#i fully intend to learn how to use a spinning wheel when i get the chance

[ongoing-catastrophe]

The west is a lot more industrialized than much of the global south, and in many ways has lost a lot more of its past and memory to time and labor.

But we remember. Somehow, despite all that was lost under colonial weight, this was not. I've seen my grandmother's spinning wheel, and I inherited her ancient sewing machine. I've never touched a charkha myself, but I sing folk songs that remember spinning it. I dance to songs about spinning, and I cry to them too.

I thought it would make you feel better, to know that. Not everything ancient is dead. Often, it's alive in song, if in nothing else.

I've had a hard time articulating to people just how fundamental spinning used to be in people's lives, and how eerie it is that it's vanished so entirely. It occurred to me today that it's a bit like if in the future all food was made by machine, and people forgot what farming and cooking were. Not just that they forgot how to do it; they had never heard of it.

When they use phrases like "spinning yarns" for telling stories or "heckling a performer" without understanding where they come from, I imagine a scene in the future where someone uses the phrase "stir the pot" to mean "cause a disagreement" and I say, did you know a pot used to be a container for heating food, and stirring was a way of combining different components of food together? "Wow, you're full of weird facts! How do you even know that?"

When I say I spin and people say "What, like you do exercise bikes? Is that a kind of dancing? What's drafting? What's a hackle?" it's like if I started talking about my cooking hobby and my friend asked "What's salt? Also, what's cooking?" Well, you see, there are a lot of stages to food preparation, starting with planting crops, and cooking is one of the later stages. Salt is a chemical used in cooking which mostly alters the flavor of the food but can also be used for other things, like drawing out moisture...

"Wow, that sounds so complicated. You must have done a lot of research. You're so good at cooking!" I'm really not. In the past, children started learning about cooking as early as age five ("Isn't that child labor?"), and many people cooked every day their whole lives ("Man, people worked so hard back then."). And that's just an average person, not to mention people called "chefs" who did it professionally. I go to the historic preservation center to use their stove once or twice a week, and I started learning a couple years ago. So what I know is less sophisticated than what some children could do back in the day.

"Can you make me a snickers bar?" No, that would be pretty hard. I just make sandwiches mostly. Sometimes I do scrambled eggs. "Oh, I would've thought a snickers bar would be way more basic than eggs. They seem so simple!"

Haven't you ever wondered where food comes from? I ask them. When you were a kid, did you ever pick apart the different colored bits in your food and wonder what it was made of? "No, I never really thought about it." Did you know rice balls are called that because they're made from part of a plant called rice? "Oh haha, that's so weird. I thought 'rice' was just an adjective for anything that was soft and white."

People always ask me why I took up spinning. Isn't it weird that there are things we take so much for granted that we don't even notice when they're gone? Isn't it strange that something which has been part of humanity all across the planet since the Neanderthals is being forgotten in our generation? Isn't it funny that when knowledge dies, it leaves behind a ghost, just like a person? Don't you want to commune with it?

[earthstellar]

More TFP Deep Thinking: Transformers and Road Safety

So, we have two episodes in TFP that touch on road safety concerns in regards to humans using/driving/riding in sentient vehicles: 

Road Safety Themed Episode Summaries: 

1) Speed Metal - Jack gets into street racing to beat a bully. Arcee initially enables it, Bumblebee does later after Jack and Miko both pressure him into it. 

This ends badly, with the bully being injured and needing to be rescued after being knocked out by Knock Out. 

2) Legacy - Smokescreen fails to care for human road rules in any way despite Jack trying his best to teach him how to drive on Earth; Because Jack is a teenager, he gives in to Smokescreen’s peer pressure and screws around after the bully returns. 

Smokescreen then gets called out for a mission, but not caring about human safety (probably due to an inability to internalise or appreciate just how dangerous this whole situation is for humans in general), he brings Jack along and it doesn’t go well. 

This is a long post, so I am putting it below a cut to spare everyone having to scroll for a mile: 

General Concerns About Sentient Vehicles in Practice: 

Because this is a kid’s show, ostensibly anyway, the bully is mostly fine at the end of Speed Metal, and Legacy depicts dangerous driving in a way that a young audience can internalise as “oh, that’s bad” as the episode ends with Arcee being furious with both Jack and Smokescreen. 

But they raise some pretty good points about just how dangerous the entire concept of being in a sentient vehicle actually is. 

I’m only going to focus on two main points here to prevent this from being the world’s longest post ever, but I do want to talk about them because they are common Transformers media themes and I think it’s interesting to think about the ramifications of some of this stuff in-universe as well as from a more realistic point of view. 

The Humans Involved are Mostly Children and Teenagers

All of the humans involved in these episodes are children/teens, which adds a new level of horror to all of us who are watching it as adults. 

I used to work in education and social care for at-risk youth, and we did actually have some cases of kids getting hurt in reckless driving/illegal driving situations, so I’m naturally a little more sensitive to this whole topic altogether. 

We do see Fowler and June get thrown around a bit, but I’m going to focus on the kids, because doing this kind of shit with children involved is inherently more dangerous and scary. 

1) Being children, they don’t have any driving experience. 

Jack does, but primarily/only on a motorcycle from what we see on the show as far as I remember, and even then, he’s a teenager in high school and we can assume he hasn’t been driving for very long overall. 

So to kids/young people, who are overwhelmingly more familiar and comfortable with being passengers rather than drivers (even Jack only has probably a couple years of driving experience due to his age regardless of how much confidence he has behind the wheel), the idea of being in an uncontrollable vehicle able to do whatever it wants with you inside of it is sort of a nightmare! 

When something goes wrong and you lose control of your car in real life, it’s scary as hell even with years of experience driving. 

For example, when hitting ice on the road, your car starts to spin out or starts drifting, there’s no traction, and you have to get your shit together quickly. 

I have experienced that several times myself, and it sucks. It is massively scary, every single time, and that is when you still have some modicum of control over your vehicle. 

Now imagine if your car instantly became totally uncontrollable and no input or activity you could possibly perform would resolve the dangerous situation, because your vehicle itself is the dangerous situation. 

Now imagine you are also a child with zero driving experience, who implicitly trusted that your vehicle would drive safely and via the intended route, suddenly thrown into a situation where shit has changed and the vehicle is now doing things that you cannot predict and cannot alter or prevent in any way. 

There’s no way they could ever touch on this seriously in TFP or any other Transformers media because it has potential to be genuinely frightening to the target young audience demographic if depicted in certain ways, and it would sort of be show-breaking because of the potential impact of that kind of fear on the human characters within the show (at the very least). 

