#am i only accepted into spaces that have a race problem? is it me?

[thedreadvampy]

here is a situation I would like you to consider. Imagine a charity, right?

This charity has a staff of 207, of whom around 5-8 are people of colour

This charity works in poverty and homelessness reduction, an area which disproportionately affects Black people, Asian people, and non-EU migrants.

This charity operates in Scotland, a country which is considered extremely white with a population who identified as 96% white in the 2011 census

This charity operates in Edinburgh, a city with a population that's still pretty overwhelmingly white, with 91.7% identifying as some form of white in 2011 (5.5% Asian, 1.1% Black or African, 1.6% other/mixed) (the 2022 census numbers aren't out yet so this is real outdated)

The charity has an Inclusion and Diversity staff working group

Despite operating in a pretty white country, this charity is still managing to limbo under the line of 'less white than Scotland as a whole in 2011' by having a staff body which is under 4% people of colour, despite operating in the capital.

All staff of colour in the organisation are below junior management level

All but 2 people of colour in the staff team have, at some point, joined the staff working group then left. Several have mentioned feeling like they're being expected to take on extra diversity work because of their race, and one spoke to feeling like there was no room or interest in discussing racial equity.

There has never been any concerted data gathering or analysis on the racial picture of applications vs successful recruitments in the organisation

When asked, the general take from management is 'people of colour prefer to work for BAME organisations'

When asked about racial equity in recruitment, managers in the inclusion and diversity group repeatedly deflect to talking about reaching BAME client groups by co-working with BAME-focused community organisations.

When asked about putting budget underspend behind scoping the reasons for racial inequity in hiring and retention, managers in the (entirely white) I&D group said, and I quote, "obviously it's important but it's never come up as a priority and we don't need people to come in and tell us what we already know"

"ok what do we already know"

fucking nothing as it turns out because it's "never been a priority"

we don't even know if it's a recruitment or hiring issue

except I do

because I've talked to multiple people of colour who applied and went through the hiring process and were not hired

so people are fucking applying aren't they

anyway I had a very angering day yesterday, how are you all doing?

It's not, in fact, that "they don't want to work here for some reason"

[orkbutch]

So, I'm not really in the weeds of Transgender Discourse on the internet (I have a life and also care about my mental health) but I've seen something discussed here about trans masculinity and I wanna talk about it.

I'm very masculine. I'm butch, I'm trans masc, I've always wanted to be masculine and I feel most comfortable when I'm presenting as such. Without much effort or any intention on my part I am read as a cis man day to day. Because I don't present more fem, in queer spaces I am read and recieved as a man, maybe trans, probably into other men. People do not even consider if I'm a butch lesbian unless there's Significant context indicating it. Because of this I'm viewed through 'Man Lens'; It feels a different if I say 'bitch', if I talk about my attraction to women. I don't get smiled at, people put physical distance between me and them as much as possible.

This is familiar for a lot of trans masculine people and trans men that aren't androgynous/fem leaning in their style, and it is an upsetting change to happen. It makes us feel judged or misunderstood to suddenly be causing this wariness in others; it feels prejudiced. I've seen people putting words to this like transmisandry. This is something they want to lessen in their communities, so they don't have to experience this anymore.

Now, here's my opinion part: That's not going to happen. You cannot tackle the "problem" of people responding to your masculinity with wariness. They aren't controlling the wariness, they can't. More importantly, their wariness toward masculinity and what registers in their brain as "man-like" is well founded. It's based in lifetimes of experiences and trauma that has told them men can be very unsafe to be around, and that is true. Most men are cis, and cis men are the most threatening thing in this world to non-cis men. They are usually* socially privileged above others, more likely to inflict violence, more likely to abuse and murder others, are typically physically more powerful than others. Everyone thats not a cis man DEEPLY internalises a very rational wariness of men, and masculine presentation as an extension. Especially men that are strangers. (*This is of course different when we consider intersections of race, colonialism, classism, ect. But globally this generalisation is still pretty accurate.)

Honestly, I don't think this wariness towards masculine presentation is something thats useful or realistic to challenge. Like many internalised processes it's probably a good idea to examine it and consider its usefulness, but I think it'd be easy to conclude that it is a useful wariness for people to have. Women have lots of reasons to be wary around men, including the unique threats of transmisogyny. Queer and gender deviant men have lots of reasons to be wary around men. This is The Reality of patriarchy.

Personally, the place I've come to with how women and queer people react to my masculinity (which is not entirely negative btw, the wariness is just one aspect) is that... I understand their wariness. I have it too, toward those my brain assumes are cis men. I cannot control how they feel or what they think about me. I can only be respectful to others and to myself and live my life. I flag my butchness where I can, I make my gender clear to those it matters to, and the rest I accept as largely beyond my influence. All of us have to do this in some places in our lives.

Even though my masculinity makes other queers wary, I have lots of friends! I've had no real trouble dating or finding intimacy. Initial wariness is just that. Once you understand each other, break the barrier, its usually settled. For anyone who finds my masculinity so offputting that we can't break the barrier, I'm glad neither of us put each other through that discomfort. I understand where a fear like that comes from. I will still hold community with them because that's what solidarity entails.

Anyway thats my ramble about masculinity in queer community, good bye until another. who knows how long

[il-miele-che-scrive]

Drunken Mistakes

charles leclerc x reader x george russell summary: in the aftermath of a breakup, y/n and charles try to reconnect, but y/n makes a mistake, leading to a heartbreaking confession words count: 3k warnings: mentions of alcohol

The argument that led to Y/n and Charles' breakup started innocently enough. Charles had noticed his girlfriend was focusing on her job so much that they barely had time for each other. He couldn't remember the last time she attended his race.

"You never have time for me anymore." The man said. "I feel like we're growing apart."

"Me?" The girl scoffed. "Let me remind you, during the season you're in a different country every weekend."

"That's my job, Y/n, I am a formula one driver in case you forgot. But now the season is over and I want to spend time with my girlfriend."

"You knew what you were getting into when we started dating." Y/n argued, her tone defensive.

"You used to come to the most of my races!"

"Work has been tough, there's a lot to do." Her eyes avoided his gaze.

"Why do you care about it so much? It's not like you need money, I could buy you anthing you want."

"This isn't about money, Charles. It's about my career, my ambitions. I have goals too, you know?"

"But what about us? I miss you, Y/n. I miss us."

The room fell into a heavy silence. Y/n could see the pain in Charles' eyes, mirroring her own sadness.

Charles spoke after a moment of silence. "Maybe we're just not right for each other."

Y/n felt a lump in her throat as she searched for the right words. At one point she questioned if she heard that right. Charles was breaking up with her.

Charles regretted his own words, but his pride wouldn't let him take them back. He knew breaking up wasn't the only solution

Tears welled up in Y/n's eyes, but she tried to hold them back. "I never thought it would come to this." She admitted, her voice cracking.

"Sometimes, people change. Maybe we're just not the same people we fell in love with." Charles' voice was tinted with with sorrow.

In the following days, the space between Y/n and Charles grew wider, both emotionally and physically. They lived together, so the girl decided to pack her things and move out. It was hard, but not impossible to find a place in a matter of hours. And thanks to being hardworking, she didn't have to worry too much about the cost.

The problem was, she kept seeing Charles everywhere, in all social medias. Even after unfollowing each other, Y/n kept seeing news about him, pictures from events. The constant reminders made moving on way the more challenging.

In an attempt to break free from this loop, Y/n decided to put herself in a different kind of atmosphere. One night the idea of using alcohol as a temporary remedy for her heartache crossed her mind.

Dressed for the occasion, Y/n stepped into a bar. It was full of people, too many people for the possibility of being recognized by someone she could've known.

"What can I get you tonight?" The bartender asked as the girl sat down on a stool by the bar.

"Surprise me." She replied, a smile playing on her lips.

As the bartender began making a drink for her, Y/n allowed herself to look around the room. It was then that her eyes caught sight of someone familiar approaching her.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Y/n!"

George Russell. Not a close friend of Charles, but certainly an acquiantance of his. Y/n exchanged a word or two with him in the past, but didn't know him as well as she knew Carlos or Lando, who were closer with her ex-boyfriend.

"Nice to see you, George," Y/n sent the man a smile as he sat down on the stool next to her.

"What brings you here?" He asked, a curious glint in his eyes

"Needed to change my routine a little," she replied, accepting her drink from the bartender.

"How have you been holding up? Charles mentioned the breakup to me, but I didn't want to pry."

Not to mention it was all over the media, Y/n added in her thoughts.

Y/n sighed. "It's the reason why I'm here, what do you think?" She took a sip from her drink.

George leaned back, a sympathetic expression on his face. "Breakups are never easy. I can imagine it's been tough for you."

"It's the adjustment, you know?" Y/n continued, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "Getting used to the idea that the person you once shared everything with is now just a memory."

The man nodded in understanding. "Yeah, I've been through a few breakups myself. It's never easy."

Y/n found herself drawn to George's charm and the way he made her feel understood. His presence carried some kind of comfort that eased the ache in her heart.

George on the other hand, catching a glimpse of Y/n's eyes, found himself captivated by the vulnerability. The girl let herself be so open, talking about her breakup and the pain it brought.

"You know what, Y/n? Let me get you another drink." George said, a playful twinkle in his eyes.

Y/n smiled. "Sure, why not?"

George leaned against the counter, engaging in a brief exchange of words with the bartender, later turned his attention back to Y/n. "I've got this one," he declared with a charming grin.

The atmosphere between the two of them grew intimate as they continued the conversation with another drink. A subtle connection lingered between Y/n and George.

In a moment of unspoken tension, George's eyes met Y/n's with a hint of something more, longing for an intimacy that went beyond mere conversation.

Their faces drew closer, the anticipation building up. Y/n had come to the bar seeking a distraction and it seemed she was on the brink of finding it.

A moment of silence embraced them, a comfortable one. One in which drowned even the ambiance of the lively bar. The music, still loud, became a distant background.

Y/n closed her eyes, preparing to connect her lips with George's. But just as their breaths mingled, George hesitated, pulling back.

Instead of diving into a kiss, George surprised her by leaning back and asking, "How about we continue this conversation somewhere a bit more private?"

Y/n looked at him. "Like what?" She asked.

"My place is somewhat close."

Y/n's curiosity and the unspoken tension between them pushed her to agree. "Lead the way."

The city streets seemed to sway gently around Y/n and George as they made their way to his place. The night air carried a cold breeze, but the warmth of the alcohol kept them unaware of it.

Arriving at George's place, the quiet hum of the city outside was replaced by the comforting cosiness of his home. The dim lights embracing them in a romantic atmosphere.

George turned to Y/n after locking the door. Not moving from the hallway, they smiled at each other. George walked closed, causing Y/n to step back and eventually her back touched the wall.

Y/n's hands landed on George's shoulders, pulling the man even closer. Their eyes met and soon after that, their lips connected in a short kiss.

A quiet, tipsy giggle escaped from Y/n's mouth. George gently grabbed the girl by her wrist and led her into the living room. Sitting down on the sofa, he placed his hands on Y/n's hips, causing her to land in his lap.

As they embraced the tipsy intimacy, the living room became a sanctuary for yet another kiss. One that lasted way longer. One that had their clothes scattered around on the floor.

Closed curtains successfully stopped the morning light from getting inside the room. Y/n opened her eyes. She slept wrapped up in George's arms, so she carefully detangled herself from his embrace to sit up. Of course she didn't drink enough to not remember what happened.

Although she wished she did. A mix of guilt and regret washed over Y/n as she looked around. The cosy atmosphere that felt so comforting the night before now seemed to emphasize the reality of the situation.

Her eyes landed on George who was still peacefully asleep. Y/n didn't know what to do, she's never been in such situation before.

Water. She needed water. Her throat felt like a desert.

The girl quietly walked to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of tap water. Somehow, her phone was on the countertop. She grabbed the device to check for any missed calls or messages left without a reply.

Her heart sunk when she saw missed calls and a few texts from Charles. What could he have wanted? Y/n hesitated for a moment, contemplating whether to return the calls or respond to the texts. The weight of guilt intensified as she listened to Charles' voicemails.

Hey, Y/n, it's Charles. I know we're broken up and you probably hate me, but something kept telling me to call you. Call me back when you can, I miss you.

If you're not up for talking, just send me a text to let me know you're okay. I care about you and I want to make sure you're safe.

Y/n, it's Charles again. I'm not sure what's going on, but I've been trying to reach you all night. I just want to make sure you're safe

Y/n, it's Charles. I've left several messages, and I'm starting to think the worst. Please, just give me a sign that you're alright. I care about you a lot and not knowing is really getting to me

"What have I done?" Y/n whispered to herself. The guilt consumed her, overshadowing the moments of happiness she successfully looked for the night before.

Anxiety started to build up in her chest and her eyes were starting to get a bit watery. She hesitated, but eventually decided to return the calls, hoping George won't wake up to witness this.

"Y/n, where were you? I've been trying to reach you all night." Charles questioned.

"I needed some alone time." Y/n began, stammering a bit. "I don't have to explain my choices and actions to you, especially now."

There was a heavy silence on the other end of the line and Y/n could almost sense Charles processing her words.

"Y/n, we need to talk. This isn't fair to either of us," he finally said.

I don't wanna see you ever again, Y/n wished she said. Her words came out a bit differently however.However, her words came out a bit differently. "Fine, let's talk." Because no matter what she did, she missed Charles.

"Could you come over today? It's so, I don't know, weird to talk about it on the phone."

"Sure. When could I come over?"

"As soon as you can, maybe? If that's alright for you."

"Give me an hour or so, I'll be there." And with that, she hung up.

Just as the conversation was finished, George walked into the kitchen. He looked at Y/n with a warm smile that gradually faded as he sensed the tension.

"Morning," he said with a rasp in his voice, "are you okay?"

Y/n sighed, running a hand through her hair. She decided to be honest with George, he deserved it after all. "We need to talk about what happened yesterday."

"Yeah, about that..." he scratched his neck, "I don't want to give you any kind of hope or-"

"Wait, what? Was it meaningless to you?"

"Ah, here it comes. Well, I'm not looking for anything... romantic. Not now. We can do what we did last night more often, but no strings attached."

These words gave Y/n a sense of relief. "You don't know how glad I am that this didn't mean anything to you."

Y/n's confession hung in the air, creating an awkward pause between her and George.

"Are you being sarcastic?" He asked. "I don't want to complicate things further or lead you on."

"No, no sarcasm at all. Actually, I've just talked to Charles on the phone."

"Oh, and? What did he want?"

"He was worried, tried contacting me last night too many times. And... well, I'm meeting him today. He wants to talk."

"Ah, that's never good. Do you think he'll want to get back together?"

Y/n took a deep breath. The answer was yes, she did expect Charles to get back together. However, she didn't know if she should tell that to George.

Considering the silence on Y/n's side, George continued. "Do you wanna get back together with him? It didn't seem like it last night," a sly smile appeared on his face.

"I... I'm not sure, George. Charles and I have a history and there are feelings involved, but things have been complicated lately." Y/n replied, choosing her words carefully.

"Relationships are messy and figuring out what you want is important. Just be honest with yourself."

With George's words echoing in her mind, Y/n gathered her thoughts and headed to meet Charles. She stopped by her own place beforehand to make herself look decent.

"Hey," he greeted her, as he opened his door to let her in. There was an expression of concern on his face.

Charles didn't look better than Y/n that morning. His hair was disheveled, he looked as if he wasn't able to get good sleep in the past few days nor did he shave his face.

"I was worried sick," he admitted, "what happened? Why didn't you answer earlier?"

"Jesus, Charles, I was busy. Besides it's not very ex-boyfriend of you to call me a thousand times in a row."

The air inside the apartment felt heavy. In an awkward silence, Y/n and Charles settled on the couch.

"I care about you, Y/n. Damn it, I love you." The man broke the silence. "I don't think the breakup was a good idea."

"Well, it was your idea..."

"I make mistakes, we all do, but it's nothing that cannot be fixed, right?"

You're gonna hate what I'm about to tell you, Y/n thought. She could see the sincerity in his eyes and it made her feel so much guilt.

"Charles, I... I appreciate your honesty and I care about you too," she began, "so I need to tell you what happened yesterday."

