#but in the process your family and kin rejected you as you become something they dont like and feel threatens them?

[transmandrake]

Trans allegory

Disc Horse adjacent if you wanna skip but

I have mixed feelings on the current chatter around 'Female Socialisation' as a concept

First off its really wierd we only talk about it as Female but I almost never have heard the term Male Socialisation on here. Which is already quite telling on the current biases in this very insular part of the online world.

Second, like... Idk. As a trans person, was I really... socialised female? Not really. As soon as I hit like 6 I went into my tomboy I hate Pink and Girls phase and no one really fought against that.

So I agree somewhat that its a shit term.

But also like... I did grow up as a girl. I was perceived as a girl, I experienced the world as a girl, I was aware, to my dismay, that what I was affected how others saw me and treated me.

The beginning of my 'trans awakening' was when I moved to Ireland and was very confused as to why the boys in my class were oddly cold when I said I liked pokemon too, and wanted to play pokemon with them, and oh I play CoD too with my brothers and-

Oh. They see me as a girl. They don't want to be my friend, because people will make fun of them or me, or make jokes about us dating.

Nothing changed about me. It was the outside that came into view. I still feel this; I would not be transgender in a genderless world (Though I feel my body is Transsexual. Whole other tangent)

But I wasnt socialised in any way, really. Some people are but its not a replacement for 'afab', another flawed term (in its use not its intent) that just tries to hopelessly draw a line of girl trans and boy trans.

But undeniably I have experienced the world in a way that is not cis. The trans experience is not defined by your genitals, or how you were raised, but... The others. The perception. I can never unnexperience it. No matter how much I do or don't 'pass', no matter how much any of us do, we have an experience of... not been seen as what and who we are.

Transness isnt defined by presence, but absence. We do not get to be seen as ourselves, not for a long time if at all. And when we do, we cant erase that experience.

And thats why I hate these divides, even if I was 'socialised' in a distinct way; I don't feel unrepresented when something has a trans woman or man in it, because they're... trans. I know that. It doesnt matter who. The asethetics, the gendered traits, its all outer, irrelevant.

I grew up being perceived as something I am not. That is all that matters. The body is irrelevant. The dress. The identity.

Wolf in sheeps clothing. Sheep in wolfs clothing. Both disguised. It doesnt matter if the wolf is shot for being a wolf underneath or if the sheep is shot for looking like a wolf.

Who has it worse? Whose disguise fits better? Does the sheep lose privilege? Does the wolf gain it?

It doesnt matter. We all end up on the dinner plate or the tannery at the end.

Betrayed or hunted? Death. Always.

Stop shooting wolves. Only then will we both stop dying.

[kingofpopmj]

Just Promise Baby, You'll Love Me Forevermore

Summary: Michael and Y/N take part in an interview together.

Pairing: Michael Jackson x Actress!Reader

Warnings: fluff, Fluff and more FLUFF Requested: Yes

"Hello everyone, we're having some last minute lighting issues. We should be good to go in a few minutes. Please stand by." A tall man with long brown hair and a headset announced to the room.

The interviewer stood alone tapping her foot, a young twenty-something brunette woman. She had become a household name overnight because of this very interview, her first high level project. She wore a figure hugging navy blue pantsuit with light makeup. She was nervously checking her clipboard every few seconds, scribbling down last minute notes.

"Hi, I'm Y/N, it's very nice to meet you. Thank you so much for being here." Y/N's sweet voice filled the air, introducing herself as if everyone didn't already know her name, but it said a lot about her character. She gracefully made her way around the room kindly making conversation with each person present. Her undivided attention was given to each individual, nothing less, she hung on their every word, asking thoughtful questions in return and in those few moments they were putty in her hands.

"Hello, how are you? I'm Michael. Thank you for taking part in this project with us." Michael Jackson—THE Michael Jackson followed a few paces behind Y/N, his version of walking appeared more like gliding. Eventually, he caught up with Y/N, securing a firm arm around her, his thumb rubbing circles in her hip. They continued greeting everyone and they swept them off their feet as a team. A beautiful, kind-hearted team. It was truly indescribable— like watching two mythical creatures prove their existence right before our eyes.

It was overwhelming— in the most amazing way possible. The star power aside, they seemed very normal. The two of them genuinely enjoyed meeting everyone, didn't leave anyone out and remembered every name. Michael stole glances, numerous lingering stares at his beloved. The way he looked at her, you could feel his emotions, he didn't just think she was beautiful— she was his everything. He didn't laugh or smile until he saw that she was doing the same. The protectiveness was evident. He wasn't jealous or threatened. He was cautious and confident. The way he watched over her wasn't possessive, it was sweet, like she was as vital to him as his own beating heart.

"Let's get our stars set with microphones." A short woman shuffled over to Michael and Y/N, guiding them over to their seats. They were going through the process of being wired up and I couldn't help but to admire their carefree nature.

They stood in front of one another, pulling silly faces at each other, giggling and enjoying themselves. They somehow managed to make this room feel like a home and everyone in it extended family.

"That works. Daryl, thank you." Y/N smiled, placing her hand on the assistants shoulder, the redness taking over his face and growing deeper by the second as he scurried off.

The couple shared a moment, whispering to one another with coquettish smiles. Michael moved to stand in front of her as she took her seat. He removed his coat without a second thought, Y/N waving her hands in the air as if to reject the gesture, but he paid no mind. He carefully placed the coat across her thighs, protecting her from wandering eyes and cameras. A tender kiss to her lips before he walked off for a moment.

"Hello, I'm Leslie, I'll be conducting the interview today. I can't believe you're here! This is insane! This is so cool!" She became very giddy, barely catching herself from continuing, Y/N sweetly matched her enthusiasm. "I mean, it's such an honor to meet you. I'm a huge fan. You're so talented." She spoke quickly, her eyes shining brightly with excitement. "You're even more beautiful in person. Thank you for agreeing to this and selecting me to be your interviewer. I know this interview is the first of its kind. I'm incredibly grateful to be part of it."

Y/N listened closely, nodding her head, following along, silently studying the woman before her, then standing up and leaning in for a sweet embrace. Leslie was visibly losing her mind, Y/N shared words of encouragement as she held her. She's sweet, astonishingly delightful and humble.

“Thank you so much. Leslie, you’re very kind. I appreciate you taking us up on the offer. We took time to watch your interviews and were blown away by your style. We knew immediately you were the one we wanted to create this with. We're really excited."

"I still can't believe you two know who I am. I'm so nervous. I apologize in advance if I become even more of a blubbering mess when Mr. Jackson joins us. I know he's your—"

"Oh, please call me Michael. It's lovely to finally meet you." A delicate voice sounded from behind Leslie. Y/N watched as he made his way to the seat next to her, a smile on her face and a light blush across her cheeks. Michael held his hand out to greet Leslie, but she was frozen.

"I'm— Wow— Okay." She stuttered. "This is real. This is happening. Michael, it's great to meet you. I'm a huge fan of you. Both of you. I'm actively struggling to process all of this." She giggled as she gestured toward the two celebrities in front of her. "I— wow. This is mind boggling."

"Thank you. We feel the exact same way. We admire your work as well." Michael said with soft laughter, as Leslie appeared to forget how to breathe. He then directed his attention to Y/N.

"You grow more beautiful by the second. My love, how do you feel, are you comfortable?" He kissed her cheek, gently resting his hand on top of hers. Michael made a habit of asking her that question throughout their relationship. If for any reason she didn't feel safe in a space, no explanation was needed, just a yes or a no and Michael would whisk her away. He knew firsthand how this industry operated and he intended to protect her at all costs.

"You're such a flirt. I’m doing just fine. Thank you honey." She giggled, hiding behind her long hair.

"The two minutes we had to part in the hallway were dreadful.” Michael pouted clutching his chest for dramatic effect.

"Those two minutes were nearly unsurvivable." Y/ N sweetly agreed while caressing his cheek.

It was beautiful to watch them interact in a somewhat private setting. The way they love one another was so authentic, so intimate, but not far enough to be uncomfortable for those in their company. It was real. They're just two people, with unfathomable talent, insane lifestyles but deeply in love and undeniably their true selves.

"We're ready to go!" A man's voice echoed through the studio.

Leslie nodded, taking a few deep breaths and glancing over her notes one last time.

"Three, Two, One." The cameraman spoke, pointing over to Leslie, signaling her to begin her introduction.

"Good evening, I'm Leslie Johnson, thank you for joining us tonight. Tonight is vastly different from our usual programming because tonight you are witnessing history in the making. Our first ever live interview with undoubtedly the two greatest stars this generation has ever seen. They are gifted with talent you only see once in a lifetime. These two phenomenons aren't only loved and respected for their craft, but also the positive impact they make to protect the earth and all of humanity. They have gracefully taken over the business and they are just getting started. Please help me in welcoming our guests for tonight, as if further introduction is needed, the people's sweetheart, Miss Y/N Y/L/N and the one and only, Mister Michael Jackson." She held her smile as the camera fanned out, Y/N and Michael now on screen.

"Thank you for having us Leslie." Michael spoke up for the both of them.

"Thank you both for making this production what it is. I must add that 100% of the proceeds for tonights event are being graciously donated to the charities of our guests choosing." The entire crew behind the cameras began cheering. Michael smiled, covering his face slightly at the scene in front of him. Y/N, reached over holding his hand, smiling ear to ear as she admired him. She helped calm his nerves and soon enough he wasn’t shielding his smile.

"Let's get started!" Leslie clapped. "I'll start with a question for Michael, you've been in this industry since you were five years old, there is so much pressure in your chosen profession, with the mass hysteria that follows, how do you preserve who you are and remain so humble?"

"That's a great question." He spoke softly, shifting in his seat, then continuing. "My upbringing plays an important role in that, my values and morals were something instilled in me at a very young age. As I’ve grown up in this industry, as you pointed out, I witnessed many great artists and their careers. I knew early on what I wanted to do and how I wanted to accomplish it, so watching those that came before me helped to navigate through tough times. It's a difficult lifestyle, but I remind myself daily how thankful I am for the gifts god has blessed me with and the opportunities he's allowed me to experience. Also, it helps to surround yourself with beautiful people who you admire and who help you grow in ways that you never imagined possible. I'm very blessed." A visible warmth took over his cheeks as he very bluntly referred to his girlfriend sitting next to him.

"Lovely, it's amazing to see how you handle everything thrown at you. It's clear that you have a beautiful heart and being in your presence it's overwhelming because of how genuine you are. It's difficult to wrap our minds around it, because you don't let the fame get to your head. It's admirable. I would like to know, Y/N, how you feel, is there anything you would like to add?"

"Michael is one of a kind. All his talent aside, Michael the person is so incredibly caring, hysterical, gentle and thoughtful. I feel that's why people fall in love with him. They hear his music, they see him perform and it's so magical that you want to know how it came to be, you want to understand the real person on a deeper level. When you dig deeper you find this soft-spoken, intelligent, compassionate and crazy handsome man. To fall in love with him is inevitable." As Y/N spoke, Michael watched her intently. He worshipped her, the love struck look on his face and you just knew, you could feel him falling more in love with her with each passing second.

"That sounds like you're speaking from experience." Leslie joked. "Y/N, you made your acting debut as a toddler, though you didn't have many speaking lines in your first film, you managed to capture the hearts of people all around the world. My question is, how have you managed to gracefully grow into the young woman before us today and still have a firm hold on our hearts?"

"My guess is as good as yours." She giggled, tucking her hair behind her ear. "l'd say, I did my best with every opportunity I was blessed with. Although it was difficult at times, I focused on protecting who I was and who I wanted to be away from the spotlight. I was lucky enough to be surrounded by a team that protected my privacy to the best of their abilities. This helped me to have the most normal of a childhood I could, but unfortunately, I still missed out on a lot. I shared most of my life, whether I wanted to or was forced to, the media can be very invasive at times. However, I've tried to make the best out of every situation, so I think that's something that people related to and also, many people feel as though they've grown up with me."

“Yes, I can't imagine how difficult it must’ve been to deal with grown men chasing you around with cameras at such a young age." Leslie responded with a hint of a frown as she processed Y/N’s explanation.

"Now, it's just me she has to deal with." Michael surprisingly perked up, making camera noises with his mouth and holding an imaginary camera. Y/N laughed uncontrollably, her shoulders shaking as she held her stomach. Michael sat up straighter than before with a triumphant grin on his face, proud of himself for making her laugh.

"She has the best laugh, doesn’t she?" Michael gushed, watching adoringly as Y/N tried to compose herself.

"That she does." Leslie smirked, enjoying watching Michael become more comfortable. "This next question is for both of you. You're two of the most recognizable faces in the world, everyone is curious, how you manage to go out and have a peaceful day or night out on the town?"

"It's definitely a challenge. There is definitely intense planning that goes into anything we do. Thankfully, we both have incredible security teams, so they join forces for us when we want to get out and explore together." Y/N responded quickly.

"We've accepted that if were out in public we will never truly be alone. Privacy is out of the question, which we've made our peace with. We don't mind meeting fans, conversing with locals, that’s not a problem. They are always very kind and respectful. Paparazzi on the other hand are a different story. They add a layer of uncertainty in the air and they can be very aggressive. If they just calmed down and gave us a bit of personal space we could all coexist peacefully." Michael added.

