoming his family’s protector despite not being his model's main goal.

[ofgoodmenarchive]

Blighted Empire: Ch. 4.5

Unbroken

Since spotting Dorian's ghoulish cast from across the battlefield, Evallan's thoughts had not stopped reeling. He'd attempted to console himself, citing the skill and intelligence of the man. However upon sighting the freakish anomaly, he'd known Dorian could not succeed on his own. The Tevinter was cunning and gifted with a surprising dexterity but had not the experience to survive the encounter.

  We must protect him!

The urge overcame him, overcame everything. Lightbringer did not protest- if anything she understood with perfect clarity. Dorian Pavus was not clan but he was treasured as much by her wielder. As an entity devoted to the protection of family and kin, she could not watch him fall anymore than Evallan could.

At least his suspicion was confirmed; she had no intention of abandoning Dorian the previous day, only meaning to tease him over his panic for the man.

So they sprinted, two beings with one goal. By the time he reached the line, magic fizzled around him with erratic fury and no one in the huddle dared reject his command. They probably thought he meant to do something of more significance than rescue the foolish Tevinter.

  “Let me through!”

The river of red-stained shields parted then clanged shut behind him. Embodying a blizzard, he ripped across the field, encasing the world in ice as he went. His vision blurred to the point of leaving him sightless yet he found no need for eyes. Senses reduced to textures and frequencies, the Deep Roads existed as a map drawn onto his consciousness.

His focus centred on two heartbeats; the first inhumanely slow and deep, almost dead, the other was quickened from panic but still with a signature he recognised.

  Dorian.

Evallan moved with enough urgency he almost startled himself when confronted by the bristling aura of the aberration, a foreboding stain upon the canvas of life.

  Kill it! Kill it now!

The order still hung in his mind when the thing was petrified and imploded into the tiniest fragments. He would have laughed in discomfort at the absurd efficiency if he were not so strangled by concern, refusing to stop for breathe until Dorian confirmed his health.

His thoughts may have calmed in their reeling then, if the fool hadn't-

Evallan could not repeat it to himself.

Embarrassment towards his actions and appearance melted into satisfaction, terror into hunger. He could dance around his emotions all day but not when Dorian Pavus gave of himself so willingly.

  The nerve of the shem!- He must have known.

Known that Evallan's carefully-constructed veneer of restraint was thin and riddled in vulnerabilities. Known he would have no choice but to embrace him- it was not a choice to him.

  If a key is made for a lock, it will turn.

However the most scandalous knowledge Dorian had somehow obtained was the location of his lost birthright, pressed to Evallan's ribs all along.

  Yet you did not take it, you did not confront me. You chose to -

  I really cannot say I understand the way you think either, Dorian Pavus.

Nor could he bring himself to vocalise any of these musings. He was achingly aware of Dorian studying him, calculating but somehow not unkind.

With a steadying inhale, he glanced at the caved-in tunnel and renewed his efforts to meet the man's gaze- a challenge to be sure.

  “I am sorry about your friend...You are alright?” Perhaps he would not wish to discuss the amulet, considering the fate of Elias Caladrius.

  “Oh, I'm fine I suppose, I just...” He started a little hoarsely and had to clear his throat. “He always wanted to be a Warden, but I never imagined it would actually happen. Or if it did, certainly not like this.”

  “I know it is little consolation, especially as it is yet to be seen if he will survive,” He eased as he talked, thinking they might evade other topics. “But the Wardens are in need of recruits like him- capable mages who are good at following direction.”

  “Nothing like you, then,” Dorian joked freely, affectionately. “You do whatever you please.”

Evallan felt the corner of his mouth quirk into a smile, unable to prevent it.

  “And yet my place should be with them.” He answered casually, only realising the gravity of his statement when Dorian perked a brow in alarm.

  “You want  to be a Warden?”

  “No, not truly- that would be foolish, no?” He relented beneath the worrisome expression. “But they do not fear me. They would utilise my abilities to their fullest. They would not poke and prod when something escapes their understanding...”

The Tevinter nodded in slow comprehension but his features soon became pensive, a knowing curve playing along his lips. Evallan had to look away once more, unable to withstand the invitation he read in that smile, knowing he could not refuse it.

  “The Wardens aren't really what we should discuss, Evallan.” He said it softly but with obvious meaning.

He sighed, still refusing to view the man's face.

  “You wish to speak of that now?” He mumbled more coldly than intended.

  “I think I'd rather that than worry over my friend, yes.” His reply seemed sincere. Evallan had to submit with another weary sigh.

  “As you say...” He struggled to make his voice audible as he fished into his robes. “I believe this is yours...”

Tarnished gold swayed from his trembling digits though he did not extend- and Dorian made no motion to claim the birthright. This reassured him somehow, though he couldn't explain why.

  “How did it come into your possession, then?” He pressed- but gently.

  “When I hit you-” Evallan fumbled with the words, eyes on the ground. “It was dropped...I had knelt over it without meaning to. I took it without knowing what it was- at first...”

  “Why didn't you simply return it, Evallan?” Dorian's pitch heightened, both incredulous and sympathetic.

  “You were correct in your assessment,” He laughed brokenly, rubbing his eyes so they would not shed. “I am a coward. I could not face you...I wished for Amrallan to deliver it, but he refused.”

  “Amrallan knew?” Dorian chuckled. “Well, that explains him being so cheerful when he saw me outside your aravel..”

  “Yes, he...understood the situation. We could never hide anything from the other,” Speaking of his brother quelled his nerves, nostalgia blanketing him. “Our mother always said it was a mistake of the gods we were not born together.”

Dorian allowed him to linger on the memory, not pushing him for more but merely watching in respectful quiet. Given time to balance himself, he continued with more strength.

