#he has that internal struggle of seeing Home as a place of pain and hardship and bad memories and trauma

[the-casbah-way]

some people will look at my current wip and say that malcolm running his hands through jamie's hair as he sleeps and singing him old scottish songs is out of character but to that i say a) no it's not just hear me out and b) suck my fat cock you can't stop me from making those old men experience Real Human Emotions

[everlarkficexchange]

The Hope that gave me hope

Written by: @ameliaodair​

Prompt 156 - Toastbaby’s perspective from the womb throughout pregnancy. Bonus points from post-birth moments. [submitted by @lovely-to the-bone/ @peetamewllark​ ]

Thank you @lovely-tothe-bone for this amazing prompt!

Word Count: 5137

Rated: K-T

Unbeta’d, edited by me

SPOILER ALERT: Anyone reading my stories, “Changing the Game” or “Another Way Out” this story DOES contain spoilers for events yet to come.

Okay, so I tweaked this prompt just a little… Instead of post MJ, this story will coincide with my Hunger Games rewrite (Changing the Game, Another Way Out, and TBA) Toastbaby’s perspective from inside the womb as Katniss goes through the arena and her time in 13.  I hope you guys like it and if you are interested in some of the things “Little One” hears/experiences, then you should check out my stories.  You can find them on A03 and FFN.

***I tried to stay true to the facts of a fetus growing (what they are doing and when) in utero, but some things may have been adjusted***

Also, as I was writing this story, a memory resurfaced from when my kids were little, and I would take them to Temple on Friday nights for Tot Shabbat.  Before I give you my story, here is a little background on Leilah, the Angel of Conception.

You know that little indentation above your lips, and (under your nose? Okay, well, keep that in mind) So, the story goes that the Angel Leilah chooses which souls inhabit which seeds and accompanies them in the womb, teaching them all the knowledge of the Torah (Hebrew Bible, ((I think)).  So, while the “baby” is in the womb, it has all the knowledge and answers in the world and when you are born, your lungs fill with air, which results in crying and Leilah tells the baby to “Ssshhh” and presses her finger to their lips, which is what causes that little indentation and thus, wiping their memory…and they have to learn everything all over again.  (At least that’s how I think it goes) Anyway, I really wanted to incorporate that story into this one, so here goes.

The Hope that gave me hope

“Listen closely child, your next journey will not be an easy one.  The world has taken a turn for the worst; war and famine has devastated much of what remains, ruled by a callous tyrant.  However, you will be conceived to a pair of great importance.  Together, they will change the world for the better, but not before enduring many hardships.  There will be pain, heartache, and deep suffering, but the end result will be well worth the struggle.”

Little One, squirmed in place as the Creator described her next assignment.

“A-are you certain they are the right ones for me?” Little One asked the Creator uncertainly, although she knew the answer.

“I am certain, Child,” his voice boomed, “Do you doubt me?  Have I ever led you astray?”

“No Sir,” Little One faltered.

“Have faith, Child,” the Creator continued, his voice much softer.  “Now go on.  Off you go.”

“But … I am frightened Sir,” Little One stumbled, shrinking back with her fear.

“What is there to be frightened of, my Child?”

“I do not enjoy the solitude, perhaps you could accompany me on my journey?”

The Creator laughed at Little One, his voice rattling the ground, “You will not be alone Child, Leilah will be with you the entire way.  She will not leave your side in the womb, not for a single moment.  She will spend her time teaching you all the knowledge of the world—”

“So that I may share it with my … what are they called again— parents?”

The Creator shook the earth again with his laughter, “Yes, they are called parents.  And no, you may not share it with them.  Leilah will be waiting for you on the outside just before your entrance into the world and the moment your lungs fill with air, your consciousness of her given knowledge will be erased.  You must rely on your parents for wisdom and guidance.”

“But Sir— what is the point?” Little One asked, her face contorting into a confused expression.

“No more questions, Little One, it is time for you to descend.  Time is of the essence; Leilah has chosen the perfect … ah … specimen for you to inhabit, but like I said, time is of the essence.”

“I have one more question Sir, if I may.”

“Yes Child?”

“What will be the names of my … parents?” Little One asked.

The Creator chuckled at her question, “Katniss and Peeta,” he said, patting her on the head just before he sent her on her way.

Gestation Period: Weeks 1-4

‘It’s dark.  But I’m warm.  I’m comfortable.  I think I like it in here.’  Little One thought to herself as she burrowed herself deep inside her mother’s womb, her cells multiplying at the perfect rate.

Gestation Period: Week 6-8

Although her ears are not developed just yet and she cannot hear a thing, Little One can sense that her mother is distraught and plagued with sadness.  ‘Why are you sad, Mother?’  Little One pondered.

“It is okay Little One, your mother is just frightened.  She and your father just became aware of your existence and face many challenges ahead,” Leilah’s voice bounced against the walls of Little One’s new home.

‘Oh,’ Little One thought to herself. ‘Do … do they not want me; will I make it to my day of birth?’ Little One communicated, fearful of Leilah’s answer.  Little One knew that sometimes certain essences were not compatible with certain pairings and their journeys came to an end before it even had the chance to begin. Little One hoped this was not the case for herself.

“No dear, it is not that.  They are frightened because the world they live in is a harsh and cruel world.  They never desired to have children of their own— they did not wish their circumstances onto another.  But Little One, they already love you dearly, so do not fret.  Everything will work out as it was meant to.”  Leilah soothed Little One and began her teachings of the world.

Gestation Period: Week 12-16

‘What was that?’ Little One interrupted Leilah during a particularly boring story.

“Do not be frightened Little One, you are just sensing the vibration of excitement surrounding your mother.“

‘What are they excited about— is their excitement geared toward me?  And … and why do I sense discomfort in Mother?’ Little One was enigmatically in tune with her mother’s feelings and emotions, even from this early in her life.

“That is not for you to worry yourself over.  Soon, within the next few weeks your ears will become more developed, and you will be able to hear so much more.”

‘But … how do I hear you if I cannot hear?’ Little One asked, plagued with confusion.

Little One continued to ask question after question, so curious she was.  And the kind, patient Angel that Leilah was did her best to answer them all— to the best of her ability.

‘Why do I bounce up and down?’ Little One asked several days later.

“Those are called hiccups,” Leilah informed her.

‘Well, I do not like them,’ Little One retorted with a scowl.  Though she did not know it, it very much resembled her mother’s signature expression.

Leilah chuckled, “No, not many people do.”  Leilah smirked and continued her teachings of the world with Little One as she tried to mask her concern over the voices she heard.

“Oh, Katniss darling; we have missed you so much!” Someone on the outside crooned.  Leilah feared the worst from the shrill voices shrieking on the outside.  Those voices only meant one thing; Katniss, and most likely Peeta had returned to the Capitol, which meant they were headed back into the Games.  It was just as the Creator predicted and she worried for Little One’s life.

“Oh Katniss, Peeta, we’re so-so, sorry!” The voices on the outside hiccupped as they sobbed.

“It’s a … you’re a … a bird, it’s a—” a loud voice boomed, which caused Little One to bounce from side to side.

“A mockingjay,” Leilah heard Katniss confirm to the loud voice.

‘What is a mockingjay?’ Little one piped up from her slumber.

Gestation Period: 18 Weeks

“Hey there little nut—”

‘EEK!’ Little One internally gasped.  ‘What was that, OH! I am frightened!’ Little One called out in fear.

“Do not be alarmed Little One, it’s just your ears that are working.  It is your father’s voice that you hear.  Listen … he is speaking to you.” Leilah spoke softly, encouraging Little One to listen.

Little One sat as still as she could and listened intently as the deep melodic voice of her father reverberated off the walls of her perfect home.

“I’m going to call you Little Nut since we don’t know if you’re a boy or a girl, I hope that’s okay.  This is your father; my name is Peeta.”

‘Peeta,’ Little One tried the name in her head and smiled, deciding that she liked the way it sounded. ‘Yes, it is okay for you to call me “Little Nut”,’ Little One longed to tell her father.  She extended her arm up and waved her hand, wishing her father could see her new trick.

“Listen Nut, I’m not sure how we’re going to make it out of the arena, but I am going to do everything in my power to get you and your mom out of there.  I … I don’t know if I’ll ever get to meet you, but I just want you to know that … somehow, I WILL keep the two of you safe.  And … I just want you to know how much I love you and that you are so loved.  But don’t you worry, you will have so many people to love you and take care of you and … I just don’t want you to ever doubt my love for you.  You will have your mommy, and yes, she is scared right now, but she will be the best mommy you could ever ask for; ever hope for.  She is the strongest, bravest person I know, and she will teach you so much.  When you get bigger, she’ll teach you how to use a bow and arrow, and … and if you ever do something that upsets her, just bring her some cheese buns.  Your Grandpa Bing can teach you how to make them, or your Uncle Rye.  Cheese buns are her favorite; she won’t be able to stay mad at you for long if you bring her cheese buns.  Oh!  In case you were wondering, Bing is my dad, and Rye is my brother.”

‘Cheese buns, gee, I hope I will remember that.’ Little One knew she wouldn’t, but she continued to sit in silence, soaking up her father’s every word and finding solace in his soothing voice.

“Then there is your Aunt Prim.  That’s your mom’s sister.  Oh, she’s going to fall in love with you the moment she sees you.  Well, actually, she is probably already in love with you.  She is probably really mad at me though.  Well, me and your mom.  You see, I did something.  When we went on stage for our interviews with Caesar, I um … I told the world about you.  I hadn’t planned on doing it; it kind of just … came out.  So, everyone back at home is probably a little shocked right now, and they probably aren’t sure if I was telling the truth.  But your Aunt Prim, and your Grandma Lilly, they are healers, and I am almost certain that after my shocking announcement they’re putting the pieces together and they know you’re real.”

‘What is Father talking about?  I am so confused.  What is ‘interview’ and ‘Caesar’ and ‘arena’?  I just like the sound of Father’s voice, so I don’t really care right now. Please Father, please talk some more,’ Little One wanted to tell him.

“Oh, Little Nut, I don’t want to leave you, I really don’t.  I want to watch you grow, I want to meet you and know you.  It hurts so much thinking I will never get the chance to be your dad.  I want nothing more in this screwed up world than to hold you, hug you and kiss you— to rock you.  And … and when you get older, I would teach you how to paint—”

‘Yes, I think I would like that, too.’ Little One agreed with Peeta.

“But … things aren’t looking so good for me, so … I don’t even know if you can hear me, but, oh, I … I just love you so much, okay?”

Little One heard sniffles and she recalled her lesson with Leilah on emotions and crying.

‘Please Father, do not be sad.  We will see each other soon, I promise,’ Little One so badly wanted to comfort her father.

Gestation Period: 18 Weeks and 4 Days

‘Why do I find comfort in this?’ Little One asked Leilah as she placed her thumb into her mouth and began sucking.

“It has to do—” Leilah was interrupted by Peeta’s voice once again as he spoke to his daughter.

“Hello again Little Nut, it’s me, your dad.”

‘T-that’s my father!’ Little One began bouncing up and down with excitement.

“I just … I just wanted to tell you I love you just in case this is the end.  You stay in there and you stay strong for your mama.  I hope … I hope I will get the chance to meet you, but if not, just know how much I love you Little Nut, okay?”

Little One felt something pressing against her, causing her to shift to the other side of the cozy womb.  Then, she heard her father’s voice once more, but this time it was further away, “I’ll see you at midnight.  Everything will go as planned, just like we talked about, okay?”

“Okay,” although her mother’s firm voice resonated strength, from deep inside her body, Little One could feel the trembling in her voice, which was undoubtedly filled with fear.  ‘Mother does not believe his words?’ Little One intuited.

‘Father’s voice is gone, and I so want him to speak to me again; I really like his voice.’ Little One whined.

Leilah knew what was happening on the outside and she didn’t want Little One to worry.

“Pay attention to me, Little One, do not concern yourself with the outside noises.  It is time for our next lesson.” Leilah said, hoping to distract Little One from the fight going on outside.

Outside, Katniss and Johanna were running, stringing Beetee’s wire from the lightning tree to the beach, and then Johanna blindsided Katniss, knocking her out with a giant log— all to cut her tracker out.

‘I do not feel so good, I wish to take a nap,’ Little One said as a result of Katniss losing so much blood.  Leilah sang Little One a song that offered comfort and nestled the growing baby in her heart while she pleaded with the Creator to watch over them all.

For a long time, there was silence and Little One wondered what was happening.  Sometimes she could hear voices from far away and she longed to know who they were.  Who they were to her, to her mother— her father?  Are they the family her father spoke so fondly of?

And then finally, one day out of the blue she finally heard her mother’s croaky voice echo off the walls of her warm home as Little One waved a hand in front of her face.  Though she could not see it anymore because her eyelids had become fused shut, she still knew that she was doing it.

Gestation Period: 21 Weeks

“Peeta!  Where’s Peeta?  And … what about the baby?” Little One startled from a deep slumber to hear her mother shrieking, her voice tremulous with panic.

“My apologies Miss Everdeen, the fetus was unable to withstand the blast when the arena exploded.  You had a miscarriage,” an icy voice commanded the room, which resulted in Little One bobbing up and down as her mother started shaking.  Little One could hear her mother’s heart accelerating and her breathing quickening.

‘Wait, what?  No, no … do not believe them, Mother, I am still here!’ Little One tried to reach her mother— to no avail, who was crying so hard.

“No, no, no.  No, you’re wrong.  I— I would feel it if she— if the baby were gone.  Just like with Peeta, I would feel it, and I still feel her—” her mother tried to reason with the people surrounding her.

“I’m sorry Miss Everdeen—” The icy voice said, though she did not sound apologetic at all.

There was a loud bang, and then stillness.

‘I do not understand, why are they denying my existence?  I am still here, right?’ Little One reached out to Leilah for confirmation.  She was not ready for her journey to be at its end.

“Yes darling, you are still very much alive.  They are confused, that’s all.” Leilah assured Little One, though, she knew the truth.

Gestation Period: 21 Weeks and 2 Days

“Katniss, if you have any intentions on keeping your baby alive, you need to stay calm and do exactly as I say,” a soft voice, not the icy one spoke to Little One’s mother.

“W-what?”

“If you can keep a secret, so can I, but I need you to stay calm,” and then Little One heard the nice voice saying words like pressure and elevation, but all she cared about was that her mother knew she was still alive and safely inside her.  Little One was counting on her to keep them okay.

‘I do not understand, why would that voice lie to my mother?  Why would she tell her I am no longer, when I AM?’ Little One pleaded to Leilah, overcome with confusion.

“People lie my dear.  Sometimes it is to shield others from pain, but oftentimes it is for vindictive reasons— for their own selfish gain.  But do not worry yourself over this matter, we have much to cover before our time is up.”

Gestation Period: 23-26 Weeks

The next few weeks, or perhaps it’s months, it’s difficult for Little One to tell time from inside her mother, but somehow— she can feel her father’s presence, yet she does not hear his voice.

‘Where did Father go?’

“He is away for now, but do not fret Little One, he will return very soon.” Leilah assured her and began to distract her with more of life’s lessons.  For days and days, weeks even, Leilah filled their time with the teachings of the world.  Leilah knew what was going on in the ‘outside’ and she did her best to keep Little One’s mind occupied.

“That THING isn’t Peeta,” Little One heard her mother shout over and over.  And then she heard many words she did not recognize, words Leilah had never explained to her.  Hijacking, enemy, snow, weapon.

“Don’t you worry Little Nut; we’ll bring Daddy home soon.  He’s finally awake, and him and your Grandma Effie are coming home soon; well, if you can actually call this place home,” Little One was reassured by her mother’s promise— her heart accelerated at the mention of her father’s return and she stretched her leg out in excitement.

“Unh!” Katniss exclaimed, “was that you, Little Nut?” Katniss asked Little One when she felt the fluttering in her abdomen.

Little One repeated this action in response to her mother’s racing heart.

“That’s right, baby.  We’ll get daddy back really soon, I promise.  That- that thing they brought back from the Capitol is NOT daddy— I don’t care what they say.  Peeta— your dad would never hurt me, no matter what.  We’re going to rescue him— him and Effie, and they’re going to do it soon, or … or I won’t be their stupid mockingjay.”

After that conversation, Katniss spoke to Little One often, filling her in and sharing many details about the world outside.  Little One would always try to stretch an arm or a leg to tell her mother she was listening.  That she believed in her.  That she trusted her.

Gestation Period: 26 Weeks and 5 Days

“K-Katniss?” Little One’s head twitched to the side when she heard the familiar voice.

‘Is … is that—’ Little One stuttered in excitement, yet she didn’t want to get her hopes up.  It had been SO long since she last heard her father’s voice.  Granted, this voice was croaky and sounded almost nothing like him, but something deep inside her knew it was him.

“Yes, Little One, it is your father.  He has finally returned.” Leilah answered her.

Little One thought that having her father back within arm’s reach would have given her mother some relief from all the tears she succumbed to each night, but instead, she cried even more.

‘Why is Mother still so sad?’ Little One asked Leilah during another particularly boring lesson.

Leilah didn’t want to burden the child with all the pain going on outside, so she just said, “Your father is just going through some adjustments.  Do not worry, they will find their way back to each other, it will just take some time.”

Gestation Period: 27 Weeks

‘W-what was that?’ Little One asked when she heard a new sound echoing off the walls of her perfect home.

“That is your mother.  She is singing to you.” Leilah informed Little One.

‘I … I like it … it’s beautiful,’ Little One crooned, swaying to the sound of her mother’s voice.

Little One tried to stretch her leg out to reassure her mother she was here for her, but it seemed her perfect home had shrunk.  Anxiety consumed her as she wondered what would happen when she no longer fit.

“Do you remember our discussion entailing your day of birth?” Leilah hummed to Little One.  “When this home no longer suits your needs, you will be welcomed into the world.  That is when your true life shall begin.  It will be cold, bright and scary, but your parents will love, nurture, and soothe you.  They will be your new home— they will provide you with all that you need to sustain your life.  Though, it is not safe for you to enter that world until you have used up every single big of space in this home.  Do you understand?”

‘Y-yes,’ Little One apprehensively answered Leilah, recalling a lesson from some time before.  She wasn’t sure if she was going to like this ‘New Home.’  The one that she was currently in was perfect and she loved it in here.  Why did that have to change?  Why did she have to keep growing?  What if she just … stopped.  Could she choose to stay in this perfect, warm, and cozy home forever?

“Stop thinking so hard, and you know the answer to that.” Leilah interrupted Little One’s thoughts.  “Everything grows, just as everything dies.  It is the circle of life.  One day, it will be you who grows a person inside of your body and then you will understand.”

Little One giggled and thought, ‘That’s so silly!’

Gestation Period: 29 Weeks

‘Leilah,’ Little One began; it was the first time she had ever addressed Angel Leilah by her name, and it made her squirm uncomfortably.

“Yes, dear?”

‘What is the point?  Why do you teach me all the knowledge of the world before I am born, only to distinguish it from my mind at birth?  It just … it seems … pointless.’