"I'm glad you brought that up Michael, you gave me the perfect segue to my next question. It's well known that photographers and paparazzi can become very intense when trying to capture a shot. Y/N, there was an incident last month when you attended the Grammy Awards with Michael. There was a massive commotion that took place on the red carpet. Many theories have been circulating the media, which purposely paint the two of you in a negative light. I feel that due to the nature of the issue you two should get the opportunity to tell your side of the story. The truth. Would one or both of you like to answer this and set the record straight?"

Y/N appeared to grow more nervous as the question left Leslie’s mouth. She tucked her hair behind her ear and shifted her gaze over to Michael, who was already looking back at her.

"Leslie, there are people that push boundaries that simply shouldn’t be pushed." Michael began, shaking his head softly, enveloping Y/N's hand in both of his. "That night, there were a few photographers that were screaming louder than the others, really nasty things, specifically towards my lady. We did our best to drown that out until it became physical. Y/N endured bruises down her arm and back from being aggressively grabbed at, so I had no choice but to step in. On top of that, they attempted to photograph up her dress, which is just despicable. I did what needed to be done to keep her safe. I will not apologize for that."

"It was a terrifying experience, the backlash that followed was so unexpected and hurtful." Y/N's demeanor growing more guarded as she thought of how to answer. "I never thought something like that could happen. Michael did get into a bit of a physical altercation, which has been completely taken out of context as well. Although he was very upset he still attempted to diffuse the situation using his words, but he wasn’t given much of a choice. In the end, he protected me and I'm lucky he was there." Michael followed every motion of her lips intently with a small smirk on his lips.

“Michael, I have to say what we’re all thinking, who knew you had such a mean right hook.” Leslie chuckled. "Thank you for such honest words. I empathize deeply with what you were subjected to. I’m glad you have such an amazing partner. You two complement each other beautifully. I just have to ask, everyone is curious, since Michael is in the music industry and Y/N is in the film industry, how did the two of you meet?"

“Well, this man is sneaky let me tell you.” The smile on Y/N’s face, squeezing her eyes nearly shut. “So, Michael had his people contact mine to plan a meeting of some sort. He insisted he wanted me in a music video—”

“Babe, you’re forgetting a very important detail. We had met at the Oscars the night before and she basically asked me on a date—”

“Oh, you are exaggerating!”

“You said, and I quote, ‘I can’t wait to see you again.’ with a very flirtatious wink.” Michael reasoned, shifting in his seat to face her.

“You showered me with compliments Mr. Jackson. Within five minutes of meeting one another he told me it wasn’t until he met me that he believed in love.”

“And I was telling the truth.”

“And I was flirting.” She winked at him, causing his face to turn a bright shade of red.

“I guess it’s safe to say there was a mutual interest between the two of you. Will we ever see Y/N star in one of your music videos?”

“You know it’s something I’d love to create. I mean she has inspired a lot of my writing process these days. It seems fitting that my muse be in a video or two or three..” Michael’s voice becoming more playful as he tried to conceal his smirk.

“Y/N, how do you feel hearing you’re his muse? Would you be interested in starring alongside Michael in a film?” Leslie questioned, keeping the conversation moving.

“I’m flattered. It’s very flattering.” Y/N’s hand pressed against her cheek as she tried not to giggle uncontrollably. Michael licked his lips as he watched the effect his words had on her. “He’s so sweet. I’m a fan of everything Michael creates. Honestly, his voice is hands down my favorite sound. You know, to make a film together would be awesome. I would love that! I think Michael would do a phenomenal job.”

“You’ve been together for quite some time. I’m sure you’ve had some lovely adventures with one another. Are there any special memories you’re comfortable sharing with us? And, is there anything you look forward to experiencing together that you haven’t yet?”

“First vacation together?” Michael raised his eyebrow at Y/N.

“Michael invited me to accompany him in Italy.” Y/N had this sparkle in her as she looked back at Michael. It was like they were the only two people in the room.

“Italy? Wow. Michael, you brought out the big guns.” Leslie laughed.

“Oh yes. I was on tour at the time and thankfully I had scheduled days off in between each concert, so it worked out perfectly.”

“That was the first time I saw him on stage.” Y/N gushed.

“How was it to see Michael in action? What is the most memorable thing?”

“He’s magic. There’s no other way to describe it. I always tease him about it because he makes it seem like he’s just going for a walk. Performing comes so natural to him. He said, ‘I have to go do something.’ Kissed me on the cheek then went on stage in front of hundreds of thousands of people. He was so nonchalant about it. It’s a sweet unpretentious kind of confidence.” Y/N giggled, reaching over to tuck Michael’s curl behind his ear, which he playfully rolled his eyes at.

“I was trying to impress her. When she arrived at the stadium, I was reminded just how out of my league this woman is—”

“Oh stop!” Y/N poked his side, causing him to let out a deep laugh. “You were very intimidating to meet Mr. Jackson.”

“So were you dear.” He brought her hand to meet his lips. “So were you.”

“Bubbles watched me like a hawk! That boy would squeeze in between us if we sat next to one another. He was difficult to win over.”

“He loves you now.”

“Yes. At the end of our first date, Michael walked me back to my room and as we were about to kiss goodnight, I was launched into the pool. Bubbles’ and I have been inseparable since.”

“That was just his way of welcoming you to the family.” Michael shrugged, biting his lip hard to keep from hollering. “It’s like an initiation.”

“Initiation?” Y/N’s tone was enough to make Michael lose it. His signature fedora nearly fell off his head as his laughter filled the air.

“You are his favorite now. Y/N comes over and he’s glued to her hip. He pushes me away now.”

“He threw an entire cake at Michael the other day.” She buried her face in her hands as her shoulders began bouncing rhythmically.

“Yes! The candles were lit too.”

“What happened? Why did he throw the cake at you?” Leslie asked between laughs.

“It was Y/N’s birthday. We had finished singing to her and I leaned in for a kiss which he absolutely lost his mind over.” Michael explained, “Fortunately, most of the candles blew out as the cake flew through the air, but one did burn a hole in my coat.”

“I didn’t know Bubbles had such great aim.” Leslie spoke in shock.

“Bubbles’ is very passionate.” Michael’s face was serious “He’ll yell at me if I’m stealing too much of Y/N’s attention.”

“Aw, he’s not that bad.” Y/N tried to reason.

“He’s not bad. He just bullies me sometimes.” Michael fake pouted and crossed his arms. His beloved leaned her head on his shoulder, trying to comfort him although she couldn’t help giggling just a little bit.

“Oh no!” Leslie exclaimed. “It sounds like you’ve got competition. Speaking of kisses, Michael, every picture I see of the two of you, you’ve got your lips on Y/N. You are usually very reserved, what is it about Y/N that brings out that side of you?”

“I’m comfortable when I’m with her. I’m able to be myself. Also, nothing will stop me from showing my lady some love.” Michael pulled Y/N closer, gently placing his finger on her chin turning her head to face him.

The kiss was short and sweet.

Michael was very deliberate when it involved Y/N. He never wanted her to doubt his love for her. He knew how he wanted to make her feel. Then, did whatever it took to accomplish just that. The look in Y/N eyes said it all, Michael never missed.

“I have to ask, as we begin to wrap things up. Michael, Y/N, where do you see yourselves in five years? Are there any goals you have as a couple or as individuals you’d like to share?” The brunette spoke, flipping her page over quietly.

“Together? We will definitely be married and have at least a dozen little ones running around Neverland.” Michael answered quickly, his tone very matter of fact as if we should’ve known that already.

“Bubbles’ does need siblings.” Y/N added with a smile.

“How would you two juggle family responsibilities and your careers?” Leslie asked carefully.

“Well, I think we’d figure it out along the way. The most important thing to us would be raising our babies. We didn’t have much of a childhood ourselves, so we’d be very hands on in order to give them everything we didn’t have. When it comes to our careers, if Michael is touring we’d join him on the road, if I’m filming on location they’d come along. It just depends. Maybe one of or both of us would want to be stay at home parents. At the end of the day, what’s best for our children is the number one priority.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself lovely.” Michael complimented her, practically gawking at her, clearly loving that they were on the same page about their shared future.

The interview came to a close shortly after. Michael and Y/N went around the studio the same way they did when they first arrived. They had intended to say their goodbyes, but enjoyed everyone’s company too much to leave just yet. They posed for photographs and signed every item sent their way with a smile on their face. What should’ve been just a few hours turned into a daylong event. The couple stayed for a little celebration party and treated the crew to a lovely dinner.

Three months later, Michael and Y/N were the headlines of every publication. Their faces were on every television channel. The media was in a state of hysteria that has never been seen before. It turns out that the couple was husband and wife. They had gotten married and managed to keep it secret for a whole year, but that wasn’t the only surprise.

The Jackson’s were expecting their first child together.

Y/N was about five months along.

The pair was thrilled about starting their family.

The craziest part of the whole story was a detail that the media would never know. Three months earlier, Michael and Y/N shared their news with everyone present in the studio that day. They felt comfortable enough to trust us with such a precious moment in their lives. Since then, the couple enjoyed a somewhat quiet three months without anyone spoiling their announcement or betraying their trust.

We didn’t just make history that night we formed a bond, an incredible friendship that would last a lifetime.

[tyrantisterror]

What do you think makes a good pop culture mermaid?

That's a good question. Looking at mythology and folklore, there's kind of a dearth of stories about mermaids themselves, despite how large they loom in illustrations and just general recognition among mythic creatures. More often than not they're just set dressing - a picture on a map full of other sea monsters, and something to warn young sailors of.

The big mermaid story really does seem to be Hans Christian Anderson's The Little Mermaid, as it's not only one where a mermaid gets a starring role, but makes mermaids more than just a hazard to be avoided. And Hans's story is just... incredibly tragic, with the mermaid in question being so desperate to be with the human she loves that she gives up everything about herself, only to be rejected and die, albeit with the small consolation of gaining a human soul in the process (as in Hans's take, most mermaids don't have true souls like humans, and become sea foam when they die rather than live on in heaven).

So ok, let's look at the thematic connections between Hans's take and the general folklore of "those pretty fish women will lure you to your doom." Romance, and specifically tragic/doomed romance, is heavily associated with mermaids, as is a certain degree of eroticism. Mermaids and humans are attracted to each other, but that attraction is always undercut by some fairly severe and often insurmountable obstacles. There's a degree of envy built into them, too - human sailors would definitely be jealous of how easily mermaids thrive in the sea while they're getting sunburn and scurvy on the decks of their ships, and mermaids in turn envy humanity's ability to go on the land.

But I also think it doesn't have to be doom and gloom. Just because there are obstacles between mermaids and humans doesn't mean that their desire to know each other has to be destined for failure. There are stories where the two get to meet in the middle, and ones where the transformation of one partner to the other's species ends happily rather than tragic, and I think those can be pretty powerful takes. And, like, there's a great LGBTQ vibe to a successful mermaid/human romance - I think there's a reason Howard Ashman, a closeted gay man, was so drawn to The Little Mermaid when he was working for Disney, and why he ended up not only giving the mermaid a happy ending, but rejuvenating Disney's animation department in the process by telling her story so passionately.

So what makes a good pop culture mermaid? Well, they need to be alluring - not necessarily super sexualized, but attractive nonetheless. And they need to be distinctly non-human - fish-y enough to clearly be Other, and preferably in a way that works with their alluring qualities rather than against, because the whole draw of mermaids as a mythic creature is the fact that they're a sort of forbidden fruit, not made for human consumption yet so attractive we'd crash into the rocks trying to get them anyway. They need to be part fish, but not necessarily solely part fish - you can go for a more general sea monster vibe and still hit the visual marks of a mermaid.

And while it feels less like a pop culture thing and more just an internet culture thing, I'd kick myself if I didn't include how much I like the relatively recent idea of (at least some) mermaids being fucking gigantic. Mermaids are kin, or at least family friends, to other classic sea monsters like krakens, leviathans, sea serpents, island turtles, and the like, so why shouldn't some of them be gigantic? It even works with the theme of forbidden love that's so core to them -it adds one more physical barrier to consumating that romance. And also it's got great potential for cool and terrifying scenes involving mermaids - giant sea monsters are already scary, but one rising out of the water with a very human face twisted into a purposely malevolent expression as it looks at a ship like a toy in a bathtub? That's creepy, that's got story potential.

and it's hot

[rediscoveringmichelle]

An Apple a day keeps the cravings away

January 2021, back in London after spending Christmas at home in Ireland with my family. This time had been a very different experience to the last. Freer, both mentally and physically. The last time I had been home was at the beginning of the global pandemic, restricted to the 2km radius of my home in Clontarf, North Dublin. However, on this occasion not only had restrictions been lifted by the Taoiseach for the Christmas period, I had lifted my own restrictions too. The beginning of the pandemic was the turning point of my recovery and now, 9 months later, I was no longer limiting myself to 3 healthy meals per day, with no snacks and a strict schedule of two 10km runs per week and a minimum 2 and half hours of walking per day. I felt happier and healthier than I had been in years, able to relax and enjoy late night glasses of wine and mince pies with my parents, meals out with friends and the odd day of rest and relaxation with nothing but a few hours of TV to pass the day. It didn’t matter how much weight I had put on; I had gained my life and laugh back, and I would be forever grateful for the lesson I had learnt thanks to this awful pandemic. That making myself thinner and fitter, didn’t make me any happier. And that being physically healthy is nothing if you destroy your mental and social health too.