  “He told me I could return it to you, or hold onto it and let it drive me mad...so that is what I did.”

  “But for so long?” Though he still could not look, Evallan heard the confusion. “You could have just...hidden it in my room, or something?”

This would be more difficult to convey. Indeed he wished he could skirt it entirely, the way he did all his emotions. He knew that was no longer an option- Dorian Pavus was owed more than that.

In truth he was owed more than Evallan could ever give.

  “At first...I was simply a coward,” He wrestled with each syllable, forcing them into the light. “But it...became something that helped me survive. A reminder.”

  “A reminder? Of what?” Dorian's voice cracked.

Evallan had to meditate carefully upon his answer, needing to conceptualise feelings and ideas he'd never had to verbalise.

  “One of the last things my brother did was to refuse the amulet. Not long after, he died to protect our clan- to protect me, because of what I represent.” He sucked in air painfully, the grief left unvoiced for years oozed from him like infection from a wound. Pressure that must be released, but that agonised him to do so.

  “I watched their bodies burn with your birthright around my neck. Whenever I looked at it, I would feel guilt, and imagine them.”

  “It was all you had left of him.” Dorian uttered suddenly, voice as melancholic as Evallan felt.

  “It was.” He choked back a sob, transformed it into a bitter laugh- more like a bark. “But soon it was not him I imagined, or my family. It...was you.”

Finally he mustered the courage to make visual contact with the Tevinter; grey eyes full of wonder and heat, sparking with hints of the amber light of The Deep Roads, for now rendered speechless by Evallan's admittance.

  “I imagined a world where I returned this to you, and you...” Speech fizzled in his throat but Evallan knew he had to persevere, the rest leaving him in a hush. “Would recognise me as yours along with it...And so, you see...when we finally met, I could not let go of this imagining.”

Dorian's features softened, a sadness to his gaze. Yet somehow still welcoming- even without a smile.

  “You don't have to imagine that, Evallan.” He said this just as softly and it took everything within himself not to break right then, into a thousand shards, like one of his own spells.

  “Yes, I do.” His voice wavered, he felt so drained, breaking eye contact once more. “I am the Keeper of the Lavellan Clan.”

  “You wouldn't be the only Lavellan involved with a shem- or a Tevinter.”

  “It is not the same.” He shook his head, fingers tightening around the chain he still held. “Lightbringer and I are all that remains of the heart of our clan. My life must be a service to others- to those who sacrificed themselves so I could fulfil my purpose.”

  “And there's no room for anything else- why?” Dorian was incensed, though clearly attempted to reign himself in. “All because of some spirit? You have to live at the whim of others for the rest of your days because- because she chose you when you were- how old even were you?”

  “Ten.” Evallan replied, flat.

  “Ten?!” The Tevinter gave way to unhinged chuckles. “So a spirit took a liking to you when you weren't even old enough to piss straight and that should decide your whole life!?”

  “Yes.” He replied again, still flat.

  “Evallan,” He chortled deliriously. “That's insane, you must see how insane that is- at the very least, it is quite cruel.”

  “It may have been different, if it were not for the Blight,” He murmured, shrugging. “As things are, I am a symbol my people must feel they can rely on.”

  “But you're a person!”

  “To you, I am a person,” He ground out, becoming impatient. “To them, to Thedas, I must strive to be more. I must embody them, their faith in me, their lack of it- all of it.”

This silenced him, though Evallan lacked the nerve to truly witness how it was received- he could not bear to look into Dorian's face and see disappointment or grief. Instead watching the amulet swing near his breast- he had to ask.

  “You saw this when we fell, but you did not take it...”

There was a pause. Then, full of impassioned stubbornness-

  “You can't think of anything I might value more than some silly little amulet!?”

He froze, staring at the gold etchings and nothing else.

  “I have a duty to my clan.” He stated with as much conviction as he was capable of- which in that moment, was very little.

  “And I to my country,” Dorian countered, undeterred. “But don't you think it's possible that we could also have a duty to each other?”

He recalled Titus Ahriman and the blighted oath he'd insisted on swearing to the Lavellan Clan, to Fila.

  You all act as though it is so simple.

  As though every expectation can be overthrown- for what?

  For a simple feeling?

  I envy you that freedom.

  “I would like to believe that.” He rasped after some time.

  “But you don't.” Dorian stated it as a matter-of-fact and Evallan could give no reply.

  To say I believe is a betrayal of my duties.

  To say I do not is a lie to you.

  And I grow so weary of lying to you, Dorian Pavus.

He thrust the amulet into the chest of its rightful owner, grimly announcing;

  “It does not matter what I believe.”

Dorian was briefly wordless, then-

  “No- I don't want it.”

  “What?!” Evallan snapped his posture to actually behold the Tevinter, staring at him in bafflement that tilted towards outrage. What did he mean, he did not want it?!

Of course Dorian Pavus was quite amused and even satisfied by this, smiling pleasantly.

  “If it's all you'll have of me, I'd rather you kept it.”

  “Dorian-”

  “I mean it, Evallan! I want you to hold onto it!” He interrupted, laughing cheerfully. “It's probably brought you more luck than it ever has me! You'll be going back to Tevinter anyway, won't you? You'll be taking it home for me! And when the Archdemon is slain, you'll return it, and I'll carry it home for good.”

There was much he wanted to say; that this was not some whimsical bedtime story exchanged in the dark, that this gesture ultimately meant nothing, that this stupid thing had haunted him for almost half his lifetime and all he desired was the fool to free him of it!

But lost for words, all he could manage was;

  “I cannot...” While lamely attempting to empty his hands into Dorian's.

  “Alright, well...” The man peered down at his newfound burden, pondering. “...I'll just toss it, then!”