“Yes, I can see how you would see it that way, but I promise you, my child, there is a reason.  There is a reason for everything.  Do you remember our lesson about the tangible things in the world, like ‘paper’ and ‘pencils’, and things like ‘writing’?”

‘Yes, I think so.’

“If you write your feelings down on a piece of paper and then erase it, so that it is no longer visible to the naked eye, does that mean it is gone forever?  My child, the knowledge will always be within you, and as certain things in your life come to pass, you will get a glimmer of a feeling … as if a moment is familiar.  That is how you will know the path you are on is the right path for you at that time.  Just because I erase the memories of all your knowledge, that does not mean it is gone forever.”

‘Okay,’ Little One listened intently and agreed.

Gestation Period: 32 Weeks

As her time in the womb was growing shorter and shorter, Little One grew more nervous and anxious with each day that passed.  She could still hear voices on the outside, but the rumbling and gurgling coming from inside her mother drowned most everything out.  The space in her home was getting tighter and tighter— she could barely move at this point.  The walls around her home kept squeezing her for a moment, but they would relax almost immediately.

‘I’m not sure that I like that,’ Little One frowned.

“It is just your mother’s body practicing for your birth.  It is natural.  Now, we must focus, it is almost time.”

The squeezing got worse.  Instead of squeezing her for a few seconds here and there, it lasted for minutes and minutes.  Not only did the squeezing last longer, but it became harder and tighter.

Gestation Period: 35 Weeks and 6 days

“My dear child, it is time.” Leilah announced one night.

‘But … NO!’ Little One cried.  ‘I … I still have room, it- it can’t be time yet, I’m not ready!’

“No one is ever ready for change, but I fear our time is up.  It is indeed early, quite early actually, but it will all work out as it was meant to, just as I told you many months ago.”

Little One was frightened, because her entry into the world was not happening in the exact way Leilah had described.  Instead of being squeezed down by the walls of her home, where she would be pushed down, down, and eventually squeeze through a narrow canal to enter the world, a slit of light was breaking through the walls of her home.

‘What is happening, I am scared!’

“I will meet you on the other side, sweet girl, and all will be well.” Leilah assured Little One.

The slit grew bigger and bigger and creatures that looked too foreign to be human— they had bland, grey suits on, and masks over their faces, pulled Little One out.  They stuck something up each of her nostrils and then inside of her mouth, which made Little One gasp for air.

Little One opened her eyes and for the first time, she saw Leilah.  She was beautiful and glowing— radiating a brilliant light.

“Shhh,” Leilah comforted her, pressing her finger to Little One’s lips to calm her— and then she was gone.

Little One’s lungs filled with air and she cried.  She cried and she wailed.  She shrieked and she shrilled.  She wanted to tell these strange creatures, ‘Put me back!’

She was so scared, there were so many people, none that she recognized … until him.  She didn’t recognize him, but his voice; it was her father.  Peeta.  He walked over to where she was lying and looked down at her.  The moment she met his sparkling blue eyes— she knew she was home.

Little One gasped and paused her shrill crying to stare at the  man looking down at her.

“Hello Hope, I’m your daddy,” the beautiful, familiar-feeling, blue-eyed man spoke to Little One with tears in his eyes.  “Dylan Hope Mellark— that’s your name, beautiful girl.  Dylan was your grandpa’s name— your mommy’s daddy, but we both agreed it could work whether you were a boy or a girl.  But I think we’re just going to call you Hope.  Because that’s what you are to all of us.  Welcome to the world, Hope.”

Everything was scary for Hope.  Everything was bright, cold, and unfamiliar.  There were giant creatures poking, prodding, and tossing her around.  She was afraid they would drop her.

’Where did the man go?  The “Daddy,” I want to see him again.' Hope thought to herself as she cried and cried.  Nothing was familiar and she didn’t like it.  She wanted to go back inside her perfect home where it was dark and warm— and snug.  And … and there was someone in there with her, but who was it?  She couldn’t remember.  But she did know that she didn’t like all the lights, the giant creatures and all the strange noises.

“Katniss, Katniss sweetie, wake up.  They’re bringing her back.” Hope was feeling a little better now, someone had swaddled her in warm blankets, and she almost felt like she was back inside her perfect home.  She wiggled, turning her head in the direction of the familiar voice— the one she recognized from earlier.  It was the man.  The daddy.  Someone picked her up and she felt as if she was flying in the air.  She was frightened for a moment until she realized they were giving her to the daddy.

When the daddy held her in his arms, Hope did not question if he would drop her— unlike the others, he held her gently and she felt safe.  When she opened her eyes, everything was fuzzy.  Even still, she could make out the blue of his eyes and wondered if her eyes looked like his.  She hoped so.

“Do you want to hold her?” The daddy asked.

“I-is she okay?” A softer— timid voice asked and Hope immediately recognized it as the voice— although clearer, without the whooshing and gurgling sounds from her previous home— but it was, without a doubt, the same voice she heard from deep inside her perfect home.

“She’s perfect,” the daddy beamed, his eyes sparkling with tears.  The daddy gently passed Hope to the woman, and Hope prepared herself to feel that feeling again— that flying-in-the air— afraid-to-fall, feeling, but it did not happen.  The daddy slowly and gently placed Hope in the woman’s arms and scooted into the bed next to her.  Hope squirmed and gasped, filling her lungs with air as she prepared to cry— not wanting the daddy to let her go, but then she froze when a familiar scent wafted up her nostrils.

‘Hey, I know that smell!’ Hope thought, excited from the familiarity and opened her eyes again to meet the blurry face of the owner of her perfect home.  But— like with the daddy— the moment the mommy cradled her in her arms, Hope knew she was safe in her new home.

“Hello, my beautiful girl, I’m your mama.  It’s nice to finally meet you,” the woman— “Mama” said to Hope, her chin quivering and tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

“She’s so beautiful,” the mama turned her head to the daddy.  The daddy leaned over and stroked Hope’s cheek with his finger.  Hope liked the way his finger felt, and she relaxed a little more.

“Yes she is— just like her mother,” the daddy gleamed with pride, staring in awe at Hope.

“I can’t believe we made this beautiful girl,” the mommy said to the daddy with more tears in her eyes.

The daddy snuggled closer to the mommy, wrapping his arm around her and rested his chin on her shoulder, but not before kissing the mommy’s cheek.  “I love you Katniss.”

Hope let out a little wail and squirmed from side to side.

“Hey, hey,” the daddy said in a soft voice, “Of course, I love you too, my sweet girl.  The Hope that gave me hope.”

The mommy lifted Hope up, so that her head rested against the mommy’s chest.  Hope could feel a soft pounding against her cheek— and it was familiar.  So familiar.

Swaddled in her warm blankets, nestled safely in her mother’s arms and her father just inches away, Hope got a glimmer of a feeling— that she was exactly where she was meant to be.  In that instant she knew, that burrowed cozily between the mama and the daddy— she was home.

[julies-butterflies]

Honestly, your writing reminds me a lot of the buffyverse. Just the perfect balance of humor and sadness and romance and heart that just feels like a vivid window into the world you've created.

God the Body...the best forty minutes of television I may never watch again. I've rewatched Willow and Tara's kiss (because I'll adore them forever), but just...the weight of it. It took me a full month to work up the nerve to watch the episode, to be ready to cry that much.

What you said about not wanting people to suffer, because of your work...It's never once felt like that for me. And I've cried a LOT while reading your work. I'll try to explain it the best I can

Grief can be so isolating, and disorienting. Your world goes topsey-turvey, supports you took for granted go flying into the abyss and suddenly it's a minefield of those glass shards. And no one's grief is identical. No two circumstances are the same. It's not possible for anyone else to know exactly how you feel, because no two hearts break alike.

Sometimes, it's because people just don't understand. Sometime's it's because they no longer want to. But some days, that feeling of aloneness can be crushing.

Then one night, I stumbled upon Let These Shadows Fall Away Like Dust. That one hit me way harder than I was ever expecting. The question of how to grieve the living, the dilemma on when forgiveness is deserved...Alex's anger, his devestation, the rawness of it all....That's my broken glass. Those are concepts I've been struggling for over a year. I'm still picking up pieces every day.

I sobbed, because it was such a relief. To see the feelings that had been scrambled up in my mind just reflected there, on my screen. The reminder I had desperately needed, that I was not alone. That even though my circumstances were different, I was not the only one trying to unravel those messy emotions.

Then again, I also read your deathfic for fun, so maybe I'm not the best judge of this. I tend to like angst. I tend to get a lot of "WHY WOULD YOU MAKE IT THAT SAD" in group chats :D

Please don't feel any pressure to respond to me quickly or anything. I never mind the wait. I'm so sorry for the rough times. Wishing that you and your family gets whatever you need to help ease your storm. Sending love and support as well.

(sorry for all the metaphors. I'm super sleepy and apparently, I resort to purple prose when tired lol)

I know exactly what you mean about Emily. I understand why people don't like her, but I just love to see her written as such a grey character. It's just so much more powerful when the love is so clearly there.

I mean, that's what a tragedy is, really. Love cut short. Grieving a future that could have been everything, if fate had not been cruel. I don't know if you know musical theater, but I like to think about the Barber and His Wife, from Sweeney Todd: the whole tragedy of that show, is that they were happy all together, and then permanently broken. How their paths keep crossing, but they never connect to heal. Never lost, but never found.

And that's the tragedy of Luke and Emily: too stubborn and too late. You find that grey area, the messiness so well, and just bring it all out so wonderfully. You do the same with Bobby/Trevor, ESPECIALLY in the horror and the wild. God, that absolutely devestated me. I'm not a big fan of horror in general, and I haven't explored the genre that much but...if all horror is like yours then DAMN, I might just have to become a fan.

This got super long (lol) so I'll wrap it up now but! THE SIC FIC QUEENS TOGETHER???? When I tell you I lost it.... all too well Bobby and what you've lost reggie in the same story are killing me. I am hooked and incredibly hyped. Loved both updates so far, and cannot wait to see where the story goes!

Oh yeah and I forget: I have to ask, do you have a fan cast of the one, the only, the incredible Keith Richards? (and that goblin is so cute!!! I really want to pet the blood thirsty monster. So badly)

Love, your totally-not-undead-pen-pal, :D

-Vampire Anon

Know musicals? Vampire Anon my beloved, I am a musical theatre bitch. Take a look at my high school graduation cap! (Anastasia is my favorite musical... something about the themes of home, love, and family, the idea of always finding a place in the world even after enduring incredible hardship, that anything is survivable with faith and love in your heart... I'm also a Romanov history bitch, and Christy Altomare is such an incredible talent and human being.) Literally, talk to me about musicals anytime!

And yeah, I definitely see your metaphor... the tragedy of The Barber and his Wife was how close they came to each other throughout the whole show, existing within reach the entire time, after being separated for so long. But it wasn't the same; it never could be. Time and trauma had changed them both into something unrecognizeable, and when they came face-to-face, they could only hurt each other. At a certain point, the ghosts of your past are meant to stay ghosts. Sure, you might want them back more than anything --- but what would it mean? What would you truly be getting back?

Luke's "back", of course, and he comes home to visit his parents multiple times... but they're not the same people he left. They're older, greyer, changed by grief... while he's just the same. A snapshot forever frozen in time, a memory crystalized in amber. You can't hold memories in your hands. You can't pull them close and refuse to let them go. Eventually, they'll slip away... and to Mitch and Emily, a memory is all their son is, now. That's what's so heartrending about the situation we see in the show, especially --- so much love still exists between all of them, but it has no place to go.

Okay, sorry, it's 3am here and I'm rambling too, haha --- mentioning musical theatre was a mistake.

I'm so glad my stories have been able to connect with you, especially 'shadows' --- that one resonated with a lot of people, more than I ever realized it would. It's not the most personal story to me... but definitely one that needed to be told, and the emotion in it... hits home for a lot of people. It means so much to me knowing that story, and Alex's internal struggle, has made people feel less alone.

I think I'm going to have a hard time looking back on that one, though. We were staying at my aunt's house for the weekend where I wrote most of it; I read a few excerpts to her, and she said she liked it. She was always interested in my writing... I kind of wish I'd gotten the chance to share more of it with her.

Like you said. Grief's a funny thing. Disorienting, relentless, and crushing.

Please just remember, though --- whatever you're dealing with, you're not alone. You don't have to cut yourself on those broken pieces... one day, you'll wake up, and realize you feel whole again. It will never feel the same, and the pain will always be there... but healing around it is what makes us stronger. You don't owe anyone your forgiveness; it's okay to grieve when you've lost something, regardless of whether death has taken them from you. Grief doesn't have to be earned, it simply has to be felt.

You'll be stronger for it, in the end. I'm sorry you've been hurting so much.

Anyways! Oh gosh! On to lighter, happier topics! Please tell me...

What are your favorite fics? (Like, my fics, obviously, which fics of mine do you just go gaga over? Please praise me or else my ego will shrivel like a worm on hot pavement.) No, okay, I'm kidding --- what are your top fics for this fandom? Like, what are the ones that really resonate with you, that you could read over and over? The JATP fandom has so many greats, but I'm always drawn back to Some Killer Queen You Are by pearlcaddy (buffyverse meets jatp!! iconic!!), Lantern's Light by thefairhero (literally the SOFTEST reggie), the sky's not empty tonight by firefall (just... devastating and beautiful in a dozen ways), and literally anything by foundfamilyvevo.

How long have you been in the JATP fandom? Who are your favorite characters? What's your favorite JATP song?

And finally, most importantly... what are your favorite musicals?

(also... since u asked... behold keith richards and tremble)

[thisbrokenmask]

Moving On

Title: Moving On

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: Established relationship, fluff

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1.7k

Song inspiration: Moving On

A/N: Another one of my submissions for ficswithluv’s Bulletproof Bingo Event, and this one is especially poignant for me as I got the keys to my new apartment today! It’s also my first time living entirely on my own - no fellow students, no partner - so I’m very excited to be taking on this next adventure! 

Also, in case you didn’t notice, I’m a bit soft for Yoongi :) 

“Is this the last one?” You turn to see Taehyung pointing to the box at his feet and nod in confirmation, watching as he immediately bends down to lift it. He doesn’t mention your lack of sarcastic comment that the last box sat in the middle of the room is clearly the last one, and you try not to frown at how effortlessly he lifts it and turns to take it out of your apartment. You remember how you’d had to slide it across the floor once you’d filled it not even a week ago, but you aren’t about to question your significantly stronger friends when they’re helping you and your boyfriend move. 

Once Taehyung’s footsteps disappear down the hallway towards the elevator of your soon-to-be ex-apartment building, you turn to look around the now-empty room that was formerly your lounge. The TV is no longer on the wall, the wide expanse of blue somehow looking smaller without a flatscreen in the middle of it, and all of your photo frames are securely packed away, their hooks removed from the walls and the holes filled in and painted over. 

Your footsteps echo on the bare wooden floors as you turn to wander towards the kitchen, the rugs you’d used to cushion the floor already rolled up and waiting inside the truck outside. The ghosts of tummy-aching laughter and birthday songs ring in your ears as you try to remember all of the celebrations and movie nights that have happened here over the years. You subconsciously step to the side to avoid the end table that’s no longer there, a short chuckle passing your lips as you realise how deeply this action has seeped into your muscle memory. It’s understandable, given how you’ve lived here for just over three years, but you still can’t help but laugh at yourself. 

The white kitchen cupboards gleam in the sunlight that seeps in through the window above the sink, all of them meticulously wiped clean and emptied. A soft smile graces your face as you remember all the dinners you both cooked here, the glasses of wine you giggled over, even the few times you made love on the floor when the bedroom was just too far away from the front door after a date night. 

“Ready to go?” A pair of arms wraps around your waist and a chin settles on your shoulder as Yoongi whispers in your ear, his deep voice the most sinful ASMR you’ve ever heard. The warmth of his chest against your back helps to soothe the nerves that have been creeping up your spine for the last few days. While you’re glad to be out of the small, cramped apartment that you could barely afford by scraping your earnings together three years ago, you’ve never been good with saying goodbyes, even to places. 

You remember the first night you spent here, the two of you sat on the floor with a few take out containers between you. Boxes sat on the counters above you and took up the floor in the next room, and a mattress was waiting on the floor in the bedroom for when you eventually collapsed into bed together, frameless until later on in the week. Your belongings were threadbare at best, a lot of secondhand pieces making up the most of your possessions, but it was finally your own space. The two of you, together.  

“I think so,” your whispered reply is shaky as you place your hands over his where they rest on your stomach, his hum of amusement rumbling against your shoulders. 

“Don’t tell me now you want to stay?” he teases, turning his hands over to lace his fingers with yours. 

“Definitely not,” you laugh, squeezing his hands in return. “I’m glad to be leaving, really. We’ve outgrown this place and I’m ready to move on.” You nod to yourself, feeling your confidence rise with each word, knowing that you mean them all wholeheartedly. You’ve definitely outgrown this apartment, both of you now making much more money than you’d ever dreamed of three years ago thanks to Yoongi’s growing success in freelance music producing and your own writing career taking off just over a year ago. 

But it’s not just the money. The two of you have gone from strength to strength as a couple, weathering the storms of being broke, missing out on dream jobs, stress-fuelled arguments and late nights spent deciding whether to pay the bills on time or eat more than packet ramen for the foreseeable future. You’re ready to keep moving forward through life with him, already knowing that you’ll stay by his side for as long as he’ll have you. 

The man who lives full time in your heart starts to sway slightly, his hold on you guiding your hips to follow his from side to side. “Yeah?” His nose nuzzles into the spot just below your ear, your breath catching in your throat as he places a gentle kiss to your pulse point. You nod weakly, your confidence slipping at his question. “Then why do you look like you’re going to cry?” 

With a deep breath, you close your eyes and pull your hands from his. You feel him tense slightly, but he relaxes as soon as you guide his hands to the slope of your body between the dip of your waist and the curve of your hips. You finally turn in his arms, looping your arms around his neck, unable to blink back the tears in your eyes despite the smile on your lips. His eyes are watching you carefully, dark and deep and attentive as always, even when the black hair of his fringe threatens to overlap them. It hides his eyebrows, but you know one is cocked slightly to match the lopsided smirk he’s giving you. 

“Because, this is where we grew up, Yoongi,” you tell him, watching as his expression relaxes from a teasing smirk to match your soft-eyed smile. “We went through so much here; the good, the bad, the ugly… the fun.” You pull gently on the hair at the nape of his neck at the memories of the kitchen floor you’d just been reminiscing on and grin, a deep sigh sounding when he closes his eyes and bites his lip before staring straight back at you, pupils dilated. “We’ve got so many memories here,” you continue, looking around at the empty walls and pretending to ignore the way he grips you tighter. “I know it’s not the best apartment, but it was us. This was our home, and I’m going to miss it.” 

Yoongi’s stare softens once more and he internally curses how he knows he’ll never win against you; you hold his heart in your hands and he worships how gently you hold it, never squeezing too hard or letting him feel like you might drop it. 

