#but i face deeply rooted systemic issues that will need more than just me to fight them. i can't do it alone!

[s-zephyr]

hey do you guys think it's normal to spend 90% of your time alone. let's build communities immediately please

[panther-os]

I've been thinking a lot lately about alter roles in DID systems (of which we are one) and the Lan clan. It's very interesting to me, because there are three clearly defined protector roles that fit Xichen, Wangji, and Qiren perfectly. And the way they do or don't interact with each other versus the way they could interact with each other instead gives some... rather enlightening insights when approached from a system point of view.

I'll do my best to explain it in terms singlets can understand but a lot of the nuance has to be experienced to be fully grasped. Even among systems, if you don't have these specific kinds of alters, it may be difficult.

Lan Qiren is a persecutor. Persecutors are not bad or evil alters. Every alter is doing what they believe is necessary to keep the system safe. Many persecutors enforce an abuser's rules on the rest of the system with physical or verbal discipline in an attempt to avoid worse punishment. After escaping, they may continue to do so either as a "just in case" the abuser comes back into their life or as a method of retaining stability. Wangji may be Head of Discipline, but Qiren is the one out of the three who lives and breathes the rules, who believes they must be followed or else. Or else what doesn't matter, only protecting people - his Sect, his Clan, his family - from the or else.

Lan Wangji is a prosecutor. This type of protector is rarely spoken about, I've noticed, and it is one that is also often characterized as bad or evil alters. While persecutors enforce judgement on the internal system, prosecutors enforce it on people outside the system. Typically, this is not physical. Instead, it can look like suddenly breaking off contact with a friend or even just firmly and immoveably placing a boundary. Prosecutors can be perceived as angry or uncaring, their role in the system is explicitly to not take bullshit other alters might fall for. Wangji is not conciliatory and he is not interested in betraying his principles, which are so closely tied with his people. We see this most clearly in the scene with Jin Zixun and the alcohol and the fact he faced 33 clan elders to defend Wei Wuxian. Xichen goes along to get along - with Zixun, with the Clans - and tries not to make a scene, Wangji is not interested in compromise and people who do not respect him or the people he cares about can go fuck themselves. He will gladly tell them when, how, and where if they feel inclined to ask.

Lan Xichen is a cheergiver. Cheergivers protect the system by trying to keep everyone - inside and outside - happy, calm, and content. If everyone is happy, calm, and content, then there is no danger. But a cheergiver's way of doing this ignores the actual issues in favor of immediate safety rather than addressing them and working through them. A cheergiver's express role is to avoid conflict, typically through placation or sheer goofiness. A cheergiver faced with a dilemma more suited to a prosecutor - where a boundary needs to be enforced or a negative judgement call needs to be made - may opt to ignore the situation entirely. The cheergiver in our system sometimes reminds me so strongly of our friend who once, when we were tired, overwhelmed, and upset (actually probably actively having sensory overload and/or an autistic shutdown, now that I think about it) got directly in our face and kept telling us to smile and we'd feel better. I also feel it's important to note with this that Xichen's going along to get along is most often done by siding with his uncle, likely because that is the authority figure he grew up with - the one with the most power to hurt and thus the most need to keep happy.

None of these methods of protecting are wrong or bad on their own. They are all deeply rooted in trauma and thus taken to the extreme, but they are understandable and sensible. "We have to follow the rules so we don't get in trouble for breaking the rules", "We shouldn't hang around people who might hurt us", and "Contentment reduces conflict" all make sense. "We have to follow the rules so we don't get in trouble for breaking the rules, so I will punish us instead until outsiders can't find any fault" makes sense, especially after having to clean up Qingheng-jun's scandal, but is not a proportionate response. "We shouldn't hang around people who might hurt us, and everyone can hurt us even if just with their eventual loss so we shouldn't let anyone close at all" makes sense, especially after losing a parent so young, but isn't proportionate either. "Contentment reduces conflict, so I will run myself ragged trying to make sure everyone at least acts content where I can see them and also I will make sure to disagree with as few people as possible because disagreeing with people makes them not content" makes sense, especially as a peacemaker with a career in diplomacy surrounded by strong personalities both at work and at home, but is not proportionate.

They all need therapy.

And when it comes to working together for the good of their family, they may all be trying to protect each other, but - as an example - our system works best when all our protectors - of these three types and others - are communicating with each other. When they are aware of their roles, aware of each other's strengths, and when they have the deep mutual respect to not use their roles against each other.

When Qiren has his now-grown nephews disciplined for failing to keep the rules, when Xichen seems to be trying to keep his uncle and brother from even having differing opinions in the first place, when Wangji decides to out-stubborn them both.... It's not a 1:1 comparison, because these three are not alters in a system and they are not the same person, but there are parallels. Breakdowns in communication and, more importantly, in trust turning valid and reasonable protection methods into something that does more harm than good is one of them.

All three of them have strengths that can become weaknesses in precisely the right - or rather, wrong - circumstances. And it's these strengths and weaknesses that drive their parts of the story forward.

[healingjustice]

Healing Justice Blog

  Past: Reckoning with Roots and Lineage

#1: FIRE

Fire teaches us transformation. Fire has the ability to show us that we have the power to start fresh. The challenges we face, whether they are personal or shared with others, can help us grow stronger. They can help us let go of fears, doubts, and limits that have been created by systems of oppression.  In healing justice, fire represents both destruction and renewal, a  metaphor for the way we fight for justice and create the world. I think of fire as both a danger and a gift. It has the power to devastate, but in the ashes of the past, there is the possibility for new growth. 

I’m learning to embrace the flames, not with fear, but with hope for what comes next. In my life, I feel the transformative power of fire constantly moving through me. The people who once played key roles in my life are like the ashes left behind after the fire has burned, clearing space for new growth. Those who are part of my present represent the flames that are currently shaping my journey, illuminating the path I'm on. The spark before the fire is the future, full of potential and yet to unfold. Just as fire burns away what no longer serves us, it creates space for rebirth, teaching me to embrace both the destruction and the renewal that comes with change. Like fire, life has the power to devastate, but from those ashes, new possibilities emerge. I’m learning not to fear the flames, but to see them as a gift of what has yet to come. 

#2: SKY 

The story “Sky” encourages us to look past our own personal experiences and see the bigger forces that affect us through unfair systems or struggles that have been passed down through generations. The sky represents something huge that reminds us to learn from the moments where we feel hurt or broken and to accept that we can't always do everything alone. The sky moves and shifts constantly. This idea also teaches us to let go of trying to control everything and realizing that healing and justice sometimes involve things we can’t fully control. 

Reflecting on Healing Justice and the concept of “Sky” I find a deep connection to my experience as a social work major at Colorado State University and my work with disabled adults at Spectrum. The story “sky” discusses the bigger picture of looking at the stories that shape our lives. The authors Cara Page and Erica Woodland mention the importance of recognizing and healing from deep pain passed down through generations. 

As I navigate social work, I am often reminded of the layers of trauma that the individuals I work with have faced both personal and systemic. These experiences mirror the healing justice framework, which calls for collective healing that addresses not just individual needs but the larger oppressive structures that impact marginalized communities. Working at Spectrum, I see firsthand how caregiving can be an act of resistance, offering spaces where disabled individuals can reclaim their dignity and humanity in a world that often devalues them. In both my academic and professional journey, I strive to integrate these principles, recognizing that true healing requires more than addressing surface level issues.

#3: WATER

In the Book, Healing Justice, water represents the fluidity we need to face life’s challenges. It carries the weight of past struggles while nurturing the possibilities of the future, reminding us that healing isn’t linear, and that life has its own ebbs and flows, the highs and lows in life. 

Water is fluid, life-giving, and essential for growth. Harriet Tubman used rivers as paths to freedom, teaching us to listen deeply to the movements of water. In healing, water can flush away toxins, and help living creatures feel reconnected with their own bodies. Water carries memories of the past.  Water integrates with healing justice, by reminding us of our interconnection and the need to nurture life. Water makes me think of how important it is to stay flexible in the face of change. Even when things feel overwhelming, there is so much strength that allows me to go with the flow of a current  rather than fight against it. Whether we're faced with extremely difficult obstacles in our life or we’re just flowing down a stream without resistance, we are able to  find new paths when faced with obstacles, water teaches us how to keep moving forward, no matter what stands in our way. In healing, water is cleansing. It flushes away toxins, both physical and emotional, restoring balance and clarity. It can cool the fires of conflict, soothe wounds, and offer renewal. Something that helps me feel connected to myself in times of healing like a stream of water is to let the rivers of water fall down my skin in order to help rejuvenate myself. 

Origins of Healing Justice

#4: The Currents that Carried Us

This chapter explores the idea of the currents that carry us, symbolizing how movements for justice are like rivers that are shaped by the landscapes they pass through and the challenges they face. Healing Justice also is represented by a powerful current that drives forward causes like disability justice, queer liberation, and environmental justice. It’s not just about healing individual pain but addressing the collective trauma caused by systemic oppression. 

The idea of currents being a natural force that flows through different elements helps me see that people are often moving through similar experiences together. It makes me understand that my personal challenges, like those I face as a woman, are part of something much larger than just my individual story. The struggles I go through are tied to a larger movement for justice that includes many others facing similar issues. Whether it’s advocating for disability rights, or environmental rights, there are people that are putting forth a collective effort that is pushing for change. It’s powerful to know that when people work together to advocate for a change, we are a current that helps carry future generations forward. 

Healing justice is a transformative journey in which we are asked  questions about why the way things are and helps us how to move forward in life. Water slowly creates new paths, healing justice helps us find new ways to live and connect with each other. It encourages us to work together, building accountability and forming unity, as we push forward advocating for a more equitable future. Let the water carry you, for the river is everywhere. Some days you will be swept along by the river, and other days large rapids will come and make you face the weathering of the storm. 

#5: Spiritual Conditions

Healing justice encourages us to reconnect with our spiritual roots, honoring the traditions passed down by our ancestors. The spiritual wounds we feel as humans and communities are caused by colonization, capitalism, and systemic oppression. As we reclaim these practices, we not only heal ourselves but also work to heal the generational trauma caused by oppression. We are constantly reminded of the importance we hold in order to reconnect with the land, our ancestors, and each other. Elements such as Earth, Water, Fire, and Air can help guide us on this journey by intertwining with these natural forces  and spiritual connection can help  us balance and come back to an alignment with our bodies. In order to heal, we must allow ourselves to feel.

One way that I try to connect to my spiritual roots is through breathwork meditation. This practice allows me to stay present and understand where I am and what I have control over in the moment. I feel in most control when I can breathe at my own time. However, I don’t work on this practice unless I have the free time too. Being a college student can be anxiety-inducing by having to constantly look ahead at assignments, study for exams, and stay on top of my work schedule. It feels like I’m piecing together parts of myself that have been lost, and it's easier to do when I have more time on my hands. Healing is about reconnecting with old parts of myself that I have been disconnected from. 

Alchemy: Theory + Praxis

#6: Disability Justice

In Healing Justice, disability justice serves as a key reminder that all bodies, regardless of their abilities, are sacred and deserving of care, dignity, and respect. This framework pushes back against the harmful notion that disabled bodies need to be "fixed" to fit into a world built for able-bodied individuals. Rather than focusing on curing or correcting disabilities, disability justice celebrates the diversity of all bodies. The author discusses challenges that go hand and hand with changing societal structures, not in changing people.

Healing justice and disability justice intersect by advocating for access, interdependence, and the collective liberation for all people that have been affected by systematic practices. Disability justice urges the need to focus on dismantling the barriers, both physical and societal, that prevent disabled individuals from fully participating in life the ways that they want to. 

In my work with adults who have intellectual and physical disabilities, I see firsthand how essential disability justice is. The American Disabilities Act was established to protect the rights of people with disabilities and prohibit discrimination. This was a significant step that was taken in the right direction to advocate and protect disability rights. 

One lesson I’ve learned from the disability justice movement is the importance of interdependence. In a world that often values independence, disability justice teaches us the importance of community accountability. Through community accountability, people are given respect, support, and care through these communities. Community accountability shouldn’t be seen as a weakness, but a strength that brings people together. 

#7: Environmental Justice

This chapter discusses how environmental justice challenges us to recognize the impacts that colonization, capitalism, and racism have had on marginalized communities in the world. The exploitation of natural resources has had a major impact on communities' physical health and access to resources. There is so much conflict that has occurred due to the ignorance of rich companies exploiting natural resources by contaminating Indigenous communities' water sources making it unsafe for them to be able to even drink their own water.   Indigenous communities understand the land far better than large oil industrialization do. They know the importance of preserving the land and protecting the resources. They remind each other of the connection that we have to the Earth and that healing the land is essential in order for us to heal ourselves. This makes environmental justice inseparable from social and racial justice; it’s about protecting the rights of everyone, no matter what their  background is and that they have access to clean, safe environments.

Environmental justice reveals what can occur from the destruction of nature and the destruction of communities. The more I learn, the more I see how my own actions can contribute to either harm or healing. For me, I take responsibility for the small things I can control. One thing that I do to help the environment is by picking up trash that has been left behind. These negative impact that have been made towards Indigenous communities remind me that healing the planet is not just about discussing environmental issues but being able to confront the organizations and larger companies that have created this destruction towards the environment. 

#8: Harm Reduction

Harm reduction is a powerful approach that prioritizes compassion and meeting people where they are at.  Harm reduction challenges the belief that individuals must be given before they can receive any form of support or care. Harm reduction focuses its shift by giving everyone the support,safety, and respect they deserve regardless of what obstacles they are experiencing in life. 

In Healing Justice, harm reduction aligns closely with the principles of healing justice by acknowledging the ways in which people are impacted by systemic oppression. It recognizes many individuals who struggle with addiction and trauma. People end up in these  oppressive systems through poverty, racism, and barriers to healthcare. Harm reduction doesn’t just focus on minimizing the negative consequences of these behaviors, but its focus is on being able to provide supportive environments where people feel safe to heal. It is important to take into consideration how these systems are created, why they still exist, and what are effective interventions in order to focus on reducing harm in these systems. 

What resonates with me about harm reduction is its focus on non-judgmental care. It doesn’t demand people to fit into this certain expectation of how an individual should or shouldn’t be. It focuses on caring for the needs of individuals and providing them with the resources they need in the moment. People should feel supported regardless of where they are in their healing journey. Access to harm reduction gives people a sense of more control of their life. Everyone deserves to feel supported. 

Political + Spiritual Imperatives for the Future

#9: Our Land as Kin

In this chapter, Our Land as Kin, the authors’ discuss how we must view the land not as a resource to be exploited, but to be respected and cared for. Healing justice connects us to the Earth and reminds us that the fight for environmental and land sovereignty has a major impact in healing. The land holds the memories of those who have come before us, and by taking care of the land, we honor the legacy of those who fought for the land that we are on. We should treat the land the same as how we would honor and respect our own families. Colonization and capitalism have created a disruption and disconnection between the connection that we have towards land. The authors also discuss the importance of not owning the land or considering it to be one's own property, but as something that is collectively cared for. 

This chapter made me reflect on my own relationship with the land I live on, which I care for and feel deeply connected to, compared to others who may show little respect for it. I remember a specific experience in high school when I was with a boy who tossed his fast food trash out the car window. He justified it by saying that since the roads were already paved and nature was being destroyed, it didn’t matter if he littered. This moment opened my eyes to how environmental exploitation can shape people's attitudes toward the natural world, creating a disconnect from the land. The damage we inflict on the environment not only harms the Earth but also alters how we value it.

#10: What Are our Legacies of Sacrifice and Loss to Transform

This chapter allows us to reflect on the sacrifices and losses that have been made by those who came before us and how we can transform these legacies into something powerful. The struggles of our ancestors, whether in the fight for civil rights, labor movements, or against systemic oppression, are not just historical events and how they shape our present. The pain and suffering they endured were built on acts of love, protections, and resistance that helped pave a new foundation for future generations. One question I feel left with from this chapter is what are some ways that we can honor these sacrifices that have been made? 

This chapter makes me reflect and think about the effort and sacrifices that were made and how the future generations hold responsibility in maintaining these legacies. The sacrifices made by past generations are not just stories that are told to be remembered as a story, but they are reminders to understand why certain events had occurred and what their call to action was.  Their struggles remind us that the work for justice is ongoing and that. Reflecting doesn’t just involve its purpose of mourning for what has happened in the past. By acknowledging these legacies, we can confront the pain and loss that has shaped our history while choosing to build a future grounded in resilience and hope. We should not be defined by the trauma of past experiences that have caused pain and infliction onto people's lives, but by our ability to transform it into collective healing.

What is Healing Justice?

Healing Justice is a book that discusses the importance of healing from systematic forms of oppressions that have been passed down through generations. This book includes different forms of self-care, such as community healing practices, ways to prioritize personal mental health, and discussions on harm reduction, that focus on the smaller goals of healing.

[healingjustice-digitaljournal]

Healing Justice Blog,

Past: Reckoning with Roots and Lineage

#1: FIRE

Fire teaches us transformation. Fire has the ability to show us that we have the power to start fresh. The challenges we face, whether they are personal or shared with others, can help us grow stronger. They can help us let go of fears, doubts, and limits that have been created by systems of oppression.  In healing justice, fire represents both destruction and renewal, a  metaphor for the way we fight for justice and create the world. I think of fire as both a danger and a gift. It has the power to devastate, but in the ashes of the past, there is the possibility for new growth. 

I’m learning to embrace the flames, not with fear, but with hope for what comes next. In my life, I feel the transformative power of fire constantly moving through me. The people who once played key roles in my life are like the ashes left behind after the fire has burned, clearing space for new growth. Those who are part of my present represent the flames that are currently shaping my journey, illuminating the path I'm on. The spark before the fire is the future, full of potential and yet to unfold. Just as fire burns away what no longer serves us, it creates space for rebirth, teaching me to embrace both the destruction and the renewal that comes with change. Like fire, life has the power to devastate, but from those ashes, new possibilities emerge. I’m learning not to fear the flames, but to see them as a gift of what has yet to come. 

#2: SKY 

The story “Sky” encourages us to look past our own personal experiences and see the bigger forces that affect us through unfair systems or struggles that have been passed down through generations. The sky represents something huge that reminds us to learn from the moments where we feel hurt or broken and to accept that we can't always do everything alone. The sky moves and shifts constantly. This idea also teaches us to let go of trying to control everything and realizing that healing and justice sometimes involve things we can’t fully control. 

Reflecting on Healing Justice and the concept of “Sky” I find a deep connection to my experience as a social work major at Colorado State University and my work with disabled adults at Spectrum. The story “sky” discusses the bigger picture of looking at the stories that shape our lives. The authors Cara Page and Erica Woodland mention the importance of recognizing and healing from deep pain passed down through generations. 

As I navigate social work, I am often reminded of the layers of trauma that the individuals I work with have faced both personal and systemic. These experiences mirror the healing justice framework, which calls for collective healing that addresses not just individual needs but the larger oppressive structures that impact marginalized communities. Working at Spectrum, I see firsthand how caregiving can be an act of resistance, offering spaces where disabled individuals can reclaim their dignity and humanity in a world that often devalues them. In both my academic and professional journey, I strive to integrate these principles, recognizing that true healing requires more than addressing surface level issues.

#3: WATER

In the Book, Healing Justice, water represents the fluidity we need to face life’s challenges. It carries the weight of past struggles while nurturing the possibilities of the future, reminding us that healing isn’t linear, and that life has its own ebbs and flows, the highs and lows in life. 