  “What?!” He had no control over how shrill his voice became.

  “Well, it hardly has any value to me!- Especially without a country to go back to!” Dorian guffawed and sauntered some distance, amulet dangling precariously, headed for an edge where stone gave way to endless void.

  “Something tells me this will hurt you a lot more than it will hurt me, so-”

An image of the demonic figment from his Harrowing imposed itself upon the world. Evallan's heart caught in his throat and his chest constricted. Unconscious of himself, he sprang and snatched.

  “Give it!” He hissed, vehement, and was overjoyed and shamefully comforted when instead of taunting or hurdling it away, the real Dorian allowed the metal coils to slip onto his fingers with a heart-warming chuckle.

  “So we're agreed!” He announced brightly. “You'll hold onto it for me!”

Clutching the object for dear life, he practically smothered it against his chest while scowling at the man- who did not seem even slightly unnerved in response.

  “Until the Archdemon is slain.” He grumbled, looping the birthright carefully around his neck and beneath his robes, where it had rested for a lonely decade.

  “I'd say you can wear it on the outside of your robes now, but I know you won't.” Dorian observed with feigned humour- Evallan could hear the bitterness there.

  “I must report to Marcus.” He decided, ignoring the rest, avoiding his gaze. “And you must see to your injuries.”

Evallan marched for his destination without another word, never looking back.

Deep within himself, he cried out against the impenetrable darkness.

READ MORE ON AO3

[voidbeantm]

the post-concert sadness is intense this time round and i really didn't feel like dumping this on twitter or any of my friends so it's going here ignore me just let me ramble

i really dont know what it is about concerts that leave so many people with post-concert sadness. it's so common and yet it's really hard to pinpoint a main cause.

part of it has to be the crash that comes when the post-concert euphoria wears off. it's like caffeine. the buzz is incredible but the crash is extremely draining.

maybe it's the fact that ive spent so long looking at these people and these performances through a small screen. as much as i talk about how important it is to conceptualise and treat celebrities like real people, the fact of the matter is that no matter what, celebrities never really seem like "real people". yes, they're real people but they're essentially strangers. and when you spend most of your time observing them through a screen, your brain starts feeling about them the same way it feels about fictional characters you really really like. they're real but you never really expect to see them with your own two eyes, walking and talking in front of you. there's a disconnect between how you feel and what you know rationally. suddenly, it hits you that these people are real and right there, being completely incredible. every frustrating facial expression, every surprising and dangerous dance move, every tiny moment of friendship and banter, it's real, they're doing it right in front of your eyes.

maybe it's the fact that for the first time ever, im not alone during a concert and suddenly, my anxieties leave me completely and allow me to completely let loose instead of holding back just a smidge like i always have. ive seen them twice before this but none of them were the korean concerts and ive always been alone and ive never gone this wild before. it's freeing and euphoric and we refer again to what i said about euphoria crash.

maybe it's seeing them in their most natural comfortable state relative to being onstage. the two times i saw them previously were in singapore and malaysia. it's evident that they're much more comfortable in their homeland. which, by the way, completely understandable!! for one, there's no language barrier in the way and they're free to express themselves fully without having to pause for the translator which, no matter what, will always distrupt the natural flow of banter. there's the fact that the concert hall is so so so much bigger. there's the fact that the crowd at home probably just feels familiar and comfortable. vixx and kstarlights have such a close rapport that they rarely have to guess how the crowd will react to the things they say or do. with foreign crowds that you dont perform to as often, every single time it's a gamble. there's a much bigger pressure to impress and do as well as possible to leave a lasting impression in order to grow your audience there. i dont know the right words to describe it but there was just something different about seeing them this time. they were so open and comfortable. maybe what i said about finally having friends to share this experience with earlier applies here as well in a way. when i was alone, it wasnt like i enjoyed them any less, i just felt a tiny bit less free to let loose. in the company of familiar and comfortable people, i was finally able to. it could possibly be the same for them as well.

on my end there was the whole business of sitting so far away that i watched the whole thing through either my binoculars or the display screen. i always forget that im not able to pause a real life performance and go back to rewatch parts i might have missed. during concerts, it's do or die. if you miss it, you miss it. i haven't had the chance to check fanaccounts or fancams in detail on twitter but even a brief glace told me that i most definitely missed quite a few bits. and with the amount rewinding i freely admit to doing, it's not a surprise how much i hate missing out on things.

related to the above, im actually not sure how much of me missing out was actually just me being unable to remember most of anything that happens during a concert once it is over. especially when it comes to new songs. aside from a few key parts of the choreography, i barely remember what the performances for the new songs were like. i can't remember most of what happened. this always happens to me after every single concert and apparently, im not the only one. it's like there's something about the nature of a concert that exists in a time-shifted dimension. everything exists and is held in that dimension, in that moment of time alone. you're only ever able to bring scraps of it out with you. it's like trying to hold onto a dream after you've woken up. unless you write down everything right away, it's gone. but then you see a stray photo, the odd fancam, and it triggers a memory. it's almost magic. and you can't just rewatch the performances through fancams or the dvd even though you'd have a much easier time seeing everything going on but it's just different. you'd be back to seeing them on a screen again. and dreams dont work like that anyway dreams are lived once, the rest are just disjointed memories.

finally, there is just plain old missing them. i already miss them. i just got reminded once again that they're real and in front of me over a day ago and now they're back to being images on a screen. every song i hear, every video i watch just makes me remember that, at one point, they were real. and i miss them.