“I won’t miss it,” he says quietly, catching you off guard as he leans in a little closer.

“No?” He shakes his head. “Why not?”

“Because you’re my home,” he states, as if it were a fact universally acknowledged. “As long as I’m with you, I’m more than happy.” 

“You’re my home, too,” your watery smile threatens to push your tears down your cheeks, but you manage to catch yourself before they do. You smile instead, adoration clear in your eyes as you look up at him. 

Yoongi’s heart beats wildly at the conflicting emotions coursing through his body, wanting to make sweet, reverential love to you, fuck you against the wall until you know nothing but his name, and simply hold you tightly against his chest, all in equal measure. You bewitch, ensnare and captivate his senses all at once, always have done, and he constantly struggles with how he can possibly express how much he loves you. He wants to worship every inch of you and yet feels too inadequate to even gaze upon your body. He wants to wait on you hand and foot and give you anything you want, but also wants to see you thrive in your own spotlight, carving your own path as you go. He’s torn between fierce attraction and heady admiration at every turn, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

As his friends have repeatedly said, he’s whipped. 

And guess what? He’s proud of it. 

You’re the woman who has stood by him despite everything, despite all the hardships you easily could have upped and walked away from. You’re the one who comforted him when his own parents refused to recognise his dreams, letting him vent and cry rather than telling him they weren’t worth the pain they caused him. You’re the person who admonished him for wanting to give up on his dreams of music, even when it was barely bringing enough money to the table despite keeping him up all night. You were the first person he wanted to tell when he finally sold a track for a decent amount of money, running home to show you the cheque in person because he could barely believe it himself. 

And here you still are, in his arms, gazing up at him like he’s worth more to you than the whole world, a position he still doesn’t feel like he’s even close to earning. You entered this flat together and you’re leaving together, off to take on new adventures together on stronger legs. Your new apartment is bigger, with enough room for Yoongi to have some proper equipment in a proper studio space while you have your very own writing desk in your new office. You’ve been able to upgrade your bed from a rickety-framed double to a memory foam-topped queen. There’s even more space on the kitchen floor. 

You smile as he lets his forehead rest against yours, both of you closing your eyes as you breathe into the same private space between you. As you feel his hands move around to rest at the base of your back, you feel a new surge of confidence fuelled purely by the love you feel radiating off of your partner. As long as you’re with him, you feel invincible.

“Let’s go,” you say, not moving an inch. 

“Okay,” he whispers back, pulling you closer so that your chests are pressed firmly together. 

A final deep breath, you pull apart. 

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” 

If you would like to read any more of my writings, please feel free to check out my masterlist here. 

[magneticmage]

Quiz Meme; OC-style

I was tagged by @rozhevisny to take this quiz.

I also ended up doing a number of my OCs. They are under the cut for length.

I am tagging @awellboiledicicle @mikkeneko @changeling-fae @higheverweave @yusukesmomjeans @dalishious and @draxen1123 but don't feel pressured to do so if you don't wanna! It's all for fun.

(Inquisitors)

Paeriel Lavellan="You're choking on how much you have to try". Accurate by the time of Inquisition (specifically around Skyhold) as Paeriel very much embodies the virtue of suledin. She can handle the amount she's dealt with but it is still a burden and she worries about how it will affect others if she slips and drops under the weight. She doesn't want more harm to come to innocents and those who are already struggling under their own burdens (mages, dwarves, elves, even the templars to some degree), and yet it is a fight that continues on and on seeming without end. Just as Solas walks his path to break the systems oppressing people, she tries to work within those same systems to better chances for those who need it.

Armashok Adaar="You were meant to". Accurate prior to his joining the Inquisition. He spent so much of his life struggling to find his place as everyone told him what to be; silent, obediant, a weapon to be protected against. He chafed and struggled to find comfort in it and yet he ultimately realized that he was his own person. No one could tell him who and what he was or was meant to be, not even his wife. So he chose for himself; To be Armashok Adaar.

Ransley Trevelyn="This isn't enough for you" Also accurate for pre-Inquisition Ransley, as he balked against his family expectations. They wanted him to marry a nice noblewoman of status and wealth. He courted them but couldn't quite bite the bullet as something about them just lacked....something. Even when he met his lover, he struggled against the fact that they had to be discreet for her reputation as a Knight-Divine. His family demanded he become a Templar, he decided the Seekers would be a better use of his talents. Always when he was told something, his innate ambition would push him for more and better things. While he can give up things as needed, he dislikes it. That last part is something he struggles with-and notably fails during Trespasser-post-Inquisition. This is a trait that Josephine can understand, though like their lover Cassandra, she tempers it in herself and him with patience.

Naranka Cadash="Because you have made mistakes you cannot swallow" Pfft. Yeah, this is very much her. She seeks redemption just as badly as Paeriel does for Solas, just as badly as Blackwell-her love interest-does.

(Inner Circle)

Kara Adaar="Because you cannot hold freedom". Very true. She's seen what freedom has cost her parents to give her a better life and plans to make the most of hers. That desire to enjoy life is shared with Sera. The desire to understand the world through the lens of ensuring that freedom for others is something she shares with Dagna.

Emilyse Trevelyan="You swallow pain and fold around it" Yikes. This is accurate to her time in the Circle, however. She spent much of her time trying to be a "good" mage, despite a number of abuses by the Templars and the Chantry. It was only when her brother visited her during his training as a recruit that some of those abuses came to light and she was brought to the Circle in Ostwick, closer to home and with the newly added bribes to ensure her safety, she did much better. However, this newfound life did not for too long as the Rebellion broke out and she was left adrift for a time before making her way with some other refugees to the Conclave at Haven. She was nervous about so many Templars, but eventually found solace and peace with Cullen as they each began to heal over their own traumas of their respective sides, and together as they began a family shortly after Trespasser.

Samrel Lavellan="because you cannot hold freedom" Interesting. He's actually one of my simplest OCs; a simple life with his clan and husband, First to the Keeper and cousin to Paeriel, is all he wants. Unlike some of my other Dalish OCs, he hasn't faced quite the same level of hardship and loss, and though he does mourn the loss of his clan, he seeks to rebuild it alongside his husband and the few survivors that managed to escape the humans' blades. So perhaps that defiance of the losses inflicted harkens back to the Dale's and the elves' refusal to submit to the Alienages, by simply standing up and saying "No, you cannot silence us" is enough? That could be a type of freedom and there is power in that refusal. Thoughts to consider more later.

Pyrmar Cadash="This isn't enough for you". Oh that's interesting. Pyrmar is one of those characters that seems super simple (ex-surfacer Carta bruiser with a notable penchant for leadership as a Champion) and, for the most part, he is. He likes drink and fun as much as any other mercenary like the Chargers. But, like Dorian, he sometimes feels inadequate in some way. As if he is meant for more; to be and do more. Most notably for basic respect and care, something his upbringing in the cutthroat nature of the Carta was missing. Dorian shows him that he is capable of love and being loved and The Iron Bull gives him the respect and belonging he lacked previously. While he can still fall orey to his baser nature at times, his heart as grown much over the years and so it becomes less common to "want more" as he used to.

(Last Court)

Aurore de Serault="Because you have made mistakes you can't swallow" Ooo. She does carry some lingering guilt and grief over her late husband's death at the hands of the Game. She struggles with the Orlesian court at times, and much prefers solitude and peaceful quiet to gossipy ballrooms and noble Lords and ladies demanding a dance, a bonding point for her and her love interests of The Silent Huntsman and the Elegant Abbess. However, it's not that she's unskilled in the Game; in fact, she's quite good at it. She simply prefers simplicity to more complex machinations. All that said, she does regret the ferocity with which she holds grudges; she had gone on to murder the entire families of those individuals responsible for her husband's death.

Marcel de Serault="You swallow pain and fold around it". Hmmm. Not sure of this one. Marcel divorced his wife to pursue a cloistered and scholarly life in pursuit of knowledge (he was once a Chevalier). Eventually he began to crave the adventure of the Game again, which is how he fell for The Wayward Bard and the Dashing Outlaw. Again, not too sure but it's interesting. Perhaps he simply internalized his losses and pain?

(Hawkes)

Knight-Commander Jasper Hawke of Kirkwall="because you've made mistakes you can't swallow" Oh cool! Jasper watches his younger siblings-three of his fellow quadrupled and Carver- go off into the Deep Roads expedition. He made the decision to stay behind to protect Bethany and their mother in case things went south. Despite assurances from his departing siblings, things did go south. After being pissed at Batrand, he sighed and went to work for the Templars. Shortly thereafter, despite his best efforts, Bethany was caught by Templars and taken to the Circle. Jasper did what he could to protect and shield his sister from the worst abuses of the Templars under Meredith's command, no matter the personal costs and enmity it earned him from his siblings and companions. It even ended his relationship with Anders around the beginning of Act 2. After Meredith was defeated, he worked with Cullen to try and reform the Templars and rebuild Kirkwall post-Chantry boom. His efforts were strained once red lyrics began to show up and corrupt his fellow templars. Despite narrowly avoiding being swept into the group while infiltrating it to gather intel, he succeeded in driving them out. When Cullen left for the Inquisition, he stepped up to continue reforming the Templars for protecting the mages. While he originally balked at the pro-mage decisions of the Inquisition, he ultimately agreed that the Chantry had abused all of its charges-mages and templars both. He began to reshape the Templars under his command to fit in line with the changing world; a choice to take lyrium, and a recovery and rehabilitation plan set in stone for all members who wished to leave, new rules and regulations in place to protect the rights and dignity of both mages and Templars, slowly making them a secular force beyond the Chantry but under the control of Vivenne's newly reformed Circle of Magi perhaps. He does what he believes to be right and for the best of his family, even if they dislike his decisions. A trait he no doubt picked up from his mother.

Lord Gray Hawke of House Amell="You swallow pain and fold around it" This is fitting for Lord Amell. While Jasper and Violet always held loft goals to pursue and Skye simply wanted to go and see the world for all it was, Gray preferred to remain at home and tend to their family. He is the one most connected to the Amell legacy rather than the Hawke self-made determination. That's not to say it isn't there; he's more than willing to help others and make something of himself, but it comes back to wanting to appease and help his family in whatever ways he could. He pines for Anders for a great deal of time, but doesn't make a move due to either Jasper dating the mage or simply not wanting to be a rebound for his brother. In the end, however, Anders surprises him (perhaps nudged on by Skye and Violet) by initiating a kiss and the two quickly develop into a stable relationship. He is even willing to leave all he'd built to go on the run with Anders and further aid him in his cause. Gray is just a cutie who wants a simple meal and a nice husband. If he gets to watch Anders shoot lightning at fools, well, who is he to laugh?

Viscountess Skye Hawke="Because you cannot hold freedom". Accurate. Skye loves her freedom. While she is certainly ambitious, it often comes down to more power means more freedom. She rules as Viscountess of Kirkwall for a time until abdicating in favor of Varric so she can pursue Tallis across the seas, but also to simply go back to adventuring and exploring. While she does not care for the Qun and its Qunari, she cares about people and her family most of all. It is one of the few tethers she did not choose but it is the one she keeps above all others. After all, even the Sky must touch the earth at some point just as a Hawk must return to its nest to rest and tend its young.

Champion Violet Hawke of Kirkwall="Because you have made mistakes you cannot swallow". Fitting given that Violet is both a blood-mage (also a spirit-healer and force-mage) and extremely pro-mage freedom, and her choices often led her to conflict with Jasper due to their views and lives. She has only ever wanted to be free to live her life as she chooses, with is how she fell for Isabela. She fell for Fenris because she's a bleeding heart who wants to help everyone as much as she can. Kirkwall left its mark on her and she's struggling to do better than what she views as a failure due to her diplomatic nature in the name of mage freedom by the time the Inquisition comes around. While just as driven by the cause for equality as Anders, she often privately struggled with her mother's death among the many other revelations and choices of her family, fearing the loss of all she called dear. Luckily Fenris and Isabela returned to her and they made a pact to live well on the seas after everything had settled down and Champion Hawke was no longer needed.

(Awakening)

Senior Warden Dion Caron="This isn't enough for you" Okay. So, Dion joined the Wardens to escape the Templars (p.s. it didn't work) and his adopted sister Victoire-Ainsley was already joining and he had promised to protect her for their parents. He's happily married to Garam and spends much of his time training recruits and fostering camaderie in the ranks of the Wardens. What more could he want? Perhaps it is nothing and the doubt is simply there as is human nature, perhaps he frets about his dwindling time in the world before his Calling, perhaps he does want more. Who can say?

Senior Warden/Warden-Constabke Victoire-Ainsley Caron of Orlais="This isn't enough for you" Pfft. Victoire-Ainsley's ambition to make a name for herself and her family (she came from a long line of Chevaliers) nearly cost her her life and resulted in her father's death. Her mother adopted an orphan boy-Dion-in the hopes it would curb some of her darker tendencies. It partially succeeded. While she did not go as far as she'd once been willing, she still acted ruthlessly and this earned her quite the name in the Game for a time. However, her fall from grace was just as bloody as her rise, and she was only spared by the intervention of the Wardens' Conscription. She lost a great deal and was now forever barred from reclaiming it. She acted out for a time and was surprised when the Wardens allowed-encouraged even-it. However the death of her husband to save them during a nasty skirmish against a powerful broodmother she'd led them against resulted in a mission successful but at a cost she hadn't wanted to pay; only her, Dion, Garam, and I senna made it out alive. Since then, she had been working towards redeeming herself, opening up to the criticism and vulnerability she'd been so afraid of, much like Loghain is when he is sent to Orlais. And so while her pride demands more of her, she focuses instead on what she can provide and tries to bite back the bile this causes. After all, this is for the best and that is enough. Right?

Senior Warden Isenna Andras="You were meant to" Isenna lived first under the Orlesian cruelty in the Alienate and then the Templars' in the Circle. It is no wonder she fights to carve a name for herself in history, to make herself her own, to be what she was never meant to even dream of. She wants to be a hero but struggles against her own inner nature to survive. She is driven by the conflict of selflessness and self-preservation. Perhaps Mhairi's idealism is enough to tip the scales for her.

Senior Warden Garam Kader="Because you have made mistakes you cannot swallow" Accurate. He joined the Wardens after passing off the wrong Carta Boss and then spent years helping Victoire-Ainsley and her brother grow their ambition and then....his unit died beyond the four of them. And all the glamor of the Wardens fell away and he realized just how far some would go and he began to wait for them to step back, hoping they would step back. Victoire-Ainsley and Dion and Isenna did. He did. But the Clarel didn't. He hopes Loughlin will do better as the Warden-Commander of Orlais. He knows he will do better and he knows his husband, Dion, will.

(Wardens)

Warden-Commander Lynera Mahariel of Fereldan="You were meant to" Ouch my heart. Lynera lost Tamlen and never quite recovered. She was forced into a Warden and then into leading the party as the Hero of Fereldan and then into the role of Warden-Commander/Arlessa of Amaranthine and she did it. She took all the pain and hurt and losses over the years, the Taint and its horrors and its strength sapping, the politics and hard decisions; she took it all and she did it. She did what was needed, became what a Grey Warden Commander and hero was meant to be. She can't even say she regrets becoming a Warden anymore as its become so central to her identity now, only mourns the things and people she's lost to get there. I think Sten-excuse me-the Arishok understands this. Perhaps that is why they both hope to never meet on a battlefield unless they are on the same side again.

Warden Isemaya Tabris="You swallow pain and fold around it" Okay that's like SUPER interesting. See, Isemaya learned about the injustices elves face early in life. It cost her her mother's life and very nearly her twin brother's as well, after all. She became a warrior to protect them (her family, her community, her home) and she was good at it. But then she saw a glimpse of a different life with Nelaros, one where she might be happy simply letting someone else deal with all the fighting and clawing and exhaustion. She wanted it, she realized, she wanted it very much. But then she lost him and Shianni was hurt and she was hurt and Vaughn was dead and the humans were so angry. She geared up to protect her people again, to be the brave warrior like her mother before her. And then....Duncan Conscripted her. She was forced from her home, alive and angry and proud, and so she expanded her family to her companions. Then Zevran tried to kill them and they let him live and she watched him like a hawk and saw the same longing for a life, for more in the absence of loss, in him. She helped him heal and learn to live again and he helped her set down her weapons and her anger for a time and then the times became more frequent and they grew closer. She told him she loved him in the brisk Haven air and he gave her a golden earring to match the old and blood-stained wedding band she still wore, and she had found peace. She continued with the Wardens, with helping him take down the Crows, with searching for a cure so they could have more time. She took her pain but instead of weaponizing it like Lynera and others did, she learned to let it go and continue on. She learned to live in spite of, not because of, her pain.

Arcane Advisor Catriona Surana of Fereldan= "Because you have made mistakes you cannot swalllow" Oof. This is definitely Catriona during Origins. Her decisions to betray Jowan, to use blood magic at Ostagar and then to continue to practice and study it despite the stigma it holds, the merging with Compassion to save Cale, to give up her dreams of marriage and freedom and let Alistair marry Anora for the good of Fereldan and again when Leliana went on to become the Left Hand of the Divine and then again as the Divine Victoria...she makes a lot of mistakes and the consequences haunt her for a very long time. While she does manage to find some good in them, or at least simply makes peace with them, they still color how she becomes in 2 and Inquisition and beyond.

Warden Cale Amell=

Teryn Fion Cousland of Gwaren=

Paragon Prince Barran Aeducan=

Warden Paragon Tatha Brosca=

(Origins)

First/Keeper Vireth Mahariel=

"Dark Wolf" Elthorn Tabris=

"Stormcaller" Alaros Surana=

Lord Azul Amell=

Lady "Nightshade" Raven Amell=

Lord Carmine Amell=

Lord Reed Amell=

Lady Marigold Amell=

Captain "Highever Spitfire" Aelynne Cousland=

Princess and Orzammar Commander Valda Aeducan=

(Canon Solo Shepard)

Commander and Spectre Annette Shepard=

(The Sibling Shepards Canon)

Spectre Riley Shepard=

Spectre/XO Roscoe "Ros" Shepard=

Spectre/Commander Joanna "Jo" Shepard=

(Shepard Cousins)

Angelus "Angel" Shepard=

Elliot "El" Shepard=

Jaden "Jay" Shepard=

Alexandra "Alex" Shepard=

Kristopher "Kris" Shepard=

Clover "Clove" Shepard=

(Starship Ryders Canon)

Pathfinder Lucas "Luke" Ryder=

Pathfinder Rebecca "Becca" Ryder=

Pathfinder Shiloh "Shy" Ryder=

Pathfinder Evander "Evan" Ryder=

Pathfinder Asher "Ash" Ryder=

(Baldur's Gate)

Cei Gloomdraft=

Faenerys Elendir=

"Sable Shades" Risaeder Rosandoral=

Saga "Muse" Musehart=

Lyr(e/a/an) Lovemoor=

Rune Mistsea=

Lucine Mistsea=

Roan Roarke=

[daughterofelros]

Hey so I saw your post about Alex and his resilience and how he's rate on a scale and how this relates to his childhood trauma etc and was really curious to know/understand more on the topic and how it manifests with alex but also you mentioned rosa? And the other characters too. If you're happy to elaborate otherwise no worries of course. What interpretations do you make from what we've seen on screen? ☺

Oh my gosh Nonnie, thank you for the juicy, delicious ask!