January 2018 was really where it all began. Recently single and having spent a lot of my newfound freedom on nights out, eating takeaways and drinking large volumes of alcohol, I had understandably put on a bit of weight. The guy I had been seeing, suddenly stopped texting me and I felt rejected. My parents were back to living their lives after their run-ins with poor health. Dad back to smothering his toast in thick layers of butter and Mum loving her newfound ‘real-Mum’ life of Pilates and coffee catch ups since selling her practice for good. I was no longer needed. Mum didn’t need me to drive her to chemo or cook my Dad his no red meat, no oil, no salt dinners. I felt anxious as they went back to living their lives. No longer able to control them, especially my dad. I couldn’t force him into living a by-the-book healthy lifestyle. But I figured what I could control was myself. I could be the healthiest person I could possibly be. And with the added benefit of making that guy wish he’d never let me go. My perfectionist self would ensure that I would be the perfect picture of health. No cheating, no dieting, just a new lifestyle. A new me. One I could love.

I scoured the internet for all the advice on changing your lifestyle, getting fit and losing weight. Running apparently boosted your metabolism and was an efficient way to burn calories and fat. So, I started by running 5km, three times a week. Weights would help then to reduce my body fat and tone up so I coupled the running with strength training in the gym, also three times a week. I pounded out Kelsey Wells workout routines, while listening to ‘This is me’ from The Greatest Showman, a song about not being afraid to show the world exactly who you are, as I was ironically punishing my body into a shape that was not naturally me. I strictly followed Dad’s cardiologist’s advice and cooked everything from scratch, substituting beef mince for turkey mince and not using oil, butter or salt in my cooking. I cut out all snacks and limited myself to three meals per day. Social Media became my home ground for weight loss advice. ‘You’re not hungry, you’re thirsty. Drink some water.’ ‘No pain, no gain.’ ‘Ignore your cravings and they will eventually go away.’ ‘Craving sugar? Have an apple instead’. Each day would end with eating an apple to stave off the cravings and to quieten the rumbles in my stomach.

I started weighing my food, tracking everything from litres of water drunk and then steps walked and active minutes of exercise. I upped my runs gradually to 10km, twice a week because social media told me that after running for 35 minutes, you no longer just burn calories, but also fat. And yes, I do realise that anyone who has a degree in anything science related would quickly realise these were all completely made up and not based on fact, but I guess I wanted to believe them. I would believe anything that forced me to push (or punish) myself more. I stopped going out for drinks or dinner with friends. Too many calories and too worried that I wouldn’t be able to get up and run in the morning, unable to flex from the specific days I went running, for fear I would never run again. When I moved to London, I spent my weekends walking 40 thousand steps so that I could then earn a slice of banana bread from Deliciously Ella’s Vegan & Gluten Free Deli. I felt a rush of joy wash over me each time I saw the number on the scales or the minutes of my 10km runs decline, but like a drug, the high didn’t last long. I was addicted. I had no trust in myself. ‘You’re so controlled’, they complimented me. But deep down, I felt like there was a lazy, sugar and fat loving girl inside me. An imposter in a gradually reducing body. Fearing that just one biscuit and I would be back as that unhappy and overweight rejected girl.

I really believed that being thinner and looking like those girls I idolised on Instagram would make me happier. They were all smiling, surely that meant they were happy? As the compliments turned to concern, I felt that surely people were just jealous of how much weight I had managed to lose. Weight loss was something to be proud of, wasn’t it? The truth of it all didn’t hit me until the pandemic. As I sat up in my bed struggling to breathe on the night of the Taoiseach’s first lockdown announcement, I started to wonder what I was really fearing. During a time when people were dying, all I could fear was not being able to exercise enough and being locked up in a house full of food. I feared putting on weight and relinquishing control. I felt trapped with nothing to look forward to. Holidays cancelled and my boyfriend of two months at home with his family 167km away in Belfast. That was my rock bottom.

In an effort to cheer myself up I started to make a list of all the things I wanted to do post lockdown. Have date nights in with my boyfriend, making pizzas, ordering takeaways and eating breakfast in bed. Then the excitement of getting to do these things started to dwindle as the anxiety crept in, as I tried to count up how much exercise I would need to do in order to earn those nights. A day in bed with no exercise? Nope, that’s a no go. And that’s when it hit me. I had made myself thin, with the thought that then I would be lovable and that then I could enjoy my life. But I was thinner, thinner than I’d been since I was a preteen and I still wouldn’t let myself go enough to do the things I deeply wanted to do. To let myself enjoy life. How freeing it would be to just, let go!

My love for learning kicked in and I made the decision to start reading up and educating myself. I came across a book my mum had not so subtly left lying around the house. ‘Just Eat it – How Intuitive eating can help you get your shit together around food’ by Laura Thomas. I didn’t believe I had an eating disorder until I started reading her book. As she listed off the disorders, she then came to Orthorexia – defined as an unhealthy obsession with healthy eating or over exercising. ‘When was the last time you even asked yourself what you’d like instead of what you ‘can’ or ‘should’ eat?’ she queried. The sad reality was that I couldn’t remember. ‘We trust our phones more than we trust our bodies’. Well that was certainly true for me. She used science, showing that weight was in fact not a determinant of health but that by exercising, eating healthy and not smoking we could be healthy, regardless of our size. That eating a donut didn’t in fact negate the nutrients of the carrot we ate earlier. And that white flour was actually infused with calcium and that those carbs are what give us energy to move and enjoy life. My eyes gradually opened to all the lies diet culture had taught me and I felt empowered.

I moved on to more books and podcasts and started culling my social media feed of anyone that didn’t make me feel good. I started following intuitive eating dietitians and anti-diet advocates. Following people of all shapes and sizes and realising how biased our society is towards people in smaller bodies. Not just the size of airplane seats but assuming that all health issues experienced by fat people can be solved by weight loss. I learnt that the night sweats I had been experiencing, the pretty much non-existent sex drive and the inability to maintain body heat for any length of time were in fact all side effects of the restricted eating and over-exercising. Half the time I didn’t even look as thin as I had become because I was wearing so many layers of clothes in order to keep warm. Walking around the house with a hot water bottle strapped to my waist and wearing a fur coat indoors while out for dinner with friends. Only now can I laugh at the image of it. I started to make a list of all the things I would gain through gaining weight and glancing back over it now, I have gained all of these and more. My headspace, my laughter, my body heat and a fantastic relationship that I thankfully didn’t destroy because of my restrictive, anxious mind-set.

My recovery hasn’t been easy. The steps toward eating intuitively start with banishing your food rules and allowing yourself to eat what you want. A process that takes time before you can start tuning into your hunger and fullness cues again and introducing gentle nutrition. It involved allowing myself to devour entire tubs of Oatly chocolate fudge ice-cream, multiple evenings per week. Making my way through all the delicious Deliveroo takeaway options London had to offer – Honest Burgers red meat beef burgers with rosemary salted fries, Franco Manca pizzas, with all the toppings, and Kin & Deum Thai curries, with full fat coconut milk. Gradually I started being able to listen to my body and trust it. Whether it hungered for a salmon stir-fry or was seeking out a slice of chocolate cake. The interesting thing being, that months later it now craves nutritious food the majority of the time. And that by allowing it to have higher sugar or fat containing foods whenever it wants, I no longer feel out of control around them. I no longer find myself devouring three large sized bags of crisps in one sitting, overtaken by the fear that I will never let myself eat them again.

I have days where I find myself critiquing my larger thighs in the mirror but instead of allowing the thoughts consume me, I allow them float by with curiosity and continue about my day knowing that the way I look doesn’t define me and that the greatest things about me have nothing to do with my body shape or size. I am a thoughtful friend, who prides herself at remembering important moments in friends’ lives. A courageous girl who isn’t afraid to try new things, whether that be travelling solo across Vietnam or signing up to a surf and yoga retreat in Cornwall. A creative person who loves to draw and a lifelong learner that is open to new ideas and wants to challenge her way of thinking. My body will change a lot over the next 50 plus years of my life, but the great thing is that thanks to freeing myself from the disease, I get to look forward to the possibility of being alive for that long and to enjoying every waking moment, no longer postponing life for when I look or am a certain way.

© Michelle McCarthy January 2021

[brokenjardaantech]

captain allen appreciation week 2020 day 1 + 7: vacation + acceptance

notes:

i combined day 1 & 7 as they happen to be the theme of the same story. it's also a prequel to a fic that i haven't written a word yet.

a little bit background since i think things can be confusing:

allen's full name is Louis White Allen. his dad's french and his mom american, though he's raised in alaska. his sister, anna allen, is a commissioned officer in the air force. the siblings speaks both english and french fluently.

sara ryder replaces elijah kamski as the inventor of androids.

this fic is set in september 2038, about a month after connor was first deployed at the phillips' hostage situation.

tags: griefing, family issues, brief mentions of childhood neglect and parentification

ao3 link if that’s what you prefer

-----

To this day, Lou's heart hammers when he sees a call from the military. Last time he received one was ten years ago, and he ended up with more questions than answers, answers that he knows he and his father very likely will not get in their lifetime. Staring at his phone vibrating on the coffee table, Lou debates whether to induce his cats' wrath - one sleeping on his lap and the other he hasn't stopped petting since they finished dinner - by standing up and interrupting their naps. It's not like he's at his full mobility anyways; his cybernetics still needs about half an hour to sync with his nervous system properly and to download the newest software. Whoever the fuck is in charge of calling the family of a soldier who went AWOL in Göttingen can wait.

It seems that the universe has other plans, as the air suddenly becomes charged with static and the phone launches itself towards Lou's chest. The tip of his fingers are numb, a common occurrence after his and his sister's unexplainable outbursts, but he manages to catch the phone before it hits his chest or, heaven forbids, his cat, who is startled awake and promptly returns to sleep after her favourite bed has no intention to move.

He accepts the call. 'Allen speaking. I don't think I have family members in the military anymore.'

'I don't know how many of yours are with us,' the voice from the other end lacks the robotic quality of an android's, so it seems the military is still using humans to contact family members, 'but this concerns your mother, Commander Deborah White. You're the only next of kin we can reach, Mister Allen.'

Lou does sigh. Just as he thinks he can leave her behind after all these years... 'What about her?' Not that he feels strongly that she was gone, as she wasn't quite there for her family to begin with, but something about a Commander going missing on the flagship of a fleet always sits wrong with him; as poor of a mother Deborah White was, a woman with her service record didn't deserve to simply vanish. 'I thought she went MIA more than twenty years ago.'

'She was until a few hours ago. I wish I can break it to you more gently but... we found her. Her remains, at least.'

The beat of his heart suddenly becomes too overwhelming. The air swells with the familiar buzz of static, and it takes all of Lou's self-control to not break everything in the living room with a shattering hazard. There is also the urge to hang up, to pretend that this is just one of those weird dreams he never can remember the details of, because he doesn't need to be burdened with a closure; he wasn't close enough to her to want that, he tells himself. Knowing that she's gone is enough. However, 'How?' is what he says in the end. He closes his eyes, free hand buried in his cat's fur, trying to convince himself that he is doing this for his father.

'Your mother's bones were found in a sealed compartment in the USS Blue Ridge when we were scrapping her. She must've been sitting there for years. Her skull indicates that -'

'Thanks, but I don't think I need to know that,' Lou swallows, willing himself to not think of the implication of an intact skull. It would've been a horrible way to die, sitting in cold seawater for days, feeling her skin rot away before dying of starvation; he'd rather her snap her neck upon impact and go painlessly. 'Anything more?'

'Yes. How would you like to deal with the body?'

Something tickles Lou's chin. When he opens his eyes, he finds the third cat trying to squeeze himself onto his already-occupied lap and purring as if having sensed the human's distress and wanting to soothe him. He recalls how his mother joked that she would probably die at sea and his father's reluctant acceptance of the entire affair; Papa's resignation after he received the news, saying, 'At least she got what she wanted.'

'She spent most of her life at sea,' he replies. No need to rub salt on his father's wounds. 'Let her rest there as well.'

'Very well. If you wish to, a memorial will be held in two months' time. Families of other deceased will attend. You may find support there.'

Support my ass, Lou thinks. It's been twenty-something fucking years. Yet, for some reason, he still promises that he'll consider going before hanging up. His finger hovers over his father's contact afterwards, but remembering that it's midnight in France and that he has a month worth of leave accumulated, he opens his browser instead and starts searching for plane tickets.

----

A month later, Lou finds himself in the commune of Gâvres with a large backpack on his shoulder and missing his cats very dearly. They aren't even his cats, technically; his neighbours keep them as outdoor cats, and Lou, unable to stand the thought of them suffering out in the winter cold of Detroit, took them in, and now they spend more time at his than at their original owners'. Having dropped them off at Hank's - that man takes better care of his pet (now pets) than himself - Lou isn't worried - he doubts his neighbours will even notice that their cats are gone. Emotions are terrible things, however, and the purpose of this trip alone makes it different from all the time he has visited his father before. At least he hasn't just recovered from nearly dying from implant rejection this time.

'Louis?'