But this shit is scary, and even moreso for young kids. I was in a pretty terrifying couple of car/road incidents as a kid, and I remember the feeling of being completely shit scared while the windows cracked and shattered, the muffler was ripped out of the bottom of the car, and we were pinned between two big rigs (cargo and oil tanker) on the highway at 65 MPH at night. 

I can’t help but think of the TFP kids being put in a situation where they’re all driving convoy style away from Decepticons for whatever reason, and while they are in their respective guardian’s alt-modes, they get shoved up against Optimus at high speed... 

I’m telling you, it’s a trauma factory. 

2)  A Transformer could just decide to do anything. Whenever. 

This is obvious, but let me break it down in more detail: 

A particularly unsettling moment in Speed Metal is when Jack is riding on Arcee, and they pull up to a light-- And Jack’s school bully makes some snide comments which set off Arcee, so she peels out at high speed from what looks to be a four way intersection. 

It’s worth noting that Jack is more level headed than Arcee about it here, for the most part. He even questions her actions, calling her out for violating her own road safety rules. She disregards him, saying “just this once”. YIKES. 

I’d like to point out that she does some seriously dangerous high speed manoeuvres in that scene, including a left side overtake while accelerating to attempt to mitigate wheel skipping and any lost speed from lateral drag that puts Jack inches in front of a high speed car: 

Now, arguably, if need be she could have transformed and prevented any major collision/injury, but keep in mind the bully is a civilian and having to remain secret is a consideration; Any hesitation here could result in casualties, and that concern may well cause hesitation in deciding to transform or not. 

And on top of that, is putting Jack in this position in the first place a good idea, even knowing a Transformer is extremely likely to out perform a human vehicle even without transforming? Hell no, and here’s why: 

He is riding Arcee like any other motorcycle; He’s just holding on and hoping for the best at this point in the street race. 

He could easily fall and roll off, because he’s not able to tilt his weight into any of the turns or effectively prepare for anything Arcee is doing. Look at the angle in that one screenshot above; Jack’s doing a hell of a job just trying to stay seated, and the sudden strain on his left leg/hip has to be pretty uncomfortable. 

Motorcycles do not have seatbelts, unless they are specialty gear, and even if Arcee’s alt-mode does have some way to secure a rider, Jack absolutely did not have them engaged as this ride did not start out as a street race and I do not recall seeing anything that suggests Arcee has engaged any type of seatbelt or other additional rider safety measure here.

I’ve both ridden and driven motorcycles before, and the idea of doing so at high speed with an uncontrolled, unpredictable motorcycle (or driver if I am passenger) is frightening. There’s no way to know when to adjust your position/balance, grip, or anything. Jack isn’t manually controlling anything, his hands are off the controls on the handlebars because those are Arcee’s functions. 

So she just hauls off, high speed, and does extremely sharp weaving turns in close proximity to another high speed vehicle-- Because a human teenager was talking shit to them at a stoplight. 

It’s not responsible guardian behaviour, and this is somewhat called out in this episode and again more heavily in Legacy, but uh, there’s a lot of reckless Transformer driving with humans involved in this franchise in general, and this is a more blatantly unnecessary example.

And the thing is, Arcee is fairly serious and strict. She is a mature person and typically handles road safety well when it comes to Jack and the other children. Yet, she still ends up encouraging street racing. 

Cybertronians don’t typically fully seem to grasp humanity or our realistic limitations as a species, and while most of them do generally try their best to avoid problems or injuries of any humans they work with, there are plenty of situations and conversations throughout all Transformers media that sort of emphasises as a running theme that they really don’t 100% internalise that yes, this shit is wildly dangerous for humans. Like, all of it.

Arcee was doing manoeuvres that I’m sure she could recover from if they went poorly. But could Jack? No, and she wasn’t fully considering that in this moment.

Unfortunately, although Arcee handwaves it as “just this once”, it only takes once for this to result in serious injury or death. A dumbass teenager managed to goad her into risking Jack’s safety for the sake of beating said dumbass teenager.

Even the most mature and strict Cybertronians are prone to screwing around now and then. 

The more familiar they are with humans, the more lax they generally seem to get about keeping an eye on measuring out what they do in accordance to human tolerances and limitations. 

We sometimes see this in reverse, which is kind of how this is handled in TFP; After this episode, in Legacy, she digs into Jack and Smokescreen brutally. So at least she learned something. 

But Cybertronians are people, and they are still people in alt-mode, and no person is ever perfect.

Sometimes, your giant space robot guardian is going to turn into a car, let you get in, and then ten minutes later you are going at brutal speeds barely missing instant death every other second because another space robot called them a weenie or something.

Everyone gets mad sometimes, and does dumb shit. The thing is, “just this once” is not acceptable when driving with a much more delicate human. 

The same thing applies in real life; No adult worth shit would ever risk driving dangerously with a younger person in/on the vehicle with them. 

But people are people, and people still do dumb shit sometimes. And sometimes that dumb shit has a body count. It is unfortunately human, and apparently Cybertronian, nature. 

Conclusion!

I’m leaving this as it is for now because I have to get ready for work. lmao

I had other stuff I also wanted to say/touch on here, but I write a lot and I know nobody wants to read a million pages about this. (Although if you do, tell me, because I absolutely could do that write up.) 

If you read all of this, thank you! 

[imjustthemechanic]

The Price of a Soul

Part 1/? - Agent Russel Part 2/? - The Letter Part 3/? - Miss Lake Part 4/? - The Stewardess Part 5/? - An Assassination Part 6/? - Fallout Part 7/? - Face to Face Part 8/? - Deals, Details, and Other Devils Part 9/? - Baggage Part 10/? - Private Funding Part 11/? - Just Passing Through Part 12/? - Party of Four Part 13/? - Resolute Part 14/? - The Wreck Part 15/? - Body Snatchers Part 16/? - Out of the Frying Pan Part 17/? - A Miracle Part 18/? - A Matter of Circumstance Part 19/? - Nome Part 20/? - The Future Part 21/? - A Hero’s Welcome Part 22/? - Up to Speed Part 23/? - Expect Further Delays Part 24/? - The Welcome Wagon Part 25/? - Fugitives Part 26/? - A Reluctant Accomplice Part 27/? - Deja Vu Part 28/? - Interview with a Madwoman Part 29/? - Violence

Holy shit, another chapter!  This is the one where Dottie kills a buncha mobsters.

-

They did not fly to Nevada.  Kay had already been recognized on a plane once, and with all three of them together and all three of them fugitives, there was a greater chance that at least one of them would be spotted.  They got Dottie some clothes that were not a prison uniform, stole another car, and started driving.

“You know, I just realized,” said Peggy, who was at the wheel for the first part of the journey.  “We never did find the bomb on Howard’s plane.  Was there one?”

“Of course not,” said Kay.  “Why would I bother building a bomb when the threat of one would do the trick?”