honestly, this it didnt really fully hit until i boarded the plane alone and set off for home. for the first time in three days, i was without friends to fill the void or the stress of travelling on a time limit to distract me. suddenly, i just felt sad and hollow and tired. on a personal level im probably also exhausted both physically and mentally from the constant travelling, especially on a time limit as well as socially from meeting "new" people and being in the presence of people in general for a few days straight. ren and natsu were incredible and so fun (i will not ever get over what it's like to hang out with actual starlights ever) but you know how it is with introversion. even when you with people you want to be with, your energy will deplete. my brain is telling me it's going to clock out for a good few days before its ready to come back again

i dont have a satisfying conclusion to this mess of words. i dont even know how i feel now that ive bled off all of my feelings into text. it's a mix of sadness, wistfulness, and residual awe because everything i said above as well as having to say goodbye to my friends.

i dont want this long ramble to make it seem like im not grateful for the opportunity to see them in a korean concert. i absolutely am. i will cherish this memory forever. i just. i wish i were both less and more predictable of a person. if i could i want to do it again. i want to see them in a korean concert again. but i don't know what i'll be like a year from now. what if i no longer like them? some people probably find these to be blasphemous words but im not going to lie about myself. interests change. ive gone through so many obsessions in my over two decades of life. given, this is the most involved ive ever been in an interest and the only fandom ive ever made any friends in. but what if i do stop liking them? based on available data, the average length of an obsession is about three years for me. im approaching my third year as a starlight. my projected expiry date is coming up. i dont want it to. but i dont think i can stop it if it does. i shouldn't. no one is obligated to like anything they dont want to. but i dont want to not like them anymore. i dont want to lose what ive managed to find here.

[eldritchsurveys]

1119.

Are you bothered by your cosmic insignificance? >> Sometimes I am. I think that largely has to do with the whole Tower business; being disconnected from all of that feels strange now (and I’m conflicted about having written myself/been written out of that story). Otherwise, it’s a bit comforting to think that my actions -- good or ill -- are probably not going to have much of an effect on anything in the grand scheme of things. Way less pressure.

Do you mourn for a place or person you’ve never known? >> In a way... more like, a version of me knew him, and that version of me is still accessible to me, which makes his grief accessible to me.

Do you really think there is somebody for everybody? >> I don’t think that’s a useful concept. After all, it excludes a lot of people (people who do not want to be “paired”, for example) and it suggests that we’re all here to complete someone else’s life, which makes no sense, really. Relationships are always optional, and always forged through effort (...sometimes negative effort, unfortunately, but you know), not magical red threads.

Do you place any value in gender roles? >> No. I understand they’re important and integral to a lot of other people, and I respect that. I would never insist that anyone else adopt my views. It seems, though, that there is less respect for my innate desire to opt out of such unnecessarily restrictive concepts.

Do you have to be related to be family? >> I don’t have a positive or even neutral conception of family thanks to my experiences, so, I’m the wrong person to ask.

Are your platonic relationships just as valuable as romantic or family ones? >> I don’t view relationships like this; all of the bonds I have are important, or else I wouldn’t have them. It’s obviously very difficult for me to form bonds in the first place, so I really have no business taking any of them for granted.

Are you in love? Do you want to be? >> No. I don’t see what I would gain from the experience, so, no.

Do you think you can put love into categories (family, platonic, romantic, etc.) or is it just one general sensation? >> I don’t really know anything about love, and honestly, I’m starting to see that as less of a weakness and more of just... a neutral thing. Even a potential for creativity: maybe I can form my own ideas around my own actual feelings, instead. The vagueness and conflicting messages around “love” have always bugged me, and honestly... maybe it’s not me that’s the problem in this case.

Would you be happy with a life without romance? >> I do have a life without romance, and it’s very fine. 

Are you always going to be a little in love with somebody? >> I assume not.

Would you change your appearance if you could? >> Yeah. Not to another static appearance, though. I’d be able to shapeshift, as I should be able to.

Do you have the feeling you’ve lost something you might have had in another life - whether it be a person, a place, a world, a language, etc.? >> Yep.

Do you believe in reincarnation? >> I guess I do, in some way, considering how I talk about myself (I literally use the word “incarnation” sometimes, after all).

Would you want to be reincarnated? >> I don’t think it matters whether I’d want to or not.

Do you think you’re special, or just another person amongst billions? Can you be both? >> I think you can be both, yes, and I do think of myself as both. I think there’s a balance to strike -- to recognise oneself as a unique amalgamation of traits and behaviours and thoughts and experiences, but also to recognise that everyone else is also a unique amalgamation, which means that one’s own specialness is no more or less than another’s.

Do theoretical ethical debates have any value? Is it important people discuss ethical dilemmas, e.g. the trolley problem? >> Well, sure, I mean... I imagine people have those debates for a reason, lol.

Did you have imaginary friends? Do you still have them? >> I have learned that the distinction between “imaginary friends” and what I have is that imaginary friends are understood by the child to be their own creations, and the expectation to “age out” of that kind of pretend play at some point is always there. I did not have that experience, and of course my non-corporeal companions never went away (well, specific ones went away, and others took their places, but).

Are you religious? Do you think your religion is ‘correct’? >> No.

If you aren’t religious, do you wish you were? Why? >> If I wanted to be religious, I could just... be religious. It’s not hard, lol. There are plenty of organised sects that are happy to accept converts.

Do you want a grand adventure? >> Not right now.

Do you have somebody, whether it be a friend or stranger, who you think you could have loved if the circumstances were different? >> ---

How long does it take you to fall in love with somebody?Is the sensation of ‘falling in love’ or ‘being in love’ better? >> ---

Is love about convenience or something more? Can it be about both? >> ---

Do you think you really understand your gender and sexuality? >> I don’t think I need to “understand” it so much as I just... need to live in it, honestly, without self-castigation or unnecessary restriction. It also helps for me to remember that there’s an inherent fluidity in my relationship to gender and sexuality, and so the things I understand about myself now may change at some point. And that’s fine and good.