Lou turns when he hears his father's voice and the awkward weight reminds him that he hasn't taken off his backpack yet and has been standing in the living room of his father's house staring at nothing for the past few minutes. Not waiting for his son to take it off, Papa Allen crosses the room and embraces Lou, sweat and all. 'How are you?' he asks in French, and when Lou answers truthfully in the same language, 'I missed you,' somehow everything in the world goes right again. Fuck the deviant crisis, fuck the android-infested America that makes his nerves buzz every single waking moment, fuck absent mothers still managing to make a comeback years after she died. He's just Louis Allen, absolutely not a SWAT captain, not the only survivor of the Blast, not the pioneer/guinea pig of CyberLife's groundbreaking cybernetics technology.

He has to let go of his father. 'I hope it's okay. What I did with Mom.'

Papa sighs. 'How about you take off that thing first,' indicating the backpack, 'and settle down for now.'

So Lou walks up the stairs and deposits his backpack in the room designated as his, and, catching sight of the other bed in the room, his legs suddenly feel weak, and he lowers himself, trembling, onto his mattress. Smart, fearless Anna, whose brain always runs - ran - a lot faster than the rest of the world.

Who graduated top of her class and as the Valedictorian of the academy, and subsequently disappeared without a trace.

His left leg twitches. The feeling of something foreign using his body returns, and when he leans forward - with a difficulty that wasn't there before - to take off his sock, it reveals white and grey chassis. A stark reminder that he owes her his life two times over despite her being the younger sibling.

‘How come I’m still alive?’ was the first question he asked after he regained his voice. ‘Ryder threw a fucking building on me.’

‘I dug you out, Lulu,’ replied Anna. ‘Freaky glowy telekinesis finally has its use. I was hungry for hours afterwards.’

At that moment, Lou made the mistake of looking down and seeing his pure white leg. ‘What the hell happened to my leg?’

‘CyberLife’s newest tech.’ As if to demonstrate how he should use his new leg, she gave his feet a poke, and Lou nearly screamed from the sensation. He did not expect to feel anything at all, but apart from the looks, the leg felt...real. ‘Fucking building crushed half your pelvis, your entire left leg and a rib. It’s already minced when I uncovered you, so they need to rebuild everything from scratch. I asked them to add something that can help you control the telekinesis better as well, so we’ll need to test it out later. No more randomly exploding shit. And before you ask, yes, your junk’s unharmed.’

Lou’s coma-addled brain struggled to process the influx of information, and all he got was, ‘I should’ve died.’

Anna hit the break to what seemed to be the beginning of a technical jargon-filled rant. ‘Well yes,’ she gestured just like the meme, ‘but you lived.’

‘No one survives after being crushed by a building, Anna,’ he said, voice rising. Then he asked in French since English felt too raw, ‘Exactly how much tech is in me right now? And how long was I out for? Why did CyberLife choose me?’

She looked away.

‘Anna?’

‘I don’t fucking know, okay?’ she replied in the same language. ‘You were on the brink of death when I dug you out, and there Ryder was, offering to save your life for no cost. You were in a medically-induced coma for one month and was out for reconstruction for another. It took your body two weeks to get used to the cybernetics and...here you are.’

‘Ryder offered,’ Lou said slowly, ‘to save me? As in Sara Ryder?’

‘Yes.’

‘Anna, she was the one who threw the building on me!’

‘I know. One more reason to let her save you.’

‘But you did it anyway.’

‘I did.’

‘Even though you know it’ll probably come back to bite our asses.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘You know the answer, Lulu.’

And Lou has stopped denying that he does a few years ago. Anna joined the Air Force to fly, to be closer to the sky, but he knows that it wasn’t enough; from the way she turned her eyes towards the aurora when they were young, the attention she paid towards all news related to space observation and exploration, to the talks about leaving the wasteland that is known as earth behind and finding a new home in the cosmos - Anna belongs to the abyss of space. The military was simply a stepping stone towards something greater, a greatness that she must be working towards somewhere on this god-forsaken piece of rock.

The place where Lou’s flesh meets his implants aches in anticipation of the storm that will no doubt force them to remain indoors for days. Grinding his teeth in the numbing pain, he uses his hands to put his non-functional left leg onto the bed and lies down sideways with his back towards his sister’s bed, his phone buzzing in his pocket to notify him of an unexpected software error that may take hours to fix. Switching on do-not-disturb, he shoves the offending piece of technology underneath his pillow and loses his fight against jet lag and pain.

----

Lou wakes up cold and hungry. He is covered by a blanket that wasn't there when he fell asleep, so his father must have checked on him when he realized that his son was doing more than putting down his luggage, and the dark sky outside the window almost brings him back again before it flashes.

Then the booming thunder reminds him that it isn't dusk at all.

He successfully rolls over on his other side, which means that his cybernetics are functional once more. Kicking the blanket away, he sits up and grimaces at the taste of his mouth.

He feels better after his regular morning rituals, though the lack of three furry friends harassing him and brushing against his feet is something that he'll need to get used to, and his father is cooking lunch when he reaches the kitchen.

'Morning, Louis,' Papa says as he hands the pan over to his son. 'What did they drag you through to have you sleep for so long?'

Lou is glad that he can use concentrating on not burning his food as an excuse to buy himself a minute. Should he tell his father the truth, or should he avoid talking about work just like many people do during their vacation? 'Things are getting bad in Detroit,' he decides in the end as going on a vacation at one's father's house isn't exactly normal either. 'Androids are breaking their programming and starts having their own thoughts. CyberLife's trying to cover it up, but I've dealt with enough violent deviants - that's what they're calling those androids - to know it's gonna be a problem real soon if they don't solve it now.' A pause to think of how to continue. 'I'm glad you're not in America anymore.'

'It must be exhausting,' is his father's reply, and that's all Lou needs to realize that his father has no idea what he's talking about. Then again, the man moved back to France before androids were a thing, and although they kept in frequent contact, Lou never talked much about his work; the police getting reformed means that SWAT is deployed only when peace is not the option - that means seeing people get hurt or die constantly. Androids aren't really a thing in Europe, so his father never experienced the 'androids taking over everything and making everyone lose their jobs' shit. He won't understand.

'That's why I'm here.'

They lapse into silence as Lou finishes cooking and empties the content of the pan onto two plates. Never one for formality, Papa brings them to the living room, sitting at the corner of a couch while Lou retrieves his plate and fork and curls onto the window sill. At this proximity, he can feel the raindrops hitting the glass as if he is standing in the rain.

Papa clears his throat. 'About your mother, Louis.'

Lou tears his eyes away from the raindrop he's betting on to win. He hastily shoved some eggs into his mouth to buy himself some time to mentally prepare for the conversation. 'What now?'

What he actually says isn't what Lou expected. 'I'm glad about what you did with your mother's body.'

'Her skeleton, you mean,' he replies. 'What's left of it anyways. I don't think they found the whole set.'

'Still,' Papa isn't looking at him. 'That's what she would've wanted. And by I'm glad - I'm not opposed to it.'

'That's it?' Lou turns back towards the rain. 'That wasn't your reaction when they told you that she was MIA.'

'I was young - younger - back then,' a sigh. 'It wasn't fair to you. Or to Anna. Especially to Anna. I'm sorry.'

No it wasn't, Lou wants to say, but - 'I've made peace with it a long time ago. Mom, me and Anna, Alaska; that was all you knew. I... I don't blame you for it.'

He has to close his eyes and press his forehead against the glass. He considers switching to German to further detach his emotions, but then he realizes that nearly everything has fled his mind from disuse. Why does he think spending his vacation with his father right after they discovered that his mother might have died painfully a good idea?

'That's what I thought I'd react when you called me, you know?' Papa says. 'I thought I'd break down. Then I realized that I've moved on and... that's it. Hard not to after more than twenty years.' Even with his vision gone, Lou can still feel his father's gaze on him. 'You've done that for your mother. Have you, for Anna? It's been ten years.'

'Have you, Papa?' Lou asks instead of answering even though he knows his answer. 'Can you stand the thought of your daughter gone as well?'

'After your mother?' the father feeds himself a mouthful of food and swallows. 'Kind of have to.'

'Of course you did. I raised her, not you.'

That is the last thing he says to his father before the storm goes away.

----

Emotionally exhausted, Lou goes to sleep early despite waking up not ten hours ago.

He knows he’s dreaming as soon as he opens the door and discovers his childhood living room behind it. The room is dark, so the lights must have been switched off, and even though it feels like he has smacked his hand all over the wall it’s on, he still can’t find the switch. It does bring him closer to the window, outside where a storm is going on at full force and paints everything white, and although he knows that what he is seeing isn’t real, he dreads the upcoming and necessary shovelling.

The world is suddenly lit up from behind him, followed by the voice of Neil deGrasse Tyson and the clicks of a keyboard. When Lou turns, Anna is there sitting in front of the couch, her brother's homework scattered in a semi-circle around her, and an old, bulky laptop snug between her crossed legs. It should have been a normal day in their house in Anchorage had Anna been a child but not an adult, which is the form Dream Anna is appearing in - she is younger than him by nearly eight years.

‘Where’s the light switch?’ Lou asks, looking around for good measure. ‘As much as you enjoy Cosmos, a documentary about space isn’t sufficient lighting.’

‘Relax,’ says Anna. ‘Eye problems aren’t in our genes.’ Then, waving at the papers around her, ‘Everything’s done. Your teachers didn’t suspect a thing,’ she gets younger and younger following each syllable until her age makes sense, ‘but you asked me to do it on a separate piece of paper, so I did. Feel free to copy directly if you wish.’

That is when Lou realizes that she’s playing games on the notebook, something that looks like a simplified version of Temple Run but set in space. ‘No thanks,’ he says. ‘I’d like to keep the creases on my brain.’ Then he notices that his sister didn’t really answer his question, so he asks again, ‘How am I supposed to switch on the lights?’

‘With your phone,’ is the matter-of-fact reply. ‘Don’t tell me you uninstalled the fucking app for cat pictures.’

‘For one last time, Anna, I don’t download cat pictures.’ And it hits him. ‘Wait, phone? The house isn’t automated when you’re at this age.’

‘Is it?’

Anna stands up and stalks closer to her brother, and she grows and grows and grows until they’re off the same height and she looks... older, how she should look like if she’s alive she’s still here. She is now Major Anna White Allen of the United States Air Force, dressed smartly in her dress uniform except for her cap, which she holds in her right hand. Their surroundings have also changed to that of the Phillips' penthouse terrace, harsh wind whipping around them.

'You aren't real,' Lou breathes, feeling light-headed. ‘You - you’re gone. Just like Mom.’

‘Open your eyes, then. End this early if you want to. Forget that this ever happened. I don’t mind.’

It is followed by a terrifying moment of wakefulness, the images blurring and then regaining clarity as he stays asleep. ‘And Papa wants me to let you go,’ he says with a sad chuckle.

‘Why?’

‘We found what’s left Mom. How long do we need to wait to find what’s left of you?’

‘Why are you talking like I’m dead?’

‘Cause you probably are, like Mom?’

‘I know you think we’re alike,’ an eye roll, ‘but we’re different.’

‘Say you’re not dead. Where the hell are you?’

‘Does it matter?’

A blink. They’re floating in space, Anna dressed in some form of armor, and Lou in normal clothes. He attempts to draw a breath and wakes up choking and crying, the dream completely forgotten save for the faint image of Anna falling towards earth and getting burnt to crisps.

----

A few days later, Lou finds himself walking on the beach with his father. The sky is cloudy and the wind is strong, so it is cool even though it’s September and Lou grew up in Alaska. They started throwing questions back and forth ten minutes into their walk, some of them silly and simple and give them a good laugh, but the others -

‘Answer me honestly, Louis. Do you think Anna’s dead?’

It is easy. ‘No.’

‘Where do you think she is, then?’

Lou’s face suddenly becomes too hot to bear. ‘Does it matter?’

‘If it affects you, yes.’

‘I don’t want to talk about it. She wouldn’t want us to speculate.’

‘But she’s not here, is she? Maybe you’ll feel better after you say it out loud.’

Lou sighs, oh how the turntables… ‘In space, probably.’

‘You’d think we’ll hear about that.’

‘Secret space programs exist, Papa.’

‘Not in America.’

‘I never said it’s an American program,’ Lou says as he kicks a rock away. ‘Do you know what they said when I received the first call from the Air Force? They asked me if Anna has ties with other space agencies even though she’s never been in NASA; she just talked about other countries’ space programs so much that they suspected her having ties with them.’

‘Hmm.’

‘What does that even mean?’

‘You know you won’t see her again, right?’

Lou halts his steps. Anna? Gone forever? ‘Does it matter?’

Papa sighs. ‘You’re in denial, Louis. You didn’t do this with your mother.’

How dare he - ‘Of course I didn’t, she was barely there!’ he has to put a few steps between them. ‘I raised Anna! How do you think that’s even comparable?’

‘I simply don’t want you to live in uncertainty for the rest of your life.’

‘You just don’t know your daughter,’ he counters. ‘She told me she’ll come back.’

‘You know -’

‘You don’t know shit!’

He runs. His lungs and legs are strained when he gets home, his father’s home, but he doesn't stop at that. He packs his stuff (not that there’s much to put back into his backpack), jumps into his rental car, and is back in Brest before he knows what he’s doing. His return flight is next week, so he has a lot of time to kill.