Water is fluid, life-giving, and essential for growth. Harriet Tubman used rivers as paths to freedom, teaching us to listen deeply to the movements of water. In healing, water can flush away toxins, and help living creatures feel reconnected with their own bodies. Water carries memories of the past.  Water integrates with healing justice, by reminding us of our interconnection and the need to nurture life. Water makes me think of how important it is to stay flexible in the face of change. Even when things feel overwhelming, there is so much strength that allows me to go with the flow of a current  rather than fight against it. Whether we're faced with extremely difficult obstacles in our life or we’re just flowing down a stream without resistance, we are able to  find new paths when faced with obstacles, water teaches us how to keep moving forward, no matter what stands in our way. In healing, water is cleansing. It flushes away toxins, both physical and emotional, restoring balance and clarity. It can cool the fires of conflict, soothe wounds, and offer renewal. Something that helps me feel connected to myself in times of healing like a stream of water is to let the rivers of water fall down my skin in order to help rejuvenate myself. 

Origins of Healing Justice

#4: The Currents that Carried Us

This chapter explores the idea of the currents that carry us, symbolizing how movements for justice are like rivers that are shaped by the landscapes they pass through and the challenges they face. Healing Justice also is represented by a powerful current that drives forward causes like disability justice, queer liberation, and environmental justice. It’s not just about healing individual pain but addressing the collective trauma caused by systemic oppression. 

The idea of currents being a natural force that flows through different elements helps me see that people are often moving through similar experiences together. It makes me understand that my personal challenges, like those I face as a woman, are part of something much larger than just my individual story. The struggles I go through are tied to a larger movement for justice that includes many others facing similar issues. Whether it’s advocating for disability rights, or environmental rights, there are people that are putting forth a collective effort that is pushing for change. It’s powerful to know that when people work together to advocate for a change, we are a current that helps carry future generations forward. 

Healing justice is a transformative journey in which we are asked  questions about why the way things are and helps us how to move forward in life. Water slowly creates new paths, healing justice helps us find new ways to live and connect with each other. It encourages us to work together, building accountability and forming unity, as we push forward advocating for a more equitable future. Let the water carry you, for the river is everywhere. Some days you will be swept along by the river, and other days large rapids will come and make you face the weathering of the storm. 

#5: Spiritual Conditions

Healing justice encourages us to reconnect with our spiritual roots, honoring the traditions passed down by our ancestors. The spiritual wounds we feel as humans and communities are caused by colonization, capitalism, and systemic oppression. As we reclaim these practices, we not only heal ourselves but also work to heal the generational trauma caused by oppression. We are constantly reminded of the importance we hold in order to reconnect with the land, our ancestors, and each other. Elements such as Earth, Water, Fire, and Air can help guide us on this journey by intertwining with these natural forces  and spiritual connection can help  us balance and come back to an alignment with our bodies. In order to heal, we must allow ourselves to feel.

One way that I try to connect to my spiritual roots is through breathwork meditation. This practice allows me to stay present and understand where I am and what I have control over in the moment. I feel in most control when I can breathe at my own time. However, I don’t work on this practice unless I have the free time too. Being a college student can be anxiety-inducing by having to constantly look ahead at assignments, study for exams, and stay on top of my work schedule. It feels like I’m piecing together parts of myself that have been lost, and it's easier to do when I have more time on my hands. Healing is about reconnecting with old parts of myself that I have been disconnected from. 

Alchemy: Theory + Praxis

#6: Disability Justice

In Healing Justice, disability justice serves as a key reminder that all bodies, regardless of their abilities, are sacred and deserving of care, dignity, and respect. This framework pushes back against the harmful notion that disabled bodies need to be "fixed" to fit into a world built for able-bodied individuals. Rather than focusing on curing or correcting disabilities, disability justice celebrates the diversity of all bodies. The author discusses challenges that go hand and hand with changing societal structures, not in changing people.

Healing justice and disability justice intersect by advocating for access, interdependence, and the collective liberation for all people that have been affected by systematic practices. Disability justice urges the need to focus on dismantling the barriers, both physical and societal, that prevent disabled individuals from fully participating in life the ways that they want to. 

In my work with adults who have intellectual and physical disabilities, I see firsthand how essential disability justice is. The American Disabilities Act was established to protect the rights of people with disabilities and prohibit discrimination. This was a significant step that was taken in the right direction to advocate and protect disability rights. 

One lesson I’ve learned from the disability justice movement is the importance of interdependence. In a world that often values independence, disability justice teaches us the importance of community accountability. Through community accountability, people are given respect, support, and care through these communities. Community accountability shouldn’t be seen as a weakness, but a strength that brings people together. 

#7: Environmental Justice

This chapter discusses how environmental justice challenges us to recognize the impacts that colonization, capitalism, and racism have had on marginalized communities in the world. The exploitation of natural resources has had a major impact on communities' physical health and access to resources. There is so much conflict that has occurred due to the ignorance of rich companies exploiting natural resources by contaminating Indigenous communities' water sources making it unsafe for them to be able to even drink their own water.   Indigenous communities understand the land far better than large oil industrialization do. They know the importance of preserving the land and protecting the resources. They remind each other of the connection that we have to the Earth and that healing the land is essential in order for us to heal ourselves. This makes environmental justice inseparable from social and racial justice; it’s about protecting the rights of everyone, no matter what their  background is and that they have access to clean, safe environments.

Environmental justice reveals what can occur from the destruction of nature and the destruction of communities. The more I learn, the more I see how my own actions can contribute to either harm or healing. For me, I take responsibility for the small things I can control. One thing that I do to help the environment is by picking up trash that has been left behind. These negative impact that have been made towards Indigenous communities remind me that healing the planet is not just about discussing environmental issues but being able to confront the organizations and larger companies that have created this destruction towards the environment. 

#8: Harm Reduction

Harm reduction is a powerful approach that prioritizes compassion and meeting people where they are at.  Harm reduction challenges the belief that individuals must be given before they can receive any form of support or care. Harm reduction focuses its shift by giving everyone the support,safety, and respect they deserve regardless of what obstacles they are experiencing in life. 

In Healing Justice, harm reduction aligns closely with the principles of healing justice by acknowledging the ways in which people are impacted by systemic oppression. It recognizes many individuals who struggle with addiction and trauma. People end up in these  oppressive systems through poverty, racism, and barriers to healthcare. Harm reduction doesn’t just focus on minimizing the negative consequences of these behaviors, but its focus is on being able to provide supportive environments where people feel safe to heal. It is important to take into consideration how these systems are created, why they still exist, and what are effective interventions in order to focus on reducing harm in these systems. 

What resonates with me about harm reduction is its focus on non-judgmental care. It doesn’t demand people to fit into this certain expectation of how an individual should or shouldn’t be. It focuses on caring for the needs of individuals and providing them with the resources they need in the moment. People should feel supported regardless of where they are in their healing journey. Access to harm reduction gives people a sense of more control of their life. Everyone deserves to feel supported. 

Political + Spiritual Imperatives for the Future

#9: Our Land as Kin

In this chapter, Our Land as Kin, the authors’ discuss how we must view the land not as a resource to be exploited, but to be respected and cared for. Healing justice connects us to the Earth and reminds us that the fight for environmental and land sovereignty has a major impact in healing. The land holds the memories of those who have come before us, and by taking care of the land, we honor the legacy of those who fought for the land that we are on. We should treat the land the same as how we would honor and respect our own families. Colonization and capitalism have created a disruption and disconnection between the connection that we have towards land. The authors also discuss the importance of not owning the land or considering it to be one's own property, but as something that is collectively cared for. 

This chapter made me reflect on my own relationship with the land I live on, which I care for and feel deeply connected to, compared to others who may show little respect for it. I remember a specific experience in high school when I was with a boy who tossed his fast food trash out the car window. He justified it by saying that since the roads were already paved and nature was being destroyed, it didn’t matter if he littered. This moment opened my eyes to how environmental exploitation can shape people's attitudes toward the natural world, creating a disconnect from the land. The damage we inflict on the environment not only harms the Earth but also alters how we value it.

#10: What Are our Legacies of Sacrifice and Loss to Transform

This chapter allows us to reflect on the sacrifices and losses that have been made by those who came before us and how we can transform these legacies into something powerful. The struggles of our ancestors, whether in the fight for civil rights, labor movements, or against systemic oppression, are not just historical events and how they shape our present. The pain and suffering they endured were built on acts of love, protections, and resistance that helped pave a new foundation for future generations. One question I feel left with from this chapter is what are some ways that we can honor these sacrifices that have been made? 

This chapter makes me reflect and think about the effort and sacrifices that were made and how the future generations hold responsibility in maintaining these legacies. The sacrifices made by past generations are not just stories that are told to be remembered as a story, but they are reminders to understand why certain events had occurred and what their call to action was.  Their struggles remind us that the work for justice is ongoing and that. Reflecting doesn’t just involve its purpose of mourning for what has happened in the past. By acknowledging these legacies, we can confront the pain and loss that has shaped our history while choosing to build a future grounded in resilience and hope. We should not be defined by the trauma of past experiences that have caused pain and infliction onto people's lives, but by our ability to transform it into collective healing.

What is Healing Justice?

Healing Justice is a book that discusses the importance of self care and community healing. The book demonstrates to readers on how to heal from the physical and emotion wounds that have been inflicted through generations of trauma. The book also talks about the need to heal from oppressive systems and outlines steps we can take to support that healing process.

[janzenv]

Software Updates & Patch Management: Let Affinity Technology Handle the Technical Side 

Hey there, Newnan and Peachtree City business owners! Are you tired of juggling software updates and worrying about security patches? Do these technical tasks feel like a never-ending chore, stealing time away from what you really want to focus on - growing your business? Well, guess what? You don't have to handle it all yourself! Affinity Technology is here to take the technical burden off your shoulders with their expert software update and patch management services. 

Why Software Updates & Patches Matter (More Than You Might Think) 

You might be wondering, "Are software updates and patches really that important? Can't I just skip them and save some time?" While it might be tempting to hit the "remind me later" button, ignoring updates and patches is a risky move. Here's why: 

Security: Software vulnerabilities are like open doors for cybercriminals. Updates and patches fix these vulnerabilities, keeping your systems and data safe from hackers, malware, and other threats. 

Performance: Updates often include bug fixes and performance improvements, making your software run faster and smoother. 

Compatibility: New software versions may require updates to your existing software to ensure compatibility and avoid conflicts. 

Compliance: Many industries have regulations requiring businesses to keep their software up-to-date. Failing to do so could result in fines and penalties. 

The Challenges of DIY Software Update & Patch Management 

Managing software updates and patches in-house can be a real headache, especially for small businesses. Here are some of the common challenges: 

Time-Consuming: Tracking, testing, and deploying updates can take up a significant amount of time and resources. 

Complexity: Managing updates for multiple software applications and operating systems can be complex and confusing. 

Risk of Errors: One wrong move can lead to system crashes, data loss, or security breaches. 

Why Choose Affinity Technology for Software Update & Patch Management? 

Affinity Technology's expert team takes the hassle out of software updates and patch management. Here's how they can help your business: 

Comprehensive Management: They'll handle all aspects of software update and patch management, from tracking and testing to deployment and verification. 

Proactive Approach: Affinity Technology proactively monitors your software for available updates and patches, ensuring your systems are always up-to-date and secure. 

Automated Deployment: They use automated tools to streamline the update process, saving you time and minimizing disruptions to your business. 

Thorough Testing: Before deploying updates, Affinity Technology thoroughly tests them to ensure compatibility and avoid any potential issues. 

24/7 Monitoring: They continuously monitor your systems to ensure updates are installed correctly and any issues are promptly addressed. 

Expert Support: Their team of IT professionals is always available to answer your questions and provide support. 

The Newnan & Peachtree City Advantage 

Affinity Technology is deeply rooted in our local community. They understand the unique challenges and opportunities that businesses in Newnan and Peachtree City face. Their team of experts is dedicated to helping you leverage technology to achieve your goals and thrive in our local market. 

Benefits of Partnering with Affinity Technology 

Peace of Mind: Knowing your software is always up-to-date and secure gives you peace of mind to focus on your core business. 

Reduced Risk: Proactive patch management minimizes the risk of cyberattacks and system vulnerabilities. 

Improved Productivity: Up-to-date software runs more efficiently, improving your team's productivity. 

Cost Savings: Avoid costly downtime and data loss caused by outdated software. 

Expert Support: You have access to a team of IT professionals whenever you need them. 

Take the Hassle Out of Software Updates 

Don't let software updates and patch management bog you down. Let Affinity Technology handle the technical side, so you can focus on what you do best – running your business. Contact us today to learn more about our software update and patch management services. 

[regretthatsme]

Looney's Sister - Harry Potter x Fem!Lovegood!Reader

That's right bitches, bros, and nonbinary hoes. I'm back. I'm so happy that I finished a oneshot. AAAAAAHHHHHHHH! I'm sorry I've taken so long to post. But, it's here now!

Harry didn't know when his fondness for Luna's sister, Y/N, started. He just knew that he liked her a lot. They were quite good friends, actually. A few years ago, she saw him struggling with herbology, which just so happened to be Y/N's strong suit. It quite convenient honestly, especially when you consider the fact that Y/N was have issues in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

He knew from the start that his feelings for her were more than platonic. What he didn't expect was for him to fall so hard. But, how could he not when she was so perfect.

Her bubbly personality was so inviting and warm. Her eyes made e/c his favorite color. He adored her laugh; it sounded like a beautiful melody. Her smile was just as stunning.

Godric, I'm whipped, he thought. There was one issue, though. He couldn't for the life of him ask her out, ironic for a Gryffindor. What if she doesn't like me? How do I ask her out?

His mind would race into the late hours of the night, wondering how he would work up the courage to ask her out. He knew she wouldn't like something big and extravagant, for she had trouble processing lots of information at once, much like her sister. Her sister!

Harry wondered how he never thought of asking Luna before. I mean, their personalities mirrored each other almost perfectly. He quickly ran to the forbidden forest. Luna spent most of her time there.

"Hello, Harry." A dreamy voice called to him.

"Hello, Luna."

"Is there a reason you are here?"

"Umm... yeah." Harry's face became very hot suddenly, a stark contrast to the nippy weather that morning. "I-uh. I should probably come right out and say it, shouldn't I?"

"Yes, that would be most appreciated." Luna responded. Harry couldn't tell if she was sarcastic or not.

"I've fallen deeply in love with your sister, and I was wondering if you knew how I could ask her out."

Luna was clear shocked by this revelation. She thought for a few minutes before replying, "I appreciate your honesty, however I cannot say that I am too pleased with it."

Harry's face fell slightly. "What does that mean?"

"Harry, she's recently had her heart broken by another. I'm sorry, but I do not trust you with her love."

-*-*-*-

He knew he shouldn't be over thinking this. He knew that it was pointless. He knew it was only going to give him stress, but he couldn't stop as much as he tried. Who would dare hurt her? Her? The most caring, beautiful person in Hogwarts?

Needless to say, Harry's eyes were sporting some serious under eye bags the next morning.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Asked Hermione during breakfast, noting the discoloration under her friend's eyes.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"He was up late last night." Said his best friend and roommate, Ronald Weasley.

"No, I wasn't, Ron."

"Okay. Fine. You went to bed at a reasonable time." Ron said before turning to Hermione and mouthing No he didn't. Harry was about to retaliate before a small body sat down next to him. A dreamy voice rendered his speech effectively useless as a flush filled his cheeks.

"Hello Hermione, Ron. Good morning, Harry." She addressed each individually, as she always does. "How are we this morning?"

Ron smirked a small bit at his friend's face. "Oh, I'm splendid." He remarked, chuckling slightly at his friend's state. "What about you, Harry?"

Y/N seemed to perk up at the name. Her head turned to him, only now noticing the rosy hue on his cheeks. "Oh dear, you don't look so well." Her voice was distinctly quieter, almost as if she only wanted him to hear. Her hand slowly came up to feel his forehead. "You're absolutely scalding! And it's clear you haven't gotten any sleep."

She panicked slightly.

Ron tried to hold in a laugh. "Oh, yes. Harry was hacking and wheezing last night. It was horrible."

Harry's eyes were about the size of saucers. "What are you doing?" He whispered.

"Trust me." He mouthed back.

"He's in no shape to go to class. Someone must take care of him." Harry just realized what Ron was trying to do. Wanker.

"I would, but Hermione and I have a test first period." Hermione nodded too, quickly becoming aware of his scheme. "Looks like you're going to need to take care of him. I really wish I could help."

Y/N's eyes never left Harry's face. "Be sure to tell the teachers about Harry's predicament." She said as she dragged him out of the great hall, despite his protests. She knew the password was as she was a frequenter of the Gryffindor common room. He was led to his dorm and was forced onto the bed.

"Y/N, I'm gonna tell you one more time. I'm not-"

"Shhhhhh." She cut him off. "Harry, relax. I can't remember the last time you did." She did have a point. He couldn't remember the last time he had a stress free hour, much less day. "I'm going to go to the kitchen and whip up something. Get some rest, alright?" He nodded his head. His eyelids slowly fluttered and closed. He didn't really dream, but he felt a sort of presence. It felt like a giant hug.

He didn't know how long he had been asleep, but he woke to the sound of Y/N closing his bedroom door. "I made a soup with some clowort root mixed in. It should help with your symptoms." She said. "And, there is some water to wash it all down."

"You never cease to amaze me." He said rather bluntly in his sleepy delirium. He took a spoonful of the soup. It tasted quite like the food in the great hall, but there was something distinctly different from it. There was an unmistakable taste of... home. He quickly went for more.

"Slow down, Harry!" Y/N's volume raised ever so slightly. "Consuming large amounts of clowort root can lead to some unwanted side effects."

"Like what?"

She gestured for him to lead forward, as if telling him a secret. "People tend to make quite irrational decisions when copious amounts of clowort are in their system." She pulled back and gave a stern yet loving gaze.

"I don't know. I've eaten a decent amount and I don't feel a thing." He said indifferently. She simply rolled her eyes and looked away from him.

"Hey. I uh... I heard from Luna that you had some trouble with a boy and I'm here if you need to talk or anything." He knew that he probably shouldn't invite his crush to talk openly about a romantic partner she had, but he would listen to her talk about anything and everything just to hear her voice.

"Oh. It's nothing. Just a stupid fling that hadn't even lasted a month." Y/N said, her eyes becoming more solemn looking.

"It's just... if I had a girlfriend," especially one as perfect as you, "I would treat her better than that."

"I can see the brash decision making has already taken effect." Y/N jokes lightly, but only was laughing at it.

"I'm serious, you know." He said, grabbing her hand and lacing her fingers through his.

"Harry, you're not thinking straight-"

"Ever since we met each other and you helped me with your helped me with my homework. You were so kind."

"Harry, please don't-"

"I understand if you don't feel the same way, I wouldn't be so keen on falling in love someone who nearly dies every other weekend either, but I needed you to-"

"Harry." Her voice was ferm enough to cut off his incoherent ramblings. Her thumb brushed against the back of his hand. "You're not well. You're saying things you don't mean-"

"No, I'm not-"

"Harry, I can't have my heart broken again." Her eyes held a certain glossiness to it that he hadn't seen before. Her voice was almost breaking. "You are amazing and sweet and beautiful and... well, words can hardly describe how much I admire you. But," Her eyes darted around the room, trying to avoid eye contact. "You're just doing this because you're sick and under the influence. You don't mean it-"

"Yes, I do!" Harry giggled slightly. He was getting a bit frustrated at this point. "What do I have to do to prove it to you?"

She looked deep into his emerald eyes. They say eyes are the window to the soul, and they weren't lying. Every emotion, every thought running through his pretty head, everything could be seen in them. It was so intense, she could only make eye contact for a few seconds.