The Connor-Davidson Resilience Scale (Commonly abbreviated to CD-RISC) measures, in its full version, 25 different statements. Some of the ones that stand out to me in thinking about a bunch of the RNM characters include being able to adapt and change, having close and secure relationships, able to make unpopular/difficult decisions, know where to get help, but they’re all pretty important.

As established in my earlier assessment, Alex Manes = Super Resilient, and that definitely has an effect on the ways he handles the traumas he’s faced over his life.

Let me dive into Rosa little bit more first— Rosa, despite not enduring the specific type of abuse that Alex and Michael did as kids, might actually score in a lower percentile than either of those characters on the resilience scale. Part of this is because adverse childhood experiences, though cumulative, aren’t exactly ranked and scaled. Trauma impacts people differently, and you can’t really say whether growing up feeling abandoned by an alcoholic parent in an otherwise supportive context, or never having a safe parental figure, or having a parent die will impact someone “worse”—they’re all adversity, and they all have an impact on our health and capacity for resilience. (Also, inequality isn’t a fixed experience in our brains—for more reading on how weird our brains are in this regard, check out “The Broken Ladder: How Inequality Affects the Way We Think, Live, and Die”  by Keith B Payne).So Rosa definitely has adverse childhood experiences that impact her relationships. At the point when we’re first introduced to her, she’s probably in about the worst place she could be there—Her friendships are being proven to be based on what drugs she can score, her relationship with her mother is shredded, and she’s just learned that Arturo isn’t her father. Even though Arturo’s love and support for her wouldn’t budge an inch, she feels separated from the most supportive relationship in her life, and she’s spiraling. She struggles to adapt, her coping mechanisms mess with her brain chemistry where she’s already contending with dopamine issues due to the mental illness she’s battling , and it’s pretty clear that she doesn’t have a strong read on where to get help (Though she’s willing to accept it—Valenti’s help getting clean, having met once with a therapist, leaning into her artwork).  Pressure doesn’t make her think very clearly, and she doesn’t seem like she takes high levels of pride in her achievements, or trust that she can achieve her goals if she works for them. Traumas are going to hit her hard. They’re not going to roll off her back easily. When she comes back to life, she gets a partial reset button, and handles some big trauma pretty well…but she also is terrified of messing it up, and breaks down if anything gets derailed (see: “I Ruined my Miracle”). I’d say she’s doing a great job coping with what she’s got…but her resilience score isn’t the highest. Things hit her hard.

Let’s look at Michael then. He’s got every reason why his resilience score might not be high. He’s dealt with so damn much. But the thing that’s helped him get through is that his resilience score actually seems like it would be pretty well up there. He doesn’t have good parental figure relationships (understatement of the year)—But he’s got a couple of relationships (Max and Isobel) that won’t abandon him, no matter how he pushes, even when everything is burning around them. Michael clearly believes that working toward goals means he can achieve them. He’s been trying to build the spaceship to take him back home since he was, like, eight. That’s goal-oriented right there! He’s not going to score well in the “getting help” vector at all, but he does work extremely well under pressure (his genius increases when he’s pissed off). Michael also clearly believes that he can deal with whatever comes his way, he ultimately doesn’t give up when things look hopeless (alien pacemaker in 7 hours), and I’d bet my bottom dollar that he would agree that coping with stress has made him stronger. He’d probably rank himself pretty high on the “Can make difficult or unpopular decisions” factor—choosing to take the blame and protect Isobel, volunteering to be the alien who gets turned into the authorities…there are flaws in his reasoning on the last one, and definitely some internalized feelings of his life not being as important…but he shows a clear propensity for being willing to make unspeakably challenging decisions. He probably won’t rank high in the “Pride in my achievements” vector, and that hits up against the things he’s internalized from the ACES he’s had piled on him—from childhood abuse and abandonment right up to Jesse Manes, crippling injury, and covering up murders. His resilience is high, but he’s coping with a lot, and he doesn’t have as many tools to keep coping as, say, Alex does.  We can also see that there’s a pretty debilitating impact when he shifts to the knowledge that his Mom was alive and he watched her die… and then starts to question why she didn’t take him out of the Pod to be with her in 1947. He starts to have thoughts about abandonment that he hadn’t had when he just thought his Mom died in the crash…and that paired with Max’s death really, really throws him. He rejects connections that have ever been tied up in pain and abandonment, and we see him spiraling. His resilience definitely dips when those circumstances occur…and as we see him trust in some of his relationships again, we see his ability to cope return as well. With the right tools and support, he can actually do a lot of healing yet too.

Isobel probably scores pretty high on the scale at the beginning of season 1. She’s had some adverse childhood experiences from waking up from the pods, from being attacked in the desert as a teen., but she’s made it through all of that without a ton of trauma responses (given that the blackouts turned out to be mind control) She’s confident in her goals, her relationships, she’s strong in her decision-making, she believes she’s built herself a good life. She has a supportive family, Max is her person, she’s got Michael, and her husband is amazingly supportive. We don’t see much in the way of friends, but she’s got a Boss-Ass support structure. Until she realizes she doesn’t. That Noah is a thread of rot through all of it, and she’s been deceived on an inconceivable level. And then she loses Max.

Isobel at the beginning of Season 2 would fill this assessment out very, very differently. And the sharp drop in some of the factors of her resilience really make her struggle. Her confidence in herself as a strong person is deeply under review, and she’s leaning a little hard into the god-like powers aspect of herself. Knocking Rosa out with a book is a really alarming manifestation of how her reasoning and coping skills are out of alignment. She’d probably use it as evidence for her ability to make unpopular decisions though. She’d score really high in the vector regardless though—because choosing to terminate a pregnancy in a town like Roswell…that takes so damn much resilience, ability to make decisions under pressure, etc.  She’s still got the resilience that comes from her goal setting and working for things she values though—her training with her powers shows that pretty clearly.

Isobel definitely isn’t going to score high in the “Knows where to get help” vector though. She refuses therapy, refuses help from family, doesn’t seek medical assistance, and almost dies as a result of her abortion, when she would have had all kinds of support from people around her if she’d been able to reach out. Even when she’s struggling, she has a history of resilience to draw on though.

Let’s talk Cam for a moment—we don’t have a lot of info on her childhood, but Cam actually seems to be a character with high scores across the board—for only having 2 years in Roswell, she forms connections pretty readily, goes to people for help, is focused on goals, takes pride in her work. She handles most things with aplomb, and isn’t easily manipulated. Jesse Manes has to work pretty hard on her to get her to bat an eyelash. That’s particularly interesting given the relationship that resilience has in attenuating depression effects and PTSD effects on people with combat experience.

Max is hard to talk about, because we don’t know a lot about where he is this season, and what the trauma of dying and being kept in a pod in constant pain is going to do to him. He seems reasonably able to deal with the hardships he’s faced prior to this, shows a propensity to be able to make unpopular decisions, and is probably the character who is most consistently and intentionally shown investing in relationships. I’d imagine that his resistance score is at least in the middling percentiles. Max is also pretty much the character it’s hardest to wrap my brain around when I’m writing, so that’s why I think I struggle in guessing how he’d assess himself here too.

Kyle is so interesting, because he’s a character who seems to know himself really well, and has maybe also changed the most over 10 years. Kyle these days really values and invests in his relationships—His Mom, Liz, rebuilding a friendship with Alex, trusting Cam. He’s dedicated in pursuing goals, takes pride in his accomplishments, has a reasonably good idea of where to seek help, works well under pressure. He’s had a lot of advantages in life, and while med school definitely tests his resilience and endurance, I don’t know how much his resilience has had to help him get through trauma before this.  I do know that the scene where he almost buys a gun is one of my favorites, because it shows him trying to cope with crisis and handle a lot of stress. I don’t think we’ve seen a full enough arc of how he’s coping yet though—I think there’s more to come.

Maria DeLuca strikes me as scoring relatively high on resilience assessments (or at least the high end of mid-to-upper range). She’s caring for a mother with dementia, runs a business, and deals with racism and misogyny in a town like Roswell, which it’s well-established is renowned for both of those things. Maria has really strong relationships—her Mother is a huge priority, her friends matter deeply to her (fandom drama over ships aside, and whether Alex should forgive her for dating Michael or not, Maria in canon expresses a lot of care for her friends, worries if she’s hurt them, and forgives when she’s hurt herself). She’s close with Arturo, she visits Rosa’s grave once a month. She does a lot of giving, not a lot of getting back, and feels pretty shaken when she’s deceived, but she still has a lot of stable relationships to lean into. She’s…not great at asking for help, or letting on that she needs it- she tries to go everything alone. But she also problem-solves, she pursues her goals, she believes that you get what you work for  (“No one ever accused me of a lack of hustle”),  and she doesn’t give up when she feels hopeless.  She’s probably middle of the road on handling unpleasant feelings—some she handles well, some she reacts intensely to, some she buries. It seems like when a crisis happens, she’s conflicted and struggling in the moment, but processes through things in a reasonably short time. I’d say one of the places that she doesn’t score that high on is the ability to adapt to change. She gets there eventually, but that’s where she struggles the most. The thing is, because of what she’s faced with in daily life, she’s constantly utilizing her resilience. It’s something she leans on all the time.

Liz is brilliant, and amazing, and it’s kind of hard for me to parse this out for her. Strong relationships, she’s got those. She’s great at adapting, great at problem-solving and pursuing her goals. She sees herself as strong, faces challenges, sees the humor in things, bounces back from setbacks, honestly, she would score pretty well in every category. I think there’s pretty clear evidence that with all the things she’s accomplished and all the things she’s endured, Liz Ortecho is a wellspring of resilience, and it definitely attenuates the long-term negative effects she might face from her experiences. She faces some of the same adverse childhood experiences that her sister does, but reacts very differently. Their resilience—despite the similarity of their contexts for nurture—differs substantially…and that’s even before we add in the trauma of Rosa’s death that Liz contends with.

Overall, the characters on this show are a resilient bunch. I’m watching some other shows right now as I make masks for my community, and it strikes me that most of the RNM characters would score higher on the CD-RISC assessment than the characters on those other TV shows (many of whom hold a relatively large amount of privilege).

But notably, the characters on RNM strike me as far more like the people who move through my community every day. Overwhelmingly, my community is comprised of queer people, people of color, homeless and unaccompanied youth, people dealing with mental health issues, sexual assault survivors, abuse survivors, folks with PTSD and DID, and people who would be considered low-socioeconomic status. My community is made up almost entirely of people who deal with adverse experiences, and had intense adverse childhood experiences. Resilience is the norm. Resilience ends up being a key word in almost every letter of recommendation I write. And one of the reasons I love RNM so much is that the characters are brought to life quite realistically. There’s a lot of different truths from experience, and a lot of different paths to similar truth. But overwhelmingly, their responses to these impossible events are grounded in realistic depictions. When it comes to character development, this might just be some of the best writing I’ve ever seen on TV. And for a show that’s solidly in the sci-fi realm…it’s possibly the most realistic show I’ve ever seen.

[fratresdei]

A Letter to My Beloved White Friends, by Karla Johnson

Karla Johnson, a member of my spiritual direction training cohort from back in the day, has graciously given us permission to share powerful, needed words from her blog this month. Find the original post in the comments, and subscribe to her blog to read more letters to come. The original text is reproduced below.

Dear White Friends:

You are lost. “Hurt, mad, insulted, grief-stricken and enraged more than I can say,” as my dear white uncle said. You don’t know what to do. You want to help—and of course you do. You’re a good person. This is my attempt at sharing guidance, from someone who holds both black and white inside of my skin.

I love you, my dear white friends. Let’s start there. You are my brothers, sisters, best friends, teachers, cousins, nieces, and nephews. You and I belong to one another. I am also an African American woman, by bloodline, culture and identity. African Americans are my brothers, sisters, best friends, teachers, cousins, nieces, and nephews. I was born with inherited racial trauma. (Inherited trauma is a thing—you can look it up). I have hordes of relatives, but only one who is a cop; a close cousin, who wears his badge with honor, excellence, and commitment. He’s also black. I pray for him often during times of (visible) racial unrest, and break into scared tears every time I pray. My heart, through an odd positioning, spans the width of our collective racial anguish.

Still, there is something deeper than any other identity I carry, with the exception of my faith. I am a mother. A black mother of two young black men whom I carried, painfully labored into birth and successfully raised through some very tough times. Any mother can understand that my children are my greatest pride and my deepest love. So please understand that racialized violence hits me different.

My dear white friends, most of you don’t know what to do. Here are some tips, from your white-skinned black sister:

I want you to imagine witnessing a terrible car accident. Then imagine walking up to one of the wrecked cars, finding someone who is still bloody and injured, and saying: “watching you go through that trauma was hard for me. Can you please give me some emotional support?” That’s what you do when you ask black people to help you deal with your angst. The phrase I’ve been using these past few days is this: “As a black woman, I’m struggling to take down my own bitter cup. Please, dear white brothers and sisters, stop trying to pass me your internal poison so that you can find relief.” If you’ve done this, you didn’t know what you didn’t know. You’re forgiven. But please stop.

If you want to understand, do some homework. That can be as easy as a google search. There are essays, blogs, books and articles galore which can help you get a better feel for what’s happening.

If you have black friends (or friendly black acquaintances) please check in on them without agenda. If that feels strange, imagine that they lost a distant-but-important relative, because that’s what it feels like. Dear white friends, you know how to offer comfort during loss, so there’s no need to be intimidated. Just send a simple text: “Just checking in. Is there anything I can do?” or “Thinking of you. Are you okay?” Let them know that they are more than a headline to you. If you are a praying person, pray for them and let them know.

Don’t talk about the issue or the headlines unless you already have a strong friendship with that person. It is awkward and unwelcomed to bring discussions of racism to a random black person in the grocery store or some such thing. Just like you, all they want to do is pick up their eggs and get home. Part of the difficulty of being in black skin in America is constantly being recruited as teacher, sounding board and priest to white people’s racial angst. Please let black people go about their days without such recruitment.

When you interact with black people, for the love of God, stay white. Nothing is more insulting than watching a Caucasian person try to use language, inflections or gestures which are not theirs in some awkward attempt to prove—with neon signs—that they are not a racist. I know this sounds strange, but black people know you are not black. They can tell just by looking. If you don’t want to look like a racist, be yourself, no matter who you are addressing.

Embrace the fact that you are a good person on the wrong side of an ugly history. You would never pull a trigger on a black person just because they are black. But, like me, your ancestors built this system. People who look like you continue to perpetrate this horror. That doesn’t make you guilty, that makes you and I unwilling recipients of an ungodly inheritance. We can’t keep pretending that isn’t true. The good news is your heritage also gives you tons of power to affect change. Make peace with what your (and my) people have built. Then consider—-from your position of lament—affecting change, even if that change is in your own perspective and social circles.

If you experience anger against you because you’re white, learn to deal with it without lashing out or diving into shame. I’m sorry, my dear white friend, but you must let go of the idea that you can be part of the solution without having your sense of innocence disrupted or called into question. And if you don’t have any tools to absorb feeling falsely accused because of the color of your skin? That is something a person of color may be able to help you with, if you are sincere in wanting to learn and can come to the question with neither defensiveness nor agenda.

Your guilt and your shame doesn’t do the tiniest bits of good to anyone, black or white. Work through it. It’s not helping.

Be aware that you are losing something personally important to you. You hate the circumstances, but as the scales of justice try to right themselves, you are losing your sense of security and your assumed power base. That loss is real. And eventually, that loss will make you feel threatened. (Even as you remain outraged against the racism.) That doesn’t make you a monster, that makes you a person. But please don’t take those feelings to the cause, and please keep tabs on your own, understandable defensiveness.

Especially in our culture, we hate to admit our own privilege—even to ourselves. I am an embarrassed participant in this dysfunction, and have often struggled to admit (much less claim) my own privilege. Please confront the lie that you are not privileged because, like me, your privilege is enormous.

You need not feel accused nor ashamed nor “less-than” because you hold privilege. You have also struggled, endured hardships, worked hard, and suffered. You’ve known pain. Your privilege does not detract from, lessen, or mitigate that reality. You get to own your story without excuse, no matter what privileges you’ve been afforded. You need not defend anything.

As a Caucasian brother recently said to me, “white people murdering black people is not a black problem. It is a white problem.” I can add nothing to his words.

Imagine walking into a room full of black people, where you are the only one with white skin. Then imagine someone bringing up your skin color, and having the whole room swivel to stare at you, hoping for answers, jokes and/or comment. If you see one or two black people in mostly-white room, please don’t put them in that position. And if someone else does, be willing to speak up and align yourself against the awkwardness. The same goes for social media exchanges.

If you interact with a black person, don’t point out the differing skin tones. Again, they can tell you aren’t of the same race all by themselves. Treat them as a person versus a skin color. Kindness and authentic respect is what transcends differences and puts people at ease.

Don’t let the devil tell you that you have no right to be angry just because you’re white. Of course you should be angry. This is a human story, not a story contained in black skin. Your ethnic background does not cheapen your lament. Your anger is well-placed, valid and necessary.

Black people need your voice, and we need your involvement. Traumatized people do not make the best advocates. Traumatized people—no matter where the trauma comes from—are angry, shut down, and often counterproductive. As long as you leave it up to black people to speak out, you are making unreasonable demands of the group you want to help. Speak up, dear white friends. Step up and speak up. We don’t need you to share our trauma, we need you to stand against what perpetuates the pain.

You can’t crawl into a black person’s skin in order to understand what is going on. You couldn’t possibly know what it is like, and if you could for a moment, it would shut you down. I promise. You must address, understand and process this issue from your lens, your white skin, and your unique perspective.

If you want to help, aspire to becoming the white person who gives other white people a touch-point to their own racialized angst. Be a bridge which helps other white people engage without shutting down or blaming the victims.

Ask yourself what you are called to do. That will look different for everyone. Every bit counts. Just don’t disengage and leave it to the people who are being harmed.  We can all do something, as this is our nation.

If you’ve been guilty of any and/or all of the hardships I’ve mentioned, remember you didn’t know what you didn’t know. I know you didn’t mean it—that goes without saying. The only thing we can do is be truthful, be gracious, learn from our circumstances, and move forward. Like Maya Angelou said, “when you know better, you do better.”

You are a good person. Just be yourself, because sincerity goes a long way. Awkwardness and missteps can be forgiven—trust me, black people are used to it. Your genuine compassion and concern are what matter. And your sincere engagement matters even more.

Dear White Friends. I love you. You are my brothers, sisters, best friends, teachers, cousins, nieces, and nephews. You and I belong to one another. Keep being the people who may not understand, but who remain good, decent, and compassionate human beings. Embrace change, and if you want to help, start by taking hold of your own cup—it is plenty bitter enough.