How fluid is your concept of gender and sexuality? >> Ahaha, very.

What’s the most life-changing choice you’ve made so far? >> I’m not sure. I’ve made many.

Are you afraid of growing old? >> Not especially. I am anxious about infirmity and disease, but not about the entire production of ageing.

Would you want to live forever? How about for a billion years, a million, a millennium, a century? >> Nah. Life is exhausting, it’s actually kind of nice to know that eventually I get the Big Sleep.

Do you believe in some form of god/s? >> Yes.

Are your choices fated or of your own free will? >> I’m not sure, and I don’t think it does me much benefit to debate it with myself.

Do you have a hunch about how you’re going to die? >> No.

Do you believe in star signs? >> I think astrology is a wonderful language and I love to use it.

How old do you have to be to be considered an adult? >> In my understanding, the only solid concept of adulthood that exists in the society I live in is the legal concept, which starts at 18.

Was your childhood happy? >> It was happy at times. It was also a lot of other things, and some of those other things had a stronger and more lasting effect.

What are you missing from your life? >> Nothing.

Have you ever met someone who had a very similar personality to your own? Did you get along? >> I don’t know. I feel like I thought that about Sigma for a long time, but I’m not sure how true it actually was.

Do opposites attract? >> *shrug* Sometimes, I guess.

Is your life what you expected it would be five years ago? >> I could not have conceptualised my current life five years ago.

Do you know what you want out of life? >> I don’t “want” anything out of it.

What makes a person ‘good’? Are you a ‘good person’? >> I’m not sure. This has never really meant anything to me. I know what kind actions are, I know what compassionate behaviour looks like, but I don’t know how one could “be” a set of actions.

What fundamentally matters do you? >> That’s a good question, and I’m not sure I have an answer at this moment.

Is freewill an illusion? >> I don’t know. Maybe? If so, it’s a useful one.

Do you create art? How do you define art? >> I do. Art, for me, is anything I do to express myself or to make something new out of something else. Knitting is art because I’m making something new out of some fibers. Writing is art because I am both expressing myself and making something new out of words. And so on.

How often do you lie? Is all lying inherently bad? Are you generally truthful? >> Rarely. I just don’t feel any reason to. I don’t want to speculate on whether all lying is “bad” or not.

Do you want to be remembered after your death? What for? >> I mean, maybe by a couple of people? I don’t actually... care about this, I don’t think. I understand why people do, but it doesn’t attract me personally.

Is true world peace ever possible? >> I don’t know.

Do you have to suffer to truly understand the human condition? What is the human condition? How can you really experience it? >> I think pain and the processing of pain is pretty integral to being human because it’s impossible (or at least nearly impossible) to avoid, and yet a lot of what humans do is for the sake of avoiding as much of it as possible. I don’t know what the human condition is, it seems like something we just say a lot but no one really explains it.

Are you free? Will you ever be? Can anyone be truly free? >> I mean, I’m some measure of free, of course. I imagine it’s a spectrum.

Do you hold yourself to higher standards than you hold others? >> Unfortunately, but I try to chip away at that as much as I can.

What do you expect from a friend or partner? >> *shrug*

What question could you ask to find out the most about a person? >> I have no idea. I hear there’s a set of questions that supposedly induces intimacy between people, but I don’t know how that actually works.

Do you justify all your beliefs or have you just inherited/absorbed some? >> I have definitely inherited and absorbed a lot of random beliefs. It’s actually kind of interesting to have them pointed out or to realise subconscious biases. I can understand how it can be energy-draining to be aware of that kind of thing all the time, too, though.

Which beliefs do you have that is most likely to be wrong? >> I don’t know.

Can humans really understand the complete nature of the universe, space and time? >> I have no idea, actually. I assume our capacity for understanding is limited just by how our brains and bodies operate, but I could always be surprised.

Is a consciousness what makes someone a person? >> That is also an interesting question that I don’t think I’ll ever have a concrete answer for. Personhood is really complex and wibbly-wobbly-shifty-slippery to me. But in general, when it comes to interaction, I prefer to err on the side of treating someone (or some “thing”) with more personhood than less.

What do you think about artificial intelligence? >> I think it’s fascinating.

Do you thinks humans are obsessed with escapism (books, video games, movies, etc.)? Are you looking for an escape? Do you think that’s a bad thing? >> I don’t know if “obsessed” is an appropriate word, but I do think fantasy and imagination plays a pretty important role in how humans process -- and yes, sometimes avoid -- things. I guess it’s all about one’s relationship to fantasy, and how that affects one’s life. I, personally, don’t think I delve too harmfully into escapism. I love media and stories and fantasy, but I think that’s logical for me.

Are we eventually going to ‘run out’ of new combinations for music, art, language, etc.? Is there a limit to human creativity? >> I don’t know. I think that it doesn’t matter, really.

What do you think the next era of music will be like? >> I can’t even speculate.

What do you think the next era of fashion will be like? >> ^

Do we live in tumultuous times, or do they just seem so strange because we’re living in them? >> Yes and yes.

Would you want to meet a clone of yourself? Would you like them? >> Sure, that seems like a fucked up yet maybe fun experience to have. Although I would rather we didn’t clone things at all, I think.

How confident are you, really? >> It varies. 

How consistent is your perception of time? >> About as consistent as any human’s, I’d imagine. 

What age should people be allowed to vote? Should children and teenagers be allowed to vote? >> I think 18 is fine. If you’re going to be considered an adult in the eyes of the law, and if you can be conscripted into the military, then you should be able to participate in democracy.