In the end, he takes a trip around the country alone, going to places he both never had time for and, if he’s been there before, misses dearly. He may have forgotten what they’ve talked about, but he remembers Anna visiting him often. The images flee his mind whenever he tries to recall them, but he doesn’t think they’re talking on earth, and he always wishes that he at least remembers some of it.

A few months later, he’ll learn that his speculations are closer to the truth than he thinks. A few months later, Louis Allen will prove his father wrong.

But he doesn’t know that yet. Therefore, after collecting the cats from Hank and unpacking his luggage, he takes all of Anna’s things and puts them into a box, telling himself that it is the first step towards admitting that maybe, it’s a big fucking maybe, he will never see his sister again.

[kariachi]

@kuphulwho A long bit of fic (like, nearly 2000 words) that isn’t quite for that au we were talking about earlier. More like, vaguely adjacent to it.

Kevin has a suitor. Looma sets Tasks. It’s a whole thing.

~~

Coming to the palace at all should’ve been considered an act of courage. Or foolishness, as his friends swore up and down. Kreth was an adequate enough fighter, but the prince- The prince, who came into his shop three times a week to buy parts, could more than easily beat him. May the Goddess help him, he was a more powerful fighter than his sister, who’d proven herself unweddable already. There was no way he could win an engagement challenge, but he had to try. He couldn’t imagine another way to get a prince- adopted yes, off-worlder yes, but still a prince- to notice him.

Maybe he’d get lucky and be challenged in turn to better results.

So of course, when he’d declared his intent to the royal family, it had been the princess to step forward. Immediately Kreth began fighting off panic. This was off script, it should’ve been Overlord Zaell stepping forward to accept his challenge in her son’s stead. Maybe this was part of preparing for her eventual takeover? She’d looked back at her mother, then turned to him with a grin.

“My brother’s aren’t Khoron,” she started, and Kreth could’ve died right out of pure nerves (this is why he’d never become a warrior, he didn’t have the constitution for doing more than defending his store), “and I’ve questioned whether it’s appropriate to marry them off the Khoron way.” Somehow her grin got wider and more frightening. “Especially since they’ll most likely be supplying my heirs, surely the challenge would have to make up for both of us.”

He was going to die, a sentiment only heightened when he glanced towards the princes and saw ‘his’ with his face in his hand. The elder of them looked horribly amused.

“We’ve spoken before about the differences in these things between our cultures,” she continued, “and from Earth there’s a challenge I think is very appropriate for the situation.” She managed to stand straighter and taller and Kresh tried to do the same. He was well taller than her, but she still seemed to loom over him. Named appropriately, apparently.

“If you want to marry my brother, Prince Kevin of the Red Wind Kingdom, you will bring me three things- the sweetest sound, a star from the sky, and the fresh head of a forgehunter.”

Yep, definitely going to die. How? He ran a shop too small to have employees, how was he supposed to get a fucking star? And a forgehunter head?!

And then there was Kevin, out the corner of his eyes. A smile, small and apologetic and sending his heart straight into his throat like it always did…

“As you ask, Your Highness.”

~~~

Of course saying it was easier than doing it, and three days later found the door to his shop closed and Kresh sprawled behind the counter, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t know where to start.

“Are you alive in here?”

“Well since none of you will let me die in peace I suppose so.” The door to the backroom slammed loudly shut and his sister Prehra knelt by his side. She too looked horribly amused.

“Still trying to figure out how you’re going to win your little prince?” He didn’t even turn his head.

“I’m a failure. I can’t do this.” Tutting, she shook her head and stood up. The till chimed, but Kresh ignored it. He owed her money anyway.

“You know how his brother sometimes shops at Luxxi’s?” Her sister-in-law’s shop, little everyday things- hairclips, pens, that sort. The elder prince was an uncommon customer, but Kevin’d once said he enjoyed the quality of buttons they sold there.

“Yes?”

“Well, according to her, Zin asked him to confirm the gossip about this whole weird situation and he said that the key to the whole thing was to the smart about it.” The entire royal family hated him, he was sure of it.

“Because that answers any question ever asked.”

��I think,” she said as she knelt by his head, counting out money, “it means your expected to be creative with it.”

“There’s only so many ways to get creative with bringing in a fresh forgehunter head.” Prehra tutted again.

“You’re a smart man, I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

~~~

‘The sweetest sound’ was the least straightforward of the ‘items’ required of him, so Kresh decided to start there. It was practically a riddle. What was the sweetest sound? It had to be subjective, right? So was he looking for what she considered the sweetest sound? What Kevin did? That of the greatest segment of the population? (If the right answer turned out to be the sound of sugar boiling or something, he was going to throw something and someone, possibly Princess Looma herself.) In the end, he decided to hedge his bets on his own preference and gossip that the princess was just as bad as he was.

The next time Kevin walked into his shop, flashing him one of those heartsnatching smiles, he started recording.

~~~

‘A star from the sky’ was somehow easier and harder at the same time. At least there was a riddle and hope involved in this one, it was a straightforward request, but oh was it a request. There were plenty of creative ways to interpret it, and things he could do for it, but he didn’t want to risk not meeting standards…

He wasn’t a wealthy man, but he also wasn’t new to risky investments. There’d been no time limit, so he took a few months to track down and purchase a boxful of iron meteorites that he immediately upon delivery took to one of the smaller local forges to be worked. On his way back, he’d stopped into another local store to commission a simple box in the dimensions he needed.

A week later he had had a star-shaped box in his livingroom, along with a cut sheet of meteorite iron to match and the equipment to attach it to the lid.

He was careful to fill the box with the sort’ve parts Kevin was always looking for.

~~~

The forgehunter head that really had him worried. He wasn’t a warrior, not anywhere close, and it often took several of them at once to kill one of the great, spider-like beasts. It was a certainty that bringing back the head of a baby one wouldn’t be near enough, not for a prince, not for Kevin, not when he was already being smart enough with the other items that he kept thinking this must be some sort’ve trap. No, he couldn’t go easy, he couldn’t go smart, he was going to have to get an actual head, actually fresh, from an actual adult forgehunter.

As soon as he figured out how to do it without dying.

He’d been in the process of fretting over this, compulsively cleaning the shop into the night as he considered if he could maybe scrape together the money to get somebody to kill one for him when a loud thud had sounded in the backroom. Rarely a good thing, especially since he knew none of his kin would be visiting. It was a tense Kresh we made his way to the door, grabbing his battle axe along the way and slowly, cautiously, opening it to find a forgehunter head.

A forgehunter head, as fresh as could be expected, its wounds cauterized to prevent mess, and a stripped tail passing out of sight outside, familiar to anyone in the capital by now.

Kresh’s heart lodged in his throat.

The next morning, as the papers talked about the fresh meat gifted in the night to the orphanages, schools, and hospital, he packed up the head and his other gifts and made his way back to the palace.

~~~

His gifts- a star box with a meteor lid, a forgehunter head, and a recording of his prince’s laughter gathered over several visits that was playing on repeat- sat on display in front of him as Princess Looma and Prince Argit looked them over with critical eyes and Kresh tried not to fidget.

It was very difficult.

They kept muttering between themselves as their family watched on, in tones too low to be understood even if Kresh had known the languages they were speaking. There was gesturing, eye rolling, snapping of teeth, checking inside the box and then more muttering over the contents.

“So,” Overlord Zaell asked when, he assumed, she got bored of the show, “has he met our exacting standards?”

“Well,” the prince said, still eyeing the items, “the head’s pretty small.” Kresh glanced up to see Kevin, stood at Warlord Gar’s side, silently glaring murder.

“We already knew he wasn’t a warrior,” the Warlord pointed out, and his children hummed a reluctant agreement. Crossing his arms, Argit looked Kresh over.

“Don’t make us regret this,” he said, “or you’ll regret it.”

All the tension of the past months sloughed away like sand from a glass as the princess lifted him off the ground in a hug and the warlord and overlord stood to clap hands on his shoulders. Everyone was talking, congratulations he thought, but there was nothing in his world but Kevin, still stood by the thrones, with such a smile on his face.

Like a hidehund who’d managed to snatch a whole beast from the dining table.

~~~

“So, were you hoping to move into the palace or…?”

“I assumed I had three years to judge the extra space versus your sister’s… enthusiastic reputation.” Leaning on the counter, Kevin snorted, still with that smile on his face after two days.

“Yeah, she’s a bit of a spitfire-” Kresh would’ve have been surprised if she could, if some of those rumors were true “-but she’s a nice sort. And she likes you, she and Argit both, no matter that little show they put on to rattle you.” Pausing in the sorting of his latest purchase (Prehra had pulled him aside when he’d told his family to remind him that fiancés got a discount, no more) Kresh levelled him with a concerned look. This wasn’t the first time they’d spoken since his won his prince, but they hadn’t really talked about… things.

“Even if I’ve put their brother’s honor in danger?” He’d been thinking about that since the head had been dropped off, a stone of guilt sitting in his stomach even as he couldn’t bring himself to reject it and get one himself. It was cheating, he hadn’t earned this, and though the damage going along with it would do to his reputation if anyone realized was great, the damage to Kevin’s was…

Kevin looked at him in confusion, then realization, then simply waved the matter off.

“When a man’s set Tasks,” he said, the capitalization audible, “there’s no rule saying his potential spouse can’t help if they want. In fact, there’s some very famous stories where they do pretty much half the work.” Kresh resisted the urge to chew his cheek.

“Really?”

“Yep.” A wicked edge came to his smile. “Besides, like I said, they like you. Why do you think you got set Tasks in the first place?”

“I assumed to ensure an early grave.” Kevin chuckled.

“I’d have never forgiven them.” Flashing teeth, he used the counter to lever himself high enough to kiss him, a welcome surprise that killed all of Kresh’s higher brain functions. “Looma knew damn well you couldn’t win me in an actual fight.”

“I, suppose I should thank her then.” He could never remember sounding quite that faint.

“Yeah, we probably should.”

[peanutbutterjelly-pie]

Eternal

content: Castiel seems eager to reconcile with Heaven and Dean's not sure what to make of it.

word count: 1.5k

Dean has been noticing Castiel's efforts to reconcile with Heaven for weeks now.

It started with a few tentative calls and meetings, both sides apparently still a bit stiff and uncomfortable, but soon enough Castiel found himself away for “angel business” more often than not. He's putting a lot of time and energy in making up with his kin in any way possible and all his work seems to be fruitful considering he's becoming high demand once more, just like in the good old days.

Dean has been watching the whole thing from a safe distance, suppressing the urge to announce his (not so lovely) opinion about this change of pace. He didn't forget how the angels treated Castiel in the past, how they abandoned him for having his own free will and thinking of his own. And he sure as hell remembers vividly the countless attempts on Castiel's life.

So yeah, he's not exactly thrilled about this new development.

But he's got no right whatsoever to berate Castiel in this matter. Heaven had been his home for millennia, and Dean assumes it can't be easy to let something like this go without any kinds of regret. After all, his time with the Winchesters is barely a blink in Castiel's life so far, and though Dean knows that Castiel cherishes them deeply and wouldn't change a thing that happened (words that the angel stated repeatedly on multiple occasions) his ties to Heaven can't be ignored in the long run.

Something so intense and eternal, it can't be thrown away like yesterday's trash.

So instead of voicing his distress quite colorfully Dean shuts his mouth and suffers in silence. Castiel deserves to make his own decisions and if he's eager to make amends with Heaven, so be it.

Even if it means Castiel might recall the benefits of his old life at some point and eventually consider leaving humanity to its own devices to return back to where he was born.

Yeah, even then.

Because at the end of the day Dean only wants him to be happy.

And sure, they finally might have pulled their heads out of their asses about five months ago and made their grand love confessions next to a vampire's corpse, but that doesn't mean that Dean has any right to cling to Castiel like a needy boyfriend, miserable about his significant other spending time outside of their personal bubble.

So Dean keeps watching from afar and doesn't say a word because that's what Castiel deserves.

However, his angel has always been perceptive to Dean's emotions (he's still not a hundred percent certain that bastard isn't reading his mind somehow!), so when they eventually find themselves in their bedroom one night Castiel takes both of his hands into his and looks right into Dean's soul with his unnaturally piercing blue eyes, penetrating all of the hunter's layers with ease.

Like always.

“Something is bothering you,” Castiel says as he tightens his grip.

Dean lowers his gaze, figuring that outright lying to him would be futile to begin with. “It's not important …” he goes for instead, hoping that Castiel notices from the tone of his voice to just drop it.

Castiel, though, doesn't seem really inclined to do so. “This is about Heaven, right?”

Dean starts to fidget, but he can't bring himself to withdraw when Castiel interlaces their fingers, making the whole process much more intimate. “It's nothing, Cas …”

“Dean …”

The hunter sighs. “Yeah, okay, I'm having a few hang-ups,” he admits reluctantly. “So what? I'm happy you're getting a change to reconnect with your family and that's all that matters, right?”

Castiel's expression softens while pulling Dean closer. “You are my family!” he corrects, his voice warm. “You and Sam and Jack. Your mother. Claire, Jody.” He smiles gently. “Even Rowena is more family to me than the angels ever have been and if that isn't telling you everything you need to know, then I can't help you.”

Dean frowns in confusion. “Then why?” he wonders. “Why make all that effort?”