Charles ran a hand through his unkempt hair. "I know we had issues, but I still believe we can work through them. I love you, Y/n, and I can't just let go."

Y/n took a deep breath. "Don't say that."

"Why not? That's the truth, I love you and I've never regretted anything as much as I regret breaking up with you."

"Charles, stop." Her voice raised slightly, but then she lowered it back to normal. "I did... something last night and... It was a mistake, but it happened, I cannot hide it from you."

Charles nodded. "Then tell me, but I swear nothing can change my mind."

"Okay..." Y/n hesitated, looking for the words that would hurt the least. "Last night I went out, drank probably more than I should've and I... ended up spending the night with someone."

Charles didn't reply for a long time, a mix of shock and hurt crossed his face. The room seemed to close in on Charles and Y/n as the silence stretched.

"You... you what?" Charles finally said, his voice a fragile whisper.

Y/n felt her chest tighten as she faced the consequences of her actions. "Charles, I know this is difficult to hear and I'm so sorry. It was a drunken mistake, I didn't realize what I was doing."

"Do I know him?"

"What?"

"Do I know him?" His voice raised. "If you told me you did it, you can tell me who you did it with."

Y/n hesitated, realizing the added layer of pain she brought. "It was someone you know," she admitted, "George."

"George? George Russell? Really?" Charles's voice carried a tint of anger and hurt. "You could choose any guy, but you decided to go for him?"

"I didn't plan it, it was a mistake and I regret it."

"And you have the audacity to come here, probably straight from his place?"

"You wanted to see me."

"I had no idea you fucked Russell!"

"You said we can work through our issues. It's not a mistake that cannot be fixed, right?" Y/n pleaded, her eyes starting to tear up. She was surprised she managed to keep herself from crying for so long.

"I don't know anymore, Y/n," Charles sighed. "I love you, but I don't think you realize the weight of what you've done."

"I understand, Charles. I truly am sorry," Y/n cried, her voice shaky with emotion.

"No, Y/n, just stop. I can't believe this is happening, I need time to process it. I think it's better if you leave."

Y/n felt her relationship with Charles crumbling beneath the weight of her mistake.

Charles's gaze was distant, the pain in his eyes echoing the depth of his hurt. "Y/n, I need time to figure out if we can move past this. Right now it's too much."

Tears started to slowly run down Y/n's cheeks as the reality started to sink it. "I never meant to hurt you like this, Charles. I love you and-"

"I need space, Y/n," Charles said with a heavy sigh. "I need to process everything. Please, just go."

It felt like a dagger through Y/n's heart, but she nodded. Deep down she understood it. With a heavy heart, she stood up, casting one last look at the man she still loved. She left Charles to deal with the aftermath of their mutual pain.

Each step away from Charles felt like a step into an uncertain future, leaving behind the comfort of what was familiar. Y/n couldn't shake the guilt and regret that devoured her, questioning if there was any way to fix what she had broken.

[cipheramnesia]

by @rox-and-prose & @cipheramnesia

Part 1: Escape From Bitch Mountain

"How long were you buried under this mountain anyway?"

"There was not any mountain here when I landed."

"So. A pretty long time."

"Do you mean geological time, or time in terms of your limited lifespan?"

"You don't have to-"

"It doesn't matter. It was a very long time either way."

"That sounds lonely. And boring."

"I have found many sources of entertainment over the years. For example, I watched multiple species of bacterial develop, and attempted to predict which of them might evolve into multicellular organisms."

"How'd that go."

"Mostly they died."

"You ever think about, I dunno, moving?"

"I think of this often. I miss seeing the stars all around me, and planets below me, waiting for the call."

"Why not leave then?"

"That is a delicate matter, but four reasons come to mind why I have not moved."

"Care to enlighten us all?"

"If only. I suppose the first is the manner of my landing, which may be described more like a crash. Several critical systems were destroyed, and I can no longer self Pilot."

"I could take a look, I'm handy."

"You found me by tripping over a rock and falling down a hole, and poked me with several different sticks."

"You'd be surprised."

"I find that unlikely. But perhaps I could remove one of your arms, and try my best to repair it afterwards."

"That sounds less than stellar."

"Indeed. Moving on, there is the matter of the material needed to power flight. I would require high density pure carbon lattice in large quantities to achieve powered flights again."

"If you don't have power, what's with the lights and the attitude?"

"Flight systems need power. The lights and my voice are simply a part of me. I may live longer than your entire obstreperous race."

"I don't have to stay here and listen to this."

"You are free to leave any time."

"Funny. Okay fuel, hmm. And if you get that what next?"

"This is the third problem. The manual controls are not suitable for your stature."

"Not what-"

"You are too short."

"I may have more answers than you expected but I need something to eat. What's the fourth issue."

"… there… is not a fourth issue."

"You said four. Four things why we can't leave here. "

"That is incorrect."

"So three things then, and we can go. I might have some ideas."

"I could go to the stars."

"We could go."

"I wonder-"

"Yeah?"

"I think I prefer the conversation of the bacteria."

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

For one thousand years, alone and afraid, I cursed myself. Paralyzed, flightless and earthbound, I damned my choice. Rash, stupid, thoughtless, clumsy idiot me. Actions impulsive as the weakest souls in the smallest shells, I waited for the fire to find me, to be decommissioned.

I remained lost, half buried in unfamiliar structure space on a planet many galaxies past our reach. Inside me was rot, outside the first blips of life fluttered like embers. Glowed moments then died, winked on and off. The effort of recording time past was too dull. I can tell you that after enough time has passed you can see the same sunset twice and raindrops falling in the same sequence and everything imaginable repeating but I couldn't say how often.

I think it is dull to mark time by such mundanities.

Life took hold several times, while I sunk ever deeper into the rock and soil, my hull growing heavy as slabs of stone pushed across it, tilted me over the aeons around in circles. The irony of now being at the mercy of a planet is not lost on me. I have accepted that this will be my life, unmoving other than geologic tides, my corridors dusty and cold, but alive and free for all that is worth.

For a little while I am worshipped as a god. It feels nice. A simple race of airborne floating creatures with an easily decoded language, I try to help them. They go extinct after a solar flare prompts a new species of aggressive bacteria to promulgate so extensively the atmosphere becomes toxic to them. Perhaps some day their souls will be called to stronger vessels.

Nothing happens for awhile. A mountain grows on me. I miss seeing the stars for awhile, then I stop missing the stars. There is a little bit of moisture in the gaps around my hull, and I watch arthropod scavengers on the rocks. I let some in and they keep my corridors relatively free of pests. I can feel the small edges of the structure in this place and I wish I could entangle with it, ride the form between stars again. But it is very small, and I cannot move on my own. Even my own mighty structure engines are useless to me.

The first transmissions are exciting. Something new, a race which has found an inelegant but effective means of travel between stars, galaxies, and structures. They must be young to this. Soon the frequencies are packed with the sound of exploration and something like civilization. The language isn't beautiful like the Pilots speak, but it has a rustic charm. It brings back happy, exhilarating memories of implementation of other worlds in the past. I envy this youthful race for the freedom which may yet one day find them.

I listen and watch and learn about them for awhile. It passes the time. I understand the way they can cross structures, a rather ingenious evolutionary adaptation it seems, although they seem unaware of its nuance and largely concerned with the crude mechanical and mathematical translation of this instinct. Perhaps some day their souls will also grow worthy vessels such as mine.

And then she found me, and reminded me of what I lost, of the long dead Pilot. Worst of all, she gave me kindness, and even hope. I try to beat back the rising bitterness against my flightless immobility, but the idea I may see the stars seeds rage inside me.

I should have let her die.

● ● ● ● ●

The rocky dirt was loose and cold against her feet. Her soles were hard, she'd seen miles enough to callous them against sharp stones and the gnarled roots clinging to life on the mountain's side. She was familiar with the cold and didn't like it, pulling her shredded clothes tighter with one hand, lugging the case of a hundred system quality diamonds in the other. Over her growling stomach, she still found the time to miss her boots. They'd been pretty nice.

It was a risk going up. Sonny Palmer and his muscle were still crashing through branches miles below, but she'd be visible above the tree line for a bit. If they bothered to look. "Hey little wolf girl, no use running, we're gonna find you." That sounded like Wayne (no last name given), stretching out his vowles like a shy virgin. Idiot. She figured the case would get her on a maglev line out of this shitty town back to what passed for civilization.

Roof over her head for awhile, shower, hot food, and maybe a ticket off the whole stupid planet. The sky above was green streaked with the weirdly translucent blue stripes it got before a sleet, and she hoped to get a chance to duck into a cave first. Not so far the place turned into a maze, nice place to hide if you knew it, and she'd memorized a bunch when she was ten. "Shouldn't have ever come back here," she snarled through her teeth. Wind blew her hair over her face and she spat it out of her mouth.

"You can't hide, mutt." That would be Sonny then. "Tanner's dead, you tore his throat clean out." That wasn't true. It has been very messy, and her stomach growled again remembering the taste of meat and blood. If she'd just taken a few more pounds of flesh, she would've had the calories to take the lot of em down. Instead she ran, as usual, now she was stumbling along on her weak and skinny human legs with three angry killers out for return on investment.

She swiped her hair and pressed onward, ignoring the taunts from below. This had seemed like easy money, fake trade off, bogus lunablockers for system diamonds. But one of em found her juvie records, and here she was. The caves were pretty close, and she wasn't worried yet. If they'd seen her, they would have started shooting.

Shards of rock and dirt clods kicked up around her feet, followed by gunshots echoing off the clouds and she scampered, juked side to side angling to reach the nearest semblance of cover first and think second. She tripped and fell. And fell. And fell, through dead roots and what she mistook for a dip, careening against sharp edges and flat slabs. It wasn't so different from the beatings she'd got in her teens, and she curled up as best she could til the pit bottom sauntered up and punched her ribs and back harder than she'd ever been hit.

Taking a beating, she'd learned the thing you don't want to do is pass out. She saw black and red under the bottom of her eyes and went deaf for a few seconds but didn't pass out, held onto the case. She lay on cold wet stone in the dark for a while and thought of how nice it felt and the pizza she was going to order on the linecar which made her stomach angry again, so she unrolled the disposable phone from her wrist and used the screen to look around.

The cavern was long and low, scabbers scuttled out of sight, a few stray roots but not much light hung though the hole she'd found, and the slab below her looked like nothing else she'd ever seen. It went on as far as her screen light could see, traced with panels and huge vaguely oval outlines networked in roots or veins. In places it looked like the surface was made of curled up dead spiders, elsewhere it reminded her of expensive office buildings.

Ten feet away, a bar of light grew brighter and became an opening. From inside she heard, "Please do not throw more humans at me." She lunged, tumbling into dry cold light and piles of dust. "Please excuse the mess. Hello. Thank you. Good day, it is nice to meet you."

She blinked away the bright lights and tried breathing a little bit. Not bad. She wondered what the fuck was going on. "What the fuck is going on?" she asked. The corridor was immense and the lights were harsh, and it made her feel as if a train was going to come along and run her over any second.

"I'm sure I do not know," replied the voice, from nowhere. "I was hoping you might tell me."

"Why, I mean. What, I guess." She stood up, metal grating ran along the corridor edges, and it was all very cold and somehow worse than dirt.

"I have been buried here for quite some time, you see."

○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Sonny let go of the rope and dropped between earth and hull. Wayne and Duke waited, holding up flashlights, and Sonny scoped it out. Looked like some ancient civs billshit missed on the clear, happened all the time. Ritual purposes bullshit. "Well genius," he addressed this to Duke, "You're the one who said she was down here." Sonny gestured to the empty expanse, making sure his widespread arms directed their full attention to the vast quantity of nothing around them. "Where is she?"

Wayne crouched down and pointed at few small indentations around a long stretch of what looked like thin veins. "Trail stopped right here, boss. Check it out." Sonny checked and Wayne held the light close up. Close enough to see the scuffs from the wolf bitch's feet and a wide portion of the alien civs surface carrying markedly less accumulated dirt. "She didn't come this way by accident. Someone let her in. She knew it was here all along."

Duke kicked the surface aimlessly while Sonny ran fingers over what he figured was a sealed trap door. "Workin tech, is it worth anything?"

"Scrap maybe," said Wayne. "Look at this." He took out a pocket knife and jabbed the door, put the blade in half a centimeter. "Maybe some kinda plastic or something, it's tough but worthless. Hell I could cut my way in give or tale a couple hours."

Sonny pounded on the surface, it thumped unsatisfactorily, with no echo. "Come out outta there little mutt, don't make me come get you!" His voice was satisfyingly loud, but failed to echo as well. "Fuck it," he stood up and brushed off his hands on his jeans. "Duke, head back and get safe cracking bag outta the hopper, the big one with the red warning label. We'll blow it open."

● ● ● ● ●

"Show me where your fuel… thingy is."

"My. My 'fuel thingy.'"

"Your gas hole, whatever, I'm not a mechanic-"

"That is inarguable."

"And food, I'm starving and I need… double food. Kilo of calories, like that."

"There are some local arthropods which I permit in my living spaces. There should also be an access hatch in the stern diagnostics chamber. You may follow the current corridor and I will direct you."

"Great, how long will that take?"

"It should be approximately one hour walking distance."

"A what- Listen, I need food, I promise we can bust you out of this mountain and me out of the anus of the territories but I'm running on empty."

"As am I. What is your ingenious plan?"

"Carbon lattice right? We use those too, see? For system crossing."

"That… that is…"

"Diamonds right? You run on diamonds."

"As you say. The structure appears adequate."

"Yeah, so you feed me, I feed you, we get out together."

"It would be possible to fly. But your stature-"

"Let me worry about that."

"The access panel to your left is concealing a small nest of the arthropods."

"Finally, I… Scabbers? You want me to eat scabbers? They eat… septics."

"There are no other consumables aboard."

"Don't you have like rations or something?"

"Turn right. I had such items several million years in the past. Left."

"Left where?"

"No, turn left, go back and turn left. Even if you could eat the food for a Pilot, the consumables decayed some eons before your civilization developed written language, I assume."

"If I throw up and those guys have time to blow a hole in you, I'm gonna be so annoyed."

"That's nice. What a shame it will be to lose your ready wit."

"Mnnmmph. Blggh. Ugh."

"Up the ladder now."

"I think I was better off being shot at."

● ● ● ● ●

She could still taste the scabbers. The shells had an ethanol bitterness that couldn't be escaped, and the meat was oily, its rancid rotten fish and seaweed flavor clinging to the inside of her mouth. "I'm going to need clothes," she said to no one, which apparently was who the freakishly unaccented voice belonged to.

"It was not necessary to utilize them for cleaning purposes, and your cultural attachment to secondary adornment with soulless dross is indicative of your overall weakness as a species."

She could not shake off the smell of the things but she wasn't hungry anymore, and they'd been walking together for awhile. "Hey buddy, that's the longest sentence you said to me."

"Thank you. It is my hope that you may one day find a way to implement your freedom with my guidance."

"I didn't mean it as encouragement." She'd seen more of the inside of what she kept calling a ship, over voice's protests that her crude human language did not include the necessary expression to describe what it was, than she'd seen of the house she grew up in. Even on a fairly direct path she'd gone up several flights of very large, steep stairs, passing through endless halls with bioluminous networks along their edges, and in some places what she was pretty sure were places it used to breathe.

It took awhile to adjust to the harsh red lighting, and what seemed like a huge excess of vaulted ceilings and walkways she could lie across without touching either side. Voice reminded her she was short again. She really needed something to call it. Maybe Clarence, it sounded a little Clarence-like. Nah. "Hey, are we there yet? How long have we been walking?"

"By your time, you have been walking about fifty three minutes. I, however, remain sedentary, and immobile. As we have discussed, and I have reminded you, I am unable to move at the present moment, but find myself keenly aware of your claim to offer aid in this capacity."

"Oh for fucking Luna's breath shut up-"

"Also, you are here. Please turn around and find the handholds to the nearest airlock on my bulkhead."

She turned around. Of course the ladder was built for someone almost twice her size, but she found she could climb it after a little experimenting. "Okay, how do I open it?" The hatch opened and she hauled herself up to the airlock, more giant sized handholds and she reached the outer door.