How do you feel about the idea ‘an eye for an eye’? >> I think I need the context (which I’ve forgotten, by this point) in order to really have an opinion.

What’s the worse thing a person can be? >> *shrug*

How do you feel about monogamy? >> It doesn’t interest or compel me. My understanding of relationships + monogamy = round peg, square hole sort of situation.

Can you be in love with someone and still fall in love with someone else? >> I’d imagine so. I mean... what would stop you, aside from social pressure?

What’s the tragedy of your life? >> I’m not sure.

Would your life make a good play? >> I don’t think so. It’s not very stage-friendly.

Should people be prosecuted for crimes that weren’t considered crimes at the time? >> *shrug*

Would you fight for your country? Do you feel a sense of loyalty to your nation? >> I would not, and I do not.

Do you believe in gender equality in every aspect? >> Yes.

Do we have a moral obligation to care for others? To what extent? >> As far as I understand morality -- a framework to secure social order -- I’d imagine the answer is “yes”. Obviously, adopting moral frameworks are only required if one wishes to remain a part of the social community that imposes them, so... you don’t have to care for others, but I’d imagine it’d make your life difficult. (On the other hand, the US’s moral frameworks are so jacked up that this really doesn’t even apply anymore. Plenty of people get on just fine without giving a fuck about anyone else. Some of them even get rewarded for it, or elected to lead the whole fucking nation. So maybe I comprehend way less about this subject than I thought I did.)

Do you crave approval and/or praise? >> I wouldn’t say “crave”. I definitely enjoy being praised and appreciated, though.

Is there comedy in all tragedy and tragedy in all comedy? >> Yeah, I thought that was kind of how it worked, storytelling-wise. But there are probably exceptions.

Are you ever going to be satisfied? >> Sure.

When you are sad, do you listen to music that conveys your emotions or music that makes you happy? >> I listen to music that I like, that I’m in the mood for. It’s not always a direct emotional matchup, sometimes I just want to hear a certain kind of sound. Like how blast beats can be calming when I feel anxious or ungrounded. Or maybe I just want the familiarity of my playlist to make me feel more like myself again, and it doesn’t matter what the kind of music is as long as it’s familiar and beloved.

Is your music organised by mood or sensation or do you just listen to everything at any time? >> It’s not at all organised.

Would you marry a friend if they needed you to (e.g. for citizenship)? >> I mean, sure, hypothetically. I’m already married, though.

Are you a deep person? >> As deep as anyone, I assume.

Given the chance to live your life on Mars, with no hope of returning to Earth but with the promise of scientific discovery and glory, would you take it? >> No. 

Are you who people think you are? >> I don’t know who people think I am.

Do you think you would be happier if you had been born a different gender, sexuality, race, ethnicity, nationality or religion? >> It’s always possible. But I don’t really see a point in thinking about that. I am who I am, and that’s all I can be.

What’s your toxic trait? Are you trying to improve yourself and fix it? >> I don’t know what my toxic trait is. I’d probably have to ask someone else about this.

Do you anger easily? >> No.

Are you a jealous person? >> No.

If you lost all your memories, would you have the same personality? >> I doubt it, since my understanding is that all that stuff is connected.

Given the chance to reset your life (with none of the knowledge you currently have), would you take it? >> No.

Is hate as strong as love? Who do you hate? >> I know about as much about hate as I know about love, which is to say “not much at all”.

Do you speak multiple languages? Which do you dream in? What language would you want to learn? >> No.

Do you draw meaning from your dreams, or do you disregard them? >> There are definitely some dreams I have that I feel are just heavy with meaning, but there are a lot of other dreams I have that seem like they’re just subconscious Mad Libs. So, it varies.

How would you describe yourself when you love? Do you love forcefully, unconditionally, gently, quietly, desperately? >> ---

Is unrequited love real love? >> ---

Is your perception of yourself similar or the same to how others perceive you? >> I think my perception is different by design... like, I can only see myself through my own eyes, not through anyone else’s. I think maybe we try to find people who see us closer to how we see ourselves, though? Maybe we feel more connected to people that way. I don’t know, this is all speculation on my part.

Are you overly analytical? >> I don’t think so.

Do you ever feel that you are really a terrible person, and only act good out of societal or some other obligation? >> I can see how that would be a compelling thought, but it doesn’t really work for me because I don’t have a mental framework for “terrible person” or “good person”, like I said earlier.

Do you believe in magic? Are you superstitious? >> I’m not sure. I’m prone to magical thinking and I don’t think that’s a bad thing, if that says anything.

What belief do you have that isn’t logically grounded, but you still firmly believe in? >> Everything about my existence (some of the other answers I’ve given in this survey can provide examples).

[crackcrocs]

DEATH WILL ONLY BE THE BEGINNING #2

2.Disconnected/ Dissociation/ Depersonalisation / Darkness

Most days I'm not sure that I would choose to look after me... I would like to give up and scream.

consistent healing with mental health is the most frustrating thing. like how do you justify yourself to the people getting annoyed at you for your tics when you barely even know what a tic is and why you’re doing what you’re doing? people never believe your explanations, or it would take them studying you to see the reality of the depth of suffering, why I’m doing these annoying things and it is hard to explain. I can’t say that I can’t control it because that’s not completely true- it’s not like a muscle spasm completely out of control, its more of an impulse a bit like OCD behaviour. My brain follows mental patterns n finds it difficult to not get out of the cycle. its like scratching at a mosquito bite where yeah technically you can just not scratch it but it feels agonising not to and takes all your concentration not to do.

I’ve been more uncomfortable with the idea of being a person lately. i can’t conceptualise time so I get this feeling sometimes where its like , I hate the fact that I’m a person and I exist and it usually makes me super confused & I go into a misty state of mind where everything feels like it’s piling up leaving me anxious n too deep & I just feel too disconnected from everything. I feel lost when I look at my limbs; they grow heavier.