Castiel leans in and presses a tender kiss onto Dean's lips. “Because I want to be welcome in Heaven when the time comes.”

Dean blinks. “What time?”

Castiel smiles at him like he thinks him an adorable idiot before he goes for another kiss, this one a bit more intense and sensual, like he's pouring all his feelings into it.

“You're human, Dean,” Castiel reminds him with a chuckle a moment later. “And though I will make sure you will have a long and healthy life – which is not easy considering your eating habits and your general recklessness –”

Dean snorts at that because he can't really argue Castiel's point here.

“Despite your long life eventually you are going to die,” the angel continues, a little waver in his voice. “And you, Dean Winchester, will go straight to Heaven, no questions asked. You deserve it more than anyone.” He sounds pretty determined and Dean certainly wouldn't want to fight him over this. “And I … if you would allow it, I'd like to accompany you.”

Dean stares at him for a second, not sure how to feel about this. “You … want to go to Heaven with me?”

Castiel nods. “Yes. If you'd allow it.”

“So you trying to get cozy with the angels …?”

“Naturally I would need free access to Heaven for this to work,” Castiel explains. “Granted, for you I'd make it possible somehow, even without the angels' consent, but I figured I should try the peaceful way first.”

Dean feels his heart seize as he carefully wraps his head around Castiel's words. “So you're saying … you don't only want to spend my little human life with me, but eternity as well?”

This is so big.

And Dean knows that it shouldn't be utterly surprising, all things considered, but he still feels floored. He seriously didn't expect something like this going down tonight … or ever.

“We both know that death isn't the end,” Castiel breathes against Dean's lips. “So yes, with you there has always been eternity on the table.”

Some tears start to prickle in Dean's eyes. “Cas …”

“Of course you're not obligated to anything,” the angel hurries to reassure. “Only because I'm reconciling with Heaven doesn't mean you have to accept –”

Dean doesn't let him finish as he crawls onto Castiel's lap and wraps his arms around his strong torso, squeezing him so tight Castiel would've gasped for air if he'd need oxygen.

“Cas, man, don't be ridiculous!” Dean says, pressing a kiss onto Castiel's temple. “Of course I want fucking eternity with you!”

He feels Castiel's demeanor gentling at those words, like up until this point he totally anticipated the possibility of Dean rejecting his offer.

“Naturally you can revoke your decision anytime, even in fifty years –”

This time Dean interrupts him with a kiss, adding extra tongue to the mix which makes Castiel moan in delight. Even after several months he's so responsive to even the simplest touch and that's one of the reasons why Dean loves him.

“Cas,” the hunter whispers after several blissful minutes of making out with the man of his dreams, “you're really sweet and stuff … but you do realize that you basically just proposed to me, right?”

Castiel straightens his back and tilts his head as he obviously evaluates their entire conversation. And in the end he concludes, “Oh. I think you're correct.”

Dean laughs, loud and booming, and he feels happiness surging through his whole body. He never thought something like this even happens in real life, but yep, there it is.

“I love you,” he says with the widest smile imaginable. “You can't even measure how much, you stupid dork. So yes to eternity.”

Castiel looks absolutely joyful and soon enough their lips lock once more, their kisses switching between soft and warm to hot and desperate back and forth, making Dean dizzy in the process.

“I have to warn you though,” Dean pants eventually after having to pull apart for a moment to draw in some much needed air. “My Heaven will most likely consist of riding around in Baby, visiting that classic cars museum in Denver over and over, and having lots of sex with a certain blue-eyed angel. Lots of it.”

Castiel snorts at that mental image and drags the hunter closer again. “Well, I think I will manage somehow.”

Dean grins brightly. “You have been warned,” he teases. “No take backs now.”

In response Castiel flips him around on the bed so that he finds himself on his back, covered from top to bottom with angel who immediately starts to kiss the living daylight out of him, and Dean can't imagine ever being happier.

He's more than ready for the rest of his life – and eternity – to begin.

[ellie-steiner]

The Making of  a Family: Shoplifters

Shoplifters is the latest gem of Japanese filmmaker Hirokazu Kore-eda, who in his two-decade long career has become renowned for his delicate domestic dramas. Absences threatening the family dynamic is a central theme running through all his films, exemplified by a mother walking out on her children in Nobody Knows and the trauma a family faces by the death of a son inStill Walking. Nevertheless Kore-eda treats these issues with such loving quality and light humour to demonstrate both the beauties and idiosyncrasies of family ties. Shoplifters bears all of Kore-eda’s cinematic traits and has power to leave even the most resilient tear-stricken. Winning the 2018 Palme D’Or as well as numerous other awards, Shoplifters depicts a group of poverty-stricken people brought together by circumstance struggling to make ends meet. Although its social criticism has led it to be seen not too favourably by the Japanese authorities (Kore-eda even controversially rejecting a commendation by the government), its moving performances and transcendental themes has made it resoundingly popular with Japanese and Western audiences alike.

Shoplifters follows Osamu a construction site labourer (played by Lily Franky in the same money-scrounging yet whole-heartedly loving father figure as in Kore-eda’sLike Father, Like Son), Nobuyo, a brave, hardened hotel launderer and her good-looking presumably younger sister Aki working in a hostess club. The grandmother Hatsue (acted by Kirin Kiki, and was subsequent to her passing in September her last feature) supports the group through her deceased husband’s pension. Then there is Shota, a plucky boy picked up by Osamu and Nobuyo and now sees them as parent figures. Osamu and Shota regularly shoplift, using a system of signals to communicate, within the moral strictures of only being able steal what hasn’t already been bought. Despite their random circumstances, the darker truths of which are only revealed at the end of the film, they make-shift a family that in all improbability functions. The film starts when Osamu and Shota find Yuri, a little girl abandoned by her parents, and decide to take her home for dinner. When they notice she’s been abused they don’t return her instead incorporating her into their family.

The rest of the film, in very much Kore-eda’s style, unhurriedly reveals the family’s day-to-day life. Yuri adjusts to the household, and even when reported missing by the police, crops her hair and changes her name to Lin. The film explores in its nuances the process of doing something that isn’t legal but feels right. Sakura Ando is magnifying as Nobuya, a woman unable to give birth and nurtures her love for Shota and Yuri as if they were her children of her own. In a heart-breaking scene, she burns Lin’s old dress and tells her that the people who care for you don’t hurt you but hug to show they love you. Shoplifters explores the moldable nature of family in a story of those who have created a household to bear their hardships together. Nobuyo says jokingly that Lin chose them, and that “maybe you’re stronger if you choose your own parents:” Lin here has found her kin knowing they will support and embrace her. And this group does carry all the traits natural for a family. Shota reacts to Lin like a child would react to a newborn sibling but it’s not long before he warms up to her. Nobuyo and Osamu act like husband and wife in the way they look after the kids and in an intimate sex scene suggesting that love and not just money binds them. Only once the ugly truths of their past emerge, that Nobuyo killed her husband in a crime of passion assisted by Osamu, do we realise that this family is in many ways built on false premises. Yet Kore-eda has up to that point crafted his characters’ personal lives with such intimate details that they are without a doubt family, even if an unconventional one.

Shoplifters bears many similarities to Kore-eda’s 2013 film Like Father, Like Son about two 6-year old boys accidentally swapped at birth and having to adjust to new households. Kore-eda admits himself that the question his film asks on what makes a family inspired his new feature. Both films show parents bringing a child into the family unit and learning to love them as if they were their own (one of the mothers in Like Father even calls the idea of switching children shoplifting). This shows Kore-eda’s fascination with the nature of familial love and whether it can extend beyond one’s kin, showing it takes nurture as much as nature for a child to belong to a parent and vice versa. The father’s obsession in Like Father, “can you really love a child not of your blood?” mirrors Nobuya’s heart-breaking interrogation scene once she’s arrested for her crimes. When told that Lin needs her mother, Nobuya holds the camera’s gaze and responds “does giving birth automatically make you a mother?” after which every viewer at the screening watched with baited breath as she continuously, despairingly wipes her teary eyes on her sleeve.

Whilst the multifaceted family portraits and depictions of the traditional Japanese household have led him to be associated with Yasujiro Ozu, Kore-eda has questioned this comparison and likened himself more to Ken Loach’s social-realist portrayals. His films are striking in that they are steeped in such poetic detail with unresolved associations. One of my favourite moments in Shoplifters is when Aki embraces her most frequent, desperate visitors at the hostess club clearly beyond help. This is a moment unexplained and not lingered upon but illustrates in and of itself a token of her kindness. Viewers know Kore-eda has mastered a piece of emotional storytelling when they are so wrapped in the skins of the characters before they are even aware of it. At the film’s closure and the family’s separation, we crave in spite of its improbability, for any one of the family members to find and be with each other again.

[catbowserauthor]

Hobbit Story: Anchored 6

So, this story occurs before my “Calling in a King’s Favor” and it actually was the start of my AU universe. I plan on finishing my re-write/AU of BOTFA in the near future but this story is what started it.

A missing scene from the Jackson movies, following the first battle with Azog. Emotions comes to a climax while the company stays with Beorn. Thorin has been playing Leader and King for the entire journey but he sometimes forgets that Kili and Fili need him to be an uncle too…and that some things cut deeper among family.

Final Part of this story!

Dori looked up when the door opened and the three heirs of Durin slowly made their way back in. While he had a million questions, the soft look on Thorin’s face and the way he had his arms wrapped around the two younger boys stopped any questions dead on his tongue. Curious as he might have been, he understood an unspoken command when he saw it. So, a simple nod at them was all he offered before turning his attention back to his watch. If he gave the two younger princes a half smile as the threesome passed, then no one made comment of it.

As for the three Durin members, they slipped towards the back of the room, away from the rest of their company, though still close enough to be within earshot. The two younger members grabbed their bedrolls up on the way over and flopped down next to their uncle. Thorin shifted and laid down on his own cushions, shrugging off his thick fur coat in the process and remaining slightly propped up against the wall. Fili curled up close on his left side, with Kili mirroring him on the left, each one of them resting their temples on his torso.

Pulling his thick coat up, Thorin draped it over the two of them and relaxed, letting them settle.

“Are you calm now?”

Nodding, Fili remarked, “Thank you, Uncle.”

Kili added, “Sorry I yelled at you earlier.”

Chuckling low in his throat, Thorin stated simply, “It will hardly be the last time you do before your life is spent, my boy. You’re forgiven.” He went quiet and just focused on the gentle sound of the breathing of his two sister-sons. While they did not yet sleep, there was no longer that horrific trembling and agonizing fear seeping off them. That was enough. While he certainly did not want to deal with two slee-deprived nephews come the morn, the relaxing posture in their shoulders was an improvement to be certain.

“The time will come soon, my dear sister-sons,” Thorin’s voice rumbled with affection as evenly as it did with devotion. “When we will fall Azog for the crimes he has cast against our family line. When that time comes, we will face him as one, a united front of Durin’s blood.”

Kili remarked, looking up at his uncle and gently fingering one of the elder’s long braids. “We will be stand by your side, Uncle. We will be with you, always.”

Fili added, adjusting a bit in hopes of alleviating some of the pressure on his uncle’s shoulder. “You have trained us well and we will not forget WHY you have trained us.” He paused, seemed unfair. “All we ask Uncle is that you will not take him on alone. Let us lend you our strength and courage, even if you have no need of it.”

A warm smile, a full smile, covered the warrior’s lips. “I will always have need of it. I just tend to forget it at times.”

The younger of the two surmised, “Well, we won’t let you forget again, Uncle Thorin. We’ll be there when you drive Orcrist through that orc’s filthy neck!”

His older brother chimed in even though his eyes were beginning to cloud with the hints of sleep. “Aye, Uncle. We will make sure he feels its sting to his last moments! It is only proper for what he has done!”

While Thorin did give a nod in agreement to the death of his family’s mortal enemy, the leader of their company shook his head, “No, Orcrist will not end his miserable life.”

Blinking in surprise, both nephews asked, in unison “No, why not?”

Laughing, as he had in younger days, Thorin gently ruffled both their wild manes of hair. “Heed me well, sons of Durin. We go into battle and danger that you may not yet comprehend. The dragon is of utmost concern but my heart is focused on Azog. While Smaug, the wicked worm, has taken our home, Azog has taken those dear to us and with that, pieces of our lives. You should have another uncle to pester and love on and you do not. You should have a grandfather to spoil and pamper you and yet you do not. You should have a great grandfather to give you far too many sweets and you do not. For that, I cannot forgive him and I will not end his life with an elvish blade, no matter how much Gandalf may praise it.”

The Dwarf King reached into his tunic and withdrew a small knife, maybe six inches in length, that he unsheathed and admired. The metal was polished but had been hammered out by inexperienced hands. The fuller ran half the length of the blade and while straight, dipped more in some places than others. The wooden hilt had been treated well but was a bit off center, fashioned by sanding and carving that was not well practiced. If Thorin had held it on his finger, it would have dipped slightly lower on one side than the other, not being completely balanced. All the same though, the single edged knife was razor sharp and it showed in appearance alone. For Thorin though, it was a perfect blade.

Eyes wide, Fili inquired “You still have that thing?”

Kili added “It survived this long?”