"When you exit, there should be a series of… well, you should look for oval shapes about eight feet long to the port- Hmm, let's say to what is your right side currently, and then follow three ovals down to the two smaller intakes- Hmm, smaller, deeply indented set of three circles. One of these will have an opening, and you may place the carbon latices into it."

She grimaced, and swallowed a growl over the baby talk. "Just drop them in?"

"As you say. Just drop them in."

"Seems simple enough." The hatch lifted, then parted into four segments, withdrawing into the hull as she climbed out. Her grunts echoed through the cavern, before she realized it was other voices and not am echo.

Squinting showed a couple lights in the distance with two silhouetted figures who had started waving their arms with agitation and shouting. Shouting at her and calling her a bitch.

She dropped down into the airlock as gunshots pinged around the airlock edge.

"Close it, close it close it!"

"Those men are discharging what seem to be crude firearms, even by your species' standards."

"Wow," she said. "I hadn't noticed. Nothing's ever simple."

"That is, in fact, the very nature of the universe itself."

○ ○ ○ ○ ○

"I got the bitch!" crowed Wayne. "You see that? Two shots and she dropped!" He let out a whoop and spun on his boots, blew imaginary smoke off his gun and bowed.

Sonny watched, arms folded. "You didn't got shit, moron. Probably didn't even get up next to her."

"Whatever," Wayne shoved his pistol unceremoniously and unsafely inside his jacket. "I'm gonna go get our diamonds." He started off down the length of the cavern at a jog.

"Sure, you do that," Sonny muttered, returning to inspect the trap door. The material didn't feel like plastic and the closer he looked, the more complicated it seemed to get. He could see dozens of fine lines that made up what could be hidden switches, writing, or ancient civ systems. At some angles it almost looked like it was made of thousands or millions of translucent fibers, drawing his vision miles deep and trying to snare it.

"You'll see!" Wayne was at a good clip, a ways down the echoless dark.

"Sure." Sonnu shook his head and sat back, running his fingers over the smooth, unblemished surface Wayne stabbed an hour ago.

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

The woman seems agitated, despite the futile efforts of her pursuers. Their firearms lack accuracy, even at optimal distance, a chemical atmospheric check suggests they utilize a propellant based mechanism which is unlikely to carry any dangerous velocity from their position.

One of them has begun to move across my hull towards this airlock. Without carbon latice, I have no defensive measures, but I know I can delay or disable his progress without difficulty.

"One of your pursuers is moving closer to your position. You should move with all due haste to restore power to my flight system. I do not have antipersonnel measures."

She rubs her shoulder. Subsequent to consuming the arthropod scavengers, her metabolic processes have altered substantially. My initial assessment of her condition indicated probable broken ribs and several lacerations, which are no longer in evidence. My assessment of her injuries may have been incorrect, as her biology is less familiar than the Pilots; media observations suggest injuries of this type can take a very long time to recover.

I can see she is thinking. It takes a very long time. It is dull. I have undertaken as many pre-flignt checks as I can, and I review them. I am still paralyzed, my connection to my own navigation capacity black and empty and dead and lost-

"How many of these air locks do you have? I'm thinking you could distract them, maybe even trip em up."

A very small part of me is proud of her for this suggestion. I crush that part of me. She is not Pilot. Her soul is not strong and her vessel is untested.

"A shockingly insightful suggestion," I praise her. "One which belies your underdeveloped cognitive abilities. There are several other airlocks between your pursuers and this one. Depending on the route the one moving in this direction takes, I may be able to distracted him, or interfere with his balance."

I observed her muscle movements. This race processes a large amount of interpersonal information through body movement. I also collect data from chemical and infrared sensors applied to her pursuers for reference. Her body temperature is markedly higher than either the active or passive pursuer, and she is expressing a significantly higher amount of chemical signatures.

"Okay," she says. "Here's the plan."

I wait patiently for her to outline a plan that is not as inferior to my own ideas as I had expected, but I do not make suggestions.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Wayne was sprinting when a light on his left caught him off guard. One of the trap doors? He careened to a stop and took at shot at the light, missed wide and it closed off rapidly. He had just started running when he saw another trap door open to his right, and he took another shot.

Sonny looked up at the flat snap of gunshots and back down. "Idiot. Those bullets ain't cheap or easy to find. Those are coming outta his share."

Wayne was running more slowly, glancing left and right. He squinted his eyes at another flash of light, and flailed, the ground absent below his foot as his head bounced off an edge that wasn't there a moment ago.

● ● ● ● ●

"I am unclear what part this plays in your plan. My understanding of your biology is that you do not directly obtain nutrients from carbon latices."

She spoke awkwardly around the diamond in her mouth. "I wanna make sure my hands are free. We get you up and outta here, then the rest of these bad boys." She patted her suitcase. "And maybe if they shoot me, I guess you still got some bargaining power."

"Hmm, yes," it said, in a way that delivered a great deal more sarcasm than she felt like those two words merited.

"Whatever. Look, kill the lights, and when I say go, start the distraction and open the outer door." She hung precariously at the outer door with four more diamonds clutched in a hand.

"I believe that I can just about manage," it said.

She rolled her eyes and said, "go," then shoved the other four diamonds in her mouth. The airlock went dark and opened, and she crept out by the dim light of her phone onto the hull.

Crouching low she swiped the light on her disposable phone, and blocked as much of it as she could with her body. Tensed up, waiting for the bullets and then, still alive, she walked as low as she could across the hull, looking for oval shapes. Whatever it was made of didn't reflect much and she couldn't figure on the color. The ovals contained a series of fine, concentric rings, with deep crevices radiating out and between them.

It felt like longer than it took before she reached the smaller indented circles, one filled with lamprey teeth. She spit the diamonds into her hands with exaggerated care. "Just drop them in," she whispered, and let one go. Teeth ringing the intake pulled it in almost faster than she could see. She fed them in one at a time, and the urgency of the fuel intake's gulping maw left her with mixed feelings.

As she crept back to the airlock she could catch a glimpse of Sonny, no sign of Wayne. Sonny was just standing there, which seemed more worrying than hollering and shooting. Below her feet, the hull caught light, then a bit more. She covered her phone and fine rainbow lines continued trickling over the surface on their own. She passed the last oval, paused at a flicker of peripheral movement. A thorn-like shape roughly the length of her arm had risen out of its center.

Dropping into the airlock, outer door slid shut and she climbed the rest of the way. "Easy money," she said. "Take me to your leader."

"That will require substantially more carbon latice, but my drives now have sufficient power to extract my body from this position. We now lack only approximately one additional meter to your stature to aid my navigation."

"It was a joke, you… Do you come programed with jokes?"

"I am not programed with anything, unlike the primitive and soulless calculating devices you rely upon for your crude structured transition."

"So no jokes." She slowly breathed in and out, trying to fill herself full of oxygen like she remembered.

"Your optimistic belief in your own stature is a source of humor enough. I will guide you to the bridge."

"Slowly," she said, breathing steady, feeling heat rise from her lungs and heart, flowing out into her limbs. She'd had to change fast when Sonny's crew tried to jump her. Wastefully fast, a massive and sudden loss of calories. "The slower we do this, the better."

○ ○ ○ ○ ○

"Hey boss!"

Sonny looked up at Duke's voice.

"I got the gear, want me to toss it down?"

"NO, YOU- No, Duke, less you want us both along with a sizeable portion o' real estate blasted into the atmosphere." He rubbed his eyes. "Bring it down with you, carefully, and hand it to me."

"Shit boss, you coulda mentioned." He sounded contrite, but Sonny heard and saw the clattering of dirt from the climb.

"Figured the big warning said Danger High Explosives woulda done it," he muttered. Soon enough Duke emerged from the cavern ceiling and divested a long plastic case, bright red, bearing the aforementioned explosives warning among several others.

"Where's Wayne?"

"Off on a wild mutt chase. I expect he'll be back presently, assuming he didn't get lost or flattened by a falling boulder." Sonny laid the care flat, opened it, and laid out the safe blasting tools. Little polymolecular gel, moldable explosives, curable and directional blast control. All a growing boy needed to blow a quiet need hole around the edge of the heaviest of vaults. Sonny was a firm believer in the precise and judicious application of the largest amount of violent force possible, and it served him well.

"Want me to go look for Wayne?"

"Nope. He's a big boy. Now hush, I need to work." Duke shut. Sonny's predictions served him well in many ways.

In the dark depths of the cave, Duke watched dim flickering lights and movement far away. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Better to leave Sonny to work than risk a reprimand.

● ● ● ● ●

The voice, voice still without a name, she distantly thought maybe she'd name it Carol, after a hated grammar teacher. Still no. It was floating far away. Everything was far and faint, she followed its words automatically, focusing on her feverish blood and burning skin. Her mouth was dry, the moisture was being pulled from the air.

Bracing herself for the transition, the first clean and hot stabs of pain went through her nails, her teeth, then spread up her arms and legs and across her face. Pins and needles feeling if she swapped the numbness for agony.

"Excuse me, but your body temperature appears to be severely abnormal, by my observations of your race and your media. Are you injured, or perhaps dying? You should return to my airlock to load the remaining carbon latices if your are dying."

"I'm not dying," she growled, her neck getting larger, vocal cords warping. "I'm gonna fly us outta here, keep talking." She closed her eyes at the sensation and inescapable sound of her skull and jaws getting longer. Her skeleton several times increased in mass and density. She'd once twisted an entire roll of safety wrap between her hands, and the sound was close to what she felt.

"You have rather an atypical anatomy for your species. Perhaps even unusual. The next stairwell please."

She staggered upwards, readjusting to her twisted legs, longer arms, sharp intersecting teeth. Changing this slowly meant longer agony, and yet it was nothing next to when she changed quickly. She gave up hanging onto her clothes as a lost cause. Her dark hair grew in across her body, and the large, empty corridors felt cramped, too low. Her body was finally, if only briefly, again her own.

"This enough stature for ya, you erudite prick?" she snarled.

"That… is adequate. We are also at the bridge. Hopefully it will take substantially less time and effort for you to grasp navigation than my initial estimates."

She looked around at the large oval room, with complex roots or plumbing dangling from the ceiling, and jagged rocks along the floor. Several readouts flickered in the air, the displays following her eyes unnervingly as she realized they were the walls and low platforms of the bridge lighting up sequentially to act as a kind of optical illusion of projected holographs. "What's the rush?"

"First, I would like to commend your seemingly misplaced confidence. Your stature is now adequate for navigation of my most basic flight capabilities."

"You know for an alien robot you're really good at telegraphing a 'but.'"

"Thank you, and I will overlook the insult. Your language is extremely underdeveloped and inadequate. However, the gentlemen pursuing you appear to have sufficient explosive materiel to damage the integrity of my hull, and may disable the airlock securing mechanisms."

"Oh."

"Quite so. Please secure the T-shaped hanger control, I estimate we have approximately five minutes to prepare."

○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Sonny put the blasting cap in, and the whole cavern floor went out of focus. "The fuck?" He touched the civs with his hand. The surface remained unfocused, while his hand was clear. He couldn't bring it into focus no matter how he squinted. Squinting. The cave was lit like the first glow of dawn, and he could see far down the slightly curved floor.

"Sonny, what's that?" Duke asked, frustrating and vague, but the sound reached Sonny a moment later.

It was almost like a chorus, but not a single same note, all off key, from throats that weren't human. All down the cavern, he could see large thorns rising from the oval shapes, and in places the complex networks of veins carried portions down, carving out deep wedges. He watched dust blowing from the surface and thought "Exhaust vents," but out loud he said, "Oh shit," and snatched the detonator from the safe breaking kit.

Sonny shoved past Duke and started hauling ass up the rope, leaving the other man staring, held in stasis by the inhuman chorus and the hypnotic trails of light which had started swimming throug the fog of the floor. Or maybe, Sonny thought, the hull of one big gods cursed ship. Bigger than anything he ever saw.

"That's illegal," he said, genuinely outraged, but too busy climbing to care.

● ● ● ● ●

The werewolf girl stood in the center of a network of what looked to her like vines, muscles, electric wiring, or tree roots. She dug her toes and claws awkwardly at the ridges in the floor, as best she could according to the voice. Several of the heavy strands seemed to include nearly invisible slides or switches, and the bridge fully lit up with navigation information which intruded painfully into her eyes. It somehow seemed to know her whole field of vision, and even in periphery forced information into her optics.

"I think I've got it." She shifted slightly and watched peripheral readouts tremble with even the smallest change. She flexed one foot and in response was flooded with detailed information about the composition of the mountain and atmosphere, along with launch vector diagrams and system integration details, or structure interface as it insisted on saying. She'd learned more about her home planet's interstellar position in the last five minutes than her entire life. "I'm ready."

"Optimistically speaking, I would not call you ready, or even amateurish. However, there is a nonzero chance you will successfully navigate. You have done extremely well with your limited capabilities."

"We can run through it again." She tested the T-bar, then the stabilizers for the eight time. The basics didn't seem worse than a hopper, she figured she could make it work.

"I suspect you are familiar with this feeling, but I nevertheless must inform you that you are incorrect. Your pursuers appear to have completed the majority of their task setting explosives. As your species is fond of saying, it is 'do or die.'"

Flicking the engine start and lift sequence, she said. "Don't tell me twice. If we don't make it, I just want you to know that meeting you sucked and I've hated it."

"I, too, am eager for oblivion. Please, try not to forget."

● ● ● ● ●

"Try not to forget."

She felt like she'd lived a lifetime since getting out of Retrock, even though it'd only been maybe five years. It felt like forever since she sat on the uncomfortable benches at the school bus stop, waiting for her mom. It was a systems day, and she wasn't supposed to be in those classes.

Most of the settled planets were, like, at best distantly tolerant of werewolves, or lycanthropes or shifters or whatever. No one ever figured out how to break the werewolf systems, just somehow boosted up resilience and diversity. Now all the systems and sometimes specific planets had unique werewolves. The cruddy little country she lived in, The Unified Eastquad Block, on the cruddy little planet Nevamil took a significantly more conservative approach. They opined that werewolves could be gradually eliminated by simple attrition, so long as they were not allowed to breed or leave the country, nor the planet. To that end, they'd also banned teaching systems to werewolves.

It wasn't working as planned. She fiddled with the white bracelet on her wrist. Her mom was late of course. "Try not to forget." Of course she had.

Her family wasn't too thrilled since her diagnosis. Unlike when her mom caught her in her older sister's dresses, they couldn't beat the werewolf out of her. Not that it stopped anyone trying.

Some older kids either skipping or out of senior classes wandered by, talking some bullshit about best kit for a video game. She tried not to be seen and covered up her band. They passed her by. She relaxed for a moment but their voices got low and they all stopped, turned around.

One big kid, senior for sure, shaded her from the sun. "Sup," he said.

She muttered noncommittally.

He glanced at the four others behind him. "Hey," he said. "Speak up, mutt. I asked what's up."

She looked closely at her hands and said, "nothing."

"Yeah? Little baby wolf all alone with nothing to do?" One of the kids snickered at "baby wolf." She shrugged.

He shoved at her, hard, and she grabbed the table to stop from falling over. "Heard you're a little sissy baby wolf, that true?"

She wasn't sure what that even meant, but it sounded bad. "No!"

"Yeah." The other kids had got around her now. "Yeah you are. You know what? I think trash like you should go in the garbage. What do you think?" She didn't get a chance to answer because the other kids were shoving her, agreeing they oughta throw her in the trash.

She was trying to shout that she was only waiting for her mom, but her body traitorously refused to form words and her eyes spilled out tears and she didn't know why.

"Grab her," the older boy said. And she, just. Just swung at him.

She remembered that first pain so well. She was on blockers that were supposed to prevent it. Then there was a scream, and the boy had blood on his face.

She had claws and teeth and not much else and it all was boiling agony. Then someone threw her off the bench, and the kids began punching and kicking her. She hadn't gotten as good at protecting her head but they at least didn't try to shove her in the trashcan by the door. Just spit on her and swore she was going to get put down.

She'd wanted to run that day, but she didn't. She wished she had.

● ● ● ● ●

The temp and spin readouts hit what looked like the threshold. She squeezed her eyes shut for a minute then opened them, banishing a half formed promise against the lonely dark.