“Because you’re a coward,” said Dottie.

“I’m efficient,” Kay told her.

“What if she’d called your bluff?” Dottie asked.

“She didn’t.  And even if she had, I wasn’t actually going to blow up the plane.  I needed it.  And the people on board it.  I would have thought of something.  You don’t have to kill every single person who inconveniences you,” she added, sounding exasperated.  It made Peggy wonder if that were something many of the Russian girls tended to do.

“Spoilsport,” said Dottie.

The journey had to be done in stages.  Peggy and Kay could take turns driving, but neither trusted Dottie to take the wheel, and they had to take turns sitting up and watching her during the night so she couldn’t run off.  Dottie seemed to enjoy the attention.  As far as Peggy could tell, she slept quite peacefully during the nights, and during the daytime she let her scarf flutter in the breeze with a smile on her face, and delightedly pointed out roadside attractions that Peggy and Kay refused to stop for.

While they drove, they listened to the radio.  The news talked about things like Burma joining the United Nations, and how the latter organization had established a special body dedicated to public health.  But of course, what Peggy was really listening for was Steve.  His tour of New England continued with cheering crowds all the way.  The announcers described him visiting soldiers whose lives he’d saved, and the widows of those he couldn’t.

There was even, at one point, an interview with him.  Peggy perked up at the announcement and Kay immediately turned the radio up.

Captain Rogers, the interviewer said.  Now that you’re back, what are your plans for the future?

I’m not sure, Steve’s voice replied, and Peggy’s insides twisted. He’d had plans… he’d been going to get married and buy a farm.  She was the one who’d told him he couldn’t do that.  I’m still in the army for the time being.  My discharge was issued on the assumption I was dead, and since I’m not, my service isn’t finished.

“Damn Masters,” Peggy murmured.

Kay thought for a moment.  “What if he got his tie caught in a piece of machinery and it strangled him?”

“Hush,” Peggy told her.

Have you heard the rumors that other countries have begun research on human enhancement? asked the interviewer.

I have, said Steve.  It was my understanding that everyone signed a treaty that they wouldn’t do human experimentation like that.

They did, the interviewer said, but there have been suggestions that America’s enemies think they need to find a way to counter you.

I’m not a weapon, and we’re not at war, said Steve.  When you’re not at war, you don’t need super-soldiers.

So you would be opposed to any such work in the United States?  Or only abroad?

I think, said Steve, that anybody who wants to volunteer for such a program needs to think very hard about what they want to get out of it. Even the people who worked on the serum didn’t know what its long-term effects on my body would be.  I think they’d have been shocked to learn I survived three years frozen in ice.

Peggy certainly had been, and Howard… but now she found her own thought. He’d crashed the Valkyrie fully intending to die.  He’d said he’d realized at the last moment that he didn’t want that after all, but that was before he’d found his plans in tatters.  Had he changed his mind again since?  Was he contemplating suicide, only to realize he didn’t know if there were anything that would kill him?

No, that couldn’t be.  Steve wouldn’t, not when his previous attempt was so fresh in his mind.  Not when he knew that the friend he’d intended to die for was alive and in need of help.

Even so, the idea stuck in Peggy’s mind, and made her feel a little ill. She couldn’t stop picturing him contemplating it.  She imagined him playing with a knife, examining a bottle of rat poison, spinning the chamber in a revolver, and wondering if any of them could do him irreparable damage.  A treacherous lump rose in her throat at the thought.

She wondered, too, if Steve were thinking about her while all this went on.  What with all the autographs and photo opportunities and such things, he probably had very little time to.  If he did, though, what was he thinking about?  He’d told Russel to trust her, so he clearly didn’t believe in the charges against her.  What did he think she was up to?  What had Masters told him?

For that matter, what was Daniel thinking about while he sat in jail?  He doubtless thought Peggy was working on clearing both their names.  Technically she was.  Freeing Dottie would doubles have delayed the trial at the very least.  But she was also thinking about Steve’s desire to free his friend.  He’d been so broken the day after Sergeant Barnes fell into the ravine… at the time, all Peggy had been able to offer was advice.  Now that she could give him an opportunity to fix that awful thing, she couldn’t just let it lie.

Neither Steve nor Daniel had heard from her since her arrest.  Did one or both think she’d simply run off with the other?

Well, to close this on a less serious note, the reporter said.  Captain, I’m sure what the women of America are dying to know is: are you looking for love?

There was a brief pause.  I’m not sure, said Steve.  I had a girl during the war, but three years is a long time.

You heard it here first, ladies, the reporter said.  Captain America may soon be back on the market!  Thank you so much for your time, Cap.  Pleasure having you on the show.

You’re welcome, was all Steve said.

Kay changed the station, and then quickly turned the volume back down again as the Floyd Hunt Quartet’s Fool that I Am came out just a little too loud.

“Aw, don’t love make fools of us all,” Dottie teased.

Peggy didn’t answer.  She had no intention of encouraging her.

- 

Upon arriving in Carson City, they had some lunch and freshened up, and then parked across the street from Governor Strieber’s mansion.  It was a very modest place compared to some of the buildings Howard Stark lived, but still represented hundreds of possible hiding places for a large amount of money.  Especially for a man who knew that no less a mobster than John ‘Moxie’ Blumberg would come down on him if it were found.

“How are we going to find it?” Peggy asked.

“Joseph will show me where it is,” Dottie replied calmly.  “He knows I’m coming back for it eventually.”

“Will he be surprised it’s so soon?”  A smart man would have set it aside to make sure it was there for her, but Peggy’s experience was that most politicians were not very smart where money was concerned.  If he thought it might be a while before Dottie came back, he may well have spent it… especially when Dottie and her ilk were so easy to underestimate.

“Joseph is easy to surprise,” said Dottie.  “It’s one of his more charming traits.”

It was very late, almost one in the morning, when Strieber’s shiny silver Packard pulled into the driveway, and Strieber got out.  He was a very tall man but also quite overweight, with a drinker’s belly that hung over the top of his trousers.  He was dressed up as if he’d been out for a night on the town, no doubt gambling in the new casino he pretended to disapprove of.  A woman climbed out after him and took his arm. She was a brunette, dressed in a pink and black evening gown with an enormous fur stole around her shoulders. The two of them headed inside.

“Forgot me already, Joseph?” Dottie clucked her tongue.  “You’ll break my heart.”

Once the door was closed, Dottie climbed out of the car and headed towards the house.  Peggy and Kay climbed out and went after her.

Dottie took them around the back and knocked on the kitchen door.  A woman in a maid’s uniform answered it, and looked startled.

“Miss Abagnale?” she asked.

Dottie punched her in the face.