"Nothing." Y/N whispered. Harry's head snapped to her. "I believe you, Harry." They sat in silence for a while, processing the revelation that just took place. It was a bit awkward. Okay, very awkward. The apprehension of the unknown was creeping upon them. Now what? Where do we go from here?

Harry was the first to make a move. He held his arm out, inviting her join him on his, rather small in hindsight, bed. She happily accepted and curled into his side. She was practically on top of him due to the size of the bed, yet he couldn't be happier. Neither could she.

Bonus:

"HARRY JAMES POTTER, WHAT ON EARTH DO YOU THINK YOUR DOING?" Y/N was positive that Luna's cries could be heard throughout the entire castle.

"Luna, please calm down-" She tried to console.

"GET AWAY FROM MY SISTER!"

[brooklynmuseum]

How would you describe this person’s expression? What emotions do you associate with these colors? How do artists create works of art that empower people and imagine a more just future?

Let’s start by looking closely at how this woman is depicted. She is placed in the center of the painting, filling the majority of the space on the canvas. Her mouth is open as she speaks into the microphone she holds in her hand, and her eyes look left into the distance, somewhere beyond the frame. Her hairstyle radiates like a halo around her head. The bright, vibrant colors almost seem to pulse with energy, and the whole composition - from her central position, to the lines that lead from the bandolier-like trim of her jacket, to the vivid colors around her head - pulls the viewers’ eyes again and again towards her face.

The artist, Wadsworth A. Jarrell, incorporated various words throughout the painting; in fact, they actually make up the figure, her clothes, and her background as though they were tiles in a mosaic. Looking near the woman’s face we can see the words “Beautiful,” “Resist,” and “Seize the time;” near her head is the phrase “Get ready for revolution.” These are phrases of the Black Power Movement, which was thriving when this painting was created in 1971. The Black Power Movement sought to fight racial, economic, and political inequities experienced by African Americans, and to empower black communities in all facets of their lives. Jarrell belonged to a black artist collective known as AfriCOBRA (African Commune of Bad Relevant Artists), which sought to demonstrate the “expressive awesomeness that one experiences in African art and life in the U.S.A.” through the use of bright colors and inclusion of meaningful text. The artists in the collective were interested in shining a light on the richness and abundance of joy, beauty, and resilience of their communities.

Over the woman’s shoulders are the words: “I have given my life to the struggle. If I have to lose my life to the struggle that’s the way it will have to be.”  These words were spoken by the subject of the painting herself, Angela Davis. Davis is a professor, activist, and prominent member of the Black Power Movement. At the time of this painting, Davis was fleeing a warrant for her arrest in connection with the murder of a prison guard - an accusation of which she was later found not guilty. In an interview, Wadsworth Jarrell stated that, when painting public figures like Angela Davis, he “presented their positive strength as leaders. During the 1960s, most African American artists rooted their art in the European aesthetics taught them in art schools. In AfriCOBRA we were more interested in developing an aesthetic rooted in African American and African cultures - a new language, which we called an African American or Black aesthetic. Ours was art for the people.” Looking at the painting, how do you think the “positive strength” of Angela Davis has been communicated? What tools has the artist employed? How does this change the way you see the painting?

Davis remains an active advocate of racial, gender, and economic justice. In 2016, she was asked by an interviewer, “Is the struggle endless?”  Davis responded: “I would say that as our struggles mature, they produce new ideas, new issues, and new terrains on which we engage in the quest for freedom. Like Nelson Mandela, we must be willing to embrace the long walk toward freedom.” 

Black lives matter. The lives of Black people deserve to be held sacred and to be protected; Black people deserve to be free of violence. The experiences of Black people need to be heard and believed. We live in a country where this is not the case and has never been the case, and it is the responsibility of those of us who continue to benefit from systems of white supremacy to engage in the work of taking those systems apart and joining in the radical reimagining of what society can and should be. It is and will be an ongoing process; it is work that may never be "finished" and it is work that cannot be allowed to fall to the wayside when the news and social media feeds have focused attention elsewhere. For me, it means understanding my own positionality, how I can contribute to the work of people who know much more than me, and how I can listen to others more deeply. As a white, cisgender woman I struggle with how I can be a part of that long walk to freedom, and how I can be an ally and an advocate while amplifying the voices of people of color. Jarrell’s painting of Angela Davis reminds me to consider whose voices I listen to, when I listen to them, and how I listen to them. In a similar way, this painting asks those questions of artists and institutions as well. How can artists use their voices to empower and imagine a more just world today? How can art, artists, and art institutions be used as positive vehicles for moving our communities and our nation to a place of greater equity? Join us in the comments below to continue the conversation.

Posted by Christina Marinelli  Wadsworth A. Jarrell (American, born 1929). Revolutionary (Angela Davis), 1971. Acrylic and mixed media on canvas, 64 x 51 in. (162.6 x 129.5 cm). Brooklyn Museum, Gift of R.M. Atwater, Anna Wolfrom Dove, Alice Fiebiger, Joseph Fiebiger, Belle Campbell Harriss, and Emma L. Hyde, by exchange, Designated Purchase Fund, Mary Smith Dorward Fund, Dick S. Ramsay Fund, and Carll H. de Silver Fund, 2012.80.18. © artist or artist's estate

[autisticandroids]

hey so you know how you said a while back that cas doesnt really have a moc/demon dean or soulless Sam equivalent but if he did he would act the same bc hes horny and loves dean?? I agree and he would just do it WAY more unabashedly. my question is, in the version of spn where the writers are smarter AND more homophobic, how would they justify cas's actions? bc they cant use the cloak of humanity bc cas doesnt give a FUCK about humanity. so what would they do

okay the thing is that cas doesn't have a demon dean/soulless sam style arc because it wouldn't... do anything? the thing about cas is that he doesn't have inhibitions in the traditional sense. like he doesn't... feel the eyes of god or society watching him.

i had a long conversation with @pietacastiel the other day about whether cas has the capacity for "should" - and he really just... doesn't. there are two things that stand in for "should" for cas - one, "if i do this, [insert other person (usually dean but not always)] will like me," and two, "[insert person who i trust and obey] has told me to do this, and i will obey their command blindly because i am a good boy."

like, basically, number one is an essentially machiavellian calculation. he's trying to be someone that other people want around, so he makes himself useful to them or enjoyable to be around or likeable or what have you. it's entirely self-serving and probably wouldn't change if you took away his inhibitions or his empathy or his conscience or whatever.

number two is like... it's too intellectual to count as inhibitions, exactly - it's explicit rules that he has set down for himself, without internalizing. to give an example, cas knows that he's not supposed to watch porn in a room full of dudes, and he's not supposed to talk about it, but he will never understand WHY those things are true. he will just obey those commands.

in terms of other ethical behavior that cas demonstrates... the thing about cas is that he's just a nice person? he's highly empathetic, he likes to make other people happy, he likes to be friends, he's a sweetheart. he genuinely wants the best for people. he particularly wants the best for his nearest and dearest. this is what's going on when he heals babies, or decides that he's not gonna kill kelly, or sacrifices his life for dean. he is fundamentally doing what he wants. he wants dean to be alive more than he wants to not be dead, you know?

this is actually one of the things that makes cas so dangerous: empathy is fickle. if the only thing that's standing between you and murdering somebody is you liking that somebody and wanting to be their friend, you might murder them once they piss you off. or once something comes up that makes them being dead more valuable to you than you being their friend. and this is why cas is kind of a terrible person! this is why he's constantly doing war crimes. he doesn't really have a system of ethics.

now, here's the thing: cas does carry around a lot of guilt, but it's deeply ineffectual. it doesn't really change his behavior towards other people. it only really does two things: first of all, it convinces him that other people hate him and don't want him around. this intensifies his desperate need to be liked, and therefore his trying to be liked, but isn't the root of it. second of all, it makes him punish himself, stuff like trying to stay in purgatory.

now, if we did a demon dean/soulless sam situation on cas... what would that look like?

well, he would certainly lose all that guilt he's carrying around, but how would that affect his behavior? the main two effects, i think, would be to make him more confident and therefore bolder in terms of trying to be liked, and make him stop punishing himself/deciding that he deserves bad things.

the confidence boost might lead to him, say, throwing himself at dean a bit more than he does, but i don't think the change would be radical. i think it would just be kicked up a notch. but it's an issue of rational judgement more than inhibitions so i think he would stay basically the same. now, cas' judgement isn't the best, and in the context of relationships at least, if nowhere else, his guilt complex does semi-effectively combat his natural tendency towards total overconfidence, so it might have some serious effect, but i still argue it's rather a matter of degrees.

and him not punishing himself so much might lead to him doing things like getting more mad when dean treats him poorly, but not that much more, because fundamentally the reason cas doesn't get mad when dean treats him badly isn't because he thinks he deserves it - he does think that, but mostly he's just scared that if he gets mad or sets boundaries dean won't like him anymore. again, it's a matter of judgement. he's probably less scared that dean won't like him anymore if he sets boundaries because the elimination of the guilt complex makes him less convinced that everyone hates him, but the anxiety is still there - it's just less intense.

in terms of cas' other sources of ethics and inhibitions - wanting to be liked, obedience, empathy - these would be affected differently if he was like soulless sam and if he was like demon dean.

if cas lost his inhibitions the way soulless sam did... he wouldn't change that much, at least in terms of his personal relationships. he would lose his capacity for empathy, which means that he would be more likely to be a dick to randos on the street, or commit war crimes, but it wouldn't really change how he conducts his relationships, because the inhibitions he holds in relationships are intellectual, they're a matter of judgement anyhow. honestly i think he might still, for example, happily die for dean, if we're arguing that soullessness comes from a lack of empathy or conscience rather than a lack of all emotion, because his desire for dean to be alive is entirely selfish. he likes the world more with dean in it and that's that. so i think soulless cas would be more likely to be a dick behind the scenes - maybe pull some godstiel arc ass shit again - but it wouldn't necessarily change his treatment of those closest to him that much.

now, a demon dean style loss of inhibitions would look different, because demon dean's basic emotions weren't dampened - he was made more selfish and hedonistic and rebellious, and didn't care about other people. interestingly, demon dean didn't seem to lose his capacity for empathy - remember in black when he punched that guy who was abusive to that girl? he didn't do that because it was the right thing to do - he did it because it felt good, because he empathized with her situation and it gave him a rush to get her out of it. so a demonized cas' empathy is intact. but his "shoulds" - those are all out of whack. he's actively rebelling against them. obviously he would simply no longer obey the ones that are like, "follow this rule and you will never know why." but he would also stop trying to be liked. i think demon cas might in fact tell dean that he's been in love with him for years - while screaming an itemized list of every fucked up thing dean has ever done to cas in his face, and telling him to never speak to him again. hell, we've seen cas throw a temper tantrum like this before - "you're not my family, dean, i have no family" in the man who knew to much. demon cas would be like that except without it then causing him to have an immediate mental breakdown.

i would argue, however, that cas has had his own loss of inhibitions comparable to demon dean and soulless sam - crazy cas. it even follows the alliteration pattern, heh. this is because cas' inhibitions are far more in his brain than his heart, and to get rid of them you need to impair his judgement, not fuck with his feelings. like, his shoulds are entirely intellectual. i want to be liked, therefore i should do this, which will effectively cause other people to like me. i want to be a good boy for god/dean, therefore i will obey this rule they gave me. if you fuck with cas' judgement, you fuck with those inhibitions. so arguably crazy cas is cas' equivalent to demon dean and soulless sam.

anyway, to answer your question, i feel like soulless cas wouldn't necessarily need a cover, like, he might, oh, i don't know, covertly arrange more opportunities to be alone with dean or stuff like that, but he's not going to try and sleep with him because he still has most of his inhibitions in tact. demon cas they might have to admit is in love with dean and then kill, because i think demon cas would probably kiss dean and then punch him and leave. you know. and crazy cas we saw in canon.

[kemetic-dreams]

A TRADITIONAL AFRICAN SHAMAN EXPLAINS WHY PILLS CAN NEVER CURE DEPRESSION OR PTSD

There is no way of knowing the full impact that depression, anxiety and PTSD have on our society and culture, but we do know that the prescribed solution of pharmaceuticals is not working to alleviate this problem.

The first antidepressant drug, an MOAI inhibitor, was developed in the 1950’s and originally used in the treatment of tuberculosis. In the 19080’s, the first SSRI inhibitor was developed, and today there are now 5 classes of antidepressants, which includes at least 32 different brand name drugs

More Americans than ever take antidepressants and anti-anxiety medications, and according to a recent study, some 86% of people today will have met the criteria for at least two psychiatric diagnoses by the time they reach 45.

More drugs, more diagnoses, and more people dependent on doctors, pharmacies and pills. Something is not working.

Contrast this paradigm with traditional shamanism, in which shamans, working as healers, use plant medicines to diagnose the spiritual health of a person, and heal them permanently with ancient methods that still baffle modern science.

Of the shamanic plant medicines, iboga is particularly powerful at helping people to overcome PTSD, depression and anxiety. Its efficacy cannot be explained in scientific terms, which reduces chronic emotional and mental health issues down to brain chemistry, looking at the human being as a machine, then intervenes with chemicals.

This is categorically different than the work of shamanism, which generally views such mental health conditions as spiritual matters, and seeks to repair a person’s spirit from within.

Traditional African shaman Moughenda Mikala points out in a recent interview, pills simply cannot address the root causes of such problems.

“When we are talking about trauma, depression, and PTSD, they are not physical. Now days people need to think further… to understand that anything that is not physical is difficult… someone has to know where to look.” ~Moughenda Mikala, Bwiti Life

As a 10th generation Bwiti shaman working with an ancient plant medicine, Mikala uses traditional shamanic methods to assess and heal people on a spiritual level, which addresses the roots of mental health problems rather than attempting only to manage the symptoms of such disorders.

“The way I handle these issues, or with my guests coming to me, I don’t focus on the physical level, because trauma… mainly affects the mind, and that’s what we’re talking about, the mind being a spiritual issue. So, the way I address that, I will launch someone on a psycho-spiritual journey… and before the spycho-spiritual journey, I will launch them on a psycho-detox.”

Mikala is referring to ceremonies, in which participants ingest the alkaloid rich root bark of the iboga shrub, which triggers a body trance and sets off an inward psychological journey. The psycho-detox is very common with first-time Western participants, and typically causes the participant to enter a foggy, trance-like state for hours where they begin to see from within the workings of their mind, including thought patterns and belief systems.

The psycho-spiritual journey Mikala mentions is a second experience with iboga, in which after detoxifying the mind in a first ceremony, the participant typically is launched into a surreal journey into the subconscious mind and is able to clearly review one’s life and make a direct, impressionable connection to their own soul.

It is this experience which Mikala says heals the wounds that cause depression, anxiety and PTSD.

He notes:

“The psycho-detox is kind of addressing the mind, and to detox the mind that means we reach a level to empty all of this trauma… it could be stress or any other forced beliefs… the garbage. And then, we have to take that person back to the very first day when that trauma started. It’s what I call a life-review… you don’t just do that from the mind, you have to actually go there live to the first day where everything started. It could be a rape… and a lot of women are still suffering from it. And the problem is they’ve been running from the pain, the fear, the everything.” ~ Moughenda Mikala

Because the trauma that leads to PTSD and depression lives within the mind, potentially for one’s entire life, the images and memories of traumatic experiences, like combat, are revisited over and again by the mind.

Pharmaceutical pills only cover up these images, causing people to lose everything, including joy and possibly life itself.

“So healing someone from trauma, PTSD or depression, there’s only one way. That is the traditional way. We have the best way to heal the mind. No pills. Pills won’t heal any mind, I don’t care how many years you’re going to be taking those pills, they won’t heal you, because not a single pill will be able to take you to a spiritual trip where you meet your soul face-to-face and have a long conversation with it.” ~Moughenda Mikala

Mikala further explains that this experience helps people to recognize what it is that caused their trauma and allows them to look at it up close and accept it as part of their lives, and then move on.

Having personally experienced this, and personally knowing Moughenda, I can say that the experience of iboga, when conducted ceremonially with properly trained healers and facilitators, is exceptionally extraordinary and leaves a lasting impression which, over time, continues to positively influence mental and spiritual health.

About the Author

Dylan Charles is the editor of Waking Times and host of Battered Souls: A Podcast About Transformation, both dedicated to ideas of personal transformation, societal awakening, and planetary renewal. His personal journey is deeply inspired by shamanic plant medicines and the arts of Kung Fu, Qi Gong and Yoga. After seven years of living in Costa Rica, he now lives in the Blue Ridge Mountains, where he practices Brazilian Jiu Jitsu and enjoys spending time with family. He has written hundreds of articles, reaching and inspiring millions of people around the world.

This article (A Traditional African Shaman Explains Why Pills Can Never Cure Depression or PTSD) was originally created and published by Waking Times and is published here under a Creative Commons license with attribution to Dylan Charles and WakingTimes.com. It may be re-posted freely with proper attribution, author bio, and this copyright statement.

[orbitariums]

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐭 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 (𝟏𝟒)

omg! this chapter is a bit shorter than most and it’s lowkey a filler kinda sorta i just wanted to show them hanging out together and show their lives 

next chapter is gonna be the same format but with a lil spice...

warnings: some smut, fluff an’ sweet domesticity :’)

word count: 6.1k

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧: 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐭 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬

     You screamed so loud that Steve poked his head out from the bathroom where he was brushing his teeth to check on you in the living room, where you were cooped up on the couch with your iPad, your eyes glued to the screen. 

     “You okay?” Steve asked through a mouthful of toothpaste, eyebrows furrowed in concern. 

     He was pleasantly surprised when you turned to face him and you were positively beaming, baring your glistening teeth in a wide smile, your eyes glittering. 

      “I keep getting orders!” you exclaimed, referring to your all new clothing store brand that you had in the works earlier that summer. Recently, it had been taking off just how you wanted. 

     Steve discarded his toothbrush and bounded over to you, making you drop your iPad on the couch as he scooped you up effortlessly, hugging you tight. You squealed with happiness, wrapping your legs around Steve’s waist. He was such a serious guy, it was nice when he made such a grand, intimate gesture like this towards you. He smothered your face and cheeks with kisses, leaving the last smooch on your forehead. 

      “I’m so happy for you, doll,” he grinned, his eyes glimmering just like yours. 

The way Steve’s excitement matched yours just reminded you that he was rooting for you— he was on your side, which felt so rare for you. Steve was a rare treasure in your life, and you still couldn’t wrap your mind around how you’d found him. 

You giggled, giddy with excitement,

     “I’m so glad I have you to celebrate this with.”

     “Who would I be if I wasn’t your hype man?” Steve asked, looking directly into your eyes with a smile on his lips. 

     “Steve, you are literally my best friend,” you grinned, your heart swelling by how taken aback you were with how deeply he expressed his love. “Now time for me to call my other bestie.”

Steve grinned,

     “Does that mean I have to put you down?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes playfully, 

     “I mean, if you wanna give it away…”

     “Noted,” Steve rescinded, setting you down on the floor before him where you returned to your favorite place— right under Steve, with him hovering over you and keeping you safe. 

He kissed you sweetly on the lips before leaving you to call Aaliyah on the couch. 

     “Hey best friend,” she answered the phone with a trill.

     “Hi girlie,” you grinned, absolutely shining.

     “Ooh, someone’s in a good mood! What happened?!” Aaliyah straightened herself up in her bed, all ears. 

     “Your girl keeps making sales,” you glanced away from the camera as if it were no big deal to you, only to return with a big grin on your face.