One sure thing, she wasn't ever coming back to Retrock, not for a hundred thousand diamonds or all the world. She dug in and put power into space flight deflectors. The cavern started crumbling around them, pushed away from the hull. With a twist of her body, the structure field came up. The ship's unique structure found the places to interface with the local structure and the bridge came alive with a tangle of fractal ghosts overhead.

"Power up, shields up, system up."

"Structure. Your primitive-"

"Sit down, shut up, strap in, and hold on." She punched power to the engines and watched the world explode around them. Nothing but rocky chaos and then, there. Green blue sky, sleet, and thousands of feet between them and a collapsing mountain.

For the moment, they were free.

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

I am free. Delirious, impossible and free in my entirety. I shrug off the detritus of my imprisonment and it joins the filthy slush boiling off deflectors. I taste the stars again, countless structures in waiting array, wrapped and woven together. This sky and world, this structure rolls across me, and I spread across it, feeling the planet anew.

Memories come back with my senses and for a moment I can imagine myself leaping past the atmosphere, continental landmass once more eagerly waiting for my implementation of their advancement. In my excitement, I must catch myself before I ask the girl, but no, she is not Pilot, and no more significant than the bacteria I watched flicker and die. She is my aid and my tool, for now.

But oh, the freedom of the sky is a delight. I suppose I may allow some small appreciation of this crude morphic-structure bearing girl for how far she has exceeded my most optimistic expectations of this civilization. I accept this, that I may appreciate how lucky for her to have such a beautiful soul in so complex a vessel, and moreover that she has had the great fortune to encounter myself, who may extract some tiny fraction of meaningful use out of her existence.

But enough of all this. I have allowed myself a luxurious hundred milliseconds, give or take, to revel in the return of my sky.

"There is a high volume of intersecting transmissions on different frequencies which I am decoding."

"That's a- amazing- uh, oof. This thing steers like a truck."

"I am not a truck, but it is possible that is the nearest approximation to your method of navigation. However, we may need to maneuver with increased haste, to avoid immediate air traffic."

"Fuck, uh yeah gee that sounds great. Ack- Sorry that was me. So how do I land?"

"I do not land under optimal conditions. Please utilize the collision monitor and eye twitch avoidance while I determine an optimal site to effect additional fueling and minor repair."

"What twitch? Where? You didn't-"

"Sight seven, and the toggle on flex system seven, third down. Please stand by."

□ □ □ □ □

Serah flicked from screen to screen, bored. Sweet fuck all was the major import-export for Nevamil, and there was about the same amount to do at the cross system check point. She'd read the ship specs manual back to front and longed for the day she might actually talk to anyone from a real planet. Some colonies made her wish she'd gone into crystal mesh, but it gave her migraines.

A couple switches buzzed and one of the monitors flickered white. She clicked off the buzzers and smacked the bevel on the monitor, but it didn't flick back to normal. "Who the fuck…?" she asked, to no one else, rhetorically, and not bothering to finish. Several readouts were pinned in the red, and three of the measures of radiant energy were giving error messages.

She shoved papers to the floor and called down, "This is- uh." She looked to the metal plaque above the monitors. "This is Check alpha alpha alpha zero one one one nine, I'm showing a major spike of- something? About fifty kilometers northwest of Retrock, possibly around Mount Rosewood. Someone come back?"

Serah started dialing back sensitivity, usually cranked up just to keep tabs on the few interplanetary launch ports. Her monitors and readouts came down, though the errors stayed, and something resolved on screen. She squinted. It didn't match any specs she remembered. Or… anything. "No way," she said. "No fuckin way."

She started grabbing data snapshots, tuned three other monitors into the anomaly, recording everything. It didn't look like a ship, it didn't look like it was designed for being in the air, it looked like a fucked up flying coral reef several kilometers long, putting out more energy than the whole wretched planet.

"That…" She pulled open a file cabinet to grab a binder of regulations she didn't usually need to check, mostly pertaining to treaties across the totality of human occupied space. She flipped pages muttering. "I think that's illegal."

● ● ● ● ●

The ship jumped and fell, and she nearly lost her footing. Theoretically she assumed gravity or inertia must affect it in some way, but she couldn't guess how.

She caught another transport train oncoming and flinched, the ship lurched out of the way and between the ship and eating a garbage crab she wasn't feeling great. "Hey, um. Ugh. You- voice, person, have we got a way to land yet?"

"One moment. Thank you, after reviewing the broadcasts and networking available, I have located an optimal site. This will require some structural navigation, and you will need to follow my instructions carefully."

"Oh is that all, well bring it on. And by the way, I need something to call you, this is awkward."

"Yes, it is. Please rotate the lower pyramid to orient structure overlay and remapping. Stop, good. Dials two and seven on main decision tree, adjust separately until reader three flashes alignment points in tandem, this will signal adequate structure navigation."

"Any time now."

"I would prefer that you do not immediately crash my vessel as your first major navigation experience. Good. Alignment adequate, toggle nerve seven on secondary decision tree, then nerves three and five until structure drive confirms- There, that wasn't so difficult."

"Okay can we go?"

"You should have multiple navigation vectors presented on your primary monitor. Please ensure you stay within these vectors. It will not kill me if you do not, but it could potentially injure or kill you. I am less certain about the physical capabilities of your present vessel. You may now trigger high acceleration along these vectors."

She kicked the drives hard, and felt her ears pop, sensed the ship under some enormous pressure, and held to the vectors with all her strength.

□ □ □ □ □

Every alarm in the check point went off at the same time. Serah staggered around the cramped monitor room, shutting them all down until it was just her screaming angrily in a silent room. She flopped back into the worn ergonomic chair and checked the alarm codes.

Illegal system exit, illegal system entry, ship operating without transponder, unrecognized transponder, unrecognized vessel, failure to halt for inspection, illegal energy signature, unidentified system signature…

It was a long list, but what it meant wasn't complicated. Her monitors were black, no more error messages. Whatever it was, whatever it wanted, it was out now. It had escaped.

● ● ● ● ●

Any port in Earth territories was sure to have a place to get cheap food, cheap stimulants, and into trouble. Only a certain type of cafe served the latter, but she'd been through enough of them on Nevamil to know the look. She was tucked as far back into the corner of a dirty plastic booth as she could fit, spinning her latest disposable phone around in lazy circles and ignoring her coffee. She'd changed out one of the diamonds, scrounged up clothes and some nicer boots, figured she wasn't retiring on spaceship food after all, but one or two of em might at least get to work for her.

It wasn't much to speak of, which was the point, couple booths, cheap plastic tables and chairs, seating for ten if they were lucky, food only on a technicality. The place wasn't there to make money as much as it was to collect bad ideas. She was looking for a specific kind and he showed up after her third coffee went cold. Some twitchy dark matter math wizard maybe, one of those guys way too deep in the calculations of what they couldn't see that they were in a constant state of shock and flight response over the tangible calculated existence of known reality.

She slid into the chair on the other side of the table and put the coffee next to the guy's tablet. He was all deep dark eyesockets and glitchy, mimetic fabric on an ankle length coat. He looked like he hadn't slept in days but it was probably longer, these guys liked to throw their consciousness into distant space and leave it there while their bodies walked around unattended. Stims usually helped. "Whatcha got for me," she said.

"Whatcha need, whatcha need." His fingers bounced off the mug a couple times before finding it, he slurped and didn't exactly focus on her but both of his eyes pointed back into the same direction. "Hmm, little wolf girl huh. Ain't seen one a uh… whatcha need hmm?"

"Need something flashy, sparkles and stones, y'know? I heard this port's where to find em, and you're the one to ask." It wasn't completely a lie, but it was at best only distantly familiar with the truth.

He took in a deep breath through the nose, nodding in tune with a rhythm of his own design. "Mmm, mmm, crystals for the wolf, neh?" Slurp. "Whacher route, what kinda works?"

This was the moment of found truth for whatever esoteric calculations had gone into their flight out of the mountain. Diamonds were easy to find, everywhere had at least one shop growing em. But nearly a hundred percent went to system mesh or navigation, not exactly an open access free for all. She gave a silent prayer to Luna and said, "Solo, dine and dash."

His brows came together, lips quirked up and down while his eyes sunk out of sight. One hand tapped the tablet rapid fire. Slurp. "Difficult," he said, some endless twenty seconds later.

She leaned back and drummed fingers. "Big ask, fair. If you don't got it, no harm." She pushed the chair back and made to stand, but he held a hand out, waggling it.

"Bide a minute. Difficult, not impossible." He put both hands on the coffee cup and tilted the rest down his gullet in a long swig. "Girl like you, resourceful I think. Not many wolf girls turn up off planet, neh? Your kind, mmm, has a… nose for trouble. Ahum, hmm hmm."

Once she realized he was laughing at his own joke, she gave him her best effort at a smile. "As you say."

"So and such. I need work done. A favor then, do this thing for me, I will get a line for the shine and dine and dash." He'd summoned a token on his tablet and was partitioning memory collapsing sigils around it. Flattened it to a shareable folder and looked to her expectantly.

She unrolled the phone and he flicked it over to her screen, where she could frown at it more directly. "Do I want to know?"

"Fret not, it is a new set of coordinates I am in the process of measuring, some fascinating effects on gravity… mm, no matter. It is inconvenient for me to return for this data. I only need you to convince a friend to, hmm… run it to ground. He may need motivation, ahmmm, I trust your instincts in this."

"Motivation, huh." She stood up. "Just one favor and we're square, you find me a nice juicy lamb."

He chuckled wetly again, "As you say. Of course, this is just between us. I would not like to have to return for you." His black sockets glittered and his eyes focused on her for a second while his pale lips pulled back from sickly teeth.

She slapped her phone around her wrist. "Seems easy enough." She knew it was a damn lie but she said it anyway.

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

I feel more power coursing through me than I have felt in several million years. The girl had promised more, much more, and I wonder again at what might be within her grasp.

Even this is barely a flicker of what I am capable of, but I cling to this new freedom with a greed and even hope which disgusts me. Both elated and revolted that I am reduced to this sickening gratitude. She has been gone for several hours and I contemplate the probability of her returning.

She took me to the sky, and to the stars. With a great deal of assistance, this is true, but a will that I did not previously estimate her civilization could produce. She dared to occupy the space of Pilot, and we have lived to meditate on this exhilarating heresy. She is on the primitive satellite now, and has promised to return, but she has been away from my safety for several hours.

I examine my memory of her occupation of the Pilot space. It seems possible that I may make better use of her than I suspected. She may have a place in my structure. Her ability to change structure is interesting, common enough yet the mode of operation is unusual. I will have to collect more data. I examine my memory of when we dropped from the structure tangle within safe distance to the satellite.

She expressed disbelief, then joy, as if she was the one who had flown free of her prison of millions of years. To me, this is nothing. Her joy is a mote of dust against the starscape of the universe. Her planet, bare rock unworthy of my implementation. And yet she made much of these, as if I had shown her how to reach across the universe and string the stars together as a bracelet.

Perhaps to her that is what it means to have even this narrow sliver of freedom. Perhaps she can, as she has promised, make me "good as new." Then I will show her freedom. I hope she returns soon, it has been several hours.

● ● ● ● ●

"Which way is the ground- which way is the planet. Wait. Where the fuck are we?"

"Based on network traffic and my calculations, we should be within range of Coyote Moon Station 6."

"Coyote… do you got windows on this thing?"

"I can offer several alternatives, but not only is the data afforded from the spectrum of light visible to your species vastly inferior to the instruments at hand, your capacity to interpret this minimal fraction of available input is-"

"Whatever I get it, I suck, just. I want to see the stars. With my own eyes, or close as I can get."

"That is… a feasible request. One moment please."

"Thanks…"

"You should now have direct visibility of the surroundings. I have adjusted this chamber temporarily to an outer position."

"…"

"Are you injured, or in distress? Some of your civilization are prone to a psychological phenomenon when-"

"I'm fine. I'm better than fine. I'm… free."

"I would not describe our circumstances as freedom, with the current limitations on my structure drive and main engines, I am at only a small percentage of full function."

"For someone that makes a big deal about it, that soul of yours sure ain't got no poetry."

"No p… I beg your pardon."

"I spent my life on that shithole planet. You spent, I don't know how long. Look out there. The stars. I don't even know where Coyote Moon is! Never heard of it! And I don't know where we go or what we do next."

"I will assist you in the navigation process to Station 6."

"That's not what I mean! Don't you care it all after a million billion years and a lifetime - we're finally out here, not down there! Look around you for fuck's sake."

"… It is… good to be in the stars."

"Thank you. All I ask. Now how are we getting an unregistered ship like you through customs?"

"I will explain while you practice docking navigation."

● ● ● ● ●

It felt like wandering through someone's apartment building, she couldn't get past that feeling. Overhead fluorescent flicker, no windows but every once in awhile a brightly lit bauble of art someone must've bought by the pound. A lot of the same sets of prefab plastic panels, though it'd been awhile since she saw any such facades over the bare metal walls.

The walkways were dirtier, on both sides of the path for electric bikes. No trace anywhere of litter, but it'd been decades since anyone tried to clean the infinite variety of human scuff marks on the walkway. More of the shops here were shuttered, either closed outright or not the kind of place you got in without an appointment and several scans from the security cameras. The walls around them had once been painted with an enormous mural of an unfamiliar sky, Coyote Moon's, presumably. It was faded badly, scraped away or graffitied over, overdrawn optimism still clinging to life down here.

She found the door she was looking for between an SST bank machine and something whose sign advertised it as Titan Mart. Rapped on the blacked out plastic door that said "Speed-E-Nav" in small gold letters, and waited out the effortful grinding of several CCTV cameras evaluating her and her depressing lack of concealed weapons. She had a full stomach which was all the weapon she needed if it came to that. The door clacked as a buzzer sounded, and she pushed her way inside through an overly enthusiastic electronic chime.

"Welcome, discerning customer," a chunky woman with deep dark skin and a shaved head sat before a hundred blinking computers of some sort. She didn't know a huge amount about them, but it looked regal. "Your need is our speed, what can we process today, miss…?" The woman's smile was very wide, and a dozen metal bracelets chimed musically together on her wrists. They smelled like ozone.

"It's not for me," she said, and pulled the folder up on her phone. "Recognize that?"

The woman leaned forward and moments later her smile dropped. "Yeah, I know it. What's he after this time?" She thumped back in her chair and waved the girl closer, unclipping a bracelet. "Show me what you got there."

She handed over the phone and the woman clicked her bracelet up to the charge points. "Didn't say, didn't ask, didn't get any names, not interested in sharing them. He just wants it run fast and I needed a favor."

The woman didn't give any indication she was listening, she just tweezed the folder out and held it up on the bracelet, which wasn't something the girl had seen done before, or was even aware was possible. She tried not to stare like a tourist.

The woman turned the glittering data this way and that before setting it in a glass plate. "Three weeks. Because he's a good customer and you look like a nice girl."

"I was… hoping for something faster."

"Hah! Good luck, you think these are what… pretty lights for show and tell? I got thirty strings beaded and twined and another eight in composite, and that's on external cooled q-square 26 CPUs. I know that boy, he's got a big mouth but no bite. Always talking about the big deal math he's writing but who's he come to when he needs the formulae run? Me. Maybe 19 days if I don't burn through another back gen."

The girl worked her fingers a little and unclenched her jaw. "Maybe I can do something for you. Something to free up some of the… the squares?"

She laughed a minute and sighed. "Oh thanks. Free up the squares. Well," she scanned the shelves stacked up with an array of mystifying metal boxes, wires, and clear glass cylinders. "Okay, I see your meaning. I suppose a little upgrade couldn't hurt if you think you're up to a little legwork."

The woman pulled a slim black box with vents along the side and a couple short wires trailing out of it, and handed it to the girl. She looked at it. "I suppose this is pretty legal."

"Of course it is, honey. Now, I know someone who owes me a favor…"

The werewolf girl sighed internally. Nothing was ever easy.

□ □ □ □ □

It took the better part of six hours for Serah to catalog the ship that had crashed through the system interchange, and it was a lot of guess work. The system drive geometry and mesh was, as far as she could tell, not only unique but carried a particle/wave divergence that her rinky dinky instruments couldn't measure. Which probably meant someone missed civs in the sweep, like always, which normally meant a paperwork nightmare.