And yes. If this has helped you, please pass it on, using [the link in the comments.]

Sincerely yours, Karla Johnson

[onemoregoodbye]

I miss my Mom

          I miss my mom every day. It has been two years since she died, and my heart has never felt heavier. The world is so fucked right now, and I just wish I was able to talk to her, to be with her, to laugh with her. I can still feel her hug, but it fades, ever so slowly. I see her face, but it blurs with each passing day. I can hear her voice, but even that is just an echo of her former light.

           I am glad she no longer suffers. She was dealing with pain and hardship that I may never understand, but that does not lessen my pain. She left such a beautiful legacy and I frittered it away, because I am young, because I am naïve. I cannot change the past, I know that. I will eventually move on from this tremendous failure, but in the meantime, I seem to be a specter on my own life. Looking down from somewhere, not being fully a part of the narrative, a ghost.

           I don’t know if I love him any more…I know that I used to love him, but lately I am repulsed, by almost everything. Is this issue with me? Am I somehow in such a depressed state that I have lost the ability to love?

           My life is not bad. I am in a fine place, yet my internal struggle with not walking right out the door continues. I have a house, but I hate it. I have a fiancé, but do I even love him anymore. I have pets, but I would not even blink if they were suddenly gone. What kind of person am I, that I have these thoughts? I just want to pack up and leave, go back home, but where his home, exactly?

           I hate it here; I hate where I am. All it stands for is a reminder of my complete and utter failures.  

           He just called, we both signed off with “I love you”. Why does it feel so heavy in my throat?

           I just want to be happy, but I do not know what happiness looks like. Mom was never really happy, not in my eyes, and that burns me still to this day. She says, in a note that she left for me, that I made her happy. That she could not have made it without me. But that sentiment goes both ways and now she is just an echo in my mind. How am I supposed to continue without her? The last two years without her steady guidance have been monstrously bad. I lost her and I lost all semblance of sense and self.

           I thought about suicide last night. I imagined my living room carpet stained with my blood. All I could think of what a gunshot wound to the head. But I doubt I have any kind of mental fortitude to even pull that off. I am a coward, in my core. But it was strangely lifting, thinking of letting it all go. I can see the appeal. I just want to give up, to be with my mom again.

           She would want me to carry on…

[lil-miss-methodical]

On My Block Season 2 threw down the metaphorical artistic gauntlet & there ain’t a Squad gully enough to pick it up. 

I hope people who've seen season one and now season two realize that what's taken place before their eyes is called elevation. This is how an ongoing show is supposed to handle things. Season one laid down a foundation for its audience and season two did not make the silly mistake of disregarding that foundation but instead pulled that bitch from under the audience’s feet to give us that freefall feeling and then used it to cushion our fall - reminding exactly why we loved it. it had me hyped, made me laugh, made me cry - often all in the same episode. Things that I thought were gonna happen didn’t happen how I thought they were gonna happen and that's how they kept me perched, on edge, interested even through sleep deprivation.

These were the same characters I’d grown to love in season one. Despite the hardship, despite the bullshit they returned to us the characters whom we’d grown to know and love and unveiled them just a bit more. When jamal rolled in money - I felt as though i was rolling in the dough. When Monse was telling Cesar what to do I was nodding along as though she was me, as though her opinions were mine. When Jasmin spoke I listened for a lesson was being given. When Cesar or Ruby cried - we all cried.

The musical scale out did the last and I didn’t even know that was possible. from the very first song they used to open the show and place all of us in our feelings - to the return of the track that left such a huge mark last season. They music not only to alter how we feel moment to moment, but to make authentic the era, style and culture the show is marked upon.

The Breakdown:

This season is broken down into two variables - solo hero's journey & and overarching theme.  The former can be elements as such: 

- Ruby's battle with PTSD

- Monse's battle of solidifying her feet instead of running

- Jamal's fight to be shine, be seen, be respected (and that has as much to do with audience as with Squad)

- Cesar's unsettled feeling of being alone (although he and we really learn how much he has)

- Jasmin staking her claim to her position

With season one ending in a death of a loved on and a wound of his own - we find Ruby healing. At first he's in a state of denial...This is a reality many black and brown people find themselves suck in, not about the mishap no, but about the trauma that comes with it. Like Ruby, we disassociate. We go with a 'it's life, bad shit happens, yet I'm alive and I should see the blessing in that and keep pushing forward' mentality that does not allow us to first dissect that trauma and journey through that pain as we should. The show acknowledges that damage and thus we end up having seemingly unlikely people help Ruby he's not only on a journey but deserves to allow himself to take that path to real recovery. Jason Genao did such a wonderful job - from the simplicity of wanting to unwind with some spontaneous party organizing to the quick emotional windup that taunts when something reminds you of your trauma.

Monse is the character I relate to the most because I see myself in the nature of her traits while also being able to identify with her internal struggle. Being abandoned put puts a complex within an individual that most people cannot understand - def it's that first abandonment is by a parent who we're taught is supposed to love, protect and be there for us. People who are abandoned can either gain traits of being clingy or having issues forming a bond or leaving. Monse of course like most has a duality of this. The bond is important to her and she'll do anything to maintain it but on the other hand she has a sense to leave when stuff it too uncomfortable. We see this several time in this season alone. But the real lesson for Monse is not a reprehend on her fears or traits but reality of being loved and accepted. No matter what you do, where you go, you love us and we love you and we'll be waiting when you get back.

Jamal is that character doesn't get the respect he deserves - that in story and from the audience that watches the show. The show took this in hand this season. As Jamal never ceased to remind the squad of his work on their behalf he steepled his worth asl and the actor that plays him, Brett Gray, yet again flexed his comedic chops for the masses yet again. I think Jamal doesn't understand how iconic he is, how amazing he is for those in story and out. He's coming off of that high of being on the heels of an adventure.

Jasmin also got shine this season. They humanize her without changing her, dimming her light or having her apologize for who she is as women have to do when the world feels they're too boisterous, too loud in tone, look and voice. She loved herself enough to remain true to herself and those who took the time out to see who that was, got to love her. Like all the characters she was opinionated, and even when the whole crew don't realize it she has something to add to the squad - thus what allows her to be the honorary member of the team. Also Jessica Garcia is another comedic genius in the element.

Cesar went from being in the hard place of his brother's gang to being in what seemed like an impossible place of no gang and seemingly no protection. Exiled from the Santos he's literally homeless and isolated from his last remaining relative. He find himself shipping from one one home to the next, exhausted with having to adapt to different family cultures. This was interesting because as they show we are ironically who we are in part do to our family living styles at home. There were a lot of jokes about Cesar's one color tanks and knee high shorts but when he starts surfing from house to house you get to see this 'culture' of how these people lived from an outsiders perspective - the man chilling vibe he received with Monse's dad. The rushed, lively, full feeling of Ruby's home that at first felt crowded to him. The eccentric way Jamal ran his bedroom. Even the weirdness of Chivo and his 'family'. While these aspects of these difference threw him of kilter at first he learned to appreciate and truly love each and everyone for those same difference. He learned the art of gratitude because people tend to treat their homes as their safe places - not just for heir forms but their identities. We can be exact who we are in the face of our homes. As he thought he had nothing, those around him that loved him welcomed him into their safe space - despite the physical danger. This bonded his relationship with these people even more because there's a difference in saying we're family and you showing that I'm your family. And yes it was beautiful to see them credit the two black men of the parenthood for taking this kids life seriously and holding court for him. It was beautiful watching him come to love and appreciate Jamal and understand the wealth that comes with this friendship and making a strong brotherhood (def considering the war of gangs between brown and black men).

Every character must thread their given path to meet in a middle of shorts with everyone else. And noticed I didn't say they must complete the journey - travel it alone. We get the the end satisfied but still with the knowledge that the work is yet to be done. Ruby's PTSD and pain did not magically dissolve. Monse's abandonment issues didn't evaporate into nothingness. Jamal may have sculpt his worthiness yet the anxiety of 'what's next' still snipes at him. Cesar may have learned to appreciate what he does have but lost in the aspect of independence and what that means in the face of those around him that he loves and how to make that not mean being alone. Jasmin may have Ruby and us kneeling at her feet learning the error of our ways but she still got 3 other members to break.

It is these individual journeys that push the narrative forward, that reveals the overarching theme so to speak. Without these journeys there's nothing to carry the overarching theme. This is what I call great writing because it forces the threads to connect but still allows all individual characters to have their own position in the story that equals out.

The Revelation of a Theme:

Everything about this season was about family. When we watched Spooky, Mario, and Jasmin help guide Ruby through his symptoms of PTSD and trauma, what we were witnessing was family at work. When Cesar, Jamal, and Ruby laughed while rolling their eyes in disbelief of Monse's leaving for good speech - thats was love. When they tell her you'll be back and we'll be here...that was the understanding of family. When we see those around Jamal grow to see his worth by working to this appreciation its an aspect of a real family’s effort. The sacrifice, and support that came both for and from Cesar was hella representation of family. Jasmin’s whole storyline is the representation of new family.

This season didn't truffle with pointlessness. They didn't find conflict by creating false hate between the characters. They didn't drag this aspect of 'let's blame Cesar' or have that be an easy tension between him and Ruby. As a matter of fact their bond was deepened. Ruby had no hate in his heart for Cesar, instead he embraced his brother in the street and they cried, for themselves and each other.

This whole season was about being willing to sacrifice, being willing to be selfless for those you love. Everyone allowing Cesar to live with them, Jamal allowing it to be 'our' money, Monse's dad not trying to force her to stay away from her mom despite his feelings where Julia was concerned, them risking it to clean the money, Jamal giving up the gnome. Their rush to burn the money when they thought it would put someone else life in danger.

It was this concept of sacrifice and selflessness that sends Cesar after Latrelle in hopes of freeing his friends when Ruby comes to him distraught.

Cesar on most scopes is not a killer. As he told his brother he's not cut from the cloth of gang life. We see him called pussy for not being about that life. For not being able to end a life over turf wars, money, or Ill-intent words thrown his way. But as everyone had to show what they were willing to do for the concept of family - so too did Cesar. Good or bad - we saw what Cesar would be willing to pull the trigger for.

They all loved eachother, with that love came a protection and a fight to rival any and all that didn't have good intentions. This season was love. It was family, sacrifice, acceptance, respect. Ruby was willing to heal for it, Monse willing to stay for it, Jamal willing to fight for it, Jasmin is willing to be patient for it, Cesar was willing to kill for it. OMB is about this diverse mix of kids who have this bond that they've learned to nurture. It's speak on who they're allowed to be because it and how far they're willing to go to keep it.

In my last review my byline was "On my block, squad means family" and this season has proven that for this crew,  squad still and always will mean Familia.

How do you define family and how do you allow it to define you?

Other post/aspects to be on the look out for:

Mario/Ruby vs Spooky/Cesar Cesar X Monse - The breakdown Monse Family -The genius Jamal/Jasmin Jasmin/Ruby

Don’t forget to follow me for future post and reviews!

[archangel0lucifer-a03]

Needing a wee break from actual story telling I have decided to share little fact sheets about a few of my characters (existing as well as OC). I have put all under a read more for possible spoilers for things to come. There are spoilers if you haven’t read fics from my What’s This? A Ghost Series collection. My take on Papa 2:

(mentions of abuse. not detailed.)

Full name: Dante Emeritus

Species: Half-breed demon (⅜ Human, ⅜ Andras demon lineage, ¼ unknown demon origin) While his demon heritage does not make him immortal, he has slower age progression and a life expectancy of approx 600 years

Date of Birth: 21 December 1739

Place of Birth: Rome, Italy

Height: 6 foot

Sexuality: Pansexual

Relationship status: Long-term committed relationship with Syver Andersson 

Notable features: When you see Dante, you notice a man who clearly had a privileged upbringing. He is elegant and classic, well put together. He is a distinguished man, a wealthy man. He lost most of his hair at an early age, keeping his head shaved since his mid twenties. He looks older than middle aged, but upon seeing him you'd never know he was well over 200 years old.

In his demonic form, Dante stands an impressive 9 feet tall, if he stands upright. Large, heavy wings stretch out from his back, causing him to stand almost hunched over. His skin is solid black in color and a thick leathery texture. Sharp angles and bone give him a terrifying look, though he remains slightly humanoid. His legs bend back, like a goat, his feet are large and he has clawed toes. His arms are long, ending with massive claws. His face shares features of a large beakless owl, most notable are his large, yellow eyes. His mouth never fully closes, filled with 2 rows of sharp, jagged teeth. If his enormous size and horrific features were not enough, he smells of fire and brimstone, same as the very landscape that his demon relations call home.

His two forms are interchangeable - not one masked over the other. He endures full transformations. It's excruciatingly painful and leaves him drained for days. He will not take his demon form, unless it is entirely unavoidable.

Eye color: One green, one white (right & left respectively). They're both yellow in his demon form.

Hair color: n/a

Piercings: 5 frenum piercing- laddered barbells in increasing gauges

Tattoos: 2, both are on his chest. His first, a bold-line Satanic cross (brimstone). It’s thick black lines, outlined in a vibrant green. It is located on the right side of his chest. The other, an ornate grucifix done in grey-scale sits on his left pectoral.

Typical style: Dante will almost always dress in a manner that touches formal. His tastes are classy and expensive, always cut and tailored to him; he will not buy right off a rack. The closest he comes to casual is forgoing a jacket. He is always in dress pants, button shirts. He isn’t always in a waistcoat or jacket but often can be seen in wearing both. He does not own a pair of jeans nor a pair of shorts.

Personality traits: On first impression, Dante comes across cold, serious and a little bitter. On some level, these things hold true. However, once he is comfortable with someone enough to drop the exterior, he's actually warm, fun and sweet. He is very emotional but internalizes most of his emotions unless he deems it necessary to share them. He likes to be alone but with the right people, he enjoys company. He is not shy, but won't waste his time speaking to someone he doesn't find worth his time.

Family is important to him and he is very protective of them. Several poorly managed romantic relationships left him less likely to seek more than strictly physical, short lived relationships, most of which have been one night sexual encounters. With the right person, he will open up, spoil them, treat them well and love them more than anything. Growing up in his father's church, he has deep connections to faith and worship of Satan. Religion is important to him, guides him but he does not let it control him. He is not a selfish man, but believes that the central part of life is to put oneself first and foremost. He is slow to trust and doesn't cope well with loss of control. He is not a demanding person, feels that everyone should have the free will to choose, but he doesn't do well in situations where he can't be in some control. His desire to be that way stems from abuses in his past, specifically abuse from his demonic mother. (Demons aren't all evil, she was). There was a point in his life where he struggled with drug and alcohol addiction. It did shape some of his mannerisms but eventually he overcame the hardships, coming out victorious and as he believed, a better man. Dante has the ability to strike fear into men, make women swoon and babies laugh. He has extensive patience with people, unless it's stupid people. He is much more than first meets the eye.

Parents: Enzo Emeritus (Papa Nihil) is his father. His mother is an Andras-line heiress named Aurrah. He has a close relationship to his father and a burning hatred for his mother, who was banished back to Hell when Dante was in his late teens.

Siblings: a younger brother, Alessandro (Papa 3)

Other noted relatives: a close cousin Celso (Papa 1)

Pets: A python named Cassandra

Occupation: Retired. He was the former Papa (Emeritus the Second) at his father's church.

Hobbies: reading, writing (texts and music), collects vintage wines, scotches and bourbons, he enjoys hiking (mostly on his own), he loves to cook (for himself or others), he likes listening to music and watching old films, he enjoys playing games (card & board), he likes to travel, he likes to gamble.

Favorite color: Green

Favorite food: Italian cheesecake

Favorite movie: The Devils

Favorite song: Seven Lives - In Strict Confidence

3 likes: peace & quiet, the smell of old books, kinky sex

3 dislikes: being lied to, having his time wasted, willful ignorance

6 Random facts:

- Dante is very close to his cousin Celso, as they grew up together.

- He helped with raising his brother, when Alessandro's mother left.

- He is deeply afraid of the dark. Like he cannot be left alone in total darkness.

- He learned to drive as a teenager, just to go against his father's wishes.

- Laughs at his own jokes.

- His top three places to visit are Florence Italy, Paris France, and Las Vegas Nevada USA.

[imagethat]

Home | Vergil x Kitsune!Reader Part 3

One person asked for this so you know I had to do it to 'em. I'm still having trouble finding a balanced way to write Vergil but I really enjoy writing for this series thing.