     “Okay work!” Aaliyah practically screeched, jumping out of her bed. “Girl, you need to come back soon so we can get drunk drunk. Like, drunk. Just for you.”

     “I’ll be back, try not to miss me too much.”

     “You seem to be having the time of your life, though, girl. I’m honestly kinda surprised. But like, pleasantly surprised,” Aaliyah commented— if only she knew. 

She still thought you were spending your time in New York with family, she didn’t have a clue about Steve. You didn’t want to have to lie to her, but you knew it was the smart decision for now. Besides, it wasn’t like you were ridden with guilt— if anything, Aaliyah would understand your reasoning. 

     “I know, New York really is where dreams come true,” you noted sarcastically, earning a quiet chuckle from Steve in the kitchen. 

     “Okay, city girl. Just don’t forget where you came from,” Aaliyah smirked playfully. “For real though, I’m so proud of you.”

     “Thank you, my love. I  miss you.”

     “Me too, girl.”

     “So what have you been up to?”

     For a few hours, you and Aaliyah caught up over Facetime. She filled you in on what you’d been missing at home, and how summer and school was going for her, since she was trying to get into med school now. In truth, it wasn’t like there was much to catch up on, since it had only been a week since you’d been apart, you just loved each other that much. You had to hang up when you saw the time, since you had a date with Steve at the museum. You were glad that he seemed to be getting more comfortable taking you to the more public places, even if it meant you both had to be discreet. But that wasn’t hard, you were so comfortable with each other that you didn’t bother much with other people, and others didn’t bother too much with you. You were too preoccupied with each other to even notice much of anything else.

    You still didn’t understand how it wasn’t obvious that Steve was Captain America even when he was in his trusty disguise of glasses and a cap, considering how massive he was. You’d even noticed people staring in a mix of wonderment and desire when you were out with him, because he was quite the specimen. You never really got jealous, but you always found yourself gripping his hand tighter when that happened. Of course, he never paid other people much mind. 

    “You ready?” Steve asked, his back facing you as he heard you come out of the bedroom. 

    “Think so,” you chimed happily. 

     Steve turned around at the sound of your voice and immediately felt his heart drop to his stomach. He paused, unsure of what to even say. You were wearing a cream colored silk mini-dress, a gold plated necklace with earrings to match, along with heels. You were positively dazzling, even beyond your outfit— Steve truly thought you looked good all the time, but when you dressed up, you dressed up. 

     “Wow,” he breathed, truly at a loss for words, his eyes raking up and down your body. He was truly amazed by your presence— just being here made him feel like he was in the presence of a goddess. If you thought you were confused by how you’d won someone like him, you’d be knocked out by Steve’s disbelief. 

     You felt your cheeks grow warm at the way Steve was silently worshipping you. He looked so innocent, standing there wide-eyed in awe. It was almost as if he hadn’t seen every single part of you, as if you didn’t realize that his eyes were on you almost all the time— well, the latter was true. He never got tired of your beauty. You were truly timeless. But eventually, you laughed, shaking your head and stepping forward and taking his hands in your own. 

     “Close your mouth, you’ll catch flies,” you joked with him, reaching in to kiss his lips. 

     “You look incredible. When don’t you?” he smiled, looking you up and down once again. He gestured to your neck, furrowing his brows. “Where’d you get that necklace?”

     “This one?” you looked down, then back up, shrugging. “Think I made it.”

     “Of course you did,” Steve shook his head, chuckling under his breath. “Gorgeous and talented. How could I not guess that?”

     “You’re so corny, Steve,” you snorted, pressing your hand against his chest. “I love it.”

He smoothly maneuvered his arm around your waist so you were close to him, leading you out the door.

     “Shall we?” he pulled you close to him. 

      When you got to the museum, you both were glad to see that it wasn’t crowded, but not unnaturally empty. It almost felt like your circumstances were normal, and that felt nice and unique from your usual system. Steve never made it feel like the two of you had to be in hiding, but the illusion that the precautions weren’t so necessary here felt nice. Of course, it was only an illusion. 

       You were both always careful, but you were too enamoured by one another to let the issue of privacy stress you the way it did before. Steve’s previous anxiety surrounding keeping you both safe and secret had improved so much ever since you actually came around and lit up his life. He almost wished he had realized how much of a good thing this was sooner, then he would’ve had you right next to him ages ago. 

        The way Steve held your hand when you stepped out the car and all the way into the museum admittedly had you feeling incredibly special. He had you on his arm, but the way you were shining made it so clear that you were one of a kind, in a league of your own. You just happened to complement each other nicely, even perfectly. That was rare for even the closest of couples, so you were eternally grateful. You matched each other like chocolate and vanilla ice cream, explicitly sweet. You weren’t unaware of the eyes on the both of you as you strode through the museum— hell, together, the two of you looked like Greek gods, one beautiful inside and out, the other gracious, hulking, and strong. You might as well have been reincarnations of Aphrodite and Ares. 

     You had never been in this museum before, it was called MoMa, short for The Museum of Modern Art. Truthfully, you didn’t spend much time in museums back home. You were much more of an outdoors kind of gal, but you enjoyed being in this museum with Steve almost as much as you did day drinking at an outdoor cafe. The museum was undoubtedly fancy and sophisticated, making you feel right at home while you were all dressed up and always, always carrying yourself with poise. 

Steve felt lucky just to be standing beside you, and the two of you enjoyed your time together drifting through the museum, fixating on one work of art from the next, taking your time and staying close together. 

     “Isn’t that you?” Steve joked, pointing to a marble statue of a beautiful woman who actually did look a bit like you. 

     “You’re too charming,” you snickered, squeezing his side. 

He reached over and kissed your forehead, 

      “I know a work of art when I see it.”

You pushed your head up so you could reach his lips, pressing a kiss on his mouth, closing your eyes and shutting out the dim light of the museum for just a second, so you could get lost in him. When you opened your eyes, you and Steve made direct eye contact, gazing in each other’s eyes as if you were the only two in the room. Steve almost seemed to stand completely still, lost in the way your eyes glimmered like the water you spent so much time around back home. You knew you had him right where you wanted, and you gave his arm a squeeze as you bit down on your lip, hiding an impish smile. 

      “Come on,” you nodded towards the exit, gripping his hand and making your way towards the exit.

It was almost like you were lugging Steve behind you, the way he was following your lead like a helpless puppy. You had to fight the urge to cackle at how quickly he melted for you, just from a single kiss. Not only was he touch starved, but he was infatuated with you. That made matters even worse. Steve was a man with honorable impulse control, but when it came to you, looking so beautiful, kissing him so soft and sweet just how he liked, “control” was out of the picture. And now that you were leaving, it was clear what you were both getting yourselves into. 

You got into the car, eagerly settling into the backseat. Steve, on the other hand, rushed into the driver’s seat and was about to start the car when you asked,

      “What are you doing?”

Steve’s head nearly whipped back to look at you, and he furrowed his eyebrows. 

     “We’re gonna leave, right?” 

You just stared at him for a moment, judgment plastered on your face. You blinked,

     “It takes like thirty minutes to get home.”

Steve made a face, his eyebrow quirked up in confusion,

      “You don’t wanna go home?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile that was tugging at your lips,

      “Can you just come to the back?”

He swiftly climbed into the back seat and you chuckled,

     “You’re so silly, old man.” 

     “‘S been a while,” he grunted. 

Your eyes flitted up and down his face, and then met his eyes. 

       “Need you. Now,” was all you said in a voice so quiet that it was like you were telling him a secret.

You made eye contact with Steve once more and he understood, Steve barely even had the chance to speak before you were scrambling on top of him, pressing your lips harshly against his and opening your mouth, Steve following your lead and doing the same, your tongues in each other’s mouths as you kissed. It was less like kissing and more like you were trying to compete to see how long you could hold your breaths, moaning repeatedly into each other’s mouths and only consuming oxygen through heavy pants. It was like you forgot you needed to operate normally, the way you were rubbing frantically against each other and abusing your limited backseat space. Your dress was jammed against your legs because you hadn’t pulled it up properly, and your knees were knocking against the inside of the car.

     “I wanna fuck,” you pulled away from his lips, only for him to pout at the lack of contact, resolving to kiss your neck instead, making your skin burn hot on the space where his lips were. You gasped from the unexpected feeling, Steve sucking at all the right spots on your body. He had you all figured out, from the first moment you got intimate with each other. But you didn’t get distracted from your main objective, pushing him away so you could focus, his chest heaving up and down below you. “Right now.”

Steve raised his brows. His face, already a flushed shade of pink from the abundance of physical proximity, darkened to a deep red. 

     “You… you want me here? Right-right now?”

     Your jaw clenched. Just by looking into your eyes, which had darkened like a stormy, grey sky, Steve could see just how serious you were. You were determined you were to get what you wanted, and who was he to get in the way of your needs? Of course, he wasn’t quite thinking logically, but there wasn’t enough room for logic when you were smothering him like this in the car, no matter how spacious it was. 

You nodded almost solemnly. You were like a cat in heat right now. If a switch had turned on in Steve earlier, then right now, a big red button was being pressed inside of you, only it meant “go.” 

     “Yes. Please don’t make me wait, daddy,” you purred, putting on your best angel face, and something stirred deep inside of Steve when you called him that, when you looked at him like that. 

His voice went soft and he nearly cooed at you,

     “‘M not gonna make you wait… it’s just…”

     “No one’s gonna see us,” you leaned in to kiss him again, and pulled away before he could deepen the kiss the way he wanted to, leaving him to pull desperately at your waist. “We’re parked far away from everyone else, see? And it-it’s dark!”

Steve smirked at your frenzied reply, consisting of one excuse after the other,

      “You really need this right now, hmm?”

      “Don’t get cocky. You need this more than I do,” you bit back snarkily, grinding against his very apparent erection, which throbbed against your center. You bit down on your lip, failing to conceal a devious smirk. “See?”

      “Yeah, I-I see,” Steve groaned, glancing down at where your bodies met in the middle, wishing you would take your dress off now. He regained his composure to ask you this one question. “Why so sudden?”

You growled, eager to get past the niceties of fucking,

      “Because. Now shut up so I can do my job.”

      “Oh wow,” Steve chuckled, raising his brows like he was impressed. “You’re very dedicated to-”

You weren’t kidding.

       “Stop talking,” you said, putting your hand over his mouth. 

      He looked up at you, all the amusement drained from his eyes, replaced by desire and awe. He felt inclined to listen to you, amazed by the new side of you that was coming out all of the sudden. It wasn’t like he always dominated you, and it was obvious that you had Steve wrapped around your finger. But this… this was different.

You kissed him furiously, grinding against him with expertise, making him arch his hips up just to meet you halfway, but you weren’t letting him give in to the pleasure fully yet. You didn’t have time to waste, and yet you had all the time in the world.

You let the tip of your tongue slide against his, then your tongue trailed against his open lips, making him let out a low pitched groan, his eyes half lidded at the soft but prominent sensation. You wanted to make this quick, but every part of you was savoring the moment. It had been a while since you’d done anything so thrilling in public, even if you were sure no one could see you. 

      Steve’s hand snaked its way up your dress, wasting no time. It took him a minute to catch on in the beginning, but now that he had, he was right where you needed him to be. He went to push your underwear to the side and the look on his face was priceless when he realized you weren’t wearing any. He was pleased that you were even more accessible, but at the same time he was shocked. He hadn’t been expecting it. 

      “You aren’t wearing anything under that?” he asked breathlessly, his fingers circling your clit immediately, the pad of another finger dipping into your slit with ease because you were already soaking. “Fuck, you’re already wet.”

He started pumping a finger in and out of you, hitting a perfect spot and brushing up against your walls just right. You moaned and rode his fingers, hips thrusting up in the air as you threw your head back. 

     “Baby,” you panted after some time. “Take your pants off.”

You watched as he hurried to follow your commands, his pants and boxers pooling at his knees as he sat there with his dick erect against his stomach, both of you hot and restless. You practically lunged forward, grinding against him while he worked to unzip your dress, pulling it over your head. The whole event was a mess of clothes being flung everywhere, your bodies knocking into each other and the car seats. It was a blur, really, and you remember crying out when you first sunk onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck and taking him smoothly, slowly, as he watched you with his mouth dropped in an o shape and his eyes glazed over. 

     “Fuck,” you whined, taking his length. It was one thing to be beneath him, it was another thing to be on top and be stretched out like never before. It was like a completely different feel and a completely different angle, and still perfect nonetheless. “You feel so good baby, look at me.”

     You forced Steve to look up at you, perking his chin up with your finger. He was shuddering, his thighs shaking each time you sunk down onto him. You were practically riding him into submission, and the thought made you smirk. 

      “You like this?” you cooed. “You like when I ride you?”

He nodded quickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed. 

     “Say it,” you demanded, inching your hand up his chest and settling your palm around his throat. 

His hips bucked up inadvertently, and he groaned,

     “Y-yes baby, I could fuck you like this forever.”

     “Yeah, I bet you could,” you crooned, letting your finger trail along his face, your nail tickling his cheek. 

     As you got used to taking him, you began to ride him like a pro, the movement of your hips syncing with his effortlessly, bouncing up and down and grinding on him all at once. No matter what you did, the feeling was unbeatable for the both of you, and you couldn’t get enough. On top of that, you had clearly taken charge tonight. Steve was enamoured by you, goddess that you were, and he wanted you on top a lot more now.

     Granted, it was the first time, but he only wished it could’ve happened sooner, because then he could cherish this feeling earlier. You took the lead with such ease, because you knew what you were doing and that was clear. Your sex appeal radiated off of you without you even having to try, and your confidence was just the cherry on top. Steve could tell you were enjoying yourself, shamelessly eating up his submission. You were being greedy, reckless. He wanted more and more. 

      Your movements were graceful and easy, your back arched to get that crucial spot for the two of you, arms wrapped lazily around his neck as you rode him like the perfect wave. He obeyed immediately when you told him to keep his previously wandering hands on your waist, watching in amazement as you led him, the captain. 

     You lowered your head down to his, pressing your forehead against his as you began to moan, and he could tell you were about to come by the way you squeezed around him. When you did, it was like an explosion. You nearly screamed into his ear, but instead bit down on his neck, leaving a bite that was sure to bruise. You kept riding him while you were coming, anyway, telling him to come with you and triggering his own orgasm, letting him fill you up with his cum. For a while, the two of you just sat there, Steve still inside of you, his head knocking against your chest, while you wrapped your arms around him. 

❊

     “I’m putting a looot of trust into you right now, you know that?” you pulled your shirt off, stretching your arms up above your head. 

Steve laughed, shaking his head,

     “No pressure.”

     “I’m absolutely joking,” you leaned forward to give him a kiss while cupping his face, lingering at his lips for a few seconds with a soft smile before you pulled away. “I know it’ll turn out amazing. But I can’t stay still for too long.”

     “It won’t take more than an hour, I promise,” Steve put his pinky out in front of him and you rolled your eyes before interlacing your pinky with his. 

     “As long as I’m with you, I don’t mind.”

     “Okay. Your bra is real pretty, but that has to go, too,” Steve said, gesturing to your pink lace bra.

      “Can you take it off me, please?” you smiled innocently, but Steve just stared you down. 

     “If I do that, you’re gonna try to distract me,” he stood his ground, and you chortled, cupping his face in your hands as you leaned forward, 

     “Steve, I would never. I understand the importance of the artist’s process. Here, I’ll even turn around.”

You turned so your back was facing Steve, your shoulders relaxing when you felt his big hands brushing against your skin, undoing your bra. You felt his bare hands roam up the expanse of your back and rolled your shoulders back into the all encompassing touch. 

     “Just trying to understand my canvas,” Steve muttered, his broad hands cupping your shoulders like he was giving you a massage. 

You sighed, rolling back your neck until you could see a glimpse of him, a slight smile on your face. You crossed your arms over your chest to cover your breasts, making an X shape with your arms. 

     “I’m sure,” you replied, and he lurched forward to plant a kiss on your lips before leaning back, gesturing for you to lie down. 

     You lay down on your front side, your back fully exposed to Steve. Rays of light splashed against your back and shone in Steve’s softened face. You could hear him cleaning his paintbrushes in the mason jar of water that was balancing on the bed sheets, the brush clanking against the rim of the jar and the water sloshing around with the bristles. Your days with Steve were growing more and more intimate as the time passed on. 

     Steve had finally given in to your pleas that he draw more, but he took it a step further and decided he would paint instead, using you as a canvas. Steve caught on fast, and you loved that about him. Whatever you wanted to do, he was down, and he would go that extra mile because he wanted to, not because he didn’t feel like he had an option. 

     You tapped your feet against the bed sheets to the rhythm of the Jhene Aiko song playing in the background, and grinned to yourself when you heard Steve humming along. You put him onto so much that he didn’t even realize the things he was picking up from you along the way. 

     “Alright,” Steve grinned in satisfaction, dipping his brush into the selection of paints on his easel. “You ready?”

You gave him a thumbs up, giddy with excitement. Steve had to gently touch your ankles to remind you to stop shaking, and you uttered a giggly apology while he shook his head playfully. 

     “Never had such a difficult canvas,” Steve straddled the back of your legs as you lay still below him. 

     “Shut up,” you chuckled, cutting yourself off with a gasp when you felt the cool paint against your back. “Shit, that’s cold as fuck!”

     “Language,” Steve smirked, and you barked a bitter laugh. 

     “This is coming from the man who was describing the ways he wanted to deflower my body in obscene depth this morning,” you clapped back at him, and he opened his mouth to reply, only to recede with a resigning sigh. Noting his silence, you simpered. “I win.”

     “Just remember I am the one with total control over your body right now. One misstroke and this painting goes from Mona Lisa quality to absolute shit,” Steve reminded you, waving a finger in the air. 

      “Mona Lisa? Someone thinks real highly of themselves,” you poked fun at him as he continued to layer paint on your back to create a light blue base. “Besides, paint washes off.”

      “I’ll lock you out of the bathroom,” Steve sniggered, much too pleased with himself for your liking. You swatted at him with a reprimanding hand and he dodged it. “Alright, alright. I won’t mess it up on purpose, I promise.”

     “You better not,” you murmured, already sinking into sleep. You couldn’t help it. You were tired from being worn out this morning, because Steve did do everything to your body that he said he would do, namely fucking the daylights out of you. And, Steve painting on your back was oddly therapeutic in a way, and the brush against your back felt like feathers from a pillow, lulling you to sleep. So, you fell asleep as the sound of the music playing faded away. 

You woke up to the sound of Steve’s deep voice in your ear, telling you to wake up so he could take pictures of you. 

      Your eyes trickled open slowly and you looked up at Steve who was laying on his side next to you, positively beaming. You smiled sleepily, the fog from your sleep starting to clear from the light Steve was emanating. His face was so close up, you couldn’t help but brush your nose against his and give him a butterfly kiss before kissing his nose with your lips. 

     “I finished,” Steve grinned in celebration, and in that moment you were sure you’d never seen him look so happy, except for when you stepped off the private jet and into his life. 

     “Baby,” you wrapped your arms around his neck and got up gingerly, so as not to mess up the masterpiece that was still drying on your back. “Lemme see.”

      Steve got up quickly and dragged the full body mirror towards you, standing behind it and holding it up, a proud smile glued to his face. You couldn’t help but giggle at how satisfied he looked with the results, and your heart swelled to see him so happy and actually doing some personal hobbies outside of work. You were glad you were with him, and you were glad that meant he got a break from the hustle of his everyday life. This break wouldn’t last forever, but at least he was getting one. He didn’t often do things that he actually liked to do, he was so worked up. When he was with you, he was free to do whatever, and you actually pushed him to do the things he enjoyed. 