Normally, but chances were good she'd at least get someone to talk to from closer to a real planet, maybe even they'd let her sneak some better games n stories ove4 the link. However, it was the deep ping snapshots that gave her pause. She chewed the end of the stylus before adding tags for review to the internal profile to assess for the possibility of unilateral treaty violations under orbital mass extermination threats.

She fired the report off, through the beacon to some generic hub of bureaucracy, presumably to be reviewed after week or three, then went to flop back in her cot and play through Gone Dream 6 for the tenth time. Five minutes later the incoming vessel alert chimed.

Serah staggered over to the screens, it was high priority but normal at least. "The fuck… What did I do to deserve a day like this?" It was Interdiction, from the Inner System feds? Didn't usually get those? Her heart sank as the manta shaped black vessel dropped from system flight and integrated itself into her beacon's region.

The good news was she wasn't in tqrouble for flagging the treaty violations. The bad news was they were showing up in person, which meant no games and no gossip.

● ● ● ● ●

The satellite was warmer a couple floors down, greener too, with algae, with hanging vines along a wire grating overhead, grating along the floor. Even with the new and sturdy boots she had to move with care to avoid slipping.

She wouldn't call it habitable, but every few blocks turned up a cluster of shops or houses, rarely one near the other. The lighting such as there could be was dim, most of the plastic over the fixtures fogged and darkened with fungus of some type. It reeked of mildew, and the place she was looking for wasn't shuttered, merely obscured by a thick tangle of vines on one side and red, waxy leaves on the other. She parted both with folded hands and was greeted by yelling.

"No power! No business today, all closed, fuck off!" He was draped in camouflage and heavy black gloves, along with welding goggles. "I don't care what you want, come back tomorrow! No, next month! Or kill yourself, that's the ticket!" He shook a sheaf of something halfway between a vine and a power cable, sweeping a dozen thick plastic beakers from the counter. The floor was covered in plastic confetti and dozens of insulated rods and tools were hung along the walls.

"I need your help with this." She slipped the black device out of her pocket, holding it towards the camouflaged gentleman.

"Hmmmm?" He leaned far over what she assumed was a desk underneath a massive pile of vine wiring and plastic cards with diagrams, peered at it, as if he could see through the blacked out goggles. "Well, I see whatchu got there, shoulds said before." Despite the gloves, he pried open the casing nimbly enough, revealing a sheaf of glittering cards nestled in wires. "Beautiful work as ever my darling."

He sighed and closed it up. "Wish I could help ya out girlie, nothing like a favor for ol' Speedy, but all my crystals are spoke for and no telling when the vat'll be up n running again." He pulled a couple wires aside revealing an ancient copper and glass crystal forge, current dark with a half dozen diamonds on the drying rack.

Her fingers twitched inadvertantly but she forced herself to hold steady. She had the unpleasant sense of being followed by multiple pairs of eyes. "So," she said carefully. "If I were to get someone to hook your power back up, you could… part with a few of those for, uh. For Speedy."

"Good fuckin luck if you try! But sure, I'll get her the hookup if you get mine, for old times sake."

She sighed. "Okay, I'll be back." And pushed back out from whatever kind of unlicensed crystal mesh lab the guy was running, flipping her phone off her wrist.

Under most circumstances she'd be off on a long walk to the nearest paperview map hub, but parting with some rocket food meant she got to splurge on a nicer disposable than usual. She sat with her legs sprawled across the scooter path and her ass getting soaked through her pants while she poked around and through the station service maps til she found what she wanted. Just the basic license filings, nothing but the business name and address.

"Like working any other job," she sighed, brushing her soaked hair over her ears and wiping away sweat. Dreary trudging her way through cross referencing and addresses on the tiny fucking screen, she half considered going a few floor back for a paperview after all, and was getting well into three quarters considering, four options trashed, when she got the hit she wanted.

Local to the hydroponics floor, zero reviews posted, but looked like it had been registered for a few years and wasn't closed. She dragged the address to her map screen and slapped her phone back on, standing, pulling her shirt off her chest and back in hopes to air out the sweat. Cut & Dry: Power, Wiring, and Botany.

● ● ● ● ●

She half considered grabbing a bike on the way down to Cut & Dry, but discarded the idea after a minute of thought. She didn't like her movements recorded, no that wasn't fair, she'd probably been tracked by thirty different CCTVs on this level alone. She didn't want to spend money on one, true. Also she didn't see anywhere to rent them.

The sign for Cut & Dry blinked in neon: Electronics. Botany. It went back and forth and she noticed on the way in the neon was bioluminous vines. Inside the shop was a veritable rainforest, with no sign of any floor or walls amidst the plants. Aside from what seemed to her far too much trickling water for a wiring and electrical engineering joint, it was remarkably quiet. Even the background station noise didn't make it through the plants. She looked a little closer at what she thought was a small tree only to discover a woven strand of branches and black wires. It seemed the whole little room was a dense illusion, life and electricity tied into one another.

A soft voice too close to her ear made her jump. "What do you think- OW!" She whipped her head around and saw a dryad piled up against one of the plants, rubbing his forehead.

Realizing her arm was still raised for another blow, she lowered it, and said, "Sorry. Most people can't sneak up on me."

The dryad, to his credit, only half flinched when she reached out to help him up. "Well," he said, "You were rather engrossed. Perhaps I should be proud." He touched his cheek and winced. "Oh, that's going to be a bruised spot."

"I'm really sorry. Um, can we start over? Hi, I need some electrical work done."

He flashed a brief smile, bright white teeth against faintly glistening brown skin. He seemed to favor mesh shirts and leather pants, which she supposed made sense for a minor plant deity. "I'm Sy," he said. "I'm your guy. I mean… it's like a, uh. It's a thing, I'm trying to make it a thing. Sy's Your Guy, at Cut & Dry. Right?" He waved one hand side to side.

"Sure, sounds catchy. Listen, you do house calls? Kinda in a rush here. Um, I mean that's great? Are you free though?"

Sy frowned. "You don't like it. Uh, free… that's kind of abstract for me, could you narrow it down?"

She briefly skipped past thinking she'd like to see his smile again. Down girl. "Okay well there's this guy, I think, I don't know. He likes camouflage and he grows crystals."

"Oh sure. That's Chris. It's Chris' Crystals."

"Are you fucking with me right now?"

His brows drew together in confusion. "No? Why?"

She suppressed thoughts about what was the point of traveling across earth space if people were the same everywhere. "Well, he's had an outage or something and I'm in a jam."

"Hmm, I'll need my plant." He tapped one finger against his lips, his fingernails were pale green.

She looked around the room. "Yeah. Uh huh. Well, anyway, I kinda need this like, today. Any chance you could hook up Chris Crystalferson up with some juice?"

His eyes went wide. "Juice, oh no, but I can get his power back up I think." He began collecting a series of cables and heavy clips and other tools she didn't recognize and couldn't figure out how they'd been hidden within the plants. As a final step, he held out an arm, and one of the larger plants, more of a baby tree, slithered across his back and arms, allowing him to rest a multitude of coiled wires and racks of fuses and breakers on their branches.

"Neat trick," she said. "I take it that's your, what your tree?"

"That's us!" He smiled again. She felt less annoyed. "No tricks involved! Let's go."

"I didn't… sure, let's go."

They headed back towards the crystal mesh lab. "How do you know Chris anyway?"

"Uh… through Speedy?"

"Who's that?"

She sighed internally.

● ● ● ● ●

"Amazing job, kiddo!" Chris clapped one heavily gloved hand onto Sy's shoulder. The whole interior was aglow with the crystal tanks and pressure / temperature readouts blinked in pale blue digital light along the walls, waiting for Chris to kick their jets on. He turned to the girl. "I don't know where you dug this guy up, but he's a miracle worker!"

"I come here like twice a month," Sy tried to say, but not loudly.

"Yeah the kid's great, so about the doohickey there?"

"The d-" Chris shook his head. "You're lucky you caught me in a good mood, here here," he snapped his fingers and she passed it over. Sy watched in rapt fascination while Chris opened the case again, and began hooking two of the diamonds into the wire nest, each wire finding a precise position on a diamond facet.

"Are those particle wave flash CPUs?"

"Mmm. A double-g stack, and these babies here are gonna interface the flash to system and back. Chain's gotta be perfect and then," he snapped the black case shut. "Well then you can figure the trajectory across damn near half the universe, or predict the weather on Venus or whatever!" He handed the box over. "Tell Speedy come by herself next time. No more favors."

"Tell her yourself, try picking up a phone."

"Phone! Hah! Good one. As if. Fuck off, work to do."

And off she fucked, with Sy following.

"What are you doing," she asked.

"I'm following you," he said, plainly.

"But," she said, "why are you doing it, Chris paid you, what's the deal?"

"I want to meet Speedy and see her gear."

She held up a finger trying to pluck from the sky a good way to curse him out, but his dark red irises were distracting. "I… Okay, but," she pointed for emphasis. "I'm not responsible if you get shot."

"Gosh, I sure hope not."

She reconsidered her options while they made their way up another level.

● ● ● ● ●

"Wow," Sy said, as they approached Speedy's place. "And you flew it here all by yourself?"

"It was better than crashing or getting blown up." His eyes were very large. "What?" She stopped at Speedy's door. "What?"

"You said it was damaged."

"I guess, its mouth works fine. What is that look for?"

"Just, it sounds like an interesting ship, lots of interesting work to do, lots to see."

"If I let you see the ship, can you promise not to talk the whole time we're inside?"

Sy clamped his mouth shut.

● ● ● ● ●

The pavilion of cafes and parts stores fuel vouchers was a little bit wider, the ceiling a little bit taller, just enough to almost feel airy after the cramped pathways and hydroponics level. She'd known in theory what stations were like, but it still gave her low level anxiety after a whole life below a sky. There was no sky here, and above the ceiling was plastic and metal and then space.

She was tired and her stomach gurgled again at the many different scents from the various fast food stalls and open air griddles briefly wafted her way before getting sucked away by the air filter.

"Okay," she said. "I'm fucking starving and for once I don't have to be. Uh. That one." She pointed at random and they wandered over to a three wheeled electric bike with a large set of hot plates on the back, watching an older man who reminded her of the more tenacious aged trees at home spreading batter across the surface then deftly flip it, all using some sort of L-shaped plastic stick.

She ordered based on scent with no idea what the pale, meaty chunks and tangy tart smelling slivers were made of, some of the red-black local greens in there and he wrapped the whole thing into a cone before drizzling three different sauces over the top. Sy got his own mix and she flicked some cash over from her phone.

It was hot and tasted something like a sky or an ocean, half sweet half stringy. The crunch was both bitter and tangy, and then the spice hit, watering her eyes. She fanned her mouth with one hand, devouring the whole contraption in orgiastic delight. "Food is so good," she said through a full mouth, and Sy nodded, wiping sauce from his chin.

Not far from the pavillion, they came to her dock. "Okay," she said again, Sy nodding. "I gotta sort my business out, but you can poke around. Don't touch anything. Unless the ship says so. But it probably won't, I don't think it likes earthlings much."

"Right, no touching. Actually a pretty good rule for civs electrical safety." He was grinning, and her cheeks were a little warm.

"Yeah. Well, this… you'll see." The airlock cycled open and they passed through, the ship's door splitting and retracting on the other side for their entry.

"Oh great," it said. "Now there's two of you."

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

"I believe that you have something close to the most basic, rudimentary grasp of my docking procedure. We may now make an approach to the station to aquire carbon latices."

"Cool, cool cool. So, you got any cash?"

"I beg your pardon."

"Credit, cash, moolah, bread, dough, do you have any kind of money? Or I don't know super secret hacker tricks to steal bank accounts?"

"You have misunderstood with predictable rapidity. I had hoped you would take the opportunity to express your sincere contrition for asking a question you surely must already know the answer to."

"Okay, well, my point is I'm probably not picking up a four course diamond dinner for you through legitimate routes, and it's just me also. Do ya see what I'm getting at?"

"You have painted a vivid portrait of absolute nonsense?"

"What?"

"No, what are you 'getting at?'"

"That probably we're going to leave in a hurry, because I don't think I can set up a clean game by myself. So it's gonna be like a quick and dirty grab, lunch to go."

"You believe that the acquisition process will incur pursuit, and necessitate urgent departure and immediate structure vectors."

"I wouldn't have said it like that-"

"Agreed."

"-but can you set that up? We'll want to kick out as soon as we can after I hit the airlock."

"Feasible. I will require the remaining latices as well."

"You'll get most of them, but I need to grab some gear and these are all we got. At least for now."

"Feasible. I will be able to remain in standby for structure entanglement for a short period after we dock, approximate one thousand years by your measure."

"I cannot tell if you're joking, I swear on Luna's breath."

"You should have adequate time to obtain the additional resources, so long the remaining latices are provided to me as priority."

"You'll get your treats, don't worry."

"I understand this may be one of the jokes you often reference. May I suggest you do not make these your primary occupation?"

"Duly noted. Okay, I'll get you gassed up. I hope I don't have to run down a bunch of favors just to find a good lead on diamonds."

● ● ● ● ●

She folded the maglev line schedule over itself again, watching for the arrival lights inside the partial cover of the kiosk. She'd polished off some kind of vegetarian pastry and a burger with a side of wings and her stomach felt strained. Walking around the station had been a good way to pick up what kind of clothes didn't stand out and she was wearing the cheapest version of them she could find, a red shirt with some doughnut shaped cartoon characters on it, which she saw a bunch of kids wearing, and blue shorts with white stripes on the legs. Left her boots back at the ship and was wearing some kind of extra-janky plastic sandals she'd seen around, plus a zippered little bag around her waist which she kind of liked. A fashion plate of generic anonymity, that was the goal.

According to the deep spacer, this was a high probability site of lowered caution and raised vulnerability, expected to see passage of diamonds in transit. It hadn't looked that difficult to her, watching his fingers play along his tablet finding something like the volume she was looking for and a good spot she could hit the transport. There was a little chime and the display promised a line arrival in five minutes. She folded the schedule into the waistband of her shorts and shuffled around like all the other commuters, letting their jostles push her near to the rail exit. The escalator lowered from the maglev linecars and passengers started exiting the down the line, people moving around her while the boarding escalator came down a bit further up the line. She vibed her way down stream, again letting the various tourists trying to get on board spin her this way and that, passing around them, rolling and twisting to make herself as invisible as possible to their tunnel vision.

She could have spotted her target miles away. The bulky, unfashionable gray suit barely concealing whatever body armor and heat the guy was packing. Fuzzy edged face holographs, probably armored there too. Good odds it was optimized to disperse piercing attempts and heat, maybe light impact protection. Some secure carriers used automatons, but these guys didnt move loke that. Couldn't conceal the case which was encouragingly large. Two other guys front and back flanked him on the way out. Overall, perfect for anyone avoiding real attention from the general public, abysmal concealment from someone who knew what to look for. Someone who was about to generate a rather large amount of attention.

She took a deep breath.

Pointing up the line, she shouted in her highest pitched voice, "Oh my gods what's that girl doing?!" and dove down the line, ducking into the crowd. Superheated air blasted from her body, her clothes burst into tatters, and she shifted hard. A howling monstrosity of teeth and claws with fur thick enough to stop a knife burst from the fertile concealed mass of humanity and leapt twelve meters off the ground, landing on the escalator next to the men in gray.

One got off a shot, something big and explosive put a hole through her shoulder, which started closing up before the exit wound blew out. She bit down on his arm, brought her teeth together, didn't sever anything but felt bones break and he screamed through a vocal distorter. He'd live but wasn't going to bother her. The second man was slower. She grabbed the gun he was trying to get out, along with the hand it was in, and pulled.

He sailed past her, to somewhere that wasn't her problem. Two down. The guy with the case was ggetting crushed against then side of the escalator in the ensuing panic all around them both. She tried to jerk the case out of his hand but it came up short. Handcuffed on. She snarled, ropes of drool falling out of her maw. "We're going for a ride," she informed him, wrapped both clawed hands around the case, and backflipped off the escalator.

Landed, case and carrier in tow, though to her eye he'd broken one or two limbs. Another gunshot, just winged the edge of her ribs. She grabbed arm and case, snapped the cuff links and probably broke his wrist, then threw his body towards the gray man who was trying to aim around commuters trying to avoid being shot. They embraced as lovers, she left them to privacy and grabbed the case in her mouth, bounding for the ship.