“Of course,” Thorin responded. “I have not given it a First Cut.” First Cut among their kind referred to the first time a blade was used, aside from the testing phase that all blades went through. It was an important decision because the spirit of the knife maker was bound in the first cut. Whatever the First Cut was would have all the passion and energy of the makers released upon it. “I told you both when you gifted it to me that I would save its First Cut for something worthy of it. The devotion and love you put into this blade has kept it strong and firm. It is with your passion that I will slit that foul creature’s throat.” Thorin’s voice carried strong and hard. “It is by the line of Durin that he will fall.”

Sheathing the knife, Thorin slipped it back into his tunic.

Both young princes were quiet for a long moment. What could be said against such a thing? They had worked together to make the blade for Thorin when they were only 13 and 9 years of age, respectively. It had taken them three times longer than an adult. It had taken them seven tries to get the blade perfect. It had gotten them restricted to their home for half a year because they insisted on leaving the Blue Mountains to find the perfect earth, silt and sand for clay tempering. Nearly gotten them killed trying to get it and the look of horror when they saw their family again “do you know the worry you plunged into our hearts?” would haunt them much longer than anything else.

To know that Thorin meant to use that simple knife to slay their family’s worst adversary make their hearts fill.

Leaning back, just slightly, the elder dwarf advised, “Dawn will be upon us soon and I won’t have you two with no sleep. Close your eyes and rest.”

Sighing heavily, Fili did as asked, though he did not remove his head from his uncle’s shoulder. Kili was quick to do the same though he curled even closer and tightened his grip on the only paternal figure he had ever known. His heart was settled but he would not reject the closeness of his kin tonight. When Fili did the same, though with a moment delay, he relaxed a little more. As Uncle’s fingers began their old pattern of root to tip, again, he let his breaths grow heavy and shut his eyes. The gentle breaths of his uncle, the rise and fall of his chest was hypnotic.

Thorin watched the two of them a moment. So young, they both were. Probably far too young to be on this journey but he was secretly glad for their presence. As tonight had reminded him though, he had a responsibility to them as well as to his people. It would not do well for him to forget that again. The strength of their family was in its connectedness. Azog had severed so many from their line already that Thorin refused to let anymore follow, least of all these two loyal lads who would likely march into Mordor itself after him.

Swallowing deep at the sudden catch in his throat, Thorin stroked Fili’s braids with one hand while his other busied with Kili’s and his booming voice rang out in familiar rhythm

“The world was young, the mountains green. No stain yet on the moon was seen…”

While Misty Mountains had become the cradle song for his two sister-sons, Durin’s Song was always a popular request. His nephews could likely recite it in their sleep and he smiled happily when he saw the effect was still the same. Kili’s grip loosened and his eyes fluttered a bit, even while closed as dreams settled over his mind. Fili turned his head towards his uncle’s voice and let his eyes laze open until the muscles failed to keep them open any longer. His chin dipped into his elder’s chest and sleep took him.

Despite there no longer being any need, Thorin did not stop his song. He kept it soft and low but he could not help but think back with each word. Think of the little ones in his arms, of what he might have lost…

“Unwearied then were Durin’s Folk. Beneath the mountains music woke. The harpers harped, the minstrels sang and at the gates, the trumpets rang.”

His memory of Erebor was still strong. He remembered festivals of such dance and music and food that his sister-sons had never had. Feasts that these two dear sister-sons should have had. Songs they should have sung, dances they should have pranced to and laughed and finery they should have worn.

“The world is grey, the mountains old. The forge’s fire is ashen-cold.”

How long had it been since Erebor’s forges had seen the ringing of Dwarven hammers? How long had it been since the roaring fires caked faces in soot and warmth?

“No harp is rung, no hammer falls. The Darkness dwells in Durin’s Halls.”

Be it Erebor or Khazad-dum, his people wandered. His family wandered. They wandered, as his sweet boys had wandered this night. No comfort, no anchor.

“A shadow lies upon his tomb. In Moria, in Khazad-dum.”

The shadow of the Dragon would never leave his mind. Just as the shadow of Azog lifting his grandfather’s head would never leave his mind. Just as the shadow of Frerin’s last breath would never leave his mind. The retreating shadow of his father, the last time he lay sight of him, would never leave his mind.

“But still the sunken stars appear, in dark and windless Mirrormere.”

Kili shifted, slightly, and inched a bit closer, throwing his arms around Thorin’s waist, as he had done so many years ago. Fili shifted in response and mirrored him, the faint moonlight catching on his beads and shimmering like small lights. Thorin let his sight drift down to them and he stroked the hair away from young, brave faces. He let himself imagine…these two who had grown with the spirit of Durin in their hearts. He would finally reward their loyalty, their courage would win back their homeland and with that, he would shower them with the finery they deserved. Oh, how they would stand so strong and firm at his side, clothed in the colors of their line and the people would know, as he knew, that Durin’s Line was not easily broken.

“There lies his crown in water-deep. Til Durin wakes again from sleep.”

"Song of Durin" was written by JRR Tolkien and you can find it in the Fellowship of the Ring. Easily one of my favorite poems he does.

[shoury01]

WHY FACTS DON’T ALTER OUR MINDS

“The most difficult subjects can be explained to the most slow-witted man if he has not formed any idea of them already; but the simplest thing cannot be made clear to the most intelligent man if he is firmly persuaded that he knows already, without a shadow of doubt, what is laid before him.”- Leo Tolstoy. Why don't facts change our minds? And why would someone continue to believe a false or inaccurate idea anyway? How do such behaviors serve us? The Logic of False Beliefs

Humans need a reasonably accurate view of the world in order to survive. If our model of reality is wildly different from the actual world, then we struggle to take effective actions each day. However, truth and accuracy are not the only things that matter to the human mind. Humans also seem to have a deep desire to belong.

“Humans are herd animals. We want to fit in, to bond with others, and to earn the respect and approval of our peers. Such inclinations are essential to our survival. For most of our evolutionary history, our ancestors lived in tribes. Becoming separated from the tribe—or worse, being cast out—was a death sentence.”- James Clear – Atomic Habits Understanding the truth of a situation is important, but so is remaining part of a tribe. While these two desires often work well together, they occasionally come into conflict. In many circumstances; social connection is actually more helpful to our daily life than understanding the truth of a particular fact or idea. People are embraced or condemned according to their beliefs, so one function of the mind may be to hold beliefs that bring the belief-holder the greatest number of allies, protectors, or disciples, rather than beliefs that are most likely to be true.

We don't always believe things because they are correct. Sometimes we believe things because they make us look good to the people we care about.If a brain anticipates that it will be rewarded for adopting a particular belief, it's perfectly happy to do so, and doesn't much care where the reward comes from. False beliefs can be useful in a social sense even if they are not useful in a factual sense. For lack of a better phrase, we might call this approach “factually false, but socially accurate.”  When we have to choose between the two, people often select friends and family over facts.

This insight not only explains why we might hold our tongue at a dinner party or look the other way when our parents say something offensive, but also reveals a better way to change the minds of others. Facts Don't Change Our Minds. Friendship Does.

Convincing someone to change their mind is really the process of convincing them to change their tribe. If they abandon their beliefs, they run the risk of losing social ties. We can’t expect someone to change their mind if we take away their community too. We have to give them somewhere to go. Nobody wants their worldview torn apart if loneliness is the outcome.The way to change people’s minds is to become friends with them, to integrate them into our tribe, to bring them into our circle. Now, they can change their beliefs without the risk of being abandoned socially. The British philosopher Alain de Botton suggests that we simply share meals with those who disagree with us. Sitting down at a table with a group of strangers has the incomparable and odd benefit of making it a little more difficult to hate them with impunity. Prejudice and ethnic strife feed off abstraction. However, the proximity required by a meal – something about handing dishes around, unfurling napkins at the same moment, even asking a stranger to pass the salt – disrupts our ability to cling to the belief that the outsiders who wear unusual clothes and speak in distinctive accents deserve to be sent home or assaulted. Perhaps it is not difference, but distance that breeds tribalism and hostility. As proximity increases, so does understanding. Facts don't change our minds. Friendship does.

The Spectrum of Beliefs

 The people who are most likely to change our minds are the ones we agree with on 98 percent of topics. If someone we know, like, and trust believes a radical idea, we are more likely to give it merit, weight, or consideration. But if someone wildly different than us proposes the same radical idea, well, it's easy to dismiss them as a crackpot.

One way to visualize this distinction is by mapping beliefs on a spectrum. If we divide this spectrum into 10 units and we find ourselves at Position 7, then there is little sense in trying to convince someone at Position 1. The gap is too wide. When we are at Position 7, our time is better spent connecting with people who are at Positions 6 and 8, gradually pulling them in our direction.

The most heated arguments often occur between people on opposite ends of the spectrum, but the most frequent learning occurs from people who are nearby. The closer we are to someone, the more likely it becomes that the one or two beliefs we don't share will bleed over into our own mind and shape our thinking. The further away an idea is from our current position, the more likely we are to reject it outright.When it comes to changing people's minds, it is very difficult to jump from one side to another. We can't jump down the spectrum - we have to slide down it. Any idea that is sufficiently different from our current worldview will feel threatening. And the best place to ponder a threatening idea is in a non-threatening environment. As a result, books are often a better vehicle for transforming beliefs than conversations or debates. In conversation; people have to carefully consider their status and appearance. They want to save face and avoid looking stupid. When confronted with an uncomfortable set of facts, the tendency is often to double down on their current position rather than publicly admit to being wrong. Books resolve this tension. With a book, the conversation takes place inside someone's head and without the risk of being judged by others. It's easier to be open-minded when you aren't feeling defensive. Arguments are like a full-frontal attack on a person's identity. Reading a book (or a text/email/letter) is like slipping the seed of an idea into a person's brain and letting it grow on their own terms. There is enough wrestling going on in someone's head when they are overcoming a pre-existing belief. They don't need to wrestle with you too. Why False Ideas Persist

There is another reason bad ideas continue to live on, which is that people continue to talk about them. Silence is death for any idea. An idea that is never spoken or written down dies with the person who conceived it. Ideas can only be remembered when they are repeated. They can only be believed when they are repeated. People also repeat bad ideas when they complain about them. Before we can criticize an idea, we have to reference that idea. We end up repeating the ideas we are hoping people will forget—but, of course, people cannot forget them because we keep talking about them. The more we repeat a bad idea, the more likely people are to believe it. Each time we attack a bad idea, we are feeding the very monster we are trying to destroy. Our time is better spent championing good ideas than tearing down bad ones. The best thing that can happen to a bad idea is that it is forgotten. The best thing that can happen to a good idea is that it is shared. What Is The Goal?

There are instances when it is useful to point out an error or criticize a bad idea. But we have to ask ourselves, “What is the goal?” Presumably, we want to criticize bad ideas because we think the world would be better off if fewer people believed them. In other words, we think the world would improve if people changed their minds on a few important topics.If the goal is to actually change minds, then, criticizing the other side may not be the best approach. Most people argue to win, not to learn. People often act like soldiers rather than scouts. Soldiers are on the intellectual attack, looking to defeat the people who differ from them. Victory is the operative emotion. Scouts, meanwhile, are like intellectual explorers, slowly trying to map the terrain with others. Curiosity is the driving force. If we want people to adopt our beliefs, we need to act more like a scout and less like a soldier. Are we willing to not win in order to keep the conversation going? Be Kind First, Be Right Later

“Always remember that to argue, and win, is to break down the reality of the person you are arguing against. It is painful to lose your reality, so be kind, even if you are right.”- Haruki Murakami

When we are in the moment, we can easily forget that the goal is to connect with the other side, collaborate with them, befriend them, and integrate them into our tribe. We are so caught up in winning that we forget about connecting. It is easy to spend our energy labelling people rather than working with them.The word “kind” originated from the word “kin.” When you are kind to someone it means you are treating them like family. Develop a friendship. Share a meal. Be Kind.

**Source Credits:

1)  Language, Cognition, and Human Nature: Selected Articles by Steven Pinker.   2) Religion for Atheists by Alain de Botton.  3) “Why you think you're right — even if you're wrong” by Julia Galef.

Content Curated By: Dr Shoury Kuttappa.

[anhed-nia]

BLOGTOBER TAILGATE PARTY PT 2 - 9/30/17: MY FRIEND DAHMER

Derf Backderf’s high school memoir about growing up alongside a neglected boy who would become one of the world’s most notorious murders is a landmark achievement in artistic acts of atonement. The indie comics creator, who I had previously dismissed as a standard sort of ‘90s free paper stalwart, produced something of such astonishing depth and sincerity with this book that I would never again think of him in that same dreary way. Let this piece of writing stand for my own act of atonement in being so wrong about artist--even if it arrives in the dubious guise of an angry rejection of Marc Meyers’ unworthy adaptation, if you can call it that, of My Friend Dahmer. 