They tied up the maid with an electrical cord, and found the short flight of stairs that led up into the living area.  Light was coming around the door at the top.  Peggy opened it a crack and looked out into a sitting area… lamps were lit, but she couldn’t see anybody.

The door suddenly jerked open, and Peggy found the barrel of a revolver in her face.

It took a moment for her eyes to re-focus from the dark ring of potential death to the man wielding it.  He was a skinny guy with dark hair, wearing a gray suit and hat and a green tie.

“Come on out, sweetheart,” he told Peggy.  His two front teeth were missing.

Peggy thought fast… no idea who this man was, but she couldn’t let him reveal that they were here.  She dropped to her knees to grab him around the legs and knock him over.  At the same time, both Dottie and Kay leaped on him from behind her.  He squawked in surprise, but it was too late for him to fight back.  Moments later they had him flat on the floor.  Dottie’s foot was in the middle of his chest, and the gun was in her hand, pointed at his head.

“Carbone?” somebody asked.  “What’s going on?”

Peggy swore under her breath – she should have known Dottie would lead them into trouble!  “Let’s go, quick,” she said.

It was too late for that, though.  Another man appeared in the doorway to the siting room.  Dottie shot him, and the second one who turned out to be behind him.  She kicked Carbone in the chin, and strode down the hall like a queen.

Peggy and Kay had no choice but to follow her.

In the sitting room, Strieber and his girlfriend were on a sofa, clinging to each other in terror.  Four more mobsters were standing around them, and Moxie Blumberg himself was halfway through lighting a cigar out of a box he’d taken from the cabinet.  All of them were clearly shocked by what had just occurred, and more so to see Dottie walk in with Carbone’s gun in her hand.

The one nearest Dottie raised his own weapon.  She kicked it out of his hand and shot him.  There was absolutely nothing for it now.  One of the others pulled out a knife and went for Peggy – she grabbed a crystal decanter of alcohol off a table and smashed it over his head.  Kay kicked another one’s legs out from under him and slammed his face into the floor, then snatched the revolver off his belt and shot a third mobster in the knee. He dropped, and Dottie shot him in the head to finish him off.  The last one lost his nerve and turned to run – Dottie shot him, too, and then she was out of bullets.  She threw the gun aside and snatched up the knife the other man had dropped.  By this time, Blumberg was pulling out his own gun, but Dottie threw the knife and it embedded itself in his gut.  He fell.

That left the three women, and Strieber and his mistress.

“Mary-Ann?” asked Strieber in a tremulous voice.

Dottie smiled.  “Where’s my money, Joseph?”

Strieber ran to the bookshelf, stepped over Blumberg’s fallen body, and pulled out a few volumes.  Behind them was a wall safe.  He dialed the combination in with shaking hands, needing several tries to get it right. With each failure, Dottie came closer and closer behind him, and Peggy could see the sweat beading on the back of his neck.  Finally he got it open, and stepped aside.

“T-t-there it is!” he said.  “Take it!”

Dottie pulled out several packets of bills and tossed them to Peggy and Kay. Then she shut the safe and turned to smile at Strieber.

“Thank you, Joseph,” she said.  “I knew I could count on you.”

In a swift motion, she’d gotten a toe under Blumberg’s fallen pistol.  She kicked it into the air, caught it, and shot Strieber in the neck.  His girlfriend screamed.  Dottie turned around, and killed her, too.

“Don’t!” Kay shouted, but it was already too late.

[sirpoley]

On the Four Table Legs of Traveller, Leg 3: Character Creation

In part 1 of this series, I described how Mongoose Traveller's spaceship mortgage rule becomes the drive for adventure and action in a spacefaring sandbox, and the 'autonomous' gameplay loop that follows.

In part 2, I talked about how Traveller's Patron system gives the DM a tool to pull the party out of the 'loop' and into more traditional adventures.

In this part, I'll talk about Traveller's unique character creation system, and how it supports the previous two systems.

Brief Overview of Character Creation

Traveller's character creation is weird, and it was the first thing house-ruled away by my old DM—and I can see why.

Traveller character creation is a minigame of sorts, in which you first generate ability scores (much like in D&D), then pick a career. You make a stat check to qualify for the career, one to 'survive' the career (more on this later), and one to advance. Every time you qualify for the career and/or advance, you get a random skill or stat boost from a table related to your training. In the Army and Marines, for example, you're very likely to get combat-related skills, while as a Merchant you're more likely to get something like Broker or Admin (which tend to be more useful, surprisingly).

You also roll once on a life event table, in which your character might fall in or out of love, make friends or enemies, study abroad, and so on.

You then advance four years in age and try again, and continue for as long as you want. If your character gets too old, they start suffering physical ability score consequences, though these can be bought off with semi-legal anti-aging meds, the consequence of which is starting with high amounts of medical debt.

Rolling to Survive

If you fail a survival roll, you're permanently expelled from your career (but can start another one), and often suffer major debilitating injuries in the form of sweeping permanent ability score damage, though this can be bought off by going deep into medical debt. It's technically possible to die in character creation if your physical ability scores are reduced to zero in this way, in which case you would start over. For that to happen, the player would have to decline treatment—basically, they're making a choice to give up and start over. This is a kind of extreme "safety net" against playing truly worthless characters, I suppose, though I haven't seen it happen yet.

Why is this Good Again?

This way of creating characters is shockingly different from any that I've seen before. The character that you end creation with might not have any resemblance at all to what you sat down and intended to create, which was a huge source of frustration, as a player, in my last two campaigns. It's more common than not to, for example, come up with a concept for a dashing space pilot and end up with a 98 year-old-that-looks-34 white-collar office worker who's got a laundry list of grievances against various corporations who have fired him over the years.

When I've seen this system work well, it's because players went into it with different expectations that they would in D&D. For a D&D campaign, you usually come to the table with a more-or-less fully-fledged character concept, then roll stats (or point-buy) and fill in the boxes. In Traveller, it's more like spinning a wheel and seeing what you'll get.

For the kind of campaign that Traveller assumes, however, this is perfect, and here's why.

First, it sets the tone of the campaign. Traveller is very different from most D&D-esque RPGs. It doesn't provide any guidance for or benefit from, for example, balanced encounters. By creating mechanically unbalanced, unpredictable characters, it is telling the players from the start that there are sharp edges to this game and they have to stay on their toes.

Second, it generates crucially important NPCs for the campaign. Those life events—and some fail-to-survive rolls—often create allies, enemies, rivals, and contacts: NPCs that are guaranteed to be met during the campaign. The book provides tips to the DM to ensure that these NPCs have access to spaceships, as they can be found on the random encounter tables. But here's the fun bit: the Player will be just as pissed at their rival, Captain Morgensen (or whatever) as their character is supposed to be, as he was (according to the events table) instrumental in getting them fired from their career as a space scout. By generating these characters during character creation's life-simulation, it gives them a real, emotional connection that leads to a lot of fun during play. These NPCs can easily function as Patrons (which, as explained in part 2, are the keys to adventure), or can provide paths to Patrons.