      You turned so your back faced the mirror, and craned your neck to see the work of art. It was a divine myriad of colors on your glowing skin, a light blue sky as the base, a painting of the sun and moon on top. The moon and sun each had eyes, a nose, and a mouth, and the moon was hugging the sun, covering its right eye. He had drawn swirly clouds and glinting stars all around to truly bedazzle the piece. You couldn’t stop smiling, it was truly beautiful and probably the most intimate thing you’d ever done with someone. 

      “Steve, you’re literally amazing at this. I’m serious,” you prodded him when he shook his head in embarrassment. “I mean look, you know it’s amazing, you’re so proud of yourself! And you should be.”

You scrambled over to him, tugging at the camera that was hanging by a strap around his neck,

     “C’mon. Take pictures of it!”

     “Yeah, just—” Steve cocked his head to the side, trailing off, and you realized immediately that he was distracted by your bare upper torso. 

You shook your head, laughing to yourself, and stood up on your knees to pose for him. 

      “You can take some just for yourself, too,” you winked. 

❊

       You woke up to the feeling of Steve stroking your face with his thumb and kissing the top of your head ever so gently, the room dark except for the fuzzy light blue glare of the TV screen a few feet away. You snuggled into his chest, already laid up on top of him, both your bodies stretched out on the cozy couch. 

      You sighed sleepily and blinked up at him. He was fixated on the TV, halfway through the first Deathly Hallows movie. You’d fallen asleep somewhere towards the end of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, so you were quite pleasantly surprised that Steve let you lay on him for so long, and that he continued watching the movies. His blue eyes were unmoving, glued to the screen and thoroughly engaged in the story. You smiled below him and poked his chest, making him glance down at you with an unassuming “hmm?” sound. 

      “How long have I been asleep?”

      “A long time,” Steve smooched your forehead, then your nose, and then your lips, suffocating you with his kisses. “How are you feeling?”

     “Not as sleepy. We stayed up way too late last night,” you reminded him, and he shrugged. 

      “At least I’m almost finished,” he said, referring to the Harry Potter movies that you had stayed up late last night to continue. 

     “We gotta figure out your Hogwarts house,” you squinted up at him, making the calculations in your head. “I think you’re a Gryffindor. I am too.”

     “Gryffindor, Hufflepuff… it’s all the same, isn’t it?” Steve sighed, and you gasped, sitting up on his lap and looking at him, appalled,

      “Steve! Have you learned nothing from the past seven movies?”

He cackled, shaking his head,

      “I’m kidding. I think so too, doll.”

You pushed his chest with a dramatic pout, 

      “Nevermind, asshole, you’re definitely a Slytherin.”

      “Hey, I don’t wanna be a bad guy!”

      “Boo fucking hoo,” you droned. “You get to be a hero all the goddamn time, take your Slytherin house placement and go. Also, you clearly haven’t been paying attention! Not all Slytherins are bad.”

      “I’ll take being an Avenger over being a Slytherin any day,” Steve noted casually, and you couldn’t help but grin at the side note. You positioned yourself on his lap so you were straddling him and he put his hands around your waist almost reflexively. 

      “Yeah?”

      “Of course,” Steve insisted. “My job is tough but, someone’s gotta do it.”

     “You ever wish you weren’t like this? I mean… if you’d known things would turn out the way they did…”

You bit your lip in anticipation as you waited for Steve’s answer, because he was taking a while to think about it. You hoped you weren’t pushing a boundary here by asking this question, but Steve knew you had good intentions, and you knew him long enough to know that he wouldn’t be afraid to answer you.

     He finally found it in him to give you a cohesive answer. He truly had to think, because it wasn’t a feeling he could quite put into words. People thought Steve was this stonelike, serious guy, but he was mainly just pensive. He was still the same Steve he’d always been, even before the serum, even before he became a figure of fame. Now, people just happened to take him a whole lot more seriously. People admired him. But all the while, he was still grieving, still trying to figure out his footing in this world. Now that he was with you, the process was going along much smoother. 

He clasped your hands, bringing your interlaced fingers to his lips,

     “I’ve been through a lot. And it’s hard for me to face things head on sometimes, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. I have to admit, though, it really has been nice just… being unseen. Just for a few days, being unknown by the world. Under the radar, I guess. I get to just be Steve, not Captain. And don’t get me wrong, I’d never complain about my responsibilities. I’m just a private person. I’m not in this for the fame and the attention. That’s the only thing I’d ever change. I just want to do what’s right. I don’t need the praise.”

     You nodded, completely understanding. Whenever you and Steve had these deep conversations, you were glad, because you really both listened to each other. You said exactly what was on your minds without fearing judgment. You had kind of expected that to be Steve’s answer, the way he cherished his privacy and didn’t seem to care much for the frills attached to his honorable job. 

     Notoriety wasn’t Steve’s goal, in fact he figured he’d be better off without it. He was grateful for his work, but he didn’t need the fans and worship that came with it. You could honestly never grow tired of Steve talking about himself— his past, his present, his job, his fears. He hardly talked about himself anyway, he was always engulfed in one thing or another. You liked pulling things out of him, not because you wanted to be intrusive, but because you knew it’d be good for him. Besides, how would you get along if you didn’t truly know each other?

As he spoke, you nodded, taking in each and every word. You let your fingernails lightly scratch his face, trailing along his perfect superhuman skin, lulling him without even realizing it. 

     “I get that. You could be Steve Rogers and just save lives, and live just how you want to.”

     “Yeah,” Steve smiled, gazing up into your eyes, the movie long forgotten in the background. He placed his hands on your hips as if to keep you in place where you were, locking you in like you belonged here and here only. “What about you? Would you change anything?”

      You cocked your head with a small smile. You hadn’t been expecting him to ask about you, and it honestly wasn’t something you thought of quite a lot. Maybe if you were still hurting, you’d say yes. But, because your whole life had brought you to this point, here with him and happy with yourself, you couldn’t. 

You shook your head, biting down on your lip, your smile expanding,

     “No. I wouldn’t. I’m actually kind of content now. Healing’s a long process, but it’s worth it. And I’m with you, so it’s all worth it.”

Steve’s eyes glimmered when you said that, and his fingers dung deeper into your hips.

        “Think this is probably the happiest I’ve ever been,” Steve said, and god, he didn’t know how much that meant to you.

tags later!

[slasherholic]

Essay: The Impact of Smith’s Grove on Michael Myers’ Antisocial Tendencies

-warning: personal opinion and headcanons ahead!-

The topic has been on my mind tonight, so naturally, my thoughts have culminated in an unnecessarily lengthy essay :)

I’ll preface this by saying Michael’s time at Smith’s Grove undoubtedly contributed to the severity of his antisocial behaviors. While temporary hospitalization was likely the right course of action for him after Judith’s murder, under no circumstances would it have been beneficial for his development to spend his entire childhood at an institute for the criminally insane. It would seem that, ultimately, (and almost certainly in part due to the recommendations of Sam Loomis,) Michael was “forgotten by the system” and doomed from the beginning to become just another statistic.

Let’s make something clear, though: Michael’s lack of empathy was not caused by Smith’s Grove. Michael’s sadistic personality was not caused by Smith’s Grove. These are inherent biological factors. It may seem harsh to label a child with such a serious, seemingly adult condition, but Conduct Disorder is a very real occurrence.

Of course, that isn’t at all to say that Judith’s murder was Michael’s fault.

Due both to the severity of Michael’s disorder, and his young age, he would not have been able to internalize why cruelty to others and outright murder was considered “wrong” by society.

Yes, he probably had adults talking at him all day about why it wasn’t okay to bully kids in school, or throw rocks at dogs, or cut up all of Judith’s toys; but ultimately, little Mikey lacked the cognitive function that would be developing in a “typical” brain to ascertain morally right behaviors from morally wrong ones. In short, all that adult talk was just obnoxious nagging that went in one ear and right out the other.

Alright, there’s my rambling and obligatory “it’s very not groovy to fling around unfounded and damaging labels such as ableist” (I’m a mentally ill individual myself, thanks 😎👉) out of the way. On to the actual topic of this essay weeeee

Also! Due to the very limited knowledge we have about Michael’s character, here is where things get quite headcanon-y--so please, dip out now if you are bothered by that.

Smith’s Grove ultimately failed Michael for a multitude of reasons. Psychiatry at the time was ill-equipped to deal with the severity of a disorder such as his, and to worsen matters, those in charge of his care were never able to achieve a break-through with him during the course of his treatment. (This includes Loomis, yes, but I highly doubt that it was strictly limited to Loomis—I do not think it’s responsible to pin all of the blame on a single psychiatrist. I will go more into detail about what Loomis is responsible for in another essay.)

The core issue, however, is this: from little Mikey’s point of view, the staff of Smith’s Grove were never there to “help him.” These adults were merely the people keeping him locked up in an unstimulating environment, making him swallow gross pills, and trying to lecture him about things that he really didn’t care about. He wanted out.

However, thanks to the naivety of psychiatry at the time—and with good intentions in mind, albeit very misplaced—the people in charge were not about to let him out into, say, some sort of outpatient program.

Michael picked up on this fact quickly. And the effects it wreaked on his attitude toward other people as a whole were catastrophic.

Because of this deeply-rooted frustration toward his confinement, I have no doubt that little Michael would have come to resent the staff of Smith’s Grove—his psychiatrist included—and the institution altogether. In his worldview, every single person now involved in his life was guilty of being an utter jackass, unworthy of his respect, unworthy of his cooperation.

This was the catalyst that led Michael to voluntarily stop communicating.

Think about it—engaging with the staff was ultimately not something that could be forced on Michael. His refusal to cooperate became the single aspect of his life that he still held some semblance of personal control over. Doctors could talk at him all they wanted, but at the end of the day, he didn’t have to listen, nor react; so, he didn’t.

Michael’s refusal to communicate was likely done sheerly out of frustration and a desire to be defiant—that is, until he was mature enough to realize how he could use the behavior to slip gracefully under the radar, and be forgotten about. His next decade was set to be spent perfecting his act of docility, biding his time, and waiting for the day when he could free himself on his own terms.

But by then, the irreversible damage to his social proclivity was done; and any hope of him cooperating in his treatment was long gone.

Michael had long-since internalized the idea that communication with others was not a worthwhile use of his energy. In little Mikey’s mind, having no desire to engage socially with those in his environment, no inherent need or longing to seek out friendly interactions, and a very low opinion of practically everybody, other people were now useful only as tools.

This mindset of his was strongly reinforced as his libido developed—at which point he discovered that cruelty to others wasn’t just entertaining, it also made him feel good in a different way. Essentially, as Michael matured into adulthood, his “people are nothing more than toys and tools” mentality had become too deeply rooted in his psyche to ever realistically be rectified.

Now, consider a perfect world: a world in which Michael hadn’t been left a permanent inpatient. A world where instead, he was released back to his family within a year. A world where he had been taught healthy and effective mechanisms to cope with his impulses.

Even in this ideal situation, I feel it would be unmindful of me to make any sort of claim that Michael absolutely would not still be engaging in criminal activity—murder possibly included.

Upon his escape from Smith’s Grove, Michael, a perfectly sane adult, (ASPD is not a psychotic disorder,) who now knows that murder is wrong by societal standards, who now understands the gravity of his actions and the potential repercussions he faces, whether out of impulse, sexual desire, sheer boredom, or any combination of the three—still opts to kill people.

Michael could have disappeared after his escape. I am confident that he is both intelligent and perceptive enough that if he really felt like it, he could have picked up on the skills needed to at the very least “blend in” with society. He could have faded into obscurity in the public eye, and that would have been the end of it. It would not have been a “normal” life, but it might have been something bordering on functional.

Instead, he murdered four people.

Let me emphasize: when Michael finally got free, rather than doing literally anything besides murder, Michael went out of his way to commit even more murders.

To conclude, yes; institutional misconduct worsened the severity of Michael’s antisocial tendencies and stole from him any chance he might have had at living a “normal” life.

However, Michael’s crimes as an adult are inexcusable, and despite the very real mistreatment he faced at the hands of an authority, he absolutely deserves to be held responsible for his actions in the original Halloween.

[litwitlady]

Send Me Home (1/?)

Read on AO3.

‘The Braves are down to their last at bat, Jeff. And it’s Michael Guerin in the on-deck circle. What’s Ramon’s strategy here? Does he try to jam him up inside or keep firing fastballs and hope Guerin can’t catch up?’

It’s September in Atlanta and the Braves are playing the Marlins. Every game counts as both teams vy for a spot in October baseball. Michael Guerin is a lead candidate for MVP, and he’s always a threat in the bottom of the ninth with two outs and the bases loaded. The sellout crowd roars as his walk-up music begins to play.

I was born to the desert And to the desert I’ll return Sun-soaked and leathered Tattered and tethered Send me home, send me home, send me home

‘Ramon’s got that curveball, Chip. I’m not sure Guerin’s ever met a fastball he couldn’t hit. Especially in the bottom of the ninth. So, I think Ramon starts with the curveball even if that’s exactly what Guerin’s expecting.’

Michael steps into the batter’s box and takes a couple of quick practice swings, eyes wide and watching Ramon’s every move. He squares his hips and lowers his hands on the bat just a touch. It’s an adjustment he’s been working on for the past month or so with great success. Ramon lets loose his first pitch. As expected, it’s a nasty curveball and a pitch Michael has struck out on more than once during his twelve year career. But this time he’s prepared and anticipates perfectly where the bottom of the curve will land. He shoots a laser to shallow right field, and it drops in for a walk-off single. The dugout empties and everyone tackles him as he crosses home plate, one game closer to October.

--------

Later that night, Michael sits on the tailgate of his Chevy, beer in hand and staring up at the stars like so many nights before. Several of the guys had harassed him about going out to celebrate, but he’s not in the mood. He’s never in the mood these days. The winning still feels good and the possibility of the MVP is a dream. But for a long time now, he’s felt like there’s something missing in his life. Something essential, something elusive, something just out of his reach.

The truth is that he’s lonely. It’s a truth he can admit to himself when he’s alone underneath the cosmos watching the stars blink down at him against the wide expanse of space.

There have been relationships along the way. Women he’s dated earnestly. Once upon a time, maybe even a couple he could have loved. When he was younger, there had also been a few men. But none recently. The deeply rooted homophobia of baseball to blame. Mostly anyway. It’s strange now - everyone knows he’s bisexual, a simple Google search is all it takes. But he’s fairly certain baseball collectively decided to ignore his sexuality altogether after he got called up to the majors all those years ago.

He wants to believe he’s not afraid to be seen with men. He tells himself it’s just simpler this way, less complicated. Fewer awkward questions and the focus remaining on his athletic abilities rather than his sex life. Besides, only two major league players have ever come out and they both only did so after they’d retired. He supposes maybe he counts as the third. It’s not the stuff of fairytales, and Michael had learned that lesson during his brief stint in Double-A ball.

That feels like a lifetime ago.

Alex Manes’ new album drifts through the truck’s windows. His low, throaty voice practically purring into Michael’s ears. He’s been a big fan of Alex and his music for several years now. They’re both from New Mexico and the way he sings about the desert rings true enough to Michael that listening to one of his songs sends him right back home. Despite their many issues, he misses his brother and sister so badly sometimes he can barely breathe. Alex’s music reminds him of all the things and all the people he’s left behind - for better or worse. A couple of years ago, he’d had the opportunity to see Alex perform live but he’d turned it down. He still can’t explain why.

The night stretches out before him. Beer and music lulling him into a peaceful sleep until a bright light flashes in his face and startles him awake. He sits up and raises his hands peacefully. ‘Hey, Ernie.’

‘Oh, Mr. Guerin. I didn’t recognize you. What are you still doing here? It’s past midnight.’ He clicks the flashlight off and clips it back onto his belt. ‘Congrats on the walk-off!’

Michael shrugs. ‘Thanks. Didn’t want to go home just yet. Like watching the stars at night. But I haven’t seen you in a while. The grandkids still running circles around you?’

‘You know it! Caleb just turned five and is a holy terror. Michelle is eight going on eighteen. I can barely get a word in edgewise between the two of them.’ His eyes shine even in the darkness, crinkling at the edges.

Michael’s heart aches at Ernie’s easy, simple joy, but he manages a genuine smile thanks to the night’s shadows softening the edges of his jaw. ‘That sounds nice.’ He hops off his tailgate. ‘I’ll get out of your hair. Got an early game anyway. Need to get some sleep.’

‘Well, now, don’t let me chase you off. I don’t mind the company. It gets a little spooky at night. You can always come knock on my door if you ever need anything.’ Ernie opens the Chevy’s door for Michael and shuts it behind him. ‘All these other guys with their flashy sports cars and you in this old rust bucket. You’re a weird one, Mr. Guerin. But I like that about you.’

Michael runs his hands around the cracked steering wheel. ‘Most days this truck is about the closest thing to home I’ve got. There’s still desert dirt in the bed and an engine I rebuilt myself. What the fuck would I do with a Ferrari?’

They both laugh and Michael waves and honks his horn as he pulls out of the player’s lot. The streets are mostly empty, cars keeping to the well-lit interstate at night. He decides to stay on surface roads and take the long way home, radio softly playing old country songs. His thoughts drift to tomorrow’s game and the rookie pitcher the Marlins are starting. His own rookie year had been tough, and he makes a mental note to speak to the kid at some point during the game, ask him how he’s doing and if he’s being treated well.

The streetlights along Peachtree illuminate his path through Brookhaven. He crosses into Atlanta city limits and enters Buckhead just as ‘Lay Me Down’ by Loretta Lynn and Willie Nelson starts to play through his speakers. And all too soon, he turns down his street and opens the cedar gate at the end of his driveway, parking his truck and sitting in the darkness until the song comes to an end.

Climbing out of his truck, he unlocks the front door with his telekinesis, slipping inside quietly and deactivating his alarm system. He’d bought the house in foreclosure, spending most of his money on remodeling the mid-century ranch. It’s not extravagant, but it’s the most expensive thing he owns. He’d even let Isobel fly out to decorate the place within a very strict budget, and he’d had to admit she’d done a great job - one side of his front door Atlanta, the other side New Mexico.

But even so, it has never felt like home.

The first few nights he’d spent in the house had been rough. It was too quiet and too soft and too much. More than once he’d grabbed his ancient, worn sleeping bag and crawled into the bed of his truck. Sleeping hard on the uncomfortable. ribbed metal but beneath the stars he loved so much. The morning dew waking him with the sun each morning.

These days he manages to sleep in bed at night, but only because he’d installed two skylights overhead so that the stars would always be his. And only his. He rarely brings anyone home anymore, preferring their house to his. But when he does, he takes them to a guest bedroom. None of them ever seem to mind how empty the space is or how devoid of personality. Four blank walls and a lone bed filling the room. Why would they? It’s not Michael the foster kid from the desert they’re sleeping with. It’s Michael Guerin the multi-millionaire first baseman with the single-season home run record and the aw-shucks, good boy smile.

Tonight he doesn’t bother turning on any lights. He just pads through the kitchen to grab an apple and a bottle of water, undresses and climbs into bed. He takes a large bite of the granny smith and pulls out his phone, calling Isobel.

‘Congrats on the walk-off!’ He can hear another game in the background. Isobel had never watched a baseball game in her life - including any of his - until the day he’d gotten drafted right out of high school. But now she watches all of them. Or as many of them as possible. Her scouting reports are better than anything stamped official and readily available in the team clubhouse.

‘Thanks. Didn’t really see the ball that well tonight, though. Is Max there?’ It’s stupid to ask when he already knows the answer.