I personally try to spend as little time looking in the mirror as possible because it can be a big trigger for my dissociation. but taking pictures of my day/ what I’ve eaten helps me remember i have been present in the long run. This is why I have a complex relationship with social media, sometimes when I go on it I get depressed even though I want to be active. I cope by only looking in the mirror with other people there or when I have a specific reason to. It’s like I know my soul but my physical form confuses me.

I don’t even tell my friends I’m dissociating any more cause it’s just,, a given. I feel really embarrassingly bad. It’s one of the few things with my mental health that I try and minimise and hide from my friends- but I end up hiding myself as a whole, when my soul wants to be present but my body doesn’t know how to comply. I’m really sorry people have to deal with that, it’s so scary to be disconnected.

it’s annoying to have sucky mental health cos even when I want to get help I get embarrassed & feel ashamed that my brain is the way it is. I feel like a burden, or I don’t care enough about myself to believe I deserve help & to be healthy & mentally okay. I often realise the depth of self hate & my brain tells me I’d be better off dead. 

I feel forced to engage in ‘the caste system of life’ . As humans were just expected to ‘keep calm and carry on’ but I’m genuinely tired. I can’t grasp that I ever used to work 2 jobs in a day at one point, I can’t grasp how. I feel an immense amount of distress about having to work in these times too, it’s like finally my mental is free to roam to whichever corner it deserves to feel peace without having to mask at all times, finally I get some extra time to organise my journals and paint & we’re actually still being made to feel obligated to go about our days as if everything is normal, while being tuned into a fear frequency. I feel like so many things are obfuscated with absolute lies & it’s hard to go on just because you have to but not cos you actually desire it.

I’m a great worker & communicator when I do have the energy, but I don’t have any dream job because I don’t dream to slave away to a capitalist system that perpetuates all kind of nonsense, i dream to dismantle it. Which I know I can’t do, so then I feel powerless, insignificant & small. for now I just can’t be arsed doing anything. maybe deep down I still have hope.

I’ve become more pessimistic that optimistic,I receive these death threats from my brain too In really dumb moments, & I’m like oh my gosh we have to just keep washing dishes & putting them away & putting more food in them & doing this over & over until we die. 

I am someone that needs people but I have these silly built in coping mechanism. it’s like this character in my brain needs to hop to the recharge centre,it often wants to hide in my mental cavern of preservation because it feels like it’s disconnected from everything else. like how is everyone holding up jobs or education ? how will I be able to have all these good times & spoil my family & friends like I want to, if I can’t hold up a job ? why can’t my head not be such a bloody mess & why can’t I seem to conform to normality ??? My brain starts asking the questions, my brain starts caving away. 

Even a long time ago my brain stopped planning for a future past 30 because of my individual situation & traumas, and mainly because the world is a horrible illusion once you grow & realise how truly powerless & insignificant it makes you feel. dissociation turns my memories into flat, unconvincing shadows.

thankfully I haven’t gave up & I’m still here with a bit more of a desire to go on- but only because of the inspiring creative loving caring people that surround me. over the years I’ve come across marvellous souls & I have the most beautiful family I could ever ask for. i would never want to seem ungrateful. I know the whole saying of ‘silence speaks volumes’ but as someone who’s always felt like they need to explain themselves for their entire life, I’ve learned that sometimes silence is necessary, to be able to fully be yourself & uplift the people in your life, you need to learn how to be comfortable & confident with your own self. I’m washing away my Shame and painting my shell shiny y’all!!!! Soon come you’ll see the armour I’ve been working on in the flesh.

My silences are not done in a sense of ‘I need to work on me only & FIRST, THEN I can worry about you’ but a ‘I’ve never put myself first & ALSO need to worry about me the way I worry about you I want all of us to eat together, I just don’t wanna be that friend that feels like they’re holding people back from doing things because I’m on pause. and of course there’s the fact that compromise is necessary to make friendships work, I want to make time & be present. 

I don’t feel obligated(I genuinely do want to be there) but in my head for things to run smoothly for everyone’s sake there needs to be consistency(I don’t wanna lose the people I love & want to grow with them) but someone said to me consistency is just obligation sprinkled. and sometimes it just be like that, I hate how all my messages start with ‘so sorry for these late replies’ I hate it. the people pleaser always feels the need to explain but i feel bad because I feel like I’ve let them down already & that I didn’t intend or want to ignore them I just have a terrible relationship with my phone,social media & I’m one of the worst communicators I know, even though In person & in a comfortable atmosphere-I’m someone who can speak for the whole of both Scotland and Tanzania. I have a very all or nothing type brain.

most time I’m restless too and its like..i get hyper aware of all my surroundings and its really scary and emotional for a little bit but then i just start dissociating hella and it sucks ,, it’s become a normal state of mind or thing my brain does to sort of reject humanity and stuff & when I do ‘zone out’ there has to be a sense of awareness in my brain, I care a lot & I’m aware that those on the other side will feel left the dark from the other end.