Third, it has the potential to start the characters massively in debt. The clear optimal path in character creation is to pay off any injuries by going into medical debt, and chug analgesic anti-aging pills like they're Skittles in order to keep advancing down your career paths, or start new ones. As explained in part 1, Traveller's 'loop' functions best when the PCs are swimming in as much debt as possible. The more debt, the more motivation to travel, and thus the more space pirates and space dragons and space princesses and whatever that they'll meet.

Fourth, it familiarizes them with the setting. The book provides quite a few career path options to the Players, and uses the same to generate its NPCs. Thus, just by reading through the career path options available to them, Players learn a lot about the world of Traveller and the kinds of people they might meet, without having to read lengthy setting handouts or pages and pages of lore or anything like that.

Fifth, it creates gaps in the party's expertise, which encourages hiring NPCs. It's virtually impossible to end up with an adventuring party that can cover every skill required to operate a spaceship, for example. This encourages hiring NPC crewmembers to fill in those gaps, which really helps make Traveller 'work'. A lot of the party's time is going to be spent on their spaceship, so the more people who are on there, the better from a roleplaying standpoint. Also,  

That said, it's not perfect, as…

There Are Some Real Limitations

Mechanically, the main issue that's come up with Traveller's character creation is that it's entirely possible for the party to be missing one or more vital skills, or for a character to be lacking something that would be key to making them 'work'. Traveller's basic dice mechanics harshly penalize untrained skill checks compared to attempting even slightly-trained ones, and some roles can't be easily filled in by NPC crewmembers. If your character never rolls to learn the Gun Combat skill, for example, they'll more likely than not miss every attack they make in the whole campaign. The party can overcome this by hiring marines, for example, but the player might still be bored every time a gunfight starts.

This can be mitigated by, say, letting that player control their hired NPCs in combat directly, but as the game doesn't really provide a lot of guidance for who plays hired NPCs (the DM? the player that hired them? The party as a whole, by vote?), the DM and player will have to come up with their own solution. Since they might not even realize that there is a problem that needs to be solved, this can easily lead to traps (for example, if the DM assumes full control over hired NPCs, many battles will lead to the DM just rolling checks against himself/herself over and over in front of an audience) that generate frustration.

Mechanics aside, there are some narrative implications for character creation that might strike many Players as quite weird. Most D&D Players default to making their adventurers whatever their races' equivalent of early-20s is. Sometimes there's an old wizard thrown in to spice things up, but I'd say 9-in-10 characters I've seen are 'college-aged.'  

Traveller strongly rewards old characters. Sometimes very old. Don't be surprised if the average age of the Traveller characters is the same as the summed age of all of your Players. This isn't necessarily bad—immortal, eternally-young sci-fi characters are kinda neat—but it's also pretty limiting, and may not be within the Players' expectations. If a Player wants to make a character who's a young hotshot just starting out, the rules will punish them severely. They'll have virtually no skills, no money (or debt!), no ship shares (units that track ownership of the spaceship), and no NPC connections.

Making it Work

I'm not going to change these rules until I'm more familiar with the system, but my gut says that many of the game's skills (such as Computers, Comms, and Sensors, or the two skills that govern two different, but similar, kinds of environmentally-sealed armour) could be consolidated to reduce the odds of a missing skill torpedoing a character. I also think flexibly passing back and forth control of hired NPCs between the DM and Players will solve a lot of problems, but deciding on the fly who is in control in a given scenario will probably take some experience as a DM. I’m vaguely aware that there’s a second edition of Mongoose Traveller, which may have done some of these things, but I haven’t played it and as such can’t comment on it.

I think for a satisfying experience, you have to make it clear to your Players not to try to build their characters to a pre-imagined concept, but rather come up with a concept as they play through their character's life. Also, tell them upfront that, in this particular sci-fi universe, anti-aging technology has allowed for the rich and powerful to stay eternally young, and that they can expect to have already retired from one or more full careers before the campaign even begins.

Next up, how this all ties in with random encounters.

[klenvs3000]

Camera

Preface:

Throughout this course we have discussed differences in learning, risk, privilege, preparedness, introspection, motivation, art, history, music, science, and technology among other themes. We have covered a whole lot. I have learned that nature interpretation is a hard thing to define as there are diverse ways to “interpret nature” and diverse audiences and approaches required to effectively communicate information in an engaging way. This course has expanded my personal definition of what is considered nature interpretation and the lenses that I have that affect how I see nature and how I may interpret it.

Chapter 1: Click

I am a professional camera. Through me, people can see the world, experience nature and view things that they cannot see with their own eyes. *Click* I choose on what to focus on within the image, the foreground, background, the giant tree, or the tiny ant climbing the bark. *Click* My flash can illuminate darkness and allow people to engage in subjects they cannot access by themselves. *Click* Where their eyes fail, I can show them. *Click* I can show them the night sky passing over while they sleep or go places they cannot travel to, places they will never know without me. *Click*  

“I can show [them] the world, shining shimmering, splendid” – Aladdin

Grasshopper photographed last summer where you can see the patterns and details better than with your eyes. Photo taken by me. 

Chapter 2: Lenses

But do I fully control my focus, the lighting, my settings?  The society I grew up emersed in assembled my pieces and gave me the features, abilities, and limitations I have. Just because I have limitations does not mean I cannot excel or show nature to people, but there are confines to what I am and what I can do. They are also the photographer that decides the lenses that will be placed on me. Will I be able to focus on the tiny ant if the lens in front of me is a long-range telescoping lens? Each lens attached to me covers my built-in lenses and affects and changes how I view and experience the world. The place I was assembled, and the amount of money put into buying all my pieces affects my ability to take a good picture. The number and quality of the lenses used with me affects the outcome. I am also enabled by the same society, without which I would just be metal, glass and plastic.

Every camera is different and every lens changes the camera.

Chapter 3: Shutter

If my shutter is closed when pointed at the sky will I photograph the stars? If the power button is never pushed can I still capture images? There are times where the lenses cause me to not focus and completely miss important views full of meaning and needing to be captured and shared with my audience but there are other times where the shutter is closed and I am completely blind to the scene around me. It continues also after the photo is taken, just because I am turned off or my shutter is over my lens does not mean the world stop perceiving my work. My work continues past the people I directly engage and will exist longer than I will be used. When I turn off, the world’s view of me does not.

Without context you don’t know this rhino is at the Toronto Zoo, how old it is, why it is there, what species it might be etc. Photo taken by me. 