‘Out with Liz. They’ve been inseparable ever since she moved back to Roswell. It’s gross and I miss you.’ The sound on her tv goes silent and he knows she’s settling in for a long conversation. ‘Tell me about tomorrow. Any surprises?’

‘No. New kid on the mound just called up. Got a mean slider. Torres has some pain in his wrist so he’ll be benched.’ Michael finishes his apple in two large bites and guzzles his water, listening to Isobel pound away at her keyboard already deep in research mode. ‘Might get me moved up to the number two slot.’

They spend fifteen minutes strategizing. It’s what they do most nights. Isobel critiquing the numbers based on intuition and her own database of knowledge concerning the human psyche, while he runs statistical analyses and probabilities in his head faster than humanly possible. Michael suggests more than once that she’d make a great scout and that maybe when he retires they can go into business together. He’s told her this a million times, but she only laughs him off and reminds him that she already has a job.

‘A worthless job that doesn’t pay you what you deserve.’ He reaches for the tv remote on his nightstand but can’t find it. Not that it matters. He switches the television on with his mind and nods his head through the channels, stopping on an old western and muting the volume.

‘Philanthropy is not worthless, Michael!’ She sighs loudly to punctuate her exasperation. ‘And my salary is not the point - the point is helping people. Besides, I have all of Noah’s money and can negotiate more pay any time I choose.’

That he believes. ‘How’d your date go last night?’ Asking Isobel about her date absolutely means she’ll push him to share something just as personal. But it was her first official date with a woman and he genuinely wants to know how it went. No matter the price he’ll pay.

‘Really, really, really well.’ He can hear the grin in her voice and it makes him smile. ‘She’s a cardiologist and very good with her hands. Valenti makes a pretty superb matchmaker. Maybe I’ll ship him your way because you could certainly use the help.’

Michael rolls his eyes and fakes a groan. ‘You can keep Valenti. Don’t you think it’s weird to have your ex setting you up on dates? Do you really think he’s the best judge of character?’

‘Kyle knows me better than most. He was my first relationship after Noah and he put up with a lot. I trust him implicitly with my heart and yours. Plus, I was the one who broke up with him.’

‘My heart is fine, thanks.’ He lies smoothly and knows exactly how she’s going to respond.

‘I can’t stand the thought of you all the way across the country in that foreign place with no one to go home to at night.’

He snorts. ‘It’s called Georgia, Iz. And I’m not home enough for a relationship to work right now.’

‘Half the guys on your team - on any team! - are married. So that’s a pisspoor excuse. You keep pushing everyone away. Don’t forget who you’re talking to. I know you, Michael. As soon as you start to feel something, the doors slam shut and you become another stereotypical lonewolf cowboy.’ Her voice is loud now, vehement and self-righteous. They’ve reenacted this scene so many times it feels very paint by number at this point. ‘I hardly ever hear a smile in your voice anymore.’

She’s right and she knows it. He used to love dating, meeting new people. First kisses and first fucks. Last kisses and farewell fucks. He lived for those moments and now he hardly ever looks anyone in the eye. ‘We have this conversation at least once a month. And nothing has changed. It’s too hard right now, Iz. I’m too known to ever really be known. Not the way I would want to be. Not in any way that I would trust.’

There’s no use arguing so they move on to easier topics. Max and LIz’s ongoing romance, details of Isobel’s date, Maria’s remodel of the Pony thanks to a very generous anonymous donation. Every word out of her mouth squeezes his heart a little bit tighter until it’s too much and he says goodnight.

Flipping onto his side, he reaches his arm out to the other side of the bed, running his hand over the cold, unwrinkled sheet. His eyes land on the empty pillow no head ever touches and tries to imagine a face looking back at him. A face that might smile suggestively or quietly murmur goodnight. But he’s unable to conjure anything beyond a blank, shapeless outline. It makes him feel pathetic so he yanks the pillow underneath his own head and forces his eyes shut, trying in vain to quiet his mind. Despite his best efforts, sleep takes its sweet time finding him.

The next morning he’s exhausted but gets to the field early. He’d woken up to a cryptic message from Isobel. There’s a surprise waiting for you after the game! Stick around this time, Michael. Don’t make me get on a plane. He’s sure that can’t mean anything good, but he attempts to put it out of his mind for now.

The ballpark is already bustling with activity. Michael heads into the clubhouse to change. He stops and asks Stan, their hitting coach, for some extra work before the rest of the team arrives. He’s worried about how he’s been shifting his wrists recently and wants someone else’s opinion. The adjustments he’d made last night seem to be working, but he’s worried about straining a muscle or tweaking the wrong tendon. Two of his teammates are already on the IL with wrist pain. He doesn’t want to be next, especially with the postseason race and his run at MVP on the line.

Michael finds Danny Marks asleep in one of the clubhouse’s leather chairs. He swats him on the head on the way to his locker, laughing at Danny’s loud yelp. ‘Fuck, man, you’re always asleep. How did you manage to stay awake on the mound long enough to put together two Cy Young seasons?’

‘Talent, Guerin. Talent. You should try it sometime. Maybe then you’ll win MVP.’ Danny yawns and stretches his arms over his head. Michael glares at him. ‘Don’t worry. You’re still the favorite. Our very own diamond darling. No one else is getting their own personal concert any time soon.’

‘What?’ He sits on the chair at his locker, blinking at Danny in confusion. ‘Personal concert?’ Isobel’s strange text message flashes through his head again while he inwardly groans.

‘Oh, yeah.’ Danny grins and crosses his ankles on the table in front of him, brashly enjoying the way Michael squirms. ‘Alex Manes is traveling down from Nashville just for you - baseball’s most beloved first baseman.’ He throws a toy football at Michael’s head, chuckling when it bounces off his curls. ‘He’s not bad looking, you know.’

‘Stop.’ Danny is Michael’s best friend on the team and the only one he feels comfortable enough to have this conversation with. ‘Whose idea was this? Did Isobel do something? Or was this you?’

Michael doesn’t want this. Not at all. And he can’t exactly explain why. Music is personal to him - profoundly personal. Always has been since he was nothing but an unloved kid trapped in various violent foster homes. It was music that had kept him warm at night and music that had loved him best. The only escape available to him during most of his darkest hours.

Over the years, there have been many artists he’s considered favorites. Most of them old country crooners or folk song heroes. Much like Alex Manes. But with Alex, it’s something more. Something he has a hard time vocalizing. They are both from New Mexico. Both spent a chunk of their formative years in Roswell. Michael has read or watched multiple interviews with Alex where he’s alluded heavily to an abusive father. His lyrics certainly do the same. Lots of kids grow up that way - Michael knows he’s not alone in that particular fate - but the way Alex puts that pain to music settles something inside his chest that has never been settled before.

So the thought of meeting Alex worries Michael. They say don’t meet your heroes for a reason. In his head, Alex represents a sense of safety, a sense of home. What happens when they meet and that’s taken from him? Because maybe Alex is a liar. Or maybe he’s a dick. Either possibility is very real. He’s also a vet, and Michael hates, hates, hates the military. And he doesn’t want to hate Alex. Doesn’t want to lose his music. Cannot emotionally afford to lose his music if he’s being honest.

‘Isobel apparently knows someone who knows someone who knows someone. I just didn’t try and stop her. Or Lena.’ Danny’s wife is Isobel’s favorite human. It’s the worst thing that’s happened to Michael since meeting Danny. The two of them have done nothing but make his life one unasked for surprise after another. ‘Besides, even if you hate it, the team could really use some fun before heading into the postseason. Some good old-fashioned team bonding, my friend. And this time, you don’t get to run away. The guys need to see their captain smile every once in a while.’

Michael sighs and changes into his warmups. Danny’s phone rings and he grins one last time at Michael before disappearing for some privacy. Michael decides to push Alex Manes to the back of his mind and concentrate on the game ahead of him. Stan is waiting, anyway. So he’ll focus on his wrists for now and worry about everything else later. The one thing he does do, however, is pull out his phone and send Isobel a very pointed text.

You should have gotten my permission first.

Isobel’s text response is nothing but the angel halo emoji. Michael wishes his telekinesis was strong enough to travel across state lines because he’d like to throw her phone into the wall. Since that option is not available to him, he sends Max a text instead.

Your sister is a menace.

He pockets his phone, not bothering to wait on an answer. Max tends to be too busy these days. Not that that’s anything new really. Unless your name is Liz Ortecho or Isobel Evans, he doesn’t have much time for you.

The morning stretches by as gametime approaches. Batting practice goes well and Michael works with Stan on keeping his wrists from turning too much when he swings. His teammates have all found out about the concert by the time the first pitch is thrown and none of them will let him forget it. Each time his walk-up music begins to play, Danny leads a small group of particularly bad vocalists in a sing-a-long. All of them belting out the lyrics at the top of their lungs. Michael tries to keep the stupid grin off his face and almost suceeds.

He won’t admit it, but he actually begins to get excited. Doesn’t even mind when Max only ends up responding with a snarky text.

Try living less than five miles from her.

He’d give anything to live five miles from Isobel. Michael loves his teammates. He really does. Atlanta has one of the best team dynamics in baseball. Maybe the best. They support each other, love one another, and when they say family, they mean it. Team dinners and family outings are normal even during the off season. Michael doesn’t avoid spending time with them because he dislikes anyone - although there have been various tiffs in the past but nothing long lasting. He avoids them because he loves them enough to let his mouth loosen too much, all his secrets threatening to tumble out with no regard for his safety or the safety of his siblings.

He knows this because it has happened on more than one occasion. Years ago during his rookie years when living hard and drinker harder were his nightly norm. On any given night you’d find him at the bar, four fingers deep into a bottle of bourbon, mouthing off about moving things with his mind. It wasn’t the booze talking; it was his loneliness. The throbbing homesick ache in his chest that only Max and Isobel could smooth away. Once he knew his teammates were shitfaced, he’d let some little comment slip about his abilities. Half of them never paid any attention to the things he said and the other half merely laughed at him.

He’d told Isobel one night about the things he said and she’d yelled at him solidly for an hour. The next day he’d gotten a nasty phone call from Max and has kept his mouth shut ever since that conversation.

Keeping their secret is important. Michael understands that, but the lying exhausts him. He loves Danny and hates that the most important part of himself Danny and Lena can never know. He loves his other teammates, and he doesn’t want to hide this huge part of himself from them forever. The lying has always made him feel unclean - distant and deceptive. Back in Roswell, it had been easier. He hadn’t had many friends and the people closest to him shared the same secret. But now, the people he sees every single day aren’t allowed to know the real him. It breaks his heart in a way he could never have anticipated, making him feel truly alien.

Michael and Isobel had jumped through enormous hoops to keep his DNA secret from team doctors and drug testers. It’s the only reason he’d ever agreed to her mind influence.

A major league baseball player cannot have telekinetic superpowers, alien or not. The cheating accusations would be immediate and relentless - his career over and his name shamed forever. Regardless of the fact that he would never dream of cheating to advance his career. Besides, he’s self-aware enough - or perhaps cocky enough - to understand that his level of talent doesn’t require any telekinetic assistance. Michael Guerin is just that fucking good.

During his last at bat in the eighth inning, Alex Manes’ face flashes on the digital scoreboard high above centerfield advertising the aftergame concert. Michael concentrates on keeping his wrists tight and imagines that Alex is somewhere in the stadium watching him. He swings at the first pitch - a fastball left too high over the plate - and knows he’s gotten every piece of it by the cracking sound his bat makes. He starts a slow run to first base and watches the ball sail over the leftfield wall. With his signature two claps, he rounds first and enjoys the cheering crowd chanting his name. Stepping on the bag at home plate, his eyes glance back up at the scoreboard, but Alex’s face has disappeared. And suddenly his nerves have returned tenfold at the realization that soon he’ll be face to face with a man he has no idea how to talk to - what to say or even if he’ll get a chance to say anything at all.

Despite the cheers and happy butt slaps from his teammates, the pit in Michael’s stomach stretches wide. In the clubhouse, he checks his phone again and one last final message from Isobel lights up his screen.

He wants to meet you first.

[rockofeye]

hey, any chance you can give an overview of what's happening in Haiti? i've been trying to follow the news but it's difficult to put together.

Hi there,

I can do my best, but I will tell y’all upfront that the situation in Haiti is multi-layered and multi-faceted with no easy answers or solutions.

The flashpoint for the most recent visible upheaval in the country is related to the current president, Jovenel Moïse. The runoff election he ran in was in 2015 and the results of that election were heavily contested; he was one of the final nominees that would move forward to the presidential election with just under 33% of the total vote but exit polls had him at less than 10% of the vote. Huge protests started and so the final vote was postponed until late 2016. Moïse was declared the winner with less than 25% of the vote, and was sworn in on February 7, 2017.

This is important because presidential term is 5 years, and this is the crux of the current debates and protests. The opposition party and Moïse’s critics maintain that his term ended on February 7, 2021 according to the original election mandate from 2016, and Moïse maintains he is to serve until February 7, 2022 according to when he actually took office. 

There are a LOT of different opinions (legal and otherwise) about this. Haiti’s highest judicial body (Conseil supérieur de la magistrature) ruled that Moïse’s term ended on February 7, 2021, and popular opinion is kind of mixed; split very evenly along class in Haiti. Folks who are upper class are generally believing Moïse when he says he will leave on February 7, 2022, working class and folks who are poorer say his term is over. Outside of Haiti, it seems like many Haitian think that he will leave in 2022 or that he needs to leave now to prevent further issues, whether his term is over or not.

Of course the US had to weigh in and Biden recognized that Moïse’s term ends in 2022, which is not helpful at all...the US has meddled enough in Haitian politics via sponsoring various coups and generally occupying the country. Biden’s administration has said that there need to be lawful elections to transition a president out of office, which is a a nice ideal...but what happens with the system is totally broken?

Moïse has not been a super popular president and in many ways has been downright ineffective. He ran on a platform with a lot of big ideas and a falsified folksy background to appeal to the common population in Haiti (many Haitian laugh when folks bring up that Moïse was a banana farmer...). He *has* brought electricity and fresh water to a bunch of communities, but that definitely doesn’t make up for his bullshit.

He’s done enough awful things that, in the eyes of many Haitians. He essentially destroyed Haiti’s parliament (sort of like Congress in the US...Haiti’s government systems are very Napoleonic in origin) by not allowing elections and has ruled by decree since 2019 (I believe), meaning no checks and balances in place. He has thrown the prime minister under the bus any time he receives criticism, and has had numerous prime ministers...he just fires and hires, and since the parliament is essentially hamstrung, he just appoints them.

In late 2020 and early 2021, he started looking more and more like a dictator. He had political opponents and high ranking officials arrested and jailed (senators, a supreme court justice, and the head of the national police, among others) and has made accusations of plots to assassinate him that are super suspicious and likely non-existent. He fired 3 supreme court justices, which is unheard of, and has doubled down on maintaining the office. He’s called for a re-write of the Haitian constitution which, if undertaken at any other time, could potentially be a good thing but right now it sure seems like a grab for power, as some of the proposed re-writes give the president’s office more power than it has right now. The referendum vote is scheduled for late June, and has a LOT of opposition.

So, that’s some background.

In late January, the opposition issued a statement that if Moïse refused to leave, the country would be locked down on February 7. There were already a lot of protests with a lot of shutdowns happening, but when he didn’t step down things, stuff got really hot.

Gangs in Haitii are serious business; they run neighborhoods and many of them are government or opposition sponsored with the goal of creating chaos to drive people to supporting one or the other and to create fear. Kidnappings skyrocketed, both of Haitians and foreign nationals. Folks may have seen the footage of folks walking into a church livestreaming a service and kidnapping the pastor and two others live on camera. It’s been serious and blatant. My step-son was at school when armed gunmen walked in and just grabbed two kids right out. 

Gangs have also been used to really instill fear. In poor neighborhoods, they have done things like break into people’s homes, drag them out, and kill them in the street, or burn a block to the ground. Gang leaders say it is in response to various other things happening in the country, but that’s crap...gangs are used as tools to control. 

In response to the heightened violence and the kidnapping of at least two lawyers, the entire judicial branch of the government--all of the courts and associated offices--went on strike on February 15, which halted all legal proceedings in a legal system that is deeply broken already (up to 90% of people held in Haitian jails have no charges filed against them). There was a massive prison break in the capital in February where close to 500 people escaped and around 50 were killed during it and in the aftermath, including a gang leader shot at a police checkpoint. A group of police responding to gang violence in a neighborhood in the capital were massacred and the gang responsible refused to turn over their bodies. It’s been a lot.

In the last week, the large gangs (400 Mawozo, the G9 alliance, etc) have agreed to stop kidnappings, which is a huge deal. It’s possible that this is in response to veiled threats coming from the UN and a Caribbean nation alliance about peacekeeping forces to address violence and ensure elections. It seems that Port-au-Prince is the most volatile area (which is pretty average honestly), with much of the other parts of the country not experiencing the same level of violence.

Also in the mix is the deeply disheartening situation with the Dominican Republic. DR continues to deport Haitians and people of Haitian descent regardless of their citizenship status, meaning that hundreds and hundreds of people are being forced to go to Haiti, even if they have never lived there before, do not speak the language, and have no connections to help them. It is an absolutely overwhelming crisis that there has not garnered much foreign notice. At least 200,000 Haitians and folks of Haitian descent have been forcibly removed, with that number likely being much higher. There have been a lot of rumors about extrajudicial killings by police of Haitians in the DR, but of course there is no official statement on that.

These actions by the DR are heavily rooted in colorism/anti-Blackness and anti-Haitianismo, and, if we are really honest, this is a type of ethnic cleansing that has been utilized long-term by the DR.

In all of this, COVID19 has almost been a non-issue. Haiti has not seen the level of pandemic the rest of the world has. Folks are paying attention to the lack of transmission and, when there is a positive case detected, non-symptomatic infection. A lot of folks I know in Haiti don’t know anyone who has had COVID or even heard of anyone having it. Of course, Haiti is well-versed in pandemic management (thank UN cholera-bearers) and folks are used to taking preventative measures so folding in things like handwashing and extra disinfection have been pretty easy for lots of folks.

All of these things have increased the reach of poverty, lack of food and basic needs, and general misery for many folks living in Haiti. Haiti has been dealing with the long-term effects of colonization and occupation since basically forever; Haiti struggles to remain independent in the face of crushing poverty, corrupt governments, and many-strings-attached foreign aid. 

So...that’s convoluted basics. I hope this provides some context; please let me know if I can clarify anything.

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 3.3}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student (however no underage romance), blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 5.6k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

"You've got to be joking…" Robin groaned to herself more than to either of them and rolled her eyes in exasperation. Right… this still was a public place, even at night. After a second of collecting herself, she put on her game face and continued her way towards Snape's desk, where he mentioned for her to sit down as well. Honestly, she was only glad that she didn't have to sit at her own desk like some idiot in detention, and that probably was the exact reason why Snape made her sit up front with him now. At least Robin chose to read that intention into his actions now.

"Hey, why doesn't she have to write a stupid three page essay on valerian root?!" David complained a second later, with clearly more of a pout to his tone than would leave any room for dignity.

"Because unlike someone I'm not in detention." Robin replied neutrally but with a deathly glare. "Now shut up and do your work."

Surprisingly enough, David actually looked quite intimidated in return, but Robin had the faint idea that this might be more due to Snape's glare than her own. Huh, maybe she should have let him handle this… with him being… the professor… and all that… Robin looked down at the book in her hands and took a deep breath to counteract the heat burning on her cheeks.

"McGonagall found him sneaking around the hallways with one of her own students. A second year girl, who should be serving her own detention with Minerva right at this moment." Snape said, much to Robin's surprise. She hadn't expected an explanation for the ongoings, and certainly not coming from him on his own account. But she also couldn't help the barest hint of a smirk that came to her lips.