I just get embarrassed n I don’t wanna ‘be the fuck up’ even though my brain actively just keeps doing it. I’m not even exaggerating sometimes the anxiety builds up because some eedyat from my past that I wanted to avoid messages me. or because I can’t reply to all my people at once. (I have people & connects from Tanzania, Turkey & Scotland) so my messages will pile up & then I don’t know how to start the replies & then I freak out & feel like a failed shitty friend, I also don’t wanna be selective because I WANT to speak & hear from everyone I do maintain contact with, but then my brain dissociates.

sexual abuse, physical & narcissistic abuse sucks. It doesn’t control me - but it’s shaped a part of my brain. for the time’s I’ve had to ‘cope’ & go to work as if everything is okay, further masking. the times as a kid I felt like I’d get punishment or a beating for answering back or doing something or being disobedient or ‘wrong’, it fuelled my ability at being able to mask more. I could lie for as long as I could so remember thanks to pedo paul- he also distorted & lured me into feeling easy & comfortable in highly alarming uncomfortable scenarios no child should ever have to experience.

being myself fully, feeling comfortable to be myself & explain my brain has never been easy.

another example that also made me be able to mask, is growing up in a ‘perfect’ looking family with much more dysfunction than I realised the older I aged. there isn’t necessarily a lack of connection in my family-we have a lot of love & togetherness, we know how to be a team. we’re a fast & fierce intelligent,compassionate bunch & I’m thankful enough to have 2 very understanding parents that will listen..I could’ve spoken to them about certain things earlier, I wish I did but I can’t go back. I forgive & hope they forgive me for there were still years where I felt judged, or like I’d be disowned.

I think it’s invalidating for parents to write off the so called ‘teen phase’ phase as the result of hormones and irrational teenage anger.

We now have more of a relationship yet there’s still that disconnect or connect only when I’m communicating with one of them at a time (depending on the subject matter/ setting).i can still chill with them both but sometimes chat feels forced. they have given me the reassurance that I’ll never be judged with what I share. Though at one point I felt (or in my head) like the downer child, they did project feelings of shame which I think stemmed from a ‘place of concern’ - and that was due to a lack of familial friendship. Both my parents were made to be parents & did a damn good job at raising us because despite the flaws. we remain tough, empathetic, polite,sensible, witty, charming, fun, respectable & decent which are all qualities from both of their seed.

I think they both deserved different loves or a more open one. because you see it sometimes felt they could’ve put their parent badge aside and talk to me like a friend, I’m not sure if all my siblings felt the same but I did. I’m also thankful for all the lessons & can’t discount my parents parenting, they are great. I’m not saying they failed, I just think that if you want your child to communicate with you, there needs to be a sense of comfort ability for them to be able to open up. If you force them to speak while you’ve ingrained fear, you end up pushing them further away. I guess to an extent the whole ‘ingrain’ fear into your child so they can respect you does work, but this creates sneakier children too- finding ways to get away with things because they’re worried you’ll get them in trouble for doing so. so if the communication lessens as the child grows, it’s because they didn’t feel understood, despite being listened to. Anyways I love my family still, I’m just an over thinker & sometimes I feel like there’s a lack of soul level conversation & genuine laughter. there’s grudges held but not expressed so then the atmosphere of the household begins to feel stuffy. whether or not everyone realises it, whether it’s because different personality types clash in the house, a bunch of reasons perhaps. But yeah in terms of dissociating & tying masking into it, it would happen whenever I felt in danger or like someone would think i was not good enough and hurt me. 

sometimes I can be dry & just wanna listen to my peoples. but I feel like I always need to talk because of my people pleaser brain that also feels the need to fill in silences or feels rude when it doesn’t respond but the reality is sometimes my brain doesn’t allow me to be able to be consistent with social media, messaging, calls etc- I have a disconnect from social media even tho part of me loves the concept so much & the communication aspect is such a bonus (especially with international friends & family£ in turn my life feels like a dramatic podcast. for a while now there’s been more a mentally tired feeling that reigns over my brain, it all just gets a bit blurry so I have this habit of ‘checking out’ when I feel like I’m under stress & there’s a chance of more overloaded- it sort of makes my brain disengage even more. for some people reality checks help, for others they make things worse. personally when I don’t feel good enough I start convincing myself I already failed & that I’m not worthy of my family n friends & all that yap, the brain mould grows!! whenever stress arises or my awkward brain starts conspiring against itself- the zone out will begin.

I don't even realise the weight of my words, how serious and ugly it is. I am floating around. for years. I don't remember what feeling real is like. I feel like everything is fake and even though I matter I’m unimportant until I wear my skin of confidence & the that life is a game. I want to be able to feel like a normal person and believe myself, to believe that life isn’t a dream. I can't. I am just floating all the time. I just want to feel real for once and not so fake.

I do use listening to music or a podcast as a coping strategy so i have something engaging for my brain to focus on. music grounds me when de realisation gets really bad. but then there’s always knowing that more and more is just piling up. It’s like an outer body experience where you’re watching your lifeless body turn blue & there’s a timer with spilling sand but you’re frozen.

I feel this pattern from childhood of escapism is gash coming into adulthood, feeling everything so intensely can genuinely get overwhelming my heart feels like a racing car. I’m keen & determined though. I’m hopefully going to learn more about the brain, human impulses, how we think, because learning about humans helps me understand why I do things more, and that sort of seems to help. I wanna be strong enough for the people I love, I want to support them in tough times too I just don’t always have conversations- I’m sorry. being half there isn’t nice,neither fun.

I also keep thinking there’s some bigger /thing/ Reason for the universe, maybe waiting for the aliens or government to blow us up with the push of a button lol. I spend more time thinking about the afterlife but don’t do enough in my present one. most days I feel like life is a game boy. Is there a reason why everyone does what they do etc? Is society too dead to mend ? Remembering that it’s just the laws of the universe (human instinct, physics) controlling everything can help me. The master key system helps. Vsauce Thoughty2, Dr Phil Valentine and Brother Panic, Infinite waters,studying, art, music & generally scrolling through youtube helps lol. but I really wonder does anyone else feel like they are interacting with the world but their head is wrapped in plastic, so they can see and hear but are still totally but imperceptibly separated from the world, so they just can’t quite..connect?