Chapter 4: Use

My work will be viewed out of its original context and I must be careful. A picture is worth 1000 words they say, but it cannot say them all. My photos may be edited after I create them, they may be used by others and they may be used to tell a story I never intended, or they may still depict the original story but be viewed the wrong way. I cannot control how my photos are viewed but I can control what my photos show. I must choose the stories to tell and the images to capture, I must pick my moments and choose my battles because one camera cannot display the world.

The baby beaver my friends and I found in the Arboretum on campus last weekend on our picnic. It is important to keep areas like the Arboretum to preserve habitats and allow humans to interact and view nature. Photo taken by me. 

Chapter 5: Explanation

So, I hope that some of that made sense but if it didn’t, here is where I clarify some things. First, I would like to start by saying that cameras are often a tool I use to engage with and share my passion for nature. Photography is ironically, one of my lenses. Some of my lenses I can change or have chosen, other I cannot. Opening my camera bag, here are the lenses you will see: White:Female:Striaght:Christian:Short:Middle-Class:Canadian:Mississauga:Urban:Family:Vacation:Ocean:Animals:Zoo:Cat:Guelph:Arboretum:Marine&Freshwater-Biology:Ecology:Photography:Two-Year-Relationship:Student-Counsil:Figure-Skater:Gymnast:Coach:Huntsman:Bronte:Pasta:Marvel. Some are descriptors, others are passions, yet others are roles or places that had an impact on who I am. Some will be easy to understand and others are things important for me to include but less obvious unless you know me personally. From my blog, I hope the past posts have given you insight on at least a few of these things as every interpreter brings a little of themselves when displaying their passions. Chapter 3 tried to express my new awareness for how the way I have been raised, what I have been exposed to and my experiences can affect the way I interpret nature as there are some situations that I might walk right past and never notice. For instance I have lived in Canada all my life so to me snow is pretty and there are some times that I stop and appreciate it, but I much rather chat your ear off about liquid water than frozen and I will never have the same experience as someone experiencing snow for the first time. As a nature interpreter, not all of your messages will get across to your audience. I personally like sharing facts when interpreting nature, but there is a good chance my audience will not remember many if any of them. What they will take away is perhaps excitement or new interests to learn more about the topic going forward or maybe one key thing that I said.

This is me. A collection of photos taken by me or my mom. My backyard tree, church retreat center, Kouchibouguac Park, my boyfriend and I in the preservation park, me at the zoo, my spinning wheel basket and Bronte Creek, me skating, and a mushroom foray we did in first year as part of class. 

Chapter 6: Beliefs and Responsibilities

With all the lenses I carry, I now recognize that this impacts me as a nature interpreter. Being equipped with the tools, knowledge, and experience from this course, I do feel a responsibility to use these ideas and interpret nature to the people around me and take this into my future career in some way. Combining my science knowledge from my major, and my knowledge from this course can show me what important messages I can share.

Chapter 7: My blog

Overall in this blog, I haven’t always followed what I think the prompts were getting at. I know this is for a class and marks come from specific places, but sometimes I like sticking to my own photos because I love any opportunity to share them with people or because I know the photos that will help me tell the story I want to tell. Other times, there may have been ways to change a sentence to include more external ideas from the course, but sometimes I think I am able to talk better if I am reacting to what I read instead of incorporating it into my words even if that wasn’t necessarily intended. I hope you enjoyed my style in this blog as it was what felt authentic to me. I am not entirely sure if this blog will continue or not, so maybe see you in the next chapter or maybe we will have another class together in the future or some other reason to interact.

~Thanks for coming to my TED talk (I couldn’t help it).

[manifestation29-blog]

The Manifestation Machine

A Shamanic View

What you think does matter!

What you are thinking about is what you are attracting to you this very moment! What you are intending for yourself or for someone or something else around you is going to happen. And do you know why bad things more often than good things? Because we walk around this world with negative thoughts, fearful thoughts, anxious thoughts, worry, frets, cares and so that is what we are attracting to us.

Your thoughts and your words to yourself are so very powerful! Even the slightest whim that you do have an emotional feeling about is very likely going to manifest. You have the God given power to create in this life experience. You are here to create your own unique life experience. Creator gave you this gift and the free will to create whatever you want to create. You are an adult now and totally in control of what you are creating. Such power you have!

As children our parents controlled our lives as well as other authority figures. They chose what we would believe, how we would allow ourselves to be controlled by other people intentions and beliefs, how we should perceive. But now we are in control and we can choose to create anything we want with our intentions and what we choose to believe. Such freedom we have! - Yoda

The problem is that we don't accept this power in our lives as adults and we continue to let others control us is so many ways. Sure you have to follow the rules if you want to play someone else's game. There are rules at work and rules for example of how to do the dishes. There are not many different ways to do the dishes. If you want to do the dishes you follow a program of rules to accomplish that. You choose to follow the program when you choose to do the dishes. There is nothing wrong with that. So what we are doing is agreeing to follow programs to accomplish certain things. At work there is a program you are expected to follow that they have set up for you. There is nothing wrong with agreeing to do this. But it is still your choice to follow that program and do that job.

Everything that you have an emotional feeling about becomes an intention. It will manifest in your life. An intention is a thought consciously that includes an emotional feeling. The thought is the car. The emotion is the gas. Together they will take you where you intend to go. But how many of our emotion packed thoughts do we have each day? What is the main thought with emotion in your life right now? Is it fear of losing your job? Then that is what you will manifest. Is it fear of lack of money or things in your life? Then that is what will manifest in your life. Do you see the power you have here? That emotion of fear or worry or lack is very powerful gas! Know more here manifestation how to

Are you worrying about future moments, imagining all that might occur with fear or lack? Then that is what you are manifesting. Are you thinking about the past remembering times of fear or worry or lack? Then that is what you are manifesting more of now. Get out of the past and future and live in the now fully. This is your moment to create.

If you want to manifest beautiful things in your life you need to understand that positive emotions should be the gas you fill your tank with, not negative ones. How much time do you spend feeling good, happy, hopeful, excited about something you intend for yourself? No wonder that we manifest so many sorry things in our lives!

We need to dwell on the positive, not the negative. We can throw out our worries and fears and frets and dwell on good emotions and soon find that so many good things are beginning to manifest all around us. Love, peace, joy, contentment should be our driving emotions constantly. If we could just learn to have positive emotions all the time we would manifest that into our lives in so many ways and find ourselves being happy all the time because we are manifesting good things into our lives.

Don't blame the boss or the spouse or the kids for what is manifest in your life. It is an inside job and you have the power to turn things around anytime you wish.