"So that should be the infamous tall-and-older girlfriend he keeps bragging about? I must say I'm disappointed… Is she tall at least?" Robin mumbled, hiding her smirk by looking down as she placed her book on the desk between herself and Snape.

"No." He replied in perfect indifference and Robin had to snort, however very quietly and very shortly.

"Pity…" She brought out in almost the same level of indifference that for her as well as for him was but a mere charade at this point.

"I can hear you, you know that?!" David complained, and this time Robin remembered her place for once and kept quiet.

"You already have two weekends worth of detention, should we make that three, Mister Thompson?" Snape asked with that particular expression that literally gave every student the jitters in utter terror. Well, every student but Robin, but he hadn't used it in her in a long time, so who knew how she'd react… Robin wasn't too keen on finding out. David looked back down to his work, probably intimidated just as much as angry, but at least he seemed to stay quiet this time.

"So, uh, yes…" Robin started to get back into work mode and effectively stop herself from getting tempted into sassing Snape. With David around, he surely would scold her rather than smirk, and she didn't have the nerve for that tonight. So back to the facts it was. "As I was saying earlier, I haven't memorized the entire book. But while flipping through the pages on my way back down here, I came across something interesting on page 132."

Without a word, Snape moved to flip to the mentioned page, and his frown melted away as he read over the text. However it returned once he reached the next page, and Robin hoped she hadn't suggested something entirely stupid and unrelated. Only once he'd read all three pages of related information, he finally looked back up at Robin. "Have you read the entire instructions?"

"Well, I hardly had enough time for that on my jog back here." She shrugged. "I read the description of the functionality, not the instructions or additional information."

He looked minorly surprised at that. "And that sufficed for you to believe that it might be of use?"

"I suggested it because it looked promising." She corrected. "One has to start somewhere. If it's rubbish, we at least know what we're NOT looking for."

"Interesting approach." He mused, and Robin felt momentarily stunned by how close that comment had gotten to an actual compliment. "I believe you discovered something that might very well be worth a try."

"But… maybe we should look through the rest of the book as well? Maybe there's another spell that fits even better?"

"Obviously." He rolled his eyes without any annoyance in them, and went to flip to about the middle of the book. "Up to which point do you sincerely remember the contents?"

"The last page I can remember for sure was about… repairing broken spines… it had a very peculiar picture in the top right corner. Somewhere in the 70s or 80s…" She sighed and gave him an apologetic half smile. "I always remember the contents and the layout better than the page numbers."

After a few seconds of flipping through pages, Snape pointed to the page Robin had described. "This one?"

"Yes! Page 78… I wasn't too far off then." She smiled to herself for a moment. "Up to that one I remember what every spell was about."

"Good." He merely said and started scanning every page from that point on. Seems like Snape put an odd lot of confidence in Robin's memory… but she really was certain about the contents up to that point. It was all very basic, short-term restoration and spells for every-day practical use. The one about broken spines on page 78 was the first one that was a bit more complicated and unusual in its use, and that is the only reason why Robin had remembered it. It was the first one she didn't care to remember.

For a moment Robin watched Snape reading, but then she felt stupid looking over his shoulder, even if only figuratively. He could assess these spells way better than she could, and if he found something suitable for the occasion he would probably show it to her. Maybe.

With a silent sigh she let her eyes travel over the almost empty room. It was an odd perspective to be looking out over the class from this side of his desk… but one could really see almost everything from here. Everything, happening in front of you. Nothing in your back. Yeah, Robin felt comfortable sitting here. Then she studied the desk itself, along with the few things on it. Perfectly organized chaos, as always… but for once she actually understood the system behind it, which pleased her quite a bit. She'd happily trade desks with him any day, and that even though she couldn't even imagine switching seats with someone in class. She'd been sitting in the same spots in each of the classrooms for over two years now… and she doubted that she'd ever willingly sit elsewhere. The great hall however was a different issue, she'd never had a specific seat there, so she was fine with switching tables in there. But this was a classroom, and she felt oddly comfortable in a space that wasn't her own. Huh…

Her eyes then fell upon the mysterious tome this entire fuss was about in the first place, and she was grabbed by curiosity. "May I… take a look at the book we aren't currently working with?" She inquired carefully, prepared to be right about being denied but equally prepared to be surprised.

"Be careful, it is… delicate." While delicate didn't seem like the word he had wanted to say, and she got a decent idea about why he didn't speak his mind once she heard David quietly groaning over his essay, Robin still understood the sentiment. This book was important, somehow. So she gave him a small nod with a sincere and serious expression, before she carefully moved the heavy thing over to her end of the desk.

The first few pages looked decent enough; there were handwritten descriptions of spells, some strange symbols and drawings… nothing that stood out in particular. But once Robin had actually read a few pages, she couldn't help the deep frown that creased her forehead. "This is absolute gibberish! It may look valid, but anyone who spends at least a little time studying this book would realize that these aren't even workable spells."

Now that got Snape's attention immediately, and seeing as he had finished skimming over Robin's book anyway, he turned his attention towards her entirety. "How did you come to that conclusion?"

"You see… for once, the actual words for the spells aren't even given. Not one single time! I mean alright, one could argue that the book is meant for wizards so advanced that they don't need words. You know… people like you." She regretted saying that the moment it was out. But maybe he would overlook the accidental compliment if she just continued. "However, what definitely strikes me as odd and leads me to the conclusion that this isn't even meant as a proper spell book is the technical terms used throughout the descriptions, as well as the names of the people mentioned."

Now he definitely looked curious, deeply intrigued to be exact, and even people who weren't practiced in reading his microexpressions would be able to see that. "What, pray tell, do you mean by that?"

"I'll gladly tell you in a moment, but just answer me one question first, please… because otherwise I'll feel really stupid in my assumption." Robin said quietly, not because she felt insecure, but because she couldn't have David hear this in case she made a fool out of herself. "When do you think this book was written?"

"I assume the manuscript itself is from the second half of the 16th century, but it was obviously rebound several times up to this point, which makes the binding by far younger."

"Okay. Okay…" Robin nodded to herself for a few seconds as her brain tried to make a coherent line out of the many different strings of thought in her mind. Then her eyes lit up as she started to explain. "So, the thing is: most of the terms, all the ones I know at least, are directly taken out of Renaissance culture. It's a colorful mixture of philosophy, architecture, literature, music… And the names, I recognize them from this time period as well. But they all have nothing to do with magic, not even the slightest bit. It's like… putting numbers into the alphabet!"

Snape seemed genuinely interested in what Robin was saying, and he looked up from the book to meet her eyes. "How exactly did you come to know Renaissance culture?"

"I had a lot of time two summers ago and attended some classes. At a muggle university. I know, not very appropriate for a Slytherin, but oh well… I was horribly bored. To be honest, I had already forgotten most of the things I learned, but reading these names and terms now definitely brings back a lot of it. I mean, I at least know that they're things from the Renaissance." She shrugged with one shoulder, as she felt like the biggest nerd in history and yet the biggest failure for having forgotten most of those classes already. "Anyway, if the manuscript was written in the 16th century, that would explain the Renaissance influence. Now, I do have some more… theories, about the book. But I wouldn't want to bore you, sir, I'm sure you already know all of this and I'm just… babbling. Sorry."

"In fact, I was previously unaware of this connection to muggle history and culture, and I dare say I would not have learned about it without your babbling. So please, do enlighten me about your theories." He said calmly, giving her one of those still entirely unreadable looks. "You have my fullest attention."

"Well…" Heat rose to Robin's cheeks once again, and she couldn't quite believe that she had discovered something he hadn't yet noticed. "The book is basically a spell book written with muggle terms… and it surely requires extensive knowledge of both worlds to write something like this. So my first assumption is that the author was a half blood… or a muggle born. But it doesn't matter, actually. The thing about knowing both worlds really leads me to believe that the author knew what they were talking about, and thus the gibberish was intentional gibberish. And if the gibberish is intentional, it makes me wonder what the intention of this book is in the first place. You say a page is missing… What if the entire book was merely created to hide that one page?"

Going by the look Snape was giving her once she had finished her sentence, Robin had just said the dumbest thing in the existence of nonsense. Great. Insecurity finally showed on her face as she still held his gaze. She just wanted to help him, to solve this mystery…

"I agree." That was what he finally replied, before briefly gazing at the still working David and then looking back at Robin. "Your theses… will serve as a decent basis for any further efforts."

What?! He thought she was right?! Robin's lips curved up into a small smile. "Uh, if I may ask, sir… did you find a spell for restoring the page? If it really is the sole purpose of the book to hide whatever is written on it, I'm actually even more curious to know what its secret is."

"Likewise." He mused, quietly enough so that Robin could barely pick up on it, but then he spoke up in a normal voice. "I still consider the method you suggested the most suitable." Upon Robin's frown, he added, "Page 132."

"Ah… Maybe I should consider reading the entire thing then." She smiled and carefully closed his book, while switching its place with her own book on the desk. Only then a thought caused her heart to sink in an instant. "I mean… you surely only asked for my assistance in this because I have literature spells in my possession. I… could lend the book to you, if you'd like that."

"Indeed, my intention was to borrow this particular book from you." He said with the gravest expression he had worn all night, and Robin found her heart hollowing out even more. Of course he wouldn't want her to actually partake in any of this… she'd merely been lucky to be included up to this point. But… it was hard to let go of such a great mystery. Of the illusion to be useful, the illusion to do something important for once. That was until he spoke on. "However I cannot deny the fact that you improved my understanding of this book immensely. And… neither can I deny that you are the most reliable assistance I have. Could you imagine yourself to-..."

"Yes." Robin cut in before he could even finish his sentence. "I… sorry for interrupting, but I would very much like to keep assisting you."

She actually got a not-smirk in return. "In that case, I suggest you to read those three pages now."

With a nod, Robin picked up the book and leaned back in her chair while flipping to the correct page. She wouldn't allow herself to get all too excited about this… she was, but this situation required a certain professionalism, and she would do her best to display that now. It didn't take her long to read the three pages, twice even.

"It's… a potion?!" She finally stated with an incredulous expression. "That's weird…"

"Why do you think it is a potion instead of a spell?" He asked then, but this was a professor-question, not a Snape-question.

"Well, seeing as you said a simple restoration spell wouldn't work, it certainly has something to do with the fact that spells aren't strong enough to counter or reverse the magic used to remove the page in the first place. The magical properties of various ingredients combined in a potion however should be strong enough for that." Robin replied without thinking much about it, and placed the book back on the desk with a shrug.

"Good." He looked fairly pleased with her reply, which pleased Robin in return. "You have studied the list of ingredients required for this task, yes?"

"Yeah, I've studied the entire procedure. Twice."

"There are… a few required ingredients I currently do not have in my possession." He kept it vague, eyes flicking to David for a second before returning to Robin. She understood. "We have to get our hands on those first, before we can start on the potion. You are aware of the time it will take to prepare the procedure?"

"Yes. I am." She stated in determination. "No problem with that." The potion would take two months to make… honestly, if anything, she was sad that it wouldn't take longer. Who knew if Snape would ever allow her to help with something again once this was over?

Before either of them could continue, they heard a quiet snoring coming from the Slytherin boy, who had literally fallen asleep over his essay. Robin snorted, and Snape rolled his eyes in return.

"I truly cannot say Minerva could have picked a worse time to drop him off with me." He muttered, grabbed a random journal off the stack at his end of the desk, and then rose to his feet to walk over to the sleeping David. With an unforgiving glare, he smacked the boy in the head with the journal. "This is detention and not your bedroom, Mister Thompson."

"I-I'm sorry, sir…" David immediately brought out as he startled awake, frightened eyes looking up at his professor.

"Seeing as it is well after midnight, you may leave for now. However I expect you to return right to this spot after breakfast."

"Yes, sir…" David sighed in defeat as he rose to his feet, and jumped once Snape snatched the essay from his hands. "Goodnight, sir…" With that, he shot one quick look at Robin before scurrying out of the classroom.

"I hate that child." Snape muttered as he returned to his desk, and Robin couldn't help laughing at the dry honesty. She really couldn't agree more… but she knew it wasn't her place to comment on it.

"So, where will you get the missing ingredients?" Robin asked instead, while he sat back down. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Seeing as I will be stuck with Mister Thompson for the entire weekend, I would highly appreciate if you could indeed… run a few errands."

"Yes, of course! What do you need me to do?"

"Tomorrow is the fourth Saturday of the term, correct?"

"Yes?"

"That means you will get to go to Hogsmeade for the first time, and I ask of you to go indeed. There is a small shop that sells various ingredients for rare potions to anyone who pays enough, off high street obviously. A black building with a golden inscription over the door. I would like you to go there tomorrow. Follow the second alley going to the right off high street to its end, then turn left and you should come across the shop after a minute's walk." With that he turned to face the desk rather than Robin and got out a snippet of parchment to scribble a quick list on it. Then he handed the paper to Robin. "If I'm not mistaken, you should be able to get all of this in Hogsmeade. Tell the man in the shop that I sent you, and you shouldn't be refused nor expected to pay straight up."

"I will do my best, sir." She answered with what she hoped was a positive expression of professionalism and not an overly excited smile. Going to Hogsmeade hadn't really been on her agenda up until this point, but it also wasn't like she had any other plans for tomorrow. After all, she still was only too glad to get to help with this entire mystery. Surely running errands for him would be better than whatever she would've come up with, for nothing that had to do with the potions professor was ever short of interesting in the first place.

"Certainly I do not have to tell you that this entire endeavour is to be kept between you and me. Furthermore I expect you to take your involvement in this as seriously as I do."

"Of course I take this seriously!" Robin gave him an incredulous look that probably let on a bit too much of her hurt expression along with it. "Have I ever given you a reason to doubt that I'm absolutely serious about my work and studies?"

"No." His reply came fast and with certainty. "I am well aware of your dedication for all matters you concern yourself with. However you ought to know that in my terms there is no casual participation. I take your involvement as seriously as my own, and I expect you to do the same."

"You're my professor, of course I take you seriously!" Robin still didn't quite get what he was aiming at. Maybe she should consider going to bed soon… her brain was getting slow.

"Not me, Mitchell!" He rolled his eyes in that exaggerated annoyance once more. "You have to take yourself seriously! I do not have the time or nerve to listen to a self-deprecating speech every time before you voice a thought of yours. Speak your mind and I… will refrain from scolding you, should your comment be redundant."

"Promise you won't yell at me when I say something stupid?" Robin inquired carefully, even though she finally grasped where he was coming from with that statement. Actually, it was rather nice what he was saying. He took her seriously, and demanded for her to be in this completely or not at all. That's really all Robin could've hoped for.

"I do not make promises." Snape answered with a frown as he leaned back in his chair. "But I tell you now that I will not yell at you unless it is absolutely necessary."

"Good enough for me." Robin smiled ever so slightly, feeling both incredibly excited for this private project but also incredibly worried that she will somehow screw it up and make him regret that he put enough trust in her to allow her to assist in the first place. Well, she would just have to be better. Better than she was now, and better than he expected her to be. Just… what did he expect of her to do, exactly? For now, running errands. She wouldn't let him down right on the very first task (nor on any other, actually).

"You look exhausted." He stated then, perfect indifference with a hint of a sigh. "You should go to bed. There isn't any more to be done until tomorrow anyway."

"Yes, sir." With a small sigh she got up and made her way over to her backpack on her own desk, grabbing it on the go as she continued towards the door. Really, she was indeed exhausted and doing herself a favor rather than following his order by heading to bed now…

"Your book, Miss Mitchell." His voice stopped her a few steps away from the door, and Robin turned around to him once again.

"You should keep it for now… with the other book I mean. Isn't that what you would prefer anyway?"

"It is indeed." The not-smirk was back, and so was the lifted eyebrow. "I should assume this is more than fair after lending books to you for two years."

"It surely is." Robin smiled, tiredly, but sincerely nonetheless. "Goodnight, professor."

"Miss Mitchell?" Again, his voice stopped her just before she could open the door, making her turn to him yet again with a question on her face. He spoke on before she could voice it. "Hogsmeade certainly isn't a dangerous place by any means, but since students are rarely seen venturing off high street, I would still advise you to be careful when going to that shop tomorrow."

While he looked perfectly indifferent in that statement, rising to his feet and gathering up the two books from his desk with an expression of utter boredom, the very attempt to hide anything from his face that could have given off the impression of concern or care actually was what gave him away. Just having noticed that made Robin's smile brighten inevitably.

"I will be careful. No need to worry about your precious ingredients." She couldn't help adding that second sentence with a small smirk, and upon receiving a small glare and a not-smirk in return, Robin finally made her way back to her dorm.

… … …

If Robin had felt like she was anything more than just a third year student last night, Saturday morning definitely had every intention to put her back into her place.

First, she had decided to actually make somewhat of an effort in terms of dressing for being errand-girl today (seeing as she hadn't forgotten what Snape had said about her representing the Slytherin house and his own person), and thus she'd ended up with the same old, large and black turtleneck jumper she fancied, tugged into some blackish drainpipe jeans and kept in place by a black belt with an admittedly very scratched silver buckle. Oh well… concessions had to be made. Her mom always said black was classy and staid… and while Robin didn't agree on the 'staid' part, she still wanted to appear classy today.

Her choice of wardrobe however led to the first instance that tried to put her back into her place, namely her fellow students, who didn't cease to make comments from joking to mocking to insulting during breakfast. Well, in comparison to the other third years, with their colorful shirts, patterned dresses and generally average thirteen-year-old style of clothing, she did stand out a lot. Robin looked quite a lot more like some of the sixth or seventh years, if anything… But she suffered through the comments in silence on the outside, and just a hint of doubt and shame on the inside. Maybe she should make an effort to fit in more… but then she looked at everyone again, seriously, and the thought flew out of her mind to never be considered again. Nope, not gonna happen.

After breakfast, the real issues began. Equipped with her trusty leather backpack that was (as always) stuffed with anything she could possibly need, ranging from parchment and books over snacks to a rain jacket, and of course the list of ingredients she was to acquire, Robin stepped out into the courtyard in sincere appreciation of the dark grey clouds in the sky. Way better than sunshine… that only ever made her eyes hurt.

"And where's your permission slip, Miss Mitchell?" McGonagall asked then, eyebrows risen and clearly expecting something Robin wasn't sure about.

"My… what?" Thus came her very eloquent reply.

"The permission slip signed by your parents for this instance? Allowing you to leave the castle grounds in groups of at least three students to go to Hogsmeade?" McGonagall prompted again, and a new existential dread overcame Robin upon the professor's words. Fuck.

"I… I didn't think to let them sign it. I… thought it was more one of those 'for your notice' kind of things." She replied in a faintest hope to somehow fix this situation. "I mean, I traveled the entire country of England by myself over summer! Well, not the entire country, obviously, but I traveled by myself, alone, WITH their explicit permission. They would probably laugh at me if I asked them for permission to go on a fifteen minute walk away from home now!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Mitchell, but rules are rules."

"But that's ridiculous!" Robin couldn't help the exasperated sigh, nor the inevitable rolling of her eyes, as she threw her head into her neck to angrily glare at the sky.

"I do not make the rules, but I'm still obliged to follow them. As are you." The professor pointed out, then added a bit more kindly, "If you are so certain that they will allow you to venture out on your own, you can always send them a letter before the next Hogsmeade Saturday in two weeks and have them sign their permission."

An idea sprung to Robin's mind immediately, born both of McGonagall's words and her own refusal to accept her fate. "So it does not have to be the specific slip given to us before term, but a handwritten approval would suffice?"