The white blanket that covered Red Grave was growing thicker. Winter seemed like it'd never let up as you got dressed for the weather. You agreed last night to go with Vergil today. Where, you had no clue. But after your previous realization, it didn't matter much. To be in the presence of the one you'd grown fond of was enough. Vergil was waiting for you by the door dressed in his usual attire by the time you were ready. The streets were empty, no footprints lining the sidewalk beside yours. The desolation was nice. You followed Vergil closely, getting the feeling that something important was about to happen. So you didn't dare speak. You could tell he needed the silence. His pace began to get slower as you came upon a part of the city that had not recovered from the Quipoths reign. The structure of an old building atop a hill came into view. Time had not treated it kindly. Vergil paused at what would've been the entryway before stepping in. Only the walls truly remained, a painting of a family still hung up, unprotected to the weather. You could tell who the man was. Sparda… You had heard of him during your studies, but your kind kept out of the ordeal that went down all those years ago. The woman in the painting was beautiful, but something about her made you sad. You could tell Vergil felt the same. This place held significance to him. You were grateful he brought you here. He hadn't moved since you entered and seemed submerged in his thoughts. His eyes were clouded. Carefully, you brushed your knuckles against his. The small touch was enough to pull him back to reality. "That's… My father." He finally broke the silence that had followed you here. You stood there stunned. Was the man beside you really a Son of Sparda? You had never realised it. Part of you was embarrassed, how foolish of you to not realize during your first encounter with him. No wonder he had defeated you. You slowly began putting the pieces together. This was a family painting… The fate you had heard about from your parents, the one they used to reaffirm their belief that humans and demons could never love one another…. In the past you would've cold heartedly said they deserved their fate. But now you weren't so sure. "Vergil?" You questioned softly, seeing how down cast his eyes were. He didn't like looking at the painting, you could tell why. "My brother and I weren't always on good terms… I had something inside me that always hated him." He admitted. "Anger, sadness… fear…" He seemed to linger on the last word. "But… We've reconciled. I'm grateful for the second chance I've been given." He was trying his best to convey his feelings, and even though he was struggling, you could tell what kind of hope he was trying to impress upon you. "That may be true in your case, but it's not the same for me." You replied quietly while tracing the leather on your hand. After a good amount of time in silence once more, you timidly gazed up at Vergil. His eyes were trained on the painting. You couldn't tell what he was thinking. "When we fought… You had asked me what power was, if not to protect. That strength and satisfaction was something measured." You mused, choosing your words carefully. You hadn't thought of it, but the reason he gave you a second chance was possibly because he saw something inside of you that had reminded him of himself. "If that's true then… Have you found something that makes you feel satisfied? Have you found something worth protecting?" You asked, trying to find any way to connect to him in this moment. Wanting to know what had changed his view of the world. Wondering if it could change yours too. He breathed in deeply. "I suppose I have." He admitted while gazing down at you. You fidgeted with your fingers, wanting to ask what. "Most of all though, I just think I've matured." He added while returning his gaze to the painting. You took a step closer and placed a hand on his back. "I think your parents would've been proud of you, if they could see you now." You said. He opened his mouth to reply before closing it as his face turned grief stricken, unsure of how to respond. "I know that I'm glad I met you. I think if I hadn't, I would've still been the same person I was when we met. Unaware and unhappy, without the knowledge of how to change for the better… Dante doesn't say it much but… I know he likes having you around as his brother… Even Nero..." He seemed pained by the last name. You knew he felt guilt for everything between him and Dante, but learning he failed Nero after coming out of his power hungry phase hurt most. Vergil shrugged your hand off his back with a grimace. "We cannot change the past." Vergil coldly replied, starting to return to his old ways of blocking others out. You raised your leather bound hand to your chest, both to feel your heartbeat and keep the ornament close. "Yeah…" You admitted softly, the events of yesterday still weighing heavily on your shoulders. Vergil sensed the dip in your tone. "We should leave." He said, satisfied now after showing you his old home. "Would you go on ahead, I'd like a moment alone." You almost whispered. The way you kept your head down to avoid Vergil's gaze bothered him but he agreed. "Alright… I'll be waiting not too far." He replied before leaving you on your own. Once you were sure he was gone, you turned your eyes up to the painting. Honoring the dead was part of your inherited traditions, this was no different. As an offering, you took off the pendant that lined your neck and placed it on the mantel. Fireplaces are a symbol of warmth, survival, protection from outside dangers, and family. You knelt down, even in the snow, to pay your respects to the two parents who had brought such wonderful people into the world. You told them of how much their sons missed them, of their sons glory, and of how much you wished you could have met them. After you were done doing so, you carefully hid well placed hexes to protect this place from the weather, and any other dangers it may face. You thanked the building for still remaining, even through the hardships it had endured. After everything was said and done, you gave one final look over your shoulder before joining Vergil. He didn't ask you any questions. You were still doleful, but you appreciated Vergil taking you to his former home despite how vulnerable it must have made him feel. Somehow a small part of you felt better. You felt closer to Vergil too, even though he was still the stern faced man he always was. Absentmindedly you raised your leather bound hand to your heart as you two walked in the snow. Vergil wasn't quite ready to return to Devil May Cry yet so the two of you walked around the city until you found an open coffee shop. The warmth felt fantastic, but you knew your clothes would remain soaked for hours. You internally thanked your parents for being demons since it gave you some resistance to the cold. You ordered for the both of you before finding a seat at a table. The shop was mostly empty. You weren't sure if you should speak or not, but you knew Vergil wouldn't appreciate small talk. You became bashful when you realized he was staring at you. "Uhm…" You tried to think of anything to fill the void between you two. "I was… thinking of buying or renting a house." You said while scratching your cheek. Vergil seemed surprised. "I feel bad… Dante doesn't have much space at Devil May Cry. Plus… It'd be nice to have my own space." Vergil nodded in agreement with your statement. "Perhaps you would allow me to join you?" He questioned. Internally you paused, seeming somewhat more embarrassed now. "I… If you'd like to, I wouldn't mind." You admitted. "Rent would be cheaper that way and percuring a place to stay would be easier with two names on a lease." Vergil said matter-of-factly. You were slightly disappointed with his answer, wishing he desired your company more than mere convenience. "We should start looking now then." You mused. Time went by rather fast after that and the two of you returned to Devil May Cry. Dante wasn't in his usual spot and thinking back on it, you hadn't seen him this morning. You made your way to the bathroom and took a shower. Never before had one felt so good. Afterwards you wandered down to the kitchen. Having a task would keep you distracted from the grief that was still haunting you. Ever since you and Vergil had started living here, the kitchen was stocked with more food than just phone ordered pizza. You were thankful you had all the ingredients to make a cake and a fruit glazing to go with it. You were stirring the glazing in a pot on the stovetop when Vergil came up behind you and reached over your shoulder to turn the heat down with a 'tch'. He had just showered, you could tell by the way he smelled of fresh citrus. The sudden closeness made you tense up slightly and blush. "You have the heat too high." He repermind you. "W-well I don't know how to use your stupid human appliances!" You said defensively. Vergil found your childish rebuttal amusing as he crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. "So, what are you making?" He questioned. "Something for people who aren't named Vergil." You replied, still keeping up with your petty ways. He chuckled. "I should probably have my name changed then since it smells so good." He commented. You ignored his somewhat teasing response and excitedly smiled. "Does it really!?!" You asked and he nodded. "Well good! It's something special, my trainer…" You trailed off. Your thoughts always returned home… "Your trainer?" Vergil asked in a tone unfitting of his usual demeanor. It was softer. "My trainer… She was what we called a drifter. Someone who has no home and travels between realms. She had a mark like mine… She never hid it though. She was brave, and wore it with pride. No matter who challenged her! She'd always come out on top!" You added some oomph to the last part, feeling nostalgic in a good and bad way remembering her. Vergil chuckled softly when he saw how your eyes sparkled remembering how valient this person was. "Sounds like she'd make a good challenge." Vergil mused and you scoffed. "Yeah right! She'd have you on the ground in ten seconds flat!" He seemed bothered by the notion that someone could so easily defeat him. "Besides… I don't know where she went… She was just a hired mercenary after all." You added in a somber tone. "She's probably been everywhere now… My parents were harsh on me growing up." You admitted, feeling it would be right to share some of your past after he had so openly shared some of his with you. "My mother only taught me what she thought was needed and my father was so self absorbed, he never came out of his studies unless it was to put me down in a sparring match. I always wanted so desperately to make them proud but… No matter how hard I tried it was never enough." You were on the verge of crying now and Vergil didn't know how to comfort you. You let out a somewhat bitter laugh before smiling. "But…. Dee… She was like the older sister I always wanted. She told me of her travels and taught me everything. Even things my mother would get mad at her for and scream about how they were pointless for an heir of a family to know." You explained. "Thinking back on it, she was the one who inspired me to leave my realm with all her extravagant stories." You admitted with a small smile. "Would you say your experiences have been on par with what she told you of?" Vergil asked curiously. You stopped stirring the glaze to ponder your answer. "Yeah…" You replied truthfully while bringing your hand once more to your chest. "Yeah." You repeated in a more self assured tone. You didn't know, nor would he tell you. But he took note of every time you brought your hand up to your heart. Somewhere in himself, it made him feel reassured that he had comforted you well. It made him feel good in an indescribable way and was something he was growing fond of. Both that treasured feeling and you.

[autismgavemychildvaccines]

Economic downturn, racism and war.

So, normally I’d be in some sort of non-sober state while writing this, and be full of my typical rash wit. But not today. Today I want to talk about what I (and many others) are seeing down the tube.  First, let’s go over the quick run of what’s going on. 1, we’re having concentration camps of both migrants as well as asylum seekers. This is inherently inhumane and a violation of various multiparty agreements that were made post world war 2 to not cock things up like Germany did with the Jews, or more locally relevant, what we did to fuck over the Japanese in the same period.  2, We’re in a trade war with China, who is itself trying to do a hostile takeover of Hong Kong (and don’t kid yourself for a moment, that’s exactly what the fuck that is), which happens to be the 3rd most important economic center in the world by most accounts.  3, Russia is fucking around with our politicians and buying them off to make for easier voter suppression and just bloody hacking the electronic voting machines, which oh by the way, an adequately caffeinated high-school nerd could probably do.  4, And finally, despite not technically being “in a war”, we’re not at peace, either. Hell, we haven’t been for as long as I can remember. Like many people on this website, one of my first memories was 9/11 and the subsequent wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. I vividly remember the latter, as we sat in our living room watching the bombs drop and my mother in hushed tones said “Well.. This is it.” and my stepfather, an Army Ranger at the time, looked tired and said matter of factly “we’ll not be rid of this until you’re a grown man, and even then..”. And he was right.  Now, all of these things seem somewhat not related. Well, I guess I should say the 1st doesn’t exactly line up with the 2nd and 3rd, which have some geopolitical relevance to each other. But let’s take a history trip together, shall we? First, be sure to bring the hairspray, because we’re going into the Reagan-era and just before for a bit.  Imagine if you will the supposed dying throes of the Cold War. Bioweapons program supposedly being shut down, the Soviet Union splitting away, and the Americas? Well they’ve gone through hell, and by no small measure it was due to proxy wars, puppet governments and a complete disregard for “other” people for the sake of borders and protection. Panama, Nicaragua, Guatemala and other countries are having civil wars funded by both sides of that iron curtain, causing institutionalized violence, setting the development of these countries back fucking decades, and setting them up to fail.  [Note that when I say “setting the development back”, I do not mean they are in any way lesser to us due to this. In fact, in my wheelhouse of Public Health, they arguably do a better job of handling shit than we could dream of in the US. They’re damn fine people, and in some ways thriving, but to say we didn’t fuck with them would be a disservice. ] Part of this “setting up to fail” strategy was the use of drugs as a means of easy funding, which the U.S. government did wholly support to the point of screwing African Americans (and to a much lesser extent, poor people in general) in particular over by introducing things like Cocaine and Crack to poor neighborhoods (though it should be noted such drugs had been in the realm of public notice for the better part of a century before, just not as accessible).  Funny thing about using drugs to fuel wars. Wars can end. But the demand for drugs by a population that doesn’t have the ability to be treated due to some “moral outrage” against helping addicts? Well, that still remains a very profitable venue. So even after we stopped giving a fuck about any of these countries and their governments gave up the sale of illegal drugs, at least in the open, criminal elements showed up to do what they did best: manufacture and transport drugs to where the best demand was, the United States typically. And to protect this profitable enterprise, these groups would claim territory, claim children as recruits, commit other crimes to support the chain, etc. And these activities still go on today, wherein some cartels and gangs have gotten rich enough to effectively buy off governments and have their own fiefdoms, where those with any ability risk their lives to run. And yet, so many do. Also, it’s important to note that while countries like Mexico are arguably more stable than say, Honduras or El Salvador, they’re still pretty fucked from the radiation of these activities. So these families try to make it to the closest, arguably “most stable” country they can, ironically the one that set the stones for the foundation of where they found themselves. And they are treated as trash, as less than human, as animals. Because we refuse to see our own guilt. We refuse to see what we have done, not centuries ago, but less than 50 years ago. And who is egged on the most to hate these people? Well, if you look at it, it’s the least “most powerful” group that can easily be manipulated: Lower class white groups by a vast majority. Groups who themselves see hardships, certainly, but more than anything know two words: Fear and Authority. They are afraid of the “other”, the “jawb steelin’ immigunts”, the “criminals and rapists” as the person who inhabits the White House calls them. And they respect and adore those who can wield an iron first. Someone they can imagine being, whether it’s a business tycoon of a dictator they see as a near-messiah, who says it’s not their fault they are struggling, and then makes an easy, low effort “solution” for them to point to as to what could cure all those ills which are, at their root, legitimate.  [Note: This by no means excuses any White Supremacist or other racist ideologies. That shit needs to be fixed, and there is no excuse for that.] Let’s take a pause for a moment on that, as it’s significant. Is this the first time this has happened? Heavens no, in fact, many examples exist in history. But one stands out to me above all.  Go back with me again, if you’d be so kind. You feel the warmth of the sun on your face, you can hear the distant waves, and the not so distant hustle and bustle of a city. You smell a mix of salt water infused air with just a hint of smelted metal or gunpowder.  Perhaps you hear some music from The Andrew Sisters crackling out of a radio near an open window. You’re in San Francisco, not too long after the World’s Fair, where the hopes of Utopia were promptly shut off to be dismantled and loaded for the war effort of World War 2. In fact, as you look around, you see the strangest thing. There are clearly Japanese inspired markets and homes all around, but inhabiting them? No Japanese, surely, but the Shoe Shines and markets filled with a vibrant African American community. Some would one day call this the West Coast Harlem. And by their account, it was a wonderful community, of which I have no doubt. However.  Those who lived and worked and loved in these buildings just months prior were put into camps. In Utah, in Nevada, California, Washington. In fact, it pains me a bit to know one such place is but a very hearty stones throw from where I sit writing this. They were put there and made to stay due to risk of espionage, national security, or “for their own safety”. They were told to join the war effort as translators or soldiers, or remain there. The doctors of that community and the nurses too would end up working without pay, saving their own communities with limited supplies and truly working goddamned miracles in these camps to keep people alive, as politicians would brag “For every cent we spend on the Japanese, we spend a whole dollar on our boys out on the front!” That kind of shit sound familiar?  And that African American community? Well, while it was a positive thing for that demographic, certainly, and they had a valid right to be a community, that was by no means organic. The military spread out to places like Arkansas, Texas, Georgia, wherever there were large populations of blacks, whom the whites saw still as highly undesirables, and the military saw as cheap labour.  Well, the military found their people. And those people found cheap, effectively abandoned communities, and were able to live somewhat better than where they came from, all while building warships. However, just like with the previous example, this war wouldn’t last forever. But not just like that previous example, the demand for warships is rather... Specific, in both timing and transferable skills, shall we say? So, this cheap labour was made of a demographic that could be relatively easily discarded without them having enough of a voice to cause waves. And soon enough, the Japanese would return from their internment camps, and let’s just say things were... Tense, between these two groups. Two groups who were, by most accounts, politically undesirable, and if they were fucked, well who would care, right? If it caused generational issues, and exacerbated an economy that would make a good deal of trouble, as long as it’s not the demographic that matters... No worries. It’s not like they even really have good proof of who was really at fault, nor who profited from later real-estate scoop ups and other such economic trends. After all, they moved for the jobs, and the Japanese? Well that was a national security issue.... Don’t you love your country?  While this isn’t analogous to what we are seeing today, I hope you can notice the similar theme. Except this time, the demographic in question has to feel “empowered” in some way, and having who they want voted in anyways due to international meddling is more an afterthought to the “yay, we won!” mentality. And the expendables will have a bit more of a veiled attempt to undercut their work via a trade war with a nation who is admittedly, a scumbag (which we have collectively supported with corporate dollars for decades). This trade war will cause a lot of businesses, farms, and the like to close, making it easier for corporate groups to buy out the competition and profit all the more for it (despite some initial risk due to economic trends). All the while, a different, remarkably innocent group is being blamed and tortured for their “crimes”.   It would not surprise me if in the next 2 years, we will see a recession that will make 2008 look pretty alright. And make no mistake, it will not be due to the president at that time. The gears of the machine have been turned now and in the last year and a half. Likewise, we may well see a war. With who? I do not know. But I most certainly know who will profit from it. And who will die from it, and who will be dehumanized further to be the scapegoat.  We’re in incredibly dangerous times, and we need to be aware of why, if we have any hope of surviving. 

[dailyaudiobible]

05/27/2019 DAB Transcript

2 Samuel 12:1-31, John 16:1-33, Psalms 119:65-80, Proverbs 16:4-5

Today is the 27th day of May. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian and it is wonderful to be here with you as we dive into the work week and move our way toward the end of this month. We’re reading from the New International Version this week and working our way through second Samuel. So, we’ll pick up with the story that’s unfolding before us, a sordid story. David has become king, he had taken another man's wife, who happened to be a soldier in his military. And as we'll find out, one of David's elite warriors. When this warrior, his name was Uriah, Uriah the Hittite, when David summoned him back to Jerusalem from battle and told him to go home to his wife he wouldn't, like, he wouldn't. And that was David's plan. He was gonna cover the whole thing up. So, David sent him back into battle and essentially…essentially murdered him by having him put on the front lines and then having people withdraw so that he was killed. This is the kind of things that Saul tried to do to David. So, it's quite a turn in the story and we’ll pick it up. Second Samuel chapter 12.

Commentary:

Okay. So, no doubt about it, the story happening in second Samuel in David's life is…well…its sordid just like we said at the beginning. All of our time as we’re traveling along with David through first Samuel watching him be on the run from assassination plot after assassination plot, after plot, after plot, after plot, to have him killed, he’s become stealthy, he's become a warrior, he’s had to grow up fast, he’s had to become a national hero or a national figure without any training. So, he has held on to God for dear life and some of his heart is poured out in the Psalms as he runs from King Saul, then he becomes King and he’s honorable through that process and everybody rallies to him and he's the king and then this happens, right? This is a very large turn in the story of King David. Things are not going to go well in his family after this. It's almost like this is the kind of story that nobody really wants to talk about like if you were back in this time. And yet, his family knows what happened and we’re gonna see that it appears they've lost respect and it’s certain that after the prophet Nathan came and told the story to David and David’s all angry and wanting to kill this person that he’s realized, that he realizes that the story is about him. And, so, we see him repent and things will never be the same again. And it just becomes a mirror of our own lives in so many ways because it is in the times of difficulty and hardship and wilderness of our lives that we are clinging to God for dear life, especially when we feel like there's nothing else to cling to. And we find, as we look back over those times, that they were rich. They taught us how to trust. They taught us how to navigate. And yet, then when things get easy again, like when we get back in control again then we find ourselves wandering into things that have no possible good outcome and can really mess things up going down the line into the future. And, so we find in the story of King David, once again the Bible becomes a mirror into our own lives.

And then as we move into John's Gospel we’re continuing to listen to Jesus speak His final words to His friends in the last recorded conversation that we find in the Gospels before Jesus was arrested. And, so, Jesus says, “I’ve told you these things so that you won't lose faith, right, so you won't abandon your faith, so you won't fall away because you’re gonna be thrown out of synagogues and a time will come when people who kill you will think they're doing God's work.” How true that proved to be. How true that remains. Throughout history followers of Jesus have been have been subjected to appalling persecution. Even in our own lifetimes we've seen this brutality continue but it's what happened to Jesus. Those who put Jesus to death, they thought they were doing the right thing. So, let’s be sure to take a moment to just consider the freedoms that we enjoy and that we take for granted every day because mixed in with the gratitude, we need to have the earnest plea for our persecuted brothers and sisters who, if they had the freedoms that we take for granted, it would be like the very kingdom of God itself for them. So, may we pray for the persecuted church today. I have spoken to a lot of people and a lot of places in the world and some of those places in the world aren't…you just can't take safety for granted, especially in religious…in terms of religious freedom. And so often they feel forgotten. And it's easy to forget them because we may find ourselves geographically or nationally or politically at odds with the nation that they live in. And, so, their trapped and feel as if no one cares. And Jesus went on to say, “when the spirit of truth comes, He will lead you into all truth”, which is something that we pray for on a continual basis because this is a promise given. And Jesus said that, “He's not going to speak on His own will. He’ll tell you what He's heard. He’ll tell you about the future. He’ll bring me glory by telling you whatever He receives from me. Of course, this is the Holy Spirit that we’re talking about. The spirit of God is within us and will lead us into all truth, but we have to ask ourselves, how much truth are we really after? Like, how much truth are we really seeking? Because often what we want is our cake and eat it too, right, to enjoy the light but keep shadows on the things that we that we don't want to face or that we don't want exposed. But, here’s the deal, hiding will not make us like Jesus. Even though we may battle this all our lives, we’re struggling to be true and walk in the light. This is what Jesus modeled for us. That's what Christ like looks like. That's what we’re supposed to be becoming. And then lastly, Jesus said, “I told you all this stuff so that you can have peace in me because here on earth you'll have many trials and sorrows but take heart, I have overcome the world.” So, even as we hear those words, even as we read them today, we can just look around and see that this is true. We indeed will face trials and indeed we experience sorrow in this world. And at times it's overwhelming. And at times is like a tsunami has washed us away. But Jesus is telling us that there is a peace that the world cannot give and the world cannot take because this peace can only be found intertwined in a relationship with God and that has been bestowed upon us. So, take heart. Take joy. Take peace. Jesus has overcome the world and through him so can we.