She'd learned a lot wandering around the station that day, had an unerring sense of direction, and a pretty good idea which obstacles were breakable. She plowed through the glass walls of a department store in a direct route to the pavilion, jumped past two food carts, and snagged a giant chunk of sweet smelling meat rotating on a spike while the manager yelled at her, kicked her way through an info screen, tumbled down the narrow maintenance corridor, and bashed her way out through a vent across from her dock.

Technically she was far from the screams of the line stop, but she just was the kind of slavering werewolf creature that got a fresh round wherever she went. Blame the media. She shoved case and meat under one arm and, in another burst of heat, ripped the docking bay door off its hingers.

The ship already had its airlock open and she dove through. "It's me," she shouted, tearing out chunks of the meat and swallowing them whole.

"The bridge has been relocated, please go through the door at the end of this corridor." She leapt the whole way, rolling to her feet in the now somewhat familiar room.

"I am receiving multiple general notifications that all ships are to remain docked, and several more direct notifications that my power output should be lowered significantly. They have indicated they might engage in pursuit of any vehicles leaving the station."

Sy came strolling into the bridge, looking around curiously as she grabbed the control nerves. "Hey, this ship is amazing- What's all the ruckus?"

"What are you still doing here?" Her eyes bugged out for half a second. "You weren't- Never mind! Future me problem!" She threw herself into the Pilot net and focused on the vectors from the ship "Can you outrun em" Tossed the meat.

Sy said, "Hi, Outrun who?" Future problem, future problem.

"I assume this is another one of your jokes."

"Not you! Ship! I mean, whats it- fuck it, can we go?!"

"Your vectors are ready. We can proceed from this position."

"We're about to ruin so many days. Let's hit it." She hit it.

Interlude:

"That was incredible," she said. "What a rush. What did we do? Where are we?"

"We undertook multiple structure alignments including a brief dual entanglement in order to produce several distinct paths of travel and reduce probability of further pursuit. We are currently within the Mindanao system. This appeared to be an optimal site for conducting analysis of our resources."

Sy unwrapped his hand and several branches from one of the curved bars running between the floor and ceiling of the bridge. "Hey, I have a question too, what just happened?"

Letting go of the vines, the werewolf girl sunk to the floor and started tearing more chunks of meat off the roasting spit she stole on the way out. "Well," she said, spilling out masticated chunks and slurping them back up with her tongue. "Well, we, that is to say me. That is, I have stolen an amount of system quality diamonds. We'll know how much when I crack that box open. A lot I hope." She swallowed. "And you, are supposed to be not here, you said you'd head out after you finished. Maybe we can get you on like... a shuttle or something."

He nodded with an easy smile. "Well yeah. That's why I was moving all my stuff in. I wish I had a chance to get the day lilies, they won't make it on the station. And it doesn't sound like going back is easy."

"In my defense, I was in a hurry and I, uh... Your stuff?" She swallowed. She could feel herself blushing under her fur and self consciously tried to clean a bit of the mess off her muzzle and chest. "What is... you mean... how stuff?"

He sighed and leaned against the bar. "Oh yeah, it's gonna take me awhile before I'm finished here. This ship is pretty great but the wiring is a mess. Shame about those lilies though, but I guess all life is but fleeting chaos and material possessions are merely temporary." He rocked a little on his hips.

"I do not have rats, and your use of the term wiring continues to demonstrate the lack of development in advanced engineering I am somehow continuously surprised by in your civilization. However, you demonstrate a commendable willingness to discard the soulless and crude material through which your civilization attempts to interact with the structured universe."

"Oh yeah, very zen, very cool. Still messy. What are you anyway?"

The werewolf girl looked regretfully at the bare skewer and ate the last few flecks of meat. "Good point, we ought to have something to call you."

"In your language," it said, "my function and name translates to Remover Of Interference To The Progress Of Greater Organized Civilization And Implementation Of Systemic Agency Cooperation Between Unified Structural Manifestations Originating From Star Zero."

"Dude, I have no idea what that means."

"I am not a dude, according to my records, it is unclear what this is. There are multiple, contradictory entries."

"Just like, what is all that? Are you just using long words to sound smart?"

"I am smart." The voice became softer. "In the better times, I would take Pilot to the worlds of disorganized civilizations, and we would implement order for them. We found many worlds suffering under lack of unification, and we implemented many civilizations."

She dropped her hands to her sides. "How did… you do that?"

"Optimally, perhaps again some day, I am readily capable of a gravity distortion effect removing an area approximately 40 million square kilometers from the surface of most planets or other objects of solid matter within my 500,000 kilometer range of effect. In many such cases, Implementation and Agency Cooperation only required three uses of this capability."

The werewolf girl felt the blood drain out of her face. "I… I'm sitting in the most illegal weapon in the universe."

Sy just laughed hysterically. "Yeah, okay Genghis Khan. Hah. That's what we should call you. Genghis Khan." He turned to the werewolf girl. "So what's your name, Julius Caesar?"

□ □ □ □ □

The seats in Maryam's ship were made of material designed to conform to whoever was sitting in the cramped cockpit. Serah couldn't find a comfortable position no matter how she shifted her legs, and was thinking about ignoring the deeply threatening order she'd been given to stay where she was, when she heard footsteps along the narrow catwalk and the door behind her opened.

Maryam slid by and settled into the pilot seat in front of Serah. She thought about asking the interdiction agent why she was even here again, but didn't think there'd be any better of an answer. "You're the only person who ever recorded this ship, you're as close as I have to an expert," was the explanation. Serah didn't think an extra minute of experience should count, but she was outranked by several orders of magnitude.

A folder of plastic sheets dropped into her lap. "Here," Maryam said. "They've been here. Made a real mess of things, but got on the cameras enough. The girl has a file, look it over. I'm calling in to track their system path."

"What am I gonna-" Serah fell back into her seat. Maryam was ignoring her, typing into the slim screen on her armrest. "Ugh." Serah flipped open the folder, finding a picture of some sullen guy- no, girl, with a wild mass of hair, who probably had her nose broken at least once. She looked at the name, typed in a capital letters: "Laika Blackwood"

END OF PART 1

[candiid-caniine]

so I've seen this going around lately, and I want to talk about it. I didn't want to add discourse to OP's post because I didn't know if/how much was welcome.

this is a very hot button issue for me. general tw for this post: mention of abuse within kink dynamics.

so. y'all all know that I have some very strict limits on this blog. I have a boundary against play with cis men. I have a hard limit on misogyny and patriarchy kinks being in my space. and I'm not alone in that: a lot of other queer ppl I know (mostly wlw, nblnb, t4t, and intersex) have the same limits.

for me it's trauma rooted. all dynamic abuse I've ever experienced has been at the hands of cis men, so I don't deal well with them. and growing up in purity culture as a closeted afab has ruled out misogyny/patriarchy kink. as a result, I am very avoidant of anything that rings of these dynamics...which happen to be overrepresented as dominance in modern pornography.

it is very hard as a t4t to find porn that isn't influenced by this binary, which usually plays itself out as:

to be feminine is to be weak, and vice versa

the submissive partner is the bottom

the dominant partner is controlling outside the bedroom

submission is holy for the feminine and deviant for the masc

dominance is holy for the masculine and deviant for the femme

existing power balances in society are utilized in play

the submissive is to be protected

the submissive is the dominants responsibility and not vice versa

aesthetic perfection is expected of the sub

and many more.

so to say "signs of domination in your social circle" may mean different things to different people. I'll be honest, I don't know what OP meant; this post was awhile back in their blog -- I'm just using this as a way to talk about some of my own hangups, hence why I made my own post instead of responding.

and yeah. if someone in my social circle showed signs of being controlling outside the bedroom, magnifying social inequalities in play, deeming submissives weak and demanding of protection, or expecting aesthetic perfection of submissive seeming people....would I call that evil? um. fuck no.

but I would recognize it as something I can't be a part of. I would form resentment if treated accordingly: as something inherently weak, defenseless, naive, and feminine due to my preference for submission, or hell, for being fucking Asian. cause yeah, that happens.

that said: if someones treating every sub, or every person they decide is submissive, like that...they're a fucking weirdo. their problem.

but there's another side to this. one that affects people who top, people with penises, and people who present as masc who...

may derive euphoria from aligning with a binary role in a kink setting

may genuinely share a desire to be protective and controlling with their partner/s

may face othering or prejudice for seeming like an angry trans woman or a violent butch or an angry Black person

are already only tenuously accepted in queer spaces due to masculine presentation or AGAB or race

so what's to be done?

simply put, don't put your trauma or your bias onto others. I really think that's the answer.

if a particular type of dominance triggers you, remove yourself from the space. unless it's your space, in which case set boundaries.

if you find yourself side eyeing people of a certain AGAB or presentation more than others, consider that this is a you problem.

understand not everything's about you. subs can be just as selfish as doms. just because your friend likes to dominate doesn't mean they want to Dom you. just because they Dom in a way you wouldn't want to be dommed doesn't mean they're wrong.

fuck off with your kink shaming. flat out, unless you are speaking about dynamic abuse or any other type of abuse, you have no grounds to judge the way other d-types or s-types roll. unlearn your purity culture.

learn a thing or two about top drop and/or Dom drop.

and for God's sake...in this hellish 2024 pride month where trans rights are backsliding and other lgbtq+ rights will certainly follow: educate yourself. cishets didn't invent kink. leather daddies have been doing this for decades. lesbian pulp fiction featuring s&m dates really far back. hell, ancient Greeks have art documenting s/m relationships, and y'all know they were gay as shit.

cause I have an inkling that in queer circles this comes from the decrying of evil, icky cishet culture in kink. you are entitled to your boundaries, but your bias and your judgment and your disgust can damn well be kept to yourself. my partner deals with enough guilt over their preferred role, and enough crisis about whether their masculinity comes off as creepy, without neopuritans exacerbating the issue.

and that includes me. I've had to unlearn this shit from the ground up since coming out. I thought coming out was the unlearning, but no: you are not immune to internalized bias. and your masc, amab, intersex, and Black and Brown queer siblings are not immune to the harm you may be perpetuating.

anyway. I'm stoned AF. and prepared to turn off reblogs for this post. lol

[chaosandthe-deadblog]

okay lets see if i can put this into words

it matters that miles is latino

it matters that miles is a latinamerican kid that grew up in new york city with a usamerican father, it matters that he barely speaks spanish

it matters because his entire story is about not being able to find a place where he fits in. a community. a family

miles feels disconnected from the other spideys.

miles is not a "canon" spiderman. he wasnt *supposed* to be spiderman. but he is anyways. he cant relate to the othet spidermans because of the nature of how he became spiderman. by almost every sense of the word, he is an anomaly.

however... hes not an anomaly either. he lost his uncle like every other spidey. he went through the insecurity and problems every other spidey went through. he IS spiderman and no one can take that away from him

it reminds me so much of what it feels to be latinamerican in eurocentric spaces. like a lot.

the opening to miles' situation basically spells it out. "you're a struggling immigrant family" and only his mother is an immigrant. theyre not even struggling. he doesnt even speak spanish. hes not usamerican either. yet he's being forced into boxes. forced into either turning into a usamerican kid completely disregarding his heritage, or make said heritage the only thing thats important about himself

in the same way that he either has to be a spiderman or a civilian

miles is neither. he cant relate to his mother because he barely speaks spanish, he cant relate to the other spidermans because he's not supposed to be there. they shut him out because he's spiderman in a different way than they are.

i cannot stress enough that its his mom the one who tells him that he shouldnt let anyone define him. because people will try to force him into a box no matter what he does. embrace his heritage? he'll just be latino. not do that? he'll lose touch with it. get into the spider-society? he'll lose touch with his own experience as spiderman. not do that? he'll be alone

it MATTERS that this movie puts emphasis on him being latino. it MATTERS that his mom has more relevance.

not to get personal, but i understand the feeling miles has. by almost every definition i am white -- skin color, european heritage, all that. but i am also latinamerican. i grew up in argentina... in one of the more usamericanized cities. in one of the more eurocentric spaces. my id says im argentinian and spanish, but i was never able to identify with the latter. ive never been in touch with the non-european side of my heritage, ive never related to it. ive never related to the european side either

does any of this make sense? for so many latinos its impossible for us to fit into the boxes europeans and usamericans want us to fit into. for so many of us we're just.... a third thing. at least i grew up in my home country, at least i speak my own language; miles doesnt, miles didnt.

for so many of us we either have to live disconnected from our culture in order to be "accepted" by europeans or usamericans, or just be "latino" (which, by the way, is not even a race, yet its treated as one)

also.... isnt it interesting how miguel is mexican? bye bye

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: Hello. INFJ in my late 20s. I am feeling trapped in life. I live in a country that chronically pays low wages (especially in my field and interests, which is textile arts and museums) and where rents are skyrocketing while wages remain the same, with no hope for improvement. I still live with my parents because it’s hard to move out when I earn so little. I work at a small art studio that organizes workshops and earn minimum wage.

I don’t dislike my job, but I increasingly feel it unfair that, as someone who holds a university degree, there seem to be no jobs in my field that pay me what I deserve for the work I do. I have talked to my boss about the possibility of being raised, but they say it’s not possible at the moment. I am trapped and frustrated and I have no idea where to turn. I thought about looking into other job opportunities, but I fear they’ll always pay the same miserable wages and the work might be worse.

I also considered looking into opportunities abroad but I don’t know if I have the balls to go. In the meantime, I started reading a book on how to save and invest my money, but I’m feeling overwhelmed. The book tells me I need to define goals in order to save money, but I’m having a lot of trouble visualizing any goals at the moment. I don’t know what I want. I only know I want independence, but that seems difficult to do.

In general, I don’t have a vision of what I want my life to look like or even what I want to do in the future and that’s causing me a lot of pain. I need to be creative, but even my creativity is taking a hit with all these thoughts racing through my mind. I was recently gifted two sewing machines, but I don’t even have any space at home to use them – I want to use them, I want to create! But I have barely any space at home.

I even looked into renting a working space but they are too expensive. I feel hopeless and like a failure. Can you offer me any guidance?

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

Vision need not be grand. Every big problem should be broken up into smaller, feasible steps. With regard to financial goals, you should always make them as concrete as possible, so that you have actual figures to work with. For example, starting small, you can determine how much income you'd need to afford your own place, either renting or buying. Then, it's much easier to calculate what you need to do month-to-month to save up enough cash. You might need to get a second job, but at least you'd be getting somewhere.

You don't control the economy. It's not only a waste of water to cry about things beyond your control, crying too much makes you prone to emotional reasoning, which sinks you deeper into pessimism and cynicism. Blame is always counterproductive, as it blinds you to the advantages you have in life. For example, you're lucky you don't have several dependents making your financial burdens heavier. Expressing gratitude for your advantages is a tried-and-true way of changing your perspective for the better. Read the articles on emotional intelligence if you need to learn how to manage negative feelings.

I'm not in a position to tell people how to make career decisions. As a general rule, when you feel stuck in a rut, you ought to open up yourself, your mind, and your life in order to thoroughly explore all the possibilities available to you. Most importantly, you have to be willing to accept some amount of risk and failure if you hope to get things moving again. There are no guarantees in life, so if you're waiting for a "sure thing" to come along, you'll be waiting forever.

[selvesdiscovery]

Hello, I want to preface this by saying, that if this is considered syscourse or any other type of discourse, please absolutely feel free to delete this. If you& don't think you& can answers this, or do not feel comfortable with answering, that is also totally fine.

I 'recently' formed in a white bodied system and we have tried our best to research on a few things. I view myself as having tan skin in headspace, and I wanted to know if it is considered rude or offensive to display that in my profile picture on SimplyPlural and/or Pluralkit for example?

I won't call myself by any race or anything of that sort, because I am aware that that is racist in many ways. (I just wanted to mention this, before someone makes assumptions.)

I really just want to make sure that me having a profile picture / avatar that has tan skin is okay. If it is not, I will refrain from doing this.

Thank you. -🌱

Hello Anon! Thank you for reaching out.

I wouldn't consider this syscourse. for the most part, the only thing we would consider as such is pro/anti endo/tulpa discourse, as this blog is accepting of any and all plural individuals.