It is possibly a delusion symptomatic of my enthusiasm for Derf’s book, that I feel I’ve rarely seen something so richly incorrect as Marc Meyers’ movie. Just like the graphic novel proves about Dahmer himself, the problems begin early, and not at all subtly. The title card is chased quickly by a sort of byline, claiming that the film is “Based on a True Story”. As the rest of the film attests, this is a highly dangerous assertion. First of all, the “My” in the book’s title refers to Derf himself, and the “Friend” is meant to be ironic, according to his confession that he was among the many peers and adults who could have and should have, but did not recognize Jeffrey Dahmer as a young man in dire need of help. The book’s contents present the facts as Derf lived them, in conjunction with bitterly sympathetic suppositions about Dahmer’s personal life, derived from post-prosecution reportage. So, a film based on My Friend Dahmer should be a film about the community that responded so inappropriately, or not at all, to the challenges presented by a traumatized young alcoholic whose downward spiral led to a criminal career the likes of which the world had never seen. Meyers’ adaptation, on the other hand, is scarcely about Derf or his gang of insensitive pranksters, or anyone else in Dahmer’s culpable periphery. It is about Dahmer in a plain and simple made for TV fashion--or it might be, if it weren’t peppered with broad, frankly fake characters and events that help the director shoehorn the skeleton of Derf’s book into an unnecessary Hollywood drama that seems designed to be more digestible to a lowest common denominator audience. Artistic license is all well and good when you’re telling, say, a thinly-veiled account of a true story for your own mythological purposes. However, when you’re talking about a real person, a really famous person, whose crimes occurred within living memory, and whose kin still live alongside those whose lives he destroyed; when you shoot your movie not only in that person’s home town but in his actual childhood home; when none of the names have been changed to protect the innocent...and still you invent straw characters and events just to make a buck on your more shallow version of things, how do you find the nerve to claim that your film is based on a true story? Whose story do you even mean?

The Q&A with Meyers at the end of this Fantastic Fest screening did nothing to ease my mind.

Disney alum Ross Lynch provides one of the film’s only bright lights as Jeffrey, hurtling toward high school graduation while his interior life is deteriorating unstoppably. In a futile bid to escape the brutality of his parents’ imploding marriage, the lonesome teenage Dahmer distracts himself with a little amateur bodybuilding, dissection of roadkill, and furtive spying on a beefy jogger who regularly passes his shady family home in the woods. It seems like the young man has a shot at normality when Derf & co. respond positively to his self-effacing clowning, but this shallow reward is no match for his classmates’ homophobia, the school’s collective failure to respond to his burgeoning alcoholism and substance abuse, and his inability to create any real intimacy within or without his dysfunctional family.

Where Derf’s telling is painfully plausible when he is only speculating on Dahmer’s private existence, Meyers seems unable to trust even the known facts--though he places too much faith in his cast. Dallas Roberts does his damnedest as Jeffrey’s desperate, disconnected father, to not enough effect in his brief, disjointed scenes. (And truly, almost every scene is disjointed and too brief, due to some strange editorial choices) Anne Heche, as his wife Joyce, does little to give the proceedings depth with her typical display of frantic dithering, which evidences no directorial interference whatsoever. (The director’s claim that she is “unpredictable” and “different in every scene” is corroborated nowhere on the screen) No one else stands out in the positive or the negative other than Lynch, who one can only assume is acting under his own power; when asked by an audience member how he cast Dahmer, Meyers simply responded that he focused on kids who resembled Dahmer facially, but who also...drumroll please...can you guess the other most important characteristic?...could be about as tall as Dahmer. Their being “talented” entered the conversation as a sort of footnote, without any further discussion of what sort of presence or attitude the star should carry.

Whatever energy the director could have devoted to coaching his cast seems to have gone instead into padding the raw facts of Derf’s account with insulting inventions designed to beat the main points to death. Maybe that’s just a crutch you need if, like Meyers, you are unable to translate the novel’s devastating evocation of the Dahmer home’s oppressive atmosphere, and you must instead fill in that glaring blank with impressions of your own parents’ comparatively ordinary divorce. Maybe you feel like your depiction of Dahmer lusting after the jogger, and his alienation from women, do not prove out the young murderer’s well-known homosexuality--so you force feed your audience a chipmunk-cheeked little fellow who bafflingly shouts out the details of an upcoming date with Dahmer at the very moment when bullies are about to gay bash him into a pulp. Maybe you feel like Dahmer’s sweaty admiration of the jogger, who he stalks with a baseball bat since this person very nearly became Dahmer’s first rape-murder, isn’t a potent enough detail--so you expand this historical figure into a well-liked small town doctor to whom Dahmer goes for a would-be erotic checkup. You can make Dahmer pointedly ask whether the guy does surgery, and then you can make the medical professional implausibly sneer “I’m not the type of person who wants to cut someone open,” just before he scoffs disgustedly at his patient for (presumably) getting an erection.

Most startling of all of Meyers’ inventions is the person of Figg, a deranged bully-cum-drug dealer. Derf’s brief recollection of this person is as a sort of ridiculous but potentially dangerous hulk who was, unfortunately, not ashamed to be seen with Dahmer. In Meyers’ film, he takes up a strange amount of screen time for reasons that only became clear at the Q&A. Within the film, this disturbed individual provides Dahmer with weed, which is all well and good, but he also scares everyone with freaky nazi jokes, cuts himself and drinks his own blood like the TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE hitchhiker, and scares the shit out of Dahmer by inviting him to play russian roulette in the woods. What this is supposed to help narratively is impossible to determine. However, Meyers stressed that Figg is played by Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins’ son Miles, and makes it abundantly clear that he happily went to great lengths to shoehorn the young man into the film. Evidently he was meant to be driving a car in some important scenes, though it was revealed that the New York-based actor does not drive. When this came up, the filmmakers wracked their brains to figure out how to keep him in the picture, only to come up with this peculiar DEER HUNTER riff. Meyers’ invitation for the audience to imagine a room full of producers puzzling over this problem, and then collectively cheering “THE DEER HUNTER!”, was not one that I could accept.

Another, in some ways more bizarre fib is committed in the context of one of the book’s most interesting recollections--the time that Jeffrey Dahmer, showing an amazing amount of pluck, weaseled himself and his friends into the office of Walter Mondale during a class field trip. The flow of this anecdote is interrupted to introduce a fantasy about Dahmer having to share a hotel room with a black varsity football player. I’d like to say here that Meyers insisted that he did absolutely no research outside of reading Derf’s novel--a dubious decision when your movie is about the real life of a real person, and when it so fails what the comic is about. To be fair, or something, Meyers said a number of troubling things about his process: That he “was just trying to make a movie set in the 70s”, that he just wanted it to be about a sort of average kid and not Dahmer the killer-to-be, that he “is not one to put any psychology on [Dahmer]”. That’s a mouthful of insistence on normality and digression and artistic license for someone whose only qualification for casting his star is that he looked just like Jeffrey Dahmer. In any case, one of the things that Meyers does to underline Dahmer’s factual homosexuality is to place him in this room with a young black athlete. In the film, Dahmer immediately begins making out-loud observations about the skin tone of different parts of the young man’s body, and asking questions about whether his entrails might be the same color as Dahmer’s. Now, anyone who knows a little bit about Dahmer knows that he almost exclusively killed athletic men of color--not so much the kinds of babyfaced white boys who are occasionally foisted upon Dahmer by Meyers. So, it’s unclear to me whether this choice is simply a bizarre accident, or an especially glib, distasteful way for Meyers to engage with his actual subject matter. In any case, it’s interruptive, uncomfortable, and difficult to understand. (For more on the grave subject of Dahmer’s impact on the poor black community in which he lived as an adult, please view the surprisingly excellent documentary THE JEFFREY DAHMER FILES)

While most of this sort of artifice seems aimed at forcing the Dahmer story to be more obvious and traditional, some of it is just unforgivable under any excuse. The film contains a sole scene that approaches something moving and truthful, in which a recently-graduated Derf happens upon Dahmer sauntering along the side of the road at night. In truth, this happened to another member of Derf’s coterie, but no matter. Derf hesitantly picks up the young man who he helped to embarrass and manipulate during their high school career, and drives him home. There they have a tense, earnestly sad exchange in the driveway, to the degree that any teenage boys are capable of having a direct conversation...and then it all goes down hill. In the film, Derf nervously joins Dahmer inside the latter’s empty house, only to back out at the last minute--AND RIGHTLY SO, BECAUSE DAHMER IS COMING AFTER HIM WITH A MURDER WEAPON! This choice is beyond despicable, as if there could be any good reason to accuse a dead man with living family of a murder that was never at risk of taking place. But, it’s also stranger than that: In Derf’s novel, it is revealed that while the friend passed a final innocent moment with Dahmer in the driveway, the fresh corpse of Dahmer’s first victim was certainly sitting either in Dahmer’s own car, or in the drainage ditch close by. Why would anyone sacrifice this powerful real life detail in favor of a cheap slasher movie scare that twists an already disturbing horror story in an unnecessary direction? I wish I had thought of this at the Q&A, but I was too busy fantasizing about asking Meyers why none of the living, suffering Dahmer family appeared in his copious list of acknowledgments at the end of the credits.

Last night I had no shortage of complaints to make, such that I could hardly sleep imagining insults to hurl. Now, I think I’ve finally emptied myself of all of the important ones. Meyer’s film is a mess, but please don’t let it prevent you from reading Derf’s moving and truthful novel, in which there is at least a payoff for all of the pain.

[eloyherrera8261-blog]

Stress And Anxiety Monitoring Web Sites.

Capricorns are extremely enthusiastic, which sometimes produce troubles in their married life. Various meditation practices attempt to cultivate the caring disposition in caring kindness exercises, where the specific ponders feelings of compassion towards people close to the self (or the self), as well as slowly prolongs those feelings to less close people and also at some point enemies as well as all sentient beings (Wallace, 2005 ). These caring generosity reflections have been located to change the resting lateralization patterns in the brain to the left frontal lobes, which is connected with greater technique propensities (Davidson, Kabat-Zinn, Schumacher, Rosenkranz, Muller, et al., 2003 ), and to cause boosts in general wellness and also social link (Fredrickson, Cohn, Coffey, Pek & Finkel, 2008 ). These research studies suggest that conscious experiences of compassionate states raise trait like propensities to really feel compassion. Everyone know a person and also love somebody who's had an abortion as well as must be compassionate to that fact and not judgmental," she says. Household obligations could be one more obstacle in starting a brand-new company and providing a service to the community, we aim to over come that challenge by working as a husband and wife duo as well as supplying after college courses and also occasions to not just our youngsters but our next-door neighbors as well as their kids in the process. Kin option bases this choice on degree of kinship (Hamilton, 1964 ); versions of huge scale collaboration in teams of non-kin concentrate on characterological aspects such as credibility, online reputation, as well as prior cooperative habits (Axelrod & Hamilton, 1981; Trivers, 1971 ). The implication is that compassion should be sensitive to assessments of deservingness as well as to whether the individual suffering is altruistic, participating, and of good personality. " Regimens, tips and checklists are alternate, as well as efficient, methods of making certain that vital medical care tasks are carried out, without depending on concern or other sensations to inspire the staff involved," she claims. And as a feminist who had actually accomplished worldwide adjustment for women in giving birth, and also somebody who was hugely effective, to be made a mommy incapable to protect your little girl - it was excruciating. A number of us are helpless to change the clinical profession as well as pharmaceutical sector, which claim the marketplace economic situation must establish the price for all health care expenses. To kids of the 1970s that were simply entering into their own (I was 12 after that), it was a confusing and also frightening time. I think that getting in touch with unfamiliar people and motivating them to share their experiences publicly helps them to decrease their embarassment as well as find assistance as well as compassion from their neighborhoods. Mahlia, that copes with a pacifist medical professional at the beginning of guide, appears genuinely flattened by her experiences: very first abandoned by her dad; nearly killed along with her mother, that remained to believe that peacekeepers would certainly return to conserve her; and then dealt with as a derelict due to her link to the old routine. Clearly, sensitivity to others' requirements, made it possible for by concern, is a main criterion in the development of intimate bonds (Reis, Clark & Holmes, 2004 ). This reasoning, and also the indirect evidence that we have actually evaluated, validate the claim that in intersexual choice processes, males and women likely preferred mating with more caring individuals-- a process that over time would certainly boost caring tendencies within the gene swimming pool. Empathy essentially indicates to endure with each other." Amongst emotion scientists, it is specified as the feeling that occurs when you are confronted with an additional's suffering and also feel inspired to eliminate that suffering. If you cherished this short article and you would like to receive extra information with regards to Read the Full Guide kindly visit the website. For that reason, self-compassion includes acknowledging that suffering and individual insufficiency becomes part of the common human experience - something that all of us undergo as opposed to being something that occurs to me" alone. Curb inequality: Research study recommends that as people feel a higher sense of condition over others, they really feel much less concern. Compassion is an empathetic emotional feedback to an additional person's pain or suffering that relocates individuals to act in a way that will certainly either reduce the individual's problem or make it much more manageable (Kanov, Maitlis, Worline, Dutton, Frost, & Lilius, 2003). We use it to describe a widespread shortfall of empathy in our culture, the evidence of which originates from this 2010 college research study and also the several tales we listen to everyday: a grandmother harassed on a bus, a man rejected healthcare in his hr of need, a politician pushing legislations that will refute thousands vital assistance, a lady's attack gone viral on YouTube, a business supervisor disregarding to workplace infractions, and also the homeless person you walked past in the street while upgrading your condition. " Through the net, particularly social media sites, the family members got a massive following, assistance from influential persons and large amounts of funding. We can constantly get better, nonetheless, in order for youngsters to commemorate who they are, their good example need to show that self-confidence does not start "5 extra pounds from now," or "after one more win." We must continue to make every effort while moring than happy with just how much we have actually come with the very same time.