When we choose an intention we are setting what Don Juan Matus calls the "inexplicable forces" into work to bring that into manifestation in our lives. We don't control the inexplicable forces. We simply push the button on this huge machine that chugs and churns out what we wish to manifest, in its own way. So when we choose an intention, we set into motion the wheels that will manifest that intention in whatever way the machine brings it to us. The inexplicable forces set into motion the circumstances and situations in your life to manifest that intent. It may be that people come into your life or leave your life. It may be that the conditions to move or change jobs are set into motion. If your intention is to learn patience, then situations and conditions that will teach you patience will come into your life. You may find yourself waiting, waiting, and waiting in all kinds of situations because you asked to learn patience.

The students in this course have pushed the button on the machine to learn about the powers of the Shaman and the tools of shamanism and so it is. The machine is cranking out the situations and conditions and experiences into your life to let you experience these things. Many of you have now found that you can indeed meet with your guides. Something you never intended before but now you have. You may have found that now you can access your inner senses much more easily because that is your intention now where it was never your intention before. You may find balance and peace in your lives now because you have intended to find balance in your lives, where you never intended this before. Those of you who have an emotional feeling about this course, a desire to learn this, an excitement to have this new experience in your lives are seeing these things become manifest in your lives faster and more beautifully than those students who are just reading the course but not intending to experience this for themselves.

Healing also works in the same way. Everything works in the same way. It is easy and always works. Those who have a positive emotional feeling about healing are pushing the button on that machine, setting those inexplicable forces into motion that will manifest healing in their lives. They have a positive anticipatory emotion about getting well. They are excited and really want to get well and by gosh they do get well! But those who are frightened, worried, fretting, or those who find some benefit in staying ill do not have this emotional gas in their car, this positive emotional feeling and so they are not getting well, at least not very fast because they don't' have any gas in their car. They may think they are setting an intention, pushing the button on the machine, but they don't have the emotional feeling to get well in truth so no button is being pushed.

We push the button on this machine without even realizing we are doing it. We see something we desire and we have an emotional feeling about that desire and guess what? We just pushed the button on the machine. Suddenly the forces are at work bringing the conditions, circumstances, situations into our lives to attain that desire. How they are developed is out of our control. But now our lives have changed and we have this new set of circumstances or conditions that bring that desire into our lives. Did you really desire that thing or were you just desiring something that wasn't really what you wanted, or good for you? But now here it is!

Many people have many desires. I want this and this and that and not that. Each one is pushing the button of the machine. I want is an emotional feeling. But in truth they didn't really want it, or didn't want it enough, or were not committed to having that thing but yet the machine is at work manifesting that condition situation or circumstance into their lives and soon they feel overwhelmed with situations they must experience now, situations they don't like.

When we commit to an intention we are agreeing to get that intention in whatever way the inexplicable forces bring it to us. The machine will bring just what you intend. But it will bring it in its own way according to the universal laws, according to what is around you and what energies are in this world. We spin the wheel and we get what we intend. We just don't control in what way we get it. So when you choose an intent you are agreeing to accept the manifestation of that intent in whatever way it is possible considering the conditions and energies around you at that time. You are responsible for your choices. You are agreeing to take the manifestation however it can be manifested at that time. (Hint: There is a time to push the button and a time not to push it!)

Sometimes the energies and conditions are better than others for manifesting your intent. It's much easier for the machine to manifest riches if you are in a position where riches are part of your belief system. Where having money is something you are comfortable with and can easily handle. A condition where having money is not seen by you as some kind of burden. "Oh, now I have to pay taxes on this money! Oh, now my relatives will all be knocking on my door trying to get loans from me. Oh, now the family will bug me to move to a nicer place. " You see what kinds of emotions these thoughts are producing in you? Do you think that the machine will find the conditions and energies available to produce riches in your life in an easy way? Or will these thoughts produce negative energies and possibly some limits to the manifestation of the desire for riches?

Lets take another example. Lets say you wish to manifest peace in your life. So you feel positive about having peace in your life and you push the button on the machine and then you begin to notice that nothing around you is peaceful at all. The conditions have now begun to clear away any situations in your life that are not peaceful so that you can have peace. Yes the machine points out the weeds in your own life that are restricting you from having peace. The machine cuts the grass around your spiritual home and you can see where is good grass and where there are weeds. Now all you need to do to pluck out the weeds and you can have a nice grassy lawn. That is what you asked for. That is what you intended. Peace.

So all the situations in your life that are not peaceful are clearly shoved in your face to get rid of. See what I mean by, we push the button but how that intention is manifest is not up to us? Peace could also come to you by throwing you in a hospital for two weeks. Guess what? You have peace because no one is bugging you there. Peace could also come to you because a friend suddenly walks out of your life; a friend who didn't know peace and didn't encourage peace in your life. Suddenly boom, that friend is now gone and you have what you intended. Peace.

[villainever]

Killing Eve + making worlds and workplaces for women

killing eve very frequently – and obviously quite rightly – gets discussed as a feminist screen text, but i feel like we often talk about the individual characters, how fantastic they clearly are, and how flawed/developed/multifacted/interesting they’ve grown to be. but another thing killing eve does phenomenally well is subvert power structures and institutions, and populate them with women in a way we rarely see. for example, in season 1, eve’s MI5 office is unusually gender-balanced for television (it’s her, elena, bill and frank), and when carolyn is introduced, she’s immediately painted as almost an urban legend – elena raves about how incredible she is and how much she’d love to work with her, and we’re positioned to view her with intrigue and awe. this “mysterious, unreadable, probably damaged but definitely utterly competent and slightly amoral” character would typically go to a man – probably a slightly misogynistic one who’d gradually form a “grudging respect” for the women on his new team, as the women act as a device to coax him into the New Modern World and soothe his trauma. but carolyn gives this archetype an internal makeover and new vitality, and neatly sidesteps stereotyping: she’s not a “bitchy boss”; she never yells, or insults; she’s at times eerily calm, and methodically works her way through problems. this is especially poignant when we think of male characters who rail against female leaders for being “too emotional”, and proceed to spend half the movie throwing tamper-tantrums. at the same time, though, she doesn’t feel emotionless to prove a point, or simply to be the stoic; we get a very real sense of her pragmatism and cold war-conditioning, and the interlocking mechanisms of her many layers. carolyn’s character (both her writing and shaw’s acting) are totally genius, but the main point im trying to raise here is that the parts of Mentor and Career Aspiration are inhabited by a woman, and 60yo woman going full-speed at that – not someone who’s barely 39 but treated as basically a retiree.