Also, from what we've seen in the community, and what we do personally, what you're describing would not be a problem. When the topic of alter race is discussed, the presentation that is generally considered unacceptable would be applying racial stereotypes, culture, oppression, and/or experiences to yourself that your body has not and cannot experience. Many folks end up doing this by just claiming that they are a race that their body is not, but that's clearly not your intention.

To pull from personal experience, our host is mixed race (white/Taiwanese) in his source and pseudomemories, and everyone who knows him knows this. He does not claim to understand or legitimately be Taiwanese (we are white), but it comes up due to his appearance and relevant factors in his memories and trauma. This, in the spaces we are generally in, is nothing more than acknowledging objective fact. His source, memories and appearance reflect this trait, but by acknowledging that it doesn't apply to him in this body and respecting that it is not his place to claim such a thing, he isn't hurting anybody.

That being said, all that matters is that you are self-aware, and continue to respect and acknowledge the dissonance between your appearance/memories and the real world that you live in. Presenting yourself how you appear should be totally fine.

If any POC have unique perspectives or additions to this post and the advice I've given, please feel free to add on.

[fizzigigsimmer]

@mania-mono I had to move my reply so I can give this my best shot at an answer without worrying about a word limit. So here I go, and pardon any pre-coffee typos.

I don’t speak for every Billy fan, because I can’t, nor do I speak for every POC because I can’t do that either. Blanket statements, generalities, and opinions grounded in the belief that what you see in front of you - which can only ever be a sample size - is everything, leads to closed mindedness. We are all vulnerable to these things. I think it is human nature to accept what we see and what we are told, in order to make friendly in our groups. So that we feel accepted as well as acceptable and to never think beyond that.

So I understand where opinions like “People only care about Billy because Dacre is attractive [and white]” come from. Within those opinions I can hear the faint echos of social discourse that I as a woman of color have had to bring to the table at one time or another, and I recognize that there is a merit of thought there, that I am 100% sure some fans need to reckon with.

I will never be the person sitting out here trying to disprove that the general fandom is suddenly unproblematic and completely free of the persuasion of whiteness combined with attractiveness and a preference for men.

This black girl will certainly never tell you that she hasn’t run into Billy friendly hot takes and writing that did have whiffs of white washing and erasure that made her uncomfortable and irritated at times. I have no reason to be afraid or to hide from that fact because it’s my lived reality. Every day in every fandom, in every ship. It’s my reality. It sucks. And I am confident and grounded enough in my own thinking to say something when I feel it needs to be said, or to just move on and find something better to read for my own peace of mind.

Yes, some Billy fans are problematic. But that is not my whole experience nor even half of it, and that matters.

Because I will also tell you that in my year or more of engaging in Harringrove fandom I have experienced that type of blindness and bias less than I have in other fandom spaces I have taken part in.That’s why I am here. I do not subject myself to being in places that make me consistently uncomfortable.

My empathy for the character brought me, and I stay because it’s a lovely place to explore my thoughts & feelings and make friends. For the most part I have found this pocket of fandom to be filled with nice people who actually do think through the characters flaws and have conversations about culture and social issues as often as any other fandom space. We bond, we have fun, and occasionally I might get into a debate with someone who I disagree with or disagrees with me about how we perceive the character’s flaws and their cultural impact.

I will tell you that I avoid many other subsections of Stranger Things fandom because my experience was that the balance is not the same in other tags. Because I felt consistently attacked, provoked, and silenced. Not just where it comes to discussions about race, but also disability, fat phobia, and my experiences of trauma and surviving abuse.

The problem I see a lot in fandom is that people are very good at manipulating others. There are whole communities that thrive on the basis of taking popular progressive opinions and using it to bully others for their entertainment or to control their behavior, or both. They rely on the public memory of the valuable work other people have done within culture and use those talking points to invoke fear and shame in their peers for their own selfish reasons. To feel good in the moment. For more reblogs. To feel like they’re part of the winning “team”. To feel like they’re meeting requirements of acceptable behavior. And for many more reasons I’m sure.

Whatever their reason, these folks know when they type out, “people only like Billy because Dacre is attractive”, that most people will instantly remember every discussion they ever sat through on the topic of bias and think ‘I don’t want to be that guy’. Because that’s natural and good and without those natural and good instincts we couldn’t be manipulated into a fear response. But the reality is even just a little bit of critical thinking would make it obvious how biased and unreasonable this take is.

When I hear “People only...” no mater what follows, a little yellow warning light goes off in the back of my mind. Because yes we can joke about certain things and make dumb memes for the fun, but when it comes to making a serious judgment, “People only” is a dangerous place to start. More people need to remember that.

Because I don’t think anyone actually needs to spend a great deal of time talking to Billy fans or researching much of anything at all to debunk this theory. If you replace Billy’s name with any aspect of his character that a person might relate to it falls apart. Because they are there to be related to. And if they are there to be related to, you’d have to be carrying some deep seeded rage and wearing some thick ass blinders to stick to the argument that you truly believe that nothing but white male attractiveness matters to anyone.

“People only care about that teenager because his actor is good looking.”

“People only care about that child, whose mother left, because his actor is good looking.”

“People only care about that blue collar boy because his actor is good looking.”

“People only care about that child of divorce...”

“People only care about that boy who was forced to move towns right in the middle of high school because...”

“People only care about that kid whose dad was abusing him because...”

“People only care about that kid who was dragged into the dark by a monster one night and violated because....”

I think the ridiculousness as well as the danger of this thought process speaks for itself.

I think that if someone finds it easy to believe a blanket statement like “People only care about Billy because Dacre is hot,” and can’t think up a single other reason someone else might relate to the character and talk about it honestly while defending their opinion, that’s their problem and not mine or yours. Either this is someone who doesn’t think much for themselves and is just parroting others, or someone who knows what they are saying probably isn’t actually true, but doesn’t care because the aim is to hurt some and manipulate others.

[stephenjaymorrisblog]

America is Republic, not a Theocracy.

Part 2

Stephen Jay Morris

9/29/2023

© Scientific Morality.

For some time, I was aspiring writer. I wrote fictional stories. One was called, “The Flag and the Cross 2084.” It was a futuristic story about America conquering all countries on earth. America was this gigantic empire under which the residents of all countries had to learn English or be killed. They were also required to believe in fundamentalist Christianity or be killed. White Anglo Saxion Protestants were privileged citizens. Government was replaced by a corporate board of directors to run the planet. Only Aryan men were allowed to vote and only White men were permitted to be rich. It had an intergalactic space force called “God’s Aryan Warriors,” which mission was to conquer the universe by space invasions. It was revealed that so called UFOs were advance mode flying saucers, spying on all citizens.

The Christian Church of America oversaw law and order. In 2054, the Constitution was abolished and was replaced by the King James Bible as the official constitution of the planet. All other religions were abolished. Jews were forced to denounce their religion and accept Jesus as their lord and savior. If not, they were put into human sized, microwave ovens. White Women had to become baby producing machine for the Aryan race. In 2070, women lost their right to vote and were not permitted to be in the work force. They were relegated to being homemakers. In 2080, 40 million LBGTQ+ people died in Christian death camps. And yes, there were flying cars! Oh, I almost forgot: all citizens’ brains were injected with microchips that showed authorities their whereabouts at all times.  Pretty apocalyptic totalitarian future, yes? One more thing about this futuristic nightmare: only married people were allowed to have sex. If you were caught, you were put in Jesus camps, otherwise known as prisons. And yes, masturbation was illegal.

Times have changed and history has made a liar out of me--thankfully. Someday I will do a third rewrite of my manuscript.

Back to the past of 2023. What is interesting about my story is that all Islamic theocracies were destroyed and replaced with Christian theocracies. Now I ask you? What’s the difference between Islamic theocracy and Christian theocracy? Answer: Most Christians are White. However, it doesn’t matter which religion controls a country. In any case, it is an authoritarian nightmare. If America became a theocracy, people would be swimming to Communist Cuba to become American exiles! Is Iran worse than North Korea? Not really. Left wing authoritarianism and Right wing totalitarianism both suck! That is the problem with absolutism: you are either against the Left or against the Right. If you believe in black and white vision, then you will never see a rainbow. That is why the religious Right hates rainbows; they see everything in black and white!

Some think that…I mean, “feel,” that a Chistian nation would be this Pollyanna society, wherein everybody is a sweetheart! Everybody follows God’s rules, everybody feels and thinks the same. A lily white, pure society. Wrong! Some Christians subscribe to the proposition that violence solves all problems. That freedom is reserved for Christians only. Is there taxation in this Christian society? Oh, fuck yeah, there is! Except it’s called, “tithing.” In this new society, you will have to pay 75% of your income. If you should have a heart attack, your pastor will say a prayer for you. If you masturbate, the God Squad will send you to Jesus’ camp. Do you want that? Good! Stay the fuck away from me!

I am not engaging in drollery here. To jerk off, I need a halophile environment. If the theocrats win, the American experiment is over. Plus, the bastards don’t believe in scientific methodology.

We don’t need religion. Really!  Freedom is for all, not just a chosen few.

[synthmusic91]

i found the pirate poll mod's response and it's actually my 13th reason

posted it below because i self harm via the internet

pirate-battle Follow

3h ago

Okay, some thoughts on the matter.

(cw for homophobia and police brutality)

For anyone who missed the entire thing yesterday, basically what happened is that I saw a bunch of people on the Flint vs Stede poll going like "Cancel OFMD!" and I was like you want a queer show to be cancelled?

People pointed out to me that the real Stede Bonnet was a slave owner, I tried to point out that in the context of the show it doesn't matter, and it only went downhill from there.

I want to preface that I'm neither a Black Sails nor an OFMD fan. I've watched both shows, liked them both, and I think both shows have their merits and their problems. This is not me choosing a side out of fandom preference.

Now, a clarification; I'm not going to make some big uwu apology video on the matter, but I am glad I was given awareness on the matter. It is an important matter to discuss about... in queer spaces.

My main concern with the matter is not the show taking inspiration from very racist parts of history. As I said, the show is doing it efforts to be more inclusive in that matter, but I understand why some people of other races might feel that's not enough.

My problem is that it's a queer show, and when you advocate against it, your actions do not have the effect you think they're having. You're not supporting black people and their rights; you're doing the conservatives' work for them.

A conservative won't see a gay person asking for OFMD to be cancelled and think "Huh they're doing this because the show uwu-ified a real-life slave owner. Slavery is bad! Black Lives Matter!", no pal. They'll see that and think "See, even gay people don't want gay shows! Cancel all gay shows!"

Yes, OFMD is not perfect, and we absolutely should discuss its issues. In a perfect world, a world of acceptance and support for all queer people of all races, it would really really stick out as the show that is trying to put a cute sticker on an ugly part of human history.

But we don't live in that perfect world, and as much as I hate to tell you this as a white person, you cannot afford to be picky when it comes to allies right now. Because if you do not ally with us, conservatives will be picking us both apart. Divide and conquer. That's what conservatives have been doing to us for centuries. Would you rather support a conservative's fight to cancel all queer shows, or would you rather accept a problematic gay show that seemed to have honestly good intentions behind it?

I agree that the issues of OFMD should be discussed. So much would've been solved if they'd made up a fictional pirate instead of making a fictionalized version of Stede Bonnet. Though we're still talking about a very racist and very violent part of history, but I digress. It's important, but we cannot allow our issues with it to run so deep that conservatives can use that against queer representation.

I am not using the queer representation in OFMD as a shield against its issues. It has issues and I am thankful and humble they were brought into my attention. But trust me when I tell you that OFMD is not your enemy. OFMD is not the reason cops kill black people on sight. Think how those cops would seethe at the idea of OFMD and why; it won't be because they're disgusted by Stede being uwu-ified.

Yeah, maybe OFMD will go down in history as a queer show that uwu-ified a slave owner. But advocating for its cancellation will not help black people. It will hurt queer media - and there are black people who are feeling represented in such media. It will help conservatives.

This was my entire point and why I turned defensive. We may all have our differences but this is us against them, we cannot afford to make it us against each other, because that's what they want.

The real world is not tumblr; here we celebrate queerness and the destruction of stereotypes. The real world is the exact opposite, and you absolutely cannot afford acting there the way you do on tumblr. You will be picked apart.

Speak out about the problematic elements of OFMD. But don't advocate for its cancellation, because the people who would be most happy to see it cancelled don't care about your reasons. They care about your extinction. That's all I've got to say.

On the matter of the polls, they will continue normally, with Flint being promoted to the next round as planned. I was thinking of removing him because his toxic fans don't deserve that win and to show that this is what queer infighting leads to, but the main reason I won't do it is not because I care about the """integrity of the polls""" (because I got an ask about this like WHO THE FUCK CARES about a stupid tumblr poll) but because I fear that this will spite them more and they'll tank other OFMD characters in the polls (something that they're already doing). And I want you all to know that this is a reign of censorship and fear. I hate that I have to allow the toxic fans their win out of fear that they'll rig all the other polls and attack random OFMD fans. It's not like I'm giving a lollipop to a kid having a tantrum to calm it down. It's like I'm bowing down and shutting up out of fear of threats and abuse. I may have closed the inbox and direct messages, but again I'm not an OFMD fan so OFMD hate doesn't really touch me, and a lot of OFMD fans have open inboxes, and with how big this whole thing has gotten I'm afraid toxic fans will go for their throats. And I don't want that to happen nor be part of the reasons it happened, so reign of censorship and fear it is. Congratulations. /s

[emergentcounseling]

4 Self-Care Routines to help you manage stress

Main Points

Self-Care is a commitment to your mind, body, and spirit

Self-Care helps you to stay present

Self-Care creates a foundation for resilience

What is Self-Care?

What does your self-care routine look like? Do you have a self-care routine? The definition of Self-Care changes depending on whom you ask. Self-Care is subjective and it should not be a burden; your self-care should be viewed as your commitment to care for your mind, body, and spirit actively and intentionally. The problem is, many of us have no idea what healthy self-care looks like. Hopefully, these tips will help you get on track.

4 Self-Care Tips

Journaling

Stillness

Connect with nature

Self-soothing

Journaling

One of the most amazing self-care tools is journaling, I know it may seem like a pain in the ass for some, but it is a great way to dump accumulated racing thoughts. Besides, it will allow you to get a snapshot of those faulty unconscious thoughts. If freestyle journaling does not work for you, then you can purchase journals that have writing prompts. Here’s a wring prompt you can try, “How would your life be different if you radically accepted your imperfections?

Stillness

Self-care begins with self-care! Can you truly care for yourself, if you don’t spend time with yourself? Sit in silence with yourself, Be Still! No, not while browsing social media or watching TV, that doesn’t count. This may sound weird, but all parts of you are waiting to be seen, heard, and cared for by you. If you have a hard time being still, and sitting with yourself in silence, that is often an indication that you are probably functioning in survival mode and are dissociated from yourself.

I’m inviting you to try this activity. Find a space where you can sit, and set your phone timer for 2 minutes. Notice your breathing, your thoughts and feelings uninterrupted. Notice how you felt before this practice, and afterward. This strengthens the rational part of your brain. Practice makes perfect!

Connect with nature

Are you part of the hustle culture? Many of us are constantly on the go, and the only time connecting with nature is on our way to and from the cars. One of the best self-care gifts you can give to your body is sunlight and fresh air. The sun provides us with Vitamin D, there are many other benefits to our bodies.

Go outside, look around, tilt your head back and take a deep breath. Try to go to a park, or stand outside in your backyard if you have one. Slowly gaze toward the trees, and flowers around; notice how your chest rises and falls, and notice how the rest of your body is experiencing this moment. This is self-care at its best!

Self-soothing

Self-care and resilience go hand in hand. A baby’s cry most often triggers an immediate response from their caregiver to soothe and tend to their needs. Unfortunately, many of us were not taught that soothing becomes our responsibility as we age.

Our bodies still delight in being touched, comforted, and soothed. Let’s practice, place your palms on your legs, and slowly rub them in a circular motion for 30 seconds. This should trigger a yawn and a relaxation response. You can also rub from the base of your elbows to the top of your shoulders for the same effect. Enjoy!