Prayer:

Father, we come into Your presence today acknowledging that a lot has happened in the Scriptures for us to consider. The story of David is certainly a complicated one, much like our lives. And we may have, at times, found ourselves doing things toward other people that had previously been done to us and we like, we know the story, like we know the pain that's causing, and we find ourselves doing the same thing, like David. So, we invite the Spirit of truth into that. And when we listen Jesus, to Your words, as You're coming to the end of Your conversation at the Last Supper and You are assuring Your friends that they won’t be able to take anything for granted. We have these freedoms that we take for granted that they did not have. And, so, any time that we face any kind of little obstacle we want to start screaming and shaking our fists at the sky when You prepared us for this in advance. So, come Holy Spirit and help us to understand and rightly interpret the circumstances of our lives and what the seasons of wilderness actually mean to us. And lastly Father, we pray for our brothers and sisters who feel and in many cases are forgotten in this world, trapped behind the borders, trapped behind cultures, struggling to survive and avoid the persecution that descends upon them regularly. When we think of them we confess a sense of helplessness because we don't know what to do. And yet, we’re reaching to You Father, we’re reaching toward our brothers and sisters in the Spirit that they might feel comfort today, that they might have a sense that they are not forgotten. Come Holy Spirit we ask in the name of Jesus. Amen.

Announcements:

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If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, you can do that dailyaudiobible.com. There’s a link, it lives on the homepage and I thank you humbly and profoundly for your partnership. We wouldn't be here if we didn't do this together. If we didn’t come around the global campfire every day and keep the fire burning, if we didn’t do this together we wouldn't be here. So, thank you for your partnership. If you’re using the Daily Audio Bible app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or, if you prefer, the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or comment 877-942-4253 is the number to dial.

And that is it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hi Daily Audio Bible family this is Becca coming in from Sydney Australia. It’s been a while since I’ve called in, probably maybe two years, but…and during that time much has happened but I just wanted to call in because I heard a caller, I’m a bit behind on the program but April 1st it played, a lady called Cia in the Pacific Northwest, I heard your message about…your in a situation where you’re married to a non-Christian and thought…I just want you to know that I really understand what you’re feeling with…with just the attraction that you’re feeling maybe towards this guy that you know what’s right in your head and I totally can understand that you’re trying to do the right thing by God __ for myself here but I just really understand what you’re going through and I just want you to know that I’m going to be praying for you and encouraged that you did call in. And if you could pray for me as well. I am sort of going through something kind of the similar. I’m not married but I think I am just struggling with knowing that these are the things I want in the quality in a man after God’s heart, that being attracted to non-Christian guys who just seem to allure me so much. So, if you could just pray for that for me but I just want to let you know that I am praying for you and I’m praying for all these women out there who __ people who are married and are battling sexual temptation or just…yeah…a sense of like feeling you want to be loved. But I just pray for women. So, if you could also pray for me, that…

Hello Daily Audio Bible family, this is Anita of Ohio. I just wanted to send out prayers for __ technicians that I’ve never used before. I had to __ randomly, you know, to see what was wrong with her. But she ended up letting me know that she had liver failure and she has to go through dialysis. So, __ everyone keeps her lifted up in prayers. I appreciate your prayers. I’m praying for everyone as always and thank you guys for this wonderful community. Brian, you and Jill are so amazing. I ask that you keep continuing to sow into this ministry. I would not be where I am in the __ if it wasn’t for you. I work on Sundays, so it’s impossible for me to make it to church. So, this is my church. Every day, all day, and it’s changed my life dramatically. I lost my mom and my dad with around a four-month time span. And I started listening to Daily Audio Bible when I lost my brother back in 2015. So, it’s been…it’s been a journey for me but very thankful for this community because it’s brought me strength. Alright, God bless you all. __ take care.

Good morning Daily Audio Bible, this is Lisa from San Jose, I called back in April about my husband and his cancer and it’s doing much better. Thank you all for your prayers. We still need to get a PET scan but he’s been on the cannabis oil, which in combination with a little bit of chemo, has been the Lord’s answer to our prayers. Also, I wanted to call and let you know that I go through very very heavy  depression as well and I was touched by Scotty from Tennessee this morning listening to your prayer for yourself and your sister and your mom. My heart goes out to you because yesterday I swear I was crying all day because of this depression, this cloud, this darkness that seems to pervade and prevail. And we just have to push through brother. We just have to keep hanging on knowing that Jesus is our source and He will be there for us no matter what. And He sometimes likes to test our faith. So, hang in there, keep strong, keep seeking His face and His word and you’ll get through and together we can make it. Brother, you are in my prayers and as well as your sister for her salvation. She hits rock-bottom, maybe she’ll look up and your mom too. Life is so tough. We were never promised a rose garden. So, keep going gang. God’s got our back. I love you all. Praise Jesus. Lisa signing off from San Jose.

Good morning Daily Audio Bible family, today is the 26th of May, and I’m just calling, I’m on my way to work so sorry for the noise in the background. I’m calling for my friend. Oh…by the way…my name is Janet, calling from the UK. I’m calling for prayer for my friend, Heather, who is a nurse. We’re both nurses. We just graduated. We just finished nursing school in December. And she had her first patient death and she was the last person the patient saw before he took his last breath and she is very tearful and thinking that she is not that special to be in that position. So, she doesn’t think that she should have been the last person that the patient saw before he died. And I just want to pray for her that she understands that just being a nurse she’s really special, she’s special in someone’s life, and she’s special to God because she’s also contemplating whether or not she’s special to God and I just want her to understand that she is special, that there’s no other person like her and that God has blessed her with the gift of being a nurse and that she understands just how special she is to everyone that she takes care of. Thank you, Daily Audio Bible family. Thank you so much for your prayer.

[simonsfamily]

I loved this article written about a NFL football player booed off the field. An important lesson for all of my kids...

By Dan Andros

Managing Editor

January 7, 2019

It’s easy for most kids to gravitate to star athletes when it comes to players they want to be like. What youngster hasn’t played backyard football and dreamt about being Tom Brady or Aaron Rodgers, heaving the team on their back and picking apart the opponent with clutch throw after clutch throw.

Bears Kicker Gives Thanks to God Despite Faltering in Final Dramatic Seconds

Today, I’ll be making sure to have a sit-down conversation with my kids — especially my two boys (ages 7 & 9) who are really into football right now, and explaining why they need to be like the kicker who just lost the biggest game of his young career. At first glance, it seems counter-intuitive to emulate the player who arguably lost the game, especially in our winning and success-obsessed culture. The reality of life, however, isn’t so glamorous. It’s usually filled with disappointment, hardship, struggle. Whether it be from finances, relationships, internal angst, career, or something else – you can bank on the fact that in this life you will experience some level of pain.

But it’s in these times of pain, loss, sorrow, sadness, disappointment, that we have the opportunity to learn and grow the most. No parent likes to see their child in pain, but if we neglect to prepare our children for the inevitable struggles they will face someday, we’re not doing our job as parents. If pain is one of the only certainties in this life, the only difference is how we respond to it. I want my kids to know what to do when life hits them with a punishing left hook, and so I’m always looking for small examples I can show them along the way.

Cody Parkey is a great example. When the world comes crumbling down, knowing where to seek refuge is critical. Seeking it in worldly places will lead to further despair. We see this when people turn to the bottle or drugs in times of sorrow, only to spiral further out of control. It’s false comfort, a false refuge. Seems like a good idea, but ultimately fails.

Immediately after the kick impossibly ricocheted off the left upright and then the crossbar, my kids (who were cheering for the Eagles) reacted with shock and compassion. My concerned 9-year-old asked me if Parkey would still have a job and be able to provide for his family. Of course, Parkey is making plenty of money – his family will have food on the table for quite some time – but I mention it because I found it interesting that they seemed to know this was not an ordinary situation and things would be very difficult for Parkey. When something grabs the kids attention, it’s always a great opportunity to turn that into a teaching opportunity.

The game ending was our signal to begin the bedtime routine, and like most people with a house full of kids (we have four), bedtime can often be a bit chaotic and time-consuming. But I filed away something I noticed in Parkey’s reaction after missing the field goal. He still pointed to the sky, a reaction normally reserved for after a player experiences success on the field.

Later, cameras caught Parkey joining the prayer huddle at the center of the field that happens after nearly all NFL games.

I’m sure every ounce of emotion in his body wanted nothing more than to hit the tunnel and go curl up in a ball somewhere. Chicago fans booed him relentlessly as he made his way off the field. Eagles players and fans mockingly thanked him for missing the kick.

It’s all part of the territory, I suppose, but after devastation like that, those reactions felt just plain wrong. Celebrating a win is fine, but you don’t celebrate someone else’s failure. Parkey’s teammates immediately consoled him, which was nice to see. But the home crowd booing one of their own lacks basic humanity and decency, as well as intelligence. Do they somehow believe Parkey isn’t aware of how disappointing of a loss this was, and that his leg could – and should – have propelled them into the second round?

I wouldn’t blame anyone for crumbling in that situation. It’s easy to judge from the couch, but try being in a stadium filled with thousands of disappointed fans, let alone walking back into that locker room to face the teammates you just let down.

It’s moments like this – not the actual game – where the men are really separated from the boys. We hear that phrase a lot – worldly application of it usually evokes a machismo that glorifies those who rise to the occasion and win the game. I believe God views it quite differently. I believe the true measure of a man is when he’s at his lowest and darkest hour. When all hope seems lost, when there’s nothing else left – that is when you see what someone is really made of.

I’m in the business of teaching my boys to be men, not to merely win a game. And last night we saw Cody Parkey in a very emotional, low moment. And we saw he is one of the guys who is made of the right stuff.

“The sun will rise tomorrow,” he said during a poised session with reporters after the game in which he expressed his disappointment in himself for his part in letting the game slip away.

He’s going to be fine because he knows God is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. He knows that although there’s pain right now, there is also hope. God is sovereign. He cares. He has a purpose for all of us and is working all things for good.

As parents, those are the kind of role models we should be pointing to – the ones who have an eternal perspective.

[chimchims-cheeks]

Third Love pt. 1

Genre: Fluff, soft Yoongi, smut later on, slight angst, an attempt at

humor, mentions of rape later on 

Word count: 2941

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader (for a hot sec), Yoongi x Reader

Warnings: Really bad humor, Yoongi is really soft and sweet in this fic, none this chappy

Description: After you and your boyfriend Namjoon break you, you meet your best friend’s cousin Min Yoongi.

A/N: This is my first time writing anything like this. Please be kind, but definitely leave some criticism if you have any to offer.

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

In your life you were told you would have three great loves. The first love, the second, and naturally the last. Unfortunately for you, you were on the second love of your life. You and your boyfriend Kim Namjoon had been dating since your freshman year and his Sophomore year of University. Namjoon was the sweetest, funniest, and most intellectual man you had ever come across. He was your diamond in the rough. Of course all good things must come to an end at some point, somehow. As much as you loved each other there was no getting around the different paths life was going to lead you on.

The night was off to a good start you were both in the kitchen at your makeshift table eating last night's heated up leftovers.

“I got the promotion.” He whispered, face splitting into a wide grin. He was a general surgeon intern and had been working to gain this promotion that would help him receive experience years ahead of his time and speed up the internship. You shrieked and jumped your from seat.

“Oh my gosh, Namjoon this is huge!” You screamed throwing your arms around his neck. He laughed at your antics and leaned down to kiss you. He pulled away after a short time but when you looked at him all you could see was nerves painted across his face.

“Joonie? Are you okay? Aren’t you happy?” Your eyebrows furrowing in concern.

“We need to talk, Y/N.” He said pushing you back into your seat gently by the shoulders. You could feel anxiety beginning to swirl in your stomach.

“Y/N...this internship would entail me moving to England...London to be exact.” He paused to inspect your facial expression only to watch it drop. Tears began welling up in your eyes. You couldn’t believe it. He was leaving.

“Well...what if I come with you? We could move there together. Start a new life there together.” You whispered hopefully, voice cracking at the end.

“You know you can’t leave. You’re almost finished with your last year of University and you already have a job set here. Y/N, I love you so much but - but you are smart. You know what the best, logical thing to do here would be.” He choked out, barely finishing before the first tear drops spilled from his eyes. You had already succumbed to them, not even trying to hold them back.

“I don’t wa-want this t-to be the end. This is t-too soon.” You sobbed. You were hiccuping now and shaking your head profusely. You didn’t want this to be over so soon. He pulled you into a hug and rubbed your back in a failed attempt to be soothing. You were too upset to be soothed. He pulled back and wiped your tears away with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

“I know, I know. It’s not what I want either but this is the best way. While I’m there I need to devote my life, my mind, my body, all of me to this promotion. I love you but this is my dream. You’ve done so much for me and have always been there for me. I’ve been prolonging this for a week now because I couldn’t bare doing this any sooner, but my flight is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon and I couldn’t hide it anymore. I’m so so sorry that I’ve been keeping this from you, Y/N. I hope you can forgive me.” He looked at you sadly, and you could tell this broke him just as much as it did you. It hit you even harder now that you know he’s leaving tomorrow.

“Fuck.” You said quietly, not knowing what else to say or do. You stared at the wonderful man in front of you. You thought about all the times he talked about his dreams of being some sort of doctor superhero. You thought about how much his eyes shone while talking about his one true love and passion, saving people’s lives. You were going to miss his bed head and how sweet he was in the morning time. You thought about how deep his dimples were when he smiled at you, and you pictured what that same smile would look like at one of the most prestigious hospitals in the world. You were going to miss him to no end but you couldn’t stand in front of his dream job. You were not going to be the Ross to his Rachel.

“I love you so much Namjoon. I’m immensely proud of you. You’re going to do so much good. I could never stand in the way of your future. God, you are so bright. You are so amazing. Never stop being you, okay?” He fake gagged at your cheesiness. You smiled and let out a small laugh while shoving his shoulder.

“Hey, I’m trying to spill my heart here. Kim Namjoon you’ll do fucking amazing. I know you will.” You gave him a large honest smile.

“Thank you, Y/N. For everything. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. You are my biggest supporter. I love you.”

“And I love you, Dr. Kim Namjoon.”

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

It had been a week since Namjoon’s departure and you honestly didn’t know what to do with yourself. It had been the first night of spring break when you and Namjoon had parted ways. So you had thankfully had the entire week to sit around and mope. On your way home after dropping Namjoon off at the airport and saying your final goodbyes you had picked up and entire gallon of Superman ice cream, your favorite, which you planned to eat over the span of the week. It was the last day of spring break and you were being plagued with sad dreams. That morning you jolted awake and and had to wipe away the tears leaking down your face. You had dreamt of Namjoon again. Which was no surprise really, you had always had wildy vivid dreams at least once a week but it got worse the more stress and mental hardships were placed upon you. Your emotional pain was almost physical as you could swear you felt the faintest ache in your chest where your heart was placed. Jimin had called you at least six times within the past hour and fourteen times over the past few days. You had decided to call your best friend and talk over everything with him.

“Is this the one and only Y/N finally calling me back? I want an explanation of where the fuck you’ve been. You haven’t called or texted me back. I was planning on sending a fucking search part-”

“Namjoon and I broke up Jimin.” You whispered. You had only known he heard it by the small intake of breath and the words dying in his mouth.

“You what? When? Why? How? Where? What? When?” He stuttered.

You let out a small laugh at his antics. Jimin and you had been best friends since your junior year of highschool. He had always been there for you when you needed him and you loved him for that. Jimin was the definition of the word extra, but you didn’t complain, because so were you and that’s why you both got along so well. That and your love of helping those in need. He is only 22 and has already started a nonprofit organization for homeless men and women in your state, to be fair he has been working on it since you both were 17 and still in highschool. He, along with Namjoon, is the most dedicated person you know.

“He got the promotion, but along with the promotion he got moved to London. We both knew with his busy upcoming schedule settling into the new workplace and along with mine since finals are coming up very soon, it’d be best to end that part of our lives together. Plus long distance relationships of that caliber are just plain rough, and he doesn’t need that distraction right now.” You said sadly, sniffing and holding back tears.

“I’m coming over.” He stated and before you could protest he had already hung up the phone. Half an hour later Jimin was stepping through your threshold with a jug of chocolate milk and a bag of gummy bears.

“I brought snacks, I figured you’d already have the ice cream.” He held up his hands as if it wasn’t obvious enough and smiled sweetly at you.

“Thank you. You’re the best Chim Chim. But I get to pick the movie.” He groaned in reply. You both got situated on the couch, you curled up in a blanket leaned on his side as the opening theme credits of Pirates of the Caribbean had began to play.

Tomorrow you had to go back to school and push Namjoon as far away in your mind as you could.

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This morning was a struggle. You had woken up with a headache and much to your dismay had started your period.

“Son of a fucking, fuck. Mothertrucking buttcheek on a stick.” You growled out as you stripped out of your clothes and stepped into the shower. “I swear to god this month as been the worst. I’m going to die before I even graduate at this rate. Maybe if I’m lucky I’ll get hit by a car on my morning commute. And now I’m talking to myself like a crazy person.” Of course you didn’t actual want to die. Although you had once gotten to a point in your life where the depression was almost too much for you to handle you had overcome it and now no longer had such thought. Plus to add onto it your anxiety had made you fear all the unknowns that death held.

After your shower you had gotten dressed, ate a sad breakfast that consisted of yogurt and water, brushed your teeth. You had just stepped out of your house when you realized you had forgotten tampons. Reentering and grabbing the cotton sticks of fuckery in a rush was not a good idea as you were a naturally clumsy person. You got caught in one of the discarded bras on your bedroom floor which sent you tumbling to the ground and you smacked your head on the door handle of your bathroom. In the midst of your pain you had mumbled out a joke to yourself about the fact you had literally just fallen into a booby trap.