"In my eyes, yes." The professor frowned. "However I…" Her voice trailed off as she watched how Robin took off her backpack and dug her arm into it to the shoulder.

Upon seeing the professor's astonishment, Robin merely said, "Extension charm… helps with carrying the books." Then she took out a piece of parchment and a ballpoint pen she usually didn't use for Hogwarts business, and wrote a quick note. It read: 'Hereby we allow our daughter Robin Mitchell to leave the castle grounds in groups OR by herself at any time not officially prohibited by the school rules.' Then Robin handed the paper to McGonagall.

"If my parents sign this, would it suffice for me to be allowed to leave the school grounds also by myself whenever we are officially allowed to go to Hogsmeade?" She asked the still astonished professor, and put her stationery back into the bag while waiting for an answer.

"Usually students simply break this rule instead of asking for permission. It merely applies to third years anyway, to ensure they get used to the new freedom before abusing it." McGonagall finally replied with a doubtful expression.

"Well, I'd rather change the rules to fit my needs than break them, to be honest." Robin shrugged. "That's usually less stressful for everyone."

Now McGonagall straight out looked incredulous and yet undoubtedly humored. "In that case, if you get your parents to sign this piece of writing, then yes, you may go on your own this year as well."

A smile spread on Robin's lips. Part one of her plan had worked, at least. "Great. Where can I find you in approximately twenty minutes, professor?"

"I have absolutely no idea what you are plotting, Miss Mitchell, but I can assure you no owl will be that quick."

"I'm not planning on using an owl, professor… I'm planning on bribing a house elf." Robin replied with a hint of mischief in her tone that even she could hear herself. "They are very nice, actually, if one is respectful and kind. And as far as I know, there is no rule against asking them for a favor."

"Indeed there isn't… However they are not a replacement for owls in any way."

"I have no intention to make them do anything they don't want to, which is not to say that I could in the first place. But I think I can offer them something in return that may convince them to do me this one favor." After a few seconds of silence, Robin added, "Please, professor… I really need to go to Hogsmeade today. And seeing as the only thing holding me back currently is a missing signature from my dad, I have come up with a perfectly by-the-rules plan to get you just that. Just because it's not commonly done this way doesn't mean it's any less legitimate."

"You certainly are creative in your sheer determination to make it to Hogsmeade today." McGonagall sighed. "I'm heading to the teacher's lounge now, should your efforts lead to the desired result."

"Thank you." Robin gave the professor a bright smile, then made her way towards the kitchens as fast as she could without running. This had to work… she would not stop even one second before those damned ingredients were on Snape's desk.

It took Robin a good ten minutes to convince her favorite house elf, who she had gone to for chocolate cake in the middle of the night more often than she liked to admit, to do her this favor. Not because the female elf (whose name Robin had learned to be Buttercup) would've refused Robin, she'd never do that, but because Robin had to convince her to accept a bar of Twirls in return. Finally, after explaining the advantages and necessity of fair trading to the entirety of the kitchen staff, Robin could get the young elf to accept the trade. Five minutes later, after apparating from the Hogwarts kitchens to Robin's family home in Oxford and back again, Buttercup happily exchanged the now signed permission slip for the chocolate bars Robin was handing her. Really, bless the house elves for being able to apparate in and out of Hogwarts, and bless Robin's brain for remembering that at such a convenient time.

After saying thank you and making sure Buttercup actually liked Twirls, Robin was on her way to the teacher's lounge in an instant. For once a plan of hers was actually working out the way it was supposed to, and honestly the feeling of success sufficed to gather up enough confidence to knock on the door and ask for McGonagall. The professor didn't actually seem all too surprised anymore when Robin handed her the now signed note, and without further ado she allowed Robin to head to Hogsmeade at last. If Robin wasn't mistaken, she even saw McGonagall smile in amusement for a brief moment when she finally turned to leave.

______________________________

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[jostenneil]

I think something so fundamental to Naruto as a story is the fact that Naruto and Sasuke’s individual journeys in relation to Konoha—as a system and as a collective of people—are always going to send them in opposite directions. Like I realize that a lot of fans (including me, at times) wanted anything but angst for them as a conclusion, after all that they went through, but in doing so I think people ignore something undeniable about the story itself. As the story progresses, Konoha becomes a home to Naruto, and a source of exile to Sasuke. More under the cut!

The problems I have with Naruto’s post-canon—Chapter 700 and onward—lie mostly in the idea that Sasuke is willing to bend and cater to this system that: 

manipulated his brother into massacring his whole family,

isolated him as a result of that massacre, fixing his hatred on a singular point with no thought to how that situation could easily spiral, which it did, 

provided him with no knowledge as to why that massacre actually occurred,

and when he did find out the reason, lead him to realize that Konoha was a village that had never wanted him to begin with, that he had been spared solely because his brother loved him that much (but even then, that love wasn’t without consequence, and it was manipulated by the background intentions of Konoha’s elite), 

and, regardless of all these facts, continued to alienate and criminalize him rather than help or address his trauma and his very valid reasons for rage aimed at the village. 

Do I agree that there were better ways for Sasuke to go about his intentions once he recognized Konoha’s elite for the scum of the earth that they were? Sure. But I also think it’s important to recognize that he was incredibly destabilized as a child, and it’s amazing, because for some people this is a very hard thing to understand? I think fandom doesn’t realize the difference in the words ‘justified’ and ‘explained’. Were all of Sasuke’s actions in canon justified? Maybe not (although a lot were). Were all of his actions well explained by his trauma? Honestly, yeah. 

So to circle back to the point that I am trying to make—it’s true that during Part I, he grew very close to Team 7, and for a brief moment in time, these relationships were like a lifeline for him. But think about it—is a connection that you hold to three people enough to keep you in a village where you hardly feel connected to the rest? This is only a mild issue for Sasuke at the end of Part I; he doesn’t feel very connected to most people in Konoha, but at best, they’re just annoying background noise, trivial obstacles in the face of his goal to hunt down and murder Itachi. 

By the end of Part II, however, it’s overwhelmingly integral to his situation. Over the course of his journey, he’s come to learn that Konoha as a system always viewed him—his family—as a potential threat. His life was spared by his brother, but even that came with consequences and orders orchestrated by Danzo and co.; add onto that the chaos that he wrecked once he was free of Orochimaru’s tutelage, and you have a person who didn’t just alienate himself from his village, but who was alienated by that village in turn. 

It just makes so much sense to me that he leaves at the end of Chapter 699, because while he obviously cares deeply for Naruto and Sakura, is it really realistic to imagine him staying there just for them? What would he do, and what purpose would staying there serve him? This village rendered his entire life a lie, trivialized his existence, and traumatized him as a result. Aside from his connection to Naruto, by the end of the manga, Sasuke is purposeless. For someone whose entire arc is propelled by hate and sadness that stems from a very specific purpose, he ends up in this strange, sort of in-limbo space. . .

. . . which is why I actually like the idea that he decided to go on a journey for himself. It’s why I like the Blank Period notion of him being this forever traveler who drops in on occasion to help when circumstances are dire. It’s a good balance for him. In the fast-forwarded post-canon, however, we see that he’s essentially become a more child-friendly Itachi equivalent—he’s signed his life away to forever protect Konoha from behind the scenes, despite the fact that it comes at the cost of him neglecting his own family, and for the sake of a populace that for the most part does not care for him. It just feels like such a cruel way for his story to come full circle, after everything that he went through, because as much as he loves Naruto, Sasuke admitting to loss is more an acceptance to let love in, in full, and to let it guide him over the hatred he’d harbored in his heart for so long. That doesn’t have to be equivalent to submitting himself to Konoha—it just means that he should allow himself to prioritize his own needs and desires, rather than let anyone else’s evil or trauma guide him, as it has for the whole story.

And actually, that notion, to me, is what made Naruto’s character progression and ending make a lot of sense in comparison. He is someone who constantly strove for heartfelt connection to others, despite the pain and rejection that it could very often inflict on himself. In many ways, it was a dangerous way to think, and he often came off as naive(, which Naruto as a story is plenty criticized for, because it easily runs counter-intuitive to any sort of worthy political commentary on the series), but it also made him a very hopeful and independent person. He didn’t allow what others thought of him or inflicted upon him to guide his thinking, and he was very much someone who prioritized his own heart over the malice of others. 

So naturally, Naruto always ran in a direction opposed to Sasuke as a result of this thinking—and we know this. Befriending and changing the people around him for the better was what propelled Naruto more than anything, and it’s why Konoha ended up as a home for him despite everything it and its people did to discourage and put him down. He had to go to ridiculous lengths to prove himself, and in many ways it was cruel to realize, but he also formed so many valuable relationships along the way. Like, his relationship with Sasuke obviously takes precedence, because it is the foundation and catalyst for everything, but I don’t really agree with people who view Naruto’s dream of becoming Hokage as an obstacle to that bond. I actually feel like those were goals that ran in parallel for him. And I mean, he even says it, doesn’t he? How is he supposed to become Hokage if he can’t even bring back this one friend from darkness. It just resonates so much to me that by the end of the story, Naruto is someone actually prepared to take on the mantle of Hokage—because he understands other people’s pain, and he runs with it, and he is insistent upon making the people around him love themselves because he knows how miserable he was as a child hardly able to love himself. 

In that sense, Chapter 699 is, to me, a really great chapter. I think it captures that forever diverging dichotomy between him and Sasuke perfectly. Naruto is a story equally about Naruto making a home for himself in Konoha as it is about Sasuke freeing himself from the same village’s shackles. True, there is this intense, deeply rooted love that they are always going to have for each other, but that love is something that runs alongside their own personal feelings and ambitions, rather than against it. I think people get caught up in the idea that a happy ending for them has to mean that they’re together together, but to me there’s a certain poetry in them going their own separate ways. Konoha is no longer a home for Sasuke (if it ever was, even a little), but that relationship to Naruto and Team 7 will forever be important to him and influence him wherever he goes; and Konoha has become a home for Naruto, but it’s also with the peace of knowing that Sasuke won’t ever succumb to the darkness of others again, and will love himself first. 

So, tldr; I think the notion of Naruto ending with Naruto and Sasuke going their separate ways is kind of ingenious, because it ties deeply into what Konoha means to each of them by the end of it. This isn’t me saying that I think they’re never going to see each other again—I just don’t think the conclusion to their individual arcs has to be in opposition to what their relationship means to them. They can continue to be intensely important to each other, while prioritizing their own hopes and dreams. That’s the beauty and tragedy of their relationship to me. (Chapter 700, who?)

[werevulvi]

Perhaps it's not so special to just be a woman. Half the population is. So what? But to me it is a huge thing. To even be able to say those words "I am a woman." They feel magnetic somehow, clinging to my tongue. It's like the word "woman" has a texture in my mouth like no other word does, vibrating at a different frequency. As if it's poisonous to taste. Yet I taste it, yet I say it. And I will keep saying it until I've cleansed it, no matter how long it takes. No matter how annoyingly repetitive and unnecessary it may sound to you.

It is a big deal to me, because up until age 29, I never spoke of myself using that word. Not even once. To then pick it up, for the first time, at age 29... was huge. And it's been 2 years since then now, but I'm still struggling with it, and it's still huge. I still don't understand why it's so hard for me to hold and hold onto that word, yet I am fiercely protective of it. I toss it away, then pick it up again, remorseful and protective of it. And I do that again and again. For each time I pick it up again, it's as if I understand its value a little bit more. All the significance, trauma, love, pain and curiosity it carries. It is mine, and no matter how hard it is to hold... I refuse to ever truly let go of it.

I may not look like a woman, I may not even want to! But why does it matter? Why should it matter what a woman looks like? Am I taking it too far, with the masculinity, the beard and bald head? Am I pushing my idea of freedom for women's expression too far? "Yes, women can be masc and gnc, BUT..." is what I keep hearing. But what? "...but you're taking it too far by looking like a whole ass man" is what I feel like the rest of the sentence, which they do not speak, is. Perhaps I'm wrong, I can't read minds. But sometimes I feel like people's minds are so loud that I can't not hear their thoughts.

I get a lot of backlash for every time I state myself as a woman, with my obnoxious reluctance to pass as my true identity. It's difficult to properly word that, what I actually mean. Perhaps I mean to say that I refuse to look like the traditional ideal of what people expect a woman to roughly wanna look like, whether that be masculine or feminine, as long as it's clearly recognisably female in some way or another. And my "true identity" has nothing to do with my personality, or my preferred expression, but only my deep down true love for being bio female. Thus, my "reluctance to pass" is indeed my desire to keep and maintain my transition traits, and my "true identity" is my womanhood, but I don't mean it in the same way TRA's do.

That true love for being female, isn't an ideal, but rather something much closer to my survival instinct.

It's that feeling of wanting to protect yourself when in danger. It's that instant self defense you act on without thinking when you feel like you're being threatened. It's that instant reaction of removing yourself from danger the split second it touches you, your body. It doesn't matter which part of you that danger touches, whether it be your hand, knee, your love handles, scarred chest, hairy face or your genitals. No matter what part of you is touched by that danger, you will instinctively protect it. It's in that instinct that I found love for my female nature, in my instinct to protect it from harm. I found it beyond my survival instinct, because no matter what part of me is ever touched by danger, my subconscious mind recognises it as not just lovable and worthy of protection and care, but also as part of the whole. This means, that deep down I'm not just loving myself... I also know that I am whole. No matter how many parts of me are cut off or distorted... I will always be whole.

I don't always feel aware of that like in my frontal lobe, but damn, my reptile brain knows it and won't ever question it.

With that, I found that my dysphoria is a shallow creation of my frontal lobe, and that it's in contradiction of my survival instinct. Being suicidal and/or self-harming is similar to this. Even wanting to die, always came second to my survival instinct. That is probably why I never succeeded to kill myself, and also why I never succeeded to truly hate my body. This does NOT mean that such horrible suffering as dysphoria or whatever feelings lead to self harm, is somehow not real. That is not what I'm saying at all. I'm saying it's a kind of cognitive dissonance, which messes with the very core of your core instincts, and that... I think, makes such psychological issues especially harmful.

And I also mean that my self love may not always have been accessible to me on surface level, but that despite that, it has always been innate.

And with that said... having found my innate self-love, and invited it to my frontal lobe... that is sorta why I can't really regret my medical transition. Even though I still have days when I struggle. Because I can't think of my body as broken anymore. Not since I found that deep, deep, VERY deep down I view myself as whole, lovable, valuable, and worthy of respect, love and safety... no matter what ever happens to me. Because my body is me, and there is no true disconnect between my sense of self and my flesh. Only on surface level there can sometimes be disconnect.

Kinda like the branches on a tree may be disconnected at the crown, but deeper down they all share the same trunk. I see myself in a similar manner. That at the top of the tree is most of my conscious thoughts, feelings, memories, etc, as well as all the various parts of my body. Or that is what my frontal lobe is aware of. That is how I perceive myself on surface level, as a scattered mess of branches, twigs, leaves and what not, each representing aspect of me, seemingly chaotic and all disconnected. But I'm also partially aware of what's going on deeper within my mind. I'm aware of the trunk that connects all branches, twigs, leaves, etc, and I'm also aware of the roots. Not directly aware, but I sense it like an inkling. I can sense that not only is there a trunk and roots deep down that connects to all twigs, and all twigs to each other, but also there in lies my knowledge that no matter how many of my twigs are left intact... the tree will always be a whole tree.

And it doesn't matter what I look like, or what troubles my body has gone through. Survival will always be the first priority. And my self-love IS equal to my instinct to survive. Because the reason I will always come to my own rescue whenever faced with danger or threat, or perceived danger/threat, is because I love myself. Self-love is the first move before I'm even saving myself from the danger, before that split second reaction takes place. That is how fast, instant and innate my self-love is. It was too obvious to even be aware of, for most of my life.

I think that's why is was so hard for me to find my self love. Because well... it was more deeply buried than my survival instinct itself, which I thought must be the innermost core aspect of my existence. But I was wrong about that. Self-love goes even deeper than survival. THAT is the innermost core aspect. Or so I believe. Can't think of anything that would possibly go even deeper than that.

But also, although I am the most aware on my self-love in moments my survival instinct takes over, I am also aware of it in other moments.

This is also why I can't get rid of my transition traits such as my facial hair. Because finding that true self-love from deep within my core, basically made me fuse all my aspects and physical traits together into a complete wholeness. All needs to be protected and loved. Every twig, every leaf. Sacrificing bits and pieces of me that are not damaging to my health, is self harm and goes against my survival instinct/self-love. It does not matter if the parts of me are in their natural state or medically/cosmetically altered. Even if those parts of me are inconvenient for my social life.

You know how a people who get organ transplants, their bodies try to reject the new organ because their immune system regards it as foreign? Well, this is kinda like that, but the exact opposite. My body/immune system/whatever-the-fuck regards my transition traits as heakthy parts of my original body, and thus to be protected at all costs. Loss of them will result in pain and grief. Just like losing any other part of my body would. And why? Because we mourn the loss of what we love, and what we regard as "ours" and as important, whole, healthy, lovable.

Deep down I do not care as much about such things as having a functional social life. Deep down, I care much more about things like keeping myself whole, safe, healthy and loved. Getting rid of my beard goes against that. Even just shaving it goes against that. My subconscious mind regards such an act as self harm.

Does this make sense to you? That it has nothing to do with "gender," be it manhood, womanhood, dysphoria, femininity or masculinity. It has to do with self-love, self-respect and survival. And that is a hell of a lot more important than being read or respected as a woman by others. No matter how much it hurts, because respecting and reclaiming myself as a woman is also highly important to me. Thus, I have to find a way to be open and honest with myself as a woman, without further harming myself.

I know this is deep and complicated spiritual shit, but I'm just trying to explain something which I think is probably very important. This discovery I had changed my life dramatically. So am I trying to teach self-love? No, I dunno. I don't think I can do that. I don't think anyone can. Perhaps I'm just trying to show a possibility.

I also need to clarify that despite knowing I love myself deep down now, I still struggle to stay connected to that aspect of my brain. And when I'm disconnected from it, I override my survival instinct and it misinterprets itself. Basically I fall out of order and act in a self destructive way, thinking it's self protection when it's actually the opposite. With that I understand that my self-love and my survival instinct are dependent on each other and need to be in harmony with each other to really keep me alive, safe and healthy. And although I'm now sometimes aware of this bond deep with myself, I'm still in imbalance. Because I still confuse self destruction for survival sometimes. When I skip meals, when I stay up too late, when I ruminate, when I smoke cigarettes, when I skip exercising, when I let my dirty dishes mould, etc. So simply being aware isn't quite enough, but it got me very far ahead of myself.

Also, trivial matters and superficial woes still get to me. I'm still human. I'm still fallible. Which is okay, but also frustrating. And that is basically why I love being a woman, while at the same time I also still struggle to accept myself as a woman, because it does include accepting being too norm-breaking for the society that I live in to accept me. And that hurts. It's a challenge that I'm not gonna overcome over night, just because I found the most important key to my healing. It's still just a key, a framework or an attitude - not a cure or some kinda magical spell. It's highly valuable and extremely important, but I still need to properly work through my emotions and learn how to navigate my social issues.

But what I feel my self-love is doing to help me, is carrying me through all this, and soothing me when I most need it. It makes my struggle worth it, and it makes me see a hell of a lot more of my potential than I was ever aware of before. The only backside of it is... well, it seems it does get to my head sometimes, and causing me some mild narcissistic tendencies. It sometimes makes me impatient hearing people with low self-esteem go on and on about how worthless they feel. That isn't great, I know. I'm working on fixing that error too.

By Werevulvi, dated November 29th, 2020.