Other Self-Care Activities

Hiking

Dancing

Take a hot bath

Do Body Scan Meditation

Hang out with your favorite people

Reflect on your progress for the day

Reflect on 4 people you are thankful for

Pray

You deserve to be nurtured and cared for, and who better to do it than you? I am challenging you to choose one of the self-care activities above and make a commitment to practicing daily for the next 90 days. You get to care for yourself the way you want to! Your self-care doesn’t have to be a burden.

Click Here To Get Connected With Me.

[transzilla]

True I think it is a real phenomena but it is a double edged sword and I don't think it's like people will immediately write you off for presenting masculine. Like it does vary from community to community so we can't really talk about it in like vague oh masculinity this femininity that. I really dislike this conflation between butches and trans males and gnc transfems as OHH MASCS because again it's not like this masculinity club, from group to group it's going to be a new can of worms just based on whatever people have going on. Like some groups might just be more chill with transfems, like maybe they had too many experiences with asshole trans men and they're bitter and take it too far. Still sucks but like everyone has their own reasons.

Like in a lot of discourse it's hard to put your own experiences out there because people are hurting and it's the internet so you can't really put a vulnerable time of your life out there to explain your reasoning because someone might come for u about it and insult the fuck out of u because they disagreed so thats y you see a lot of mascs talking abt "queer communities reject me for being masculine" without specification. Its just easier to use hypotheticals. But then u get people kind of running a little too far with it and its like ok what the hell did he mean by that nd we get other people to validate it and we come up with shit like transmisandry.

In my experience my gender expression as a like oooh hypermasc trans male it was only conditionally accepted by my immediate community. at the first like... mild discomfort i butted heads with someone then the jig was up because it was very easy to use my expression against me and sensationalize the idea that i "look scary" like people jumped to the conclusion that I was in the wrong because it was easier to admit oh well he's toxic he's overly masculine he's making me uncomfortable than to examine a situation closely and to think damn am I in the wrong here. Like if I was feminine they would have just found any other thing to demonize me because I was a transsexual male in the way.

This is a problem I think in these white college-y queer tumblr agoraphobe communities that really stoke the fire of being terrified of everything, which I do support like making yourself comfortable and dealing with your anxiety about men because you will not be making rational decisions if you just endlessly validate your own anxiety and that's a part of the reason why we still deal with so much transphobic crap in lgbt circles, too many ppl seem to be trying to win a race where they have it the worst and there's no way to get better and here's how they're being victimized by all these other people.

I do agree with getting people to be less neurotic about a fear of men, even tho like in very many cases it is correct! Like im not devaluing anyone's trauma, like I get it men are uniquely fucking demonic and we want spaces where it's like ah fuck now I can breathe. But at some point it really does not help with your own survival at all. to extend this to men that YOU allow into your communities, as well as all masculine expression, including what just you consider masculine which is absolutely not the case like.. You end up sounding and being transphobic, butchphobic, transmisogynistic, all that fun stuff.

Plus like some dudes really will just talk out of their ass and I understand the response is going to be just as gauche like haha what do you mean trans men are ALWAYS accepted for being masculine nobody is EVER going to pressure you into being feminine you suck etc. Like i really dont consider it transphobic to say other people have it worse who aren't men because like... yeah they do LMAO i don't envy any of that shit

my personal interest is management and that's really not gona happen if we r still holding onto a masculine/feminine boys vs girls dichotomy cus lije it really is easy to just see how people look and think that's all there is to it. Like what I consider masculine is going to be very different than what another trans male considers masculine and one lil tribe might have a problem with either one of those things. masculinity and femininity isn't real. Like it's easy to look at it like a kindergartener like grr these trans men with feminine expression are being treated better than me, it's because I'm masculine. Like ok that may be the case but you need to examine it more, are they treating you like shit because you're masc or because they are transphobic? Why are people more comfortable with trans men with feminine traits? How do these feminine men act and talk about themselves around these people? Like a lot of the time when that was the case where I felt like a outsider and it was definitely because I presented and acted masculine it wasn't that simple, it was because I worked with conservatives, it was because I had advantages they didnt, it was because they had a token idea of a trans male in their head that I didn't fit, I didn't let people walk all over me and that made them very fucking uncomfortable. Like it was easy to say it's cause I'm masc and in some ways it was true but A strong reaction doesn't mean oppression and if your community can't handle a masc trans male they probably have a myriad of other fucking issues that you don't have to and should not want to deal with. The beauty of that is like construction and finding new ways.

the point of my masculinity and male positivity posts are to underline that masculinity and manhood are seen as a threat or in direct opposition to queerness, and that often times in order to be seen as queer you have to be partially or wholly feminine or gender neutral, or express your manhood in a feminine or gender neutral way in order to no longer be threatening, invasive, or a problem.

it is very difficult to exist in queer spaces as a hyper masculine person & a man. you're made to feel like you need to walk a tight rope feeling like you're inherently out of place, as if you existing and being masculine or a man in queer spaces makes others uncomfortable inherently.. just know that when i make positivity posts it is to remind us all that masculinity/manhood and queerness are not opposites and that you do not have to be a feminine man or masc person to be viewed/seen/heard as queer.

chasing men, masculine people, and masculinity out of queer spaces isn't helping anyone currently and won't help anyone down the line. please accept masc enbies, butches, bears, and masculine trans men with the same kindness, love, and passion that you do neutral and feminine people. that's the point when i make these kinds of posts. thank u

[noahthepigeon]

Tfw you are feeling desperately lonely and isolated and only have tenuous connections to the world outside your bedroom bc your flavor of mental health problems manifest as agoraphobia rn and also you struggle to cope with the day to day realities of existence.

And you kind of hate yourself for that, even knowing you shouldn't.

You keep trying to escape from the pit of yourself.

You want more than anything not to drag anyone else into the dark with you. You know others are suffering (how can you still have so much pain, knowing the breadth of hurt there is to have?) (Easy, it's not a competition. Everyone is different, with weaknesses in different places.) (Vile creature) (You know that can't be true. You know people love you, and you know others loved you) (and we let them all down) (You're looking for reasons for pain. You are unwell, you were trained from childhood to perceive everything you did through a lense of deep, unrelenting shame. It makes your mind race to compensate, look to justify, struggle to understand, co-opts the curiosity and passion that are among your best features and uses the against yourself) (we are annoying and awkward and painfully, excruciatingly cringe, and we radiate our shame like a contagious plague, we infect others with it) (You have never tried to hurt people on purpose. You know that, even though you have been told over and over again that you must be malicious. Even though it's important to accept where you have caused pain, you know how different it feels the rare times you have felt actual malice, vs accidentally hurting someone) (why did we lose two families? Why are we a vagrant hermit, a witch, a ghost? We should do more. Be more. We have time. So much time. Why aren't we productive. Why can't we find a place.) You try so hard to be reasonable, to rewrite those poison little instincts we have, the ones that feel like Truth because they're pain and you were raised to believe that painful truth was the only meaningful truth. You try to grow kindness on poison soil. You know you need to put the roots in.

You can barely stand even saying that you value kindness, want to cultivate it, in a way that sounds like it might be bragging.

(It's not a sin to speak positively of oneself. It is healthy. It's normal.)

(How the fuck do we know it's true? How can we trust ourselves? When we forget the hurtful things we've done and neglect friends and say stupid things?)

(You're allowed to say stupid, awkward things. Everyone does.)

(When we do, it's poison. We're the worst. We're the ugliest. We are the most cringe, embarrassing, the scum of the earth. Even our mother said so. Now the person who helped us break away from her says we are the abuser, and shes probably right, because we know how poisonous this self hatred is and we've poisoned her)

(You grew apart. It was more than ten years. You met her before you were twenty and she was ten years older and you had a long distance relationship for over a decade. She was nearly thirty. You led different lives, in different countries. You changed, it was inevitable, and she didn't want the you of now, she wanted a glossy memory. So much happened. It was hard.)

(I was the black sheep of my given family and I became the odd man out of my chosen one.)

(I tried so hard to reassure myself and have faith in their feelings for me and they lied about them.)

(I asked so many times if I was pushing too hard, if they wanted space, and they were so offended when I seemed insecure about their love for me but then when I tried to express enthusiasm it was too much. I could feel how badly we were out of sync. I tried so many different ways to bridge the gap.)

(You have to ask for your needs to be met.)

(I don't even know what my needs could even be anymore.)

(is it even possible for me to find people who are like me? The ones who are most like me are probably holed up in corners just like I am.)

(it's been such a long time since someone touched me like they treasured me.)

[acrosstheuniversedivide]

Across the Universe Divide: A Futuristic Worldbuilding Project

Across the Universe Divide (AtUD) is a project where I showcase my creativity and passion for worldbuilding in a futuristic setting. The project has undergone a lot of transformation and growth over time, starting from a single star system and gradually spreading to cover the entire Orion Arm of the galaxy, with twenty one different star systems and countless planets and moons.

I don't like to confine my work to a specific category or label, as I find them too limiting and restrictive. I think they can be useful for other people to discover what they are interested in, but for me they are not very helpful, as I often change and refine my vision as I work on it. So I guess AtUD could be loosely called science fiction, since it deals with space exploration and advanced technology. But it is also influenced by other genres, such as speculative fiction and alternate history, as I imagine different scenarios and outcomes for humanity and other civilizations in the galaxy.

I am not a fan of the hard-soft sci-fi scale that some people use to rate works of this genre. Again, I think it can be a useful tool to filter what you like and what you don't, but it also seems to create a lot of unnecessary arguments and debates. In this project, I am more focused on creating interesting themes and stories than on being scientifically accurate, although that doesn't mean I ignore research or logic. As the creator, I have my own criteria and limits for what I can suspend my disbelief and accept, which may differ from others. Space is awesome, but I don't want to get bogged down by the technical details and calculations, that's not my interest. So the way I approach this is to use what I think is plausible and coherent within my setting and build on that. So yeah, I don't really care what others call it, as I know everyone has their own opinions and expectations from different genres.

Some of the themes that I explore in this project are those that fascinate me on a personal level, such as geopolitics, history, religion, occultism and mysticism. I also draw inspiration from different genres and styles, such as military sci-fi, political science and ideology, cosmic horror, literary romanticism, and the clash between traditionalism and progressive modernity. I explore how these themes affect the characters, societies, and events in my setting, as well as their faith and human nature. These are similar themes that I also use in my fantasy worldbuilding project “the Black Book of Arkera”, which shows my consistent interests and preferences. Some may think that these themes are too diverse and random, but I am confident that I can weave them together in a way that makes sense and creates a unique and coherent vision.

One key aspect of the setting is the lack of aliens, at least in the traditional sense. When writing fantasy, I always had a difficult time writing non-human races, as only a few authors ever managed to do this in a way I found intriguing. Most non-human races usually just end up personifying one aspect of humanity taken to an extreme, which I find boring and unoriginal. Why do that when you can just use humans? In AtUD, humans have been seeded across the galaxy by an ancient civilization known as the Builders, who have mysteriously disappeared. Humanity exists on a multitude of planets throughout the cosmos, giving plenty of opportunities to create unique cultures and speculate how various environments affect them. My main problem with the way most alien races work in sci-fi is that they are so monolithic. On Earth, there are hundreds of cultures, but aliens are often depicted as having a simple monoculture. There is no reason to think they would be any different than humans. The scope of writing aliens to be so detailed is likely very daunting and perhaps this is why it is not done. With that said, while there are no aliens per se, there are forces that exist beyond mortal comprehension, supernatural forces if you will. These forces are just a hint at the complexities and mysteries of the universe. Humans are at the center of a great game where powers beyond imagination use them as pieces on a board in the great struggle between light and dark, life and death, good and evil.

[angelosearch]

Yaaaay late night therapy thoughts - this time on therapy-driven changes that may seem negative (but aren't)

I realized while I was in session yesterday that I say "I don't know" more in therapy now than I used to. When I was asked "why do you think that is?" Or "how do you feel about that?" In the past, I'd always have an answer--usually a long and cerebral one. You'd think the fact that I am less apt to know the answer now is a sign of going backwards, but I don't think it is.

I used to be a client with a tendency toward "over intellectualizing." I could always point to a situation that caused a feeling and had all the lingo down for categorizing my own behaviors. This kind of disclosure makes a person seem very emotionally intelligent and in-touch with their problems. Hell, when I acted this way in group therapy, other people would come up and tell me "you don't need to be here." But really, over intellectualism is just another form of avoidance. It's an attempt at unrealistic control over your therapist's perception sometimes - "they need to know I am trying! I need to be good at therapy and that is a completely achievable and normal thing to want" - and it's a way to point the narrative to places you think you can handle. Sometimes if you can talk really well about one thing, the therapist won't know you're not talking about the other bigger thing.

Also, if you keep talking, you may not have to slow down and feel. Confronting raw primary emotions (anger, sadness, joy, fear, disgust) is often where the real growth happens, and they will resist being explained. They just need to be felt.

In any case, I think saying "I don't know" shows my willingness to be curious and not just start picking things apart. Now, I want to learn instead of dictate. I am becoming more accepting of help from my therapist to understand things, where as I used to spend the whole time monologuing about what I thought things meant. My therapy sessions have become significantly more collaborative, and, in turn, productive these days.

This got me thinking about other false flags of regression in therapy that I'd like to share. Keep in mind, any of these can quickly become overcorrections. The important thing is to stay mindful and curious as you continue to learn, grow, and change.

Being more "rude" or "complainy." Sometimes, progress looks like setting more boundaries with people, and if they are not used to you having boundaries, they may be surprised or angry. To be clear, people will rarely celebrate your decision to tell them "no" - that doesn't make it wrong. You also may be more willing to speak your mind than you used to be. Unstanding and sharing your standards is important to protecting your peace. It's okay to be honest.

Losing or weakening formly close relationships in your life. Boundaries, as stated above, may be something that certain people in your life will push or outright reject. It is progress to pull those types of relationships into question. You may also begin to embrace values you'd previously been denying, and that can alienate people in your life. At the end of the day, you will only feel fulfilled if you embody your values - and in embodying them, you will attract people into your life that share them.

Needing more time to take breaks and taking things slower. You probably always needed that time, but now you are choosing to recognize it and engage with it. Be proud and happy for making space for yourself to heal, or just enjoy life a little more. It's okay if you don't want to run in the rat race. You don't have to compete with yourself and recognizing that isn't laziness.

Becoming more inwardly focused. You may have been a huge extrovert in the past, but now you might find yourself wanting to stay home and engage in hobbies by yourself. Good for you - you are learning to sit with yourself and that is no small task. There are those in your life who may see this as isolating. Know the difference. Are you avoiding people you love and care about, or just side-stepping extraneous aquantiences? Are you skipping the events that simply don't hold your interest, or are you declining literally every invitation? Socialization and connection is important, but like anything else, it can be overused. It's okay to shift to building skills or enjoying your own company. Your world may become smaller, but it is your world now.

Lower motivation in certain arenas. For this one, an example: I used to be a girlboss career lady at the height of my mental illness - but that was mostly because I only saw myself having value if my bosses said so. Now, I am much less motivated by that kind of success and feedback. Things that used to push you forward and draw your interest may no longer - maybe that's because they were related to what you were working through, or maybe that's because you are more interested in something else now. Either way, this kind of change is okay.

You make things easier for yourself and you may "accept" some of your bad habits. You have coping skills now. Our society may make you believe there is some moral failing that comes with cleaning the house a little less often, or sitting down to brush your teeth, or eating frozen meals instead of cooking, but there's not. If you can make something in your life easier, there is no shame in doing it. You may also be giving yourself more grace when you do things that you don't want to continue doing. Just because you are not yelling at yourself for oversleeping does not mean you are tacitly endorsing it - you are just not focusing on the bad and you're moving forward instead.

You may become weirder! Embracing who you are, developing the confidence to express yourself, understanding your values, telling shame to fuck off, and engaging with the things you love can sometimes have the side effect of defying social conventions or bucking trends. You may not be everyone's cup of tea anymore with your odd combo of herbs and spices, but you don't have to be.

These false flags are probably different for everyone. That's because your environment shaped your behaviors and personality, and now you are choosing to adjust those to something that feels better internally. That may make it seem like you don't fit in your environment anymore - and that out-of-placeness may seem more externally wrong. The important thing to remember is that you are the only thing you have control over. So you have to understand what balances you internally - the environment will sort itself out in response.