After pulling yourself together you had let again. You had 20 minutes until class began and the walk there takes about 10 minutes. You put your headphones in and began your Troye Sivan playlist. The classroom was about half filled when you entered it, you took your normal seat towards the middle of the classroom, you liked it there as you were not too close to the front but also not too far away. You were watching students file in slowly, just as Bloom began to blast through your headphones a man you hadn’t ever seen before walked through the door. Nothing special happened how it does in the movies. There was no slow motion, there were no fireworks, and there wasn’t some magical fan that made his hair blow in the wind. However there was no doubt that he was just plain hot. He had fluffy black hair and a smirk that sat so naturally on his face he might’ve been born with it on his lips, there was confidence radiating off of him in waves. Despite this you couldn’t help to think that he resembled a kitten. His eyes skimmed the room only falling on you for a second before giving a bored huff. He began walking in your direction before passing you and sitting in the row behind yours about three for four seats to your right. You let out a small breath and cracked your neck, pulling out your headphones when the professor walked into the room. You were not going to let some cute guy distract you this close to graduation.

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Turns out he was going to be more of a distraction than you had hoped for. After a few days had passed when you met Jimin at his apartment for your monthly movie night, the man had reminded you of kitten had been sitting on the couch stuffing popcorn in his mouth.

“Oh Y/N, this is my cousin Yoongi. He’s staying with me until he can get settled and find his own place. I would’ve told you sooner but with everything that’s been going on with Namjoon I decided to leave it for a better time.” He smiled sheepishly.

You looked back at Yoongi and smiled. “Hello. My name’s Y/N.” You said awkwardly, talking to hot people was a struggle. Yoongi just stared at you, his lips turning up in a slight, polite curl.

“Alrighty then, enough introductions. Let’s get this movie night on a roll. What’re we watching? Mulan or Mulan?” Before you could even open your mouth, Jimin was already putting Mulan in. You rolled your eyes letting it slide because just as Jimin does, you love Mulan. You looked over to see how Yoongi felt about the movie but only saw his normal RYF (resting Yoongi face). Not sure what to take from it you looked back to the movie and reached for some popcorn You felt something warm, another hand and when you looked up you saw Jimin’s face inches from yours.

“Are you going to at least take me out on a date before you start holding my hand?” You shoved him away and heard him giggle.

“Shut it Chim Chim the movie is starting.” About halfway through the movie shifting to the left of you caught your attention. You looked over to see Yoongi passed out on the chair next to the couch.

“Hey, why did Yoongi move here all of a sudden and switch universities?” You asked in a whisper.

Jimin looked at you with furrowed brows. “I don’t actually know. When my mom called me to ask me if he could move in she didn’t explain much. Just that he wasn’t doing too well where he was at. I of course said that he could stay here as long as he needed, we were pretty close up until freshman year of high school, when my family moved. He’s changed a lot since then but he’s still a pretty good guy from what I’ve seen.” He informed you.

You pursed your lips and nodded your head. He did seem like an alright guy, a little distant, but nice nonetheless. About 30 minutes later the credits began rolling and you yawned. It was 10:30 and there was no way you were walking home at this time. You informed Jimin you were gonna stay the night. He nodded his head and went to his room, returning with a sweatshirt and sweatpants for you to borrow for the night. After you were finished changing you asked Jimin whether or not he should wake Yoongi up and tell him to move to his bed.

“Uhhh he’s kind of scary when he’s tired. Y/N, you have a hard exterior. You do it.”

“What he’s your cousin dipshit you do it.”

“No you!” With that he smacked you on the back and ran to his room.

“Fuck you Park Jimin.” You hissed out and grabbed your shoulder. You looked over at Yoongi’s sleeping form wearily. “Alright. You got this Y/N. You can do it. You just have to wake him up. No biggie.” You tiptoed over to him and gently shook his shoulder.

“Yoongi. Yoooongi.” You whispered. When he didn’t respond you shoved him slightly harder. He stirred but only a little bit before becoming a rock once more. You decided you had to change up your tactic, leaning down you put your lips two centimeters from his ear and took a deep breath.

“Yoongi!” You whisper yelled. He jolted up and shot his arm out in your direction. His hand made contact with your crotch and you doubled over.

“Jesus Christ your scared the fuck out of me!” He said frantically.

“You punched me in the fucking vagina!” You responded in the same tone. He looked down at his hand and back at you, his cheeks flushed ever so slightly. If it weren’t for the circumstances you would have laughed or gushed at how cute he is when he blushes.

“Who wakes a person up like that? W-what are you even doing anyways?” He said almost accusingly.

“Well maybe if you didn’t sleep like a rock I wouldn’t have to. I woke you up to tell you to go sleep in your actual bed. You’ll be more comfortable there.” His face softened slightly to this.

“Ah, okay. Are you staying here tonight?” He gestured down to your change in attire.

“Um yeah. I didn’t want to walk home this late at night. It’s kind of scary.” You smiled shyly, not expecting him to notice your outfit change.

“You can sleep in my bed if you want, I’ll take the couch.”

“No no it’s okay, I can’t take your bed from you. Thank you though.” You respond with a slight shake of your head and a smile.

“Alright, goodnight Y/N. Sweet dreams.” He gave you the gummiest smile you had ever seen. You waved and flopped onto the couch. You giggled slightly to yourself and couldn’t help but fall asleep to the thought of what his bed would be like to fall asleep in.

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[classyfoxdestiny]

Interview: Elif Shafak, author, The Island of Missing Trees

Interview: Elif Shafak, author, The Island of Missing Trees

“All around the world, wherever there is, or has ever been, a civil war or an ethnic conflict, come to the trees for clues, because we will be the ones that sit silently in communion with human remains,” remarks the talking fig tree in Elif Shafak��s new novel, The Island of Missing Trees, a deeply moving tale of love, grief, eco-consciousness, migration, exile and regeneration set in Cyprus and London, that alternates between the first-person voice of the tree and the third-person narrative woven around the lives of Greek Cypriot Kostas and Turkish Cypriot Defne Kazantzakis, and their daughter Ada.

368pp, ₹699; Penguin Viking

The Island of Missing Trees, as enchanting and magical as most of your novels, is a forbidden love story set against the backdrop of a civil war; the love between Greek Cypriot Kostas and Turkish Cypriot Defne rises above the ordinary and acquires a spiritual, transcendental dimension. Was this love story, marked by distance and division, central to the novel when you conceived it? Did it come to you along with its setting — Cyprus, the island, and Nicosia, the only divided capital in the world?

We live in a world that constantly puts us into boxes, categories, tribes, clashing certainties. Can you love someone who is not of your tribe, your religion, your ethnic background? Yes, you can. Love was central to the story from the beginning, but so was war, conflict, trauma, memory, displacement, partition. How can you tell the story of a divided land? It wasn’t easy. Love gave me a door into the story. There are two types of love in this novel, the first one is the love between humans, and then there is the love between humans and trees, the love humans feel for their land, for their roots, their memories, the love immigrants feel for lost homelands.

The novel shows Kostas and Defne to be an unlikely couple not because she is Turkish and he is Greek, but because their personalities are strikingly dissimilar: Defne considers human suffering as paramount and justice as the ultimate aim, but for Kostas — who carves an island for himself inside an island and retreats into silence — human existence has no special priority in the ecological chain. However, they are both the products of a common culture. Do you see their story as one of commonalities and contradictions, of togetherness forged out of conflicting nationalisms and religious identities?

I believe there is something utterly beautiful and moving when people from different backgrounds, races, religions and/or personalities manage to build a loving, caring and compassionate relationship together, despite all the odds. Love can triumph over hatred. Just like solidarity and sisterhood can triumph over polarisation and extremism. But I am also aware that none of this is easy to achieve. And yet we must keep trying. Especially now, more than ever before. Our planet is burning, our only home, this earth, is burning. We have massive global challenges ahead, from climate crisis to pandemics. Neither ultranationalism nor religious fundamentalism are the answer. Any ideology that takes us away from critical thinking and divides humans into boxes and tells them to hate “the Other” is misleading, wrong. We have entered a new era when we need global sisterhood, international solidarity and cooperation, a new kind of egalitarian, inclusive humanism that respects diversity and basic human dignity. We must all work together to save our planet and our common humanity.

The novel is structured around the act of burying and unburying of the fig tree and is rooted in eco-consciousness; it explores our relationship with nature at a time when ecological concerns are at the centre of global discourse. The pandemic has also forced us to reconsider how we engage with nature. Kostas, a botanist, is in constant communion with plants. The novel, which is narrated in parts by the sagacious fig tree that remains a witness to the trials and tumults of Kostas and Defne’s story, reflects on what nature does to death — it transforms “abrupt endings into a thousand new beginnings”, tending even to those who would never be found after the war. How did you settle on the structure and the narrative device that alternates between the authorial third person and the voice of the fig tree and what did the latter allow you to do in the novel?

I have been wanting to write about Cyprus for many years now but I could never dare because I knew it was not an easy story to tell. This is such a beautiful island. And yet, there is a lot of pain — accumulated pain, intergenerational trauma, loss and distrust, and ethnic partition. The wounds are still open, unhealed. I could not find a voice. How do you tell the story of a divided land without falling into the trap of nationalism? Only when I found the voice of the fig tree, only then, I could dare to start writing. A Ficus carica. The idea of the fig tree came to me during the pandemic and the lockdowns. I had been reading about nature and ecology for a while, but it was the pandemic that really encouraged me to walk firmly in this direction. Like many of us, I felt the need, almost the urgency, to reconnect with nature, to rethink about environment and especially, about trees and forests. Also, trees were important to me in a metaphorical sense. As an immigrant myself, I think about roots a lot. What does it mean to be rooted or uprooted or rerooted? Roots are important throughout my writing. I care about issues like belonging, non-belonging, motherland, adopted land, exile.

Ficus carica; a fig tree. (Shutterstock)

As I was reading The Island of Missing Trees, the wildfires in Turkey raged on, which made the book’s eco-consciousness and environmental concerns even more immediate and urgent. What has been your assessment of the devastating wildfires? Where do you think Turkey has gone wrong with regard to ecology?

The wildfires are utterly heartbreaking. It is devastating. Entire villages, forests, natural habitats have been destroyed. There is a photograph that is imprinted on my mind. It is incredibly sad. The photo of an elderly Turkish woman in Manavgat who has advanced Alzheimer’s. She does not know and understand that she lost everything to the wildfires, her village, her home, her trees. Her family cannot explain or tell her. And there is this innocent woman sleeping on the street, suddenly a refugee in her own land. Climate crisis is happening in front of our eyes, every day, every moment. This is not something that will take place at some vague point in the future. As the recent UN report made it very clear, human-caused climate emergency is unequivocal, widespread and accelerating. That said, in the case of Turkey, there was an additional element that made things worse: the government’s incompetence. Lack of proper infrastructure and coordination to fight the fires. Turkish government spends so much money on building palaces for themselves but no money to invest in protecting forests, no planes to put out the fires. But when you say this out loud they will automatically call you a ‘traitor’. There is no freedom of speech. Zero. Intellectuals, journalists, writers are prosecuted. Even people who have tweeted using the hashtag Turkey needs help have been sued. It is mind-blowing, but this is what happens when democracy is completely lost and civil society is shattered.

Wildfires in Turkey (Shutterstock)

You have written of Istanbul as a ‘She-city’ likening it to an old woman with a young heart, eternally hungry for new stories and new loves. The fig tree is also referred to as female and is equally invested in the act of storytelling; it’s also a memory keeper, a reservoir of stories since it’s a constant in the life of humans and the animal kingdom: “Tangled beneath our roots, hidden inside our trunks, are the sinews of history, the ruins of wars nobody came to win, the bones of the missing.” Do you see it mirroring your own voice and preoccupations?

Such a beautiful question! As a writer my own voice and preoccupations will, from time to time, seep into the book. However, the truth is, for me, writing fiction is not necessarily autobiographical. I have always believed there is something irrational, transcendental, almost mystical, about the art of storytelling. In novels, you journey into other people’s lives and into their minds and hearts, you go beyond the limits of the “self”, even if for a few hours, days. I am interested in those unexpected human connections. I believe you can, both, be attached to your own cultural roots, and feel connected to all humanity at the same time. I do not believe in singular, static identity. I think, as human beings, we all have multiple belongings, or like Walt Whitman used to say, we all contain multitudes.

The novel also deals with the shadows that the past casts on us as well as the possibility of renewal and regeneration. It shows how silences shroud family secrets and trauma runs across generations. Ada, the 16-year-old daughter, who lives in London with her father Kostas, is oblivious to the ordeal her parents went through in the past, how the war tore them apart. What makes you write about people and their difficult struggles of living with the past and, at times, their attempts to survive without one?

Families are composed of stories — and silences, too. I have always believed in the existence of inherited pain. We do not only inherit our noses or cheeks or hair colour from our parents or great-grandparents. We also inherit sorrow and melancholy, even if we might not know their stories in full, even then, we are shaped by silences. Especially within immigrant families, exiled families, or families that come from divided lands, complex histories, there are many such silences. The first generation are the ones who have experienced the biggest hardships and obstacles, but they don’t exactly have a language to talk about their pain. The second generation does not usually want to dig into the past because they are busy adopting, belonging, finding their feet. They would rather focus on this present moment or the future. But then there is the third or fourth generation, the youngest in the families who today are asking the most important questions about the trajectory of their ancestors, questions about identity. They want to know. So, interestingly, you can come across young people who carry the stories of their grandparents, young people with old memories.

There is always a heartbreaking sorrow that runs as an undercurrent in the lives of most of your characters. The fig tree has this melancholy in its genes that it can never quite shake off. Similarly, Ada carries within her a sadness that is not quite her own but part of her DNA, passed down to her by her parents. What draws you to grief and melancholy?

I come from a land of pessimism. The Balkans, Anatolia, the Levant… we are not very optimistic people in general, you know. There is a lot of sorrow in our history, there is melancholy or duende. So the stories that I write reflect the culture where I come from. However, I have always believed there is also a strong element of humour in my writing. I really love and respect humour, especially the compassionate kind. Not the kind of humour that looks down upon people, not like that, but the kind that understands both the weakness and resilience, the complexity and simplicity of being human. So I guess in a nutshell what I am really drawn to is the dance of humour and sorrow, the dialectical relationship between melancholy and hope, between pessimism and optimism.

Attuned to the landscape of the island and the patterns of life of the islanders, the novel is rich in imagery and atmospherics. How did you craft this particular element in the novel? Did you visit Cyprus while working on the novel or did you draw on your memory of the island?

I read across the board, both fiction and non fiction. Fiction is where my heart beats, of course, but I love interdisciplinary studies. I read anything and everything that speaks to me, from political philosophy to botanical sciences to cookbooks and graphic novels. Unlike “information”, “knowledge” takes time to accumulate; it is much slower, interdisciplinary. It requires an inner garden to grow. I have visited Cyprus many times in the past, not during the pandemic. I have met beautiful people from this beautiful island, and I listened to them with respect. What I like best is to bridge the written culture with the oral culture. So there is a lot of research behind this novel, but there is also a genuine interest in oral cultures, superstitions, myths, legends, the things that are not necessarily found in books.

In what ways has your peripatetic life and your diverse identities as an activist, a migrant, a nomad, a cosmopolite, an agnostic, a heterodox mystic and a humanist — a “wandering, independent, carefree spirit” as you wrote in Black Milk — shaped your writing?

James Baldwin was fond of using a word to describe himself, a word that stayed with me: commuter. He commuted between continents, cultures, cities. But he was also aware of how painful or lonely this could be. When I look at my journeys, I have learned so much from multiple cultures. When you travel, you not only learn from differences, you also get a chance to take another look at where you are coming from, perhaps you attain a new cognitive flexibility. I think in this life we learn most from diversity, from people who are “different” than us at first glance, we don’t learn much from sameness. But you don’t have to physically be travelling all the time. Books also help us travel. Stories take us everywhere, across centuries and geographies. Through journeys we learn. We need to be “intellectual nomads” and refuse to settle down in any address, any fixed abode, once and for all.

You have been a traveller between Turkish and English languages. What kind of relationship do you share with language? And then there is a distinct vocabulary of silence manifest in most of your novels. Where does silence figure in your writing and what is your relationship with it? Do you consciously work on it?

Turkish is mother tongue. English for me is an acquired language. I did not grow up in a bilingual house. I started learning English at the age of 10 when I was in Spain. At the time, Spanish was my second language. But English never abandoned me. It gave me a sense of mobility, another zone of freedom. I feel attached to each language in a different way. My connection with Turkish is very emotional, and I am an emotional person, so writing in English, which is more cerebral, gives a different balance, a cognitive distance that I need. If my writing has melancholy, sadness, I find these things easier to express in Turkish, however. But humour, and especially irony, are much easier in English.

The divided city: Nicosia, capital of Cyprus. (Shutterstock)

As a writer and an activist, you have been eminently brave and outspoken, telling gritty and unflinching stories. At some point in this novel, Defne says: “There are moments in life when everyone has to become a warrior of some kind. If you are a poet, you fight with your words; if you are an artist, you fight with your paintings… But you can’t say, “Sorry, I’m a poet, I’ll pass.” Ali Smith recently reiterated how all novels are political even if they do not intend to be so. Do you see the need to speak up against the injustice and oppression of the world or against the curtailments of rights, individual liberty and freedom in countries around the world, especially Turkey, as central to your enterprise as a writer? In a world falling apart all around, where do you derive your inspiration and courage from?

I appreciate your words, but I am not a brave person. I am just a curious person. I love the art of storytelling. I believe literature can rehumanise people who have been systematically dehumanised, pushed to the margins, silenced, forgotten. I am drawn to the periphery rather than the centre. I don’t think a writer’s job is to give answers, to dictate or teach or preach. I find a lot of that off-putting. I believe a writer’s job is to ask questions, including difficult questions. The novel is one of our last remaining democratic spaces. In my novels, I want to create open spaces where questions can be raised, a plurality of opinions and voices can be heard, and then you must always leave the answers to the reader. Because every reader will come up with their own answers. I know couples who read the same book and they don’t read it in the same way. Good friends who read the same novel, but each in their own way. Why? Because each reader’s reading is unique like their fingerprints. That said, as a writer, if you happen to come from a wounded democracy, like Turkey or Brazil or Egypt and so on, you do not have the luxury of being apolitical. Also I am a feminist. I believe the personal is also political. You can write about gender and sexuality, that too, is political.

You write in the note to the reader in The Island of Missing Trees how you drew on historical facts and events for several strands in the novel, including the mysterious deaths of British babies and the illegal hunting of songbirds. You write that while you honour local folklore and oral traditions in the novel, it remains a work of fiction — “a mixture of wonder, dreams, love, sorrow and imagination”. Could one use this to describe most of your writing?

A blend of mind and heart, knowledge and intuition, ruins and remnants, past and present, mysticism and politics, written culture and oral culture, East and West, melancholy and humour… I think I like this hybridity. Because I come from Istanbul you see, and I carry the city with me, and Istanbul herself is exactly like that.

Nawaid Anjum is a Delhi-based freelance feature writer, translator and poet.

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