next, we’ve got carolyn’s boss, played by zoe wanamaker in 2x04. yes, she’s not in the show for long – although she may make a reappearance? not sure – but her value is more symbolic than anything. in her scene, we get the impression of her power (she gets to make carolyn wait :o), and while she’s also a severe older woman, she’s very much distinct from carolyn in personality, which is pretty unique; often, writers will prescribe bulk-identities to all their minor characters who fall into certain groups, out of a mix of laziness and ignorance. anyway, wanamaker’s helen is shown eating (another rant-worthy point is how the frequency and ease with which killing eve’s women are portrayed as actually eating food is tragically radical), and she lashes out at carolyn before soothing herself easily once again – she’s capricious and less reserved and measured than carolyn, but equally potent. we also get a strong vibe of a long and complex working relationship between these two, effortlessly implied by the writing and performance and even if we never double-back to it, it colours how we view carolyn and the system that i’ll (eventually) get around to making my argument about.

lastly, there’s julie, who plays the medical examiner in 2x01, and conducts the exhumation autopsy on allistair peel. she comes across as professional, capable, no-nonsense, but also warm and gallows-funny, hugging carolyn and sympathetic to eve’s slightly strange reaction to the corpse. like helen, she’s not in the show long, but it’s more her relevance as a symbol i want to discuss.

so what am i getting to by going on about carolyn and these relatively minor characters? well, i want to talk about how killing eve establishes for itself something of an ‘old girls’ club’. an ‘old boys’ club’ is the network of connections that form between (generally upperclass) men who went to the same schools or worked in the same companies, who get each other opportunities in a pay-it-forward kind of way throughout life; it’s one of the many ways that sites of privilege are maintained as sites of privilege. but with these older female characters, who all know and support each other, give each other second chances or off-the-books help, killing eve constructs its own version. through these interactions, we have the sense that carolyn is a part of a group of women across the government who ensure certain things happen at certain times for certain people.

even outside this senior boss ladies network, we have elena, eve and jess,  who support and challenge and contradict each other – all successful women with different skillsets, trajectories, relationships, etc., and none of whom are white. not only does this show pass the bechdel test in under three minutes, but that conversation is between two women of colour. one of the many things i love about killing eve is that while it acknowledges (and even leverages) the disadvantages that marginalised groups face – e.g. villanelle is able to exploit conforming to the western ideals of femininity to lure men into a false sense of security; the ghost is able to pass through places unnoticed, etc. – it never makes that the core of the narrative. it isn’t focused on reinforcing these systemic barriers over and over, which is something a lot of shows do when they’re trying to be progressive, and all they end up doing is reminding us of the setbacks we face and how it’ll be a long, arduous struggle to improve things. instead, killing eve gives a nod to this sexist, racist, homophobic reality, but sidelines it, the way minorities are so often sidelined. rather than make all eve’s bosses and colleagues men “for the realism”, it throws a few male characters in there and then focuses on the women (look how much screentime kenny and hugo get compared to jess, another first-tier secondary character). it reimagines the chain of command as belonging to women, it takes power and allocates it how it sees fit. i adore this, because if someone said to the writers, “umm… i feel like there should be more men in charge… that’s just how it is…”, their response would probably be, “so what?” it wants to spend time with complex women in complex situations, so it just puts them there; there’s no spinning of the wheels to justify how so many women got to these high-ranking jobs in an institution designed to keep them in the lobby. it certainly never pretends women don’t have to cater to men and their sensibilities (take carolyn comforting frank in season 1), but it doesn’t get caught in ‘liberal’-dude-writer “look at these (skinny/pretty/fantasy-fulfillment) women push through the system and affect change from behind the scenes by showing their cleavage to *trick* men into doing what they want ;) girlpower, ladies”. it lets women BE the scene, unapologetically, without feeling pressed to explain or defend or negotiate by stuffing an equal number of male characters in. we get konstantin and aaron peel and various ambassadors or clerks who are men, but these are all characters on the outside looking in. killing eve isn’t arranging women as spaced out and in competition with each other; aside from villanelle, they’re all on the same side (and villanelle’s temporarily teamed up with them anyway), and they work together, while still being allowed internal tensions and clear relationships. i originally just intended to talk about how killing eve built us an old girls’ club, but i had More Thoughts, so that’s why this essay doesn’t stay totally on-thesis from here on, even though it is all about women and their positions in the narrative/workplace. another note – these women, for the most part, aren’t there to be love interests. we obviously have eve/villanelle, but they both have their own fully-developed characters, plus, their love interests are each other, not men. we have carolyn, but her affairs don’t control her storyline; they flit in and out, and are of far more signifiance to the men than to her – she’s an older woman who controls her sexuality, but doesn’t have any interest in letting it overtake her work (and we don’t have that ridiculous “uptight bitch learns to put relationship with basic bro above her lifelong career dream”). we have gemma, but while her narrative function is to give niko a final straw to leave, and to push eve further, she has agency in her arc; SHE is the one who pursues niko, and she does this in a respectable and understandable way. she’s not the “sexy temptress” who “lures” him away, and nor is she an “innocent” that he actively chases. 

also, NONE of the women have their qualifications questioned. there is no “is carolyn experienced enough to have so much free reign?”, no “how did eve get to MI5?”. the way we’re always told to with male characters, the show expects us to accept that they’re fit for their roles. this is highlighted when eve kind of stumbles into being an authority on female assassins. she doesn’t have a phd in psych or anything, but she clearly has an affinity in her area, and she VERY quickly learns to own that. the first time carolyn calls her their resident expert, eve is a bit surprised, but then she’s just like, “huh, guess i am”, and runs with that confidence. these women are all tough, but they don’t have to dig out their own spaces. theyve got them, and the audience isn’t gently directed into wondering whether they actually should. we KNOW they should. unsurprisingly, considering much of killing eve is written/overseen by women, but this isn’t done for Woke Points. there’s no constant self-conscious grandstanding about how many women are in the series. the actors and writers talk about it in press, because theyre EXCITED, theyre THRILLED to finally have this, but that comes from a genuine place of joy to be involved in such a project, rather than a hapless grab for viewers. the female characters aren’t half-baked stocking-stuffers to net the 18-35W. theyre Actual Characters. bottom line is, isn’t it so nice? isn’t it so lovely to be watching something, and have women be in the foreground AND the background? to not have to smurfette effect, the “one of the main characters is a girl, can’t you just shut up now? smh so greedy”? to have minor female characters not as sexy set-dressing or rivals or “ew she’s ugly here’s what we don’t want our protagonist to be hahah amirite lads”? we get to see ourselves over and over, in so many different iterations. killing eve’s women aren’t just “empowered”, they HAVE POWER. they are in positions where they can use that power for good or bad or both, but they have sway and influence and we don’t have to watch a 22yo ingenue assimilate to a 98% male workplace. female characters in killing eve are REAL and PRESENT and we have an entire textured world that isn’t just modern, it’s extra-modern. we have our cake and eat it too: there are women throughout the workplace hierarchy but we still get a critique of how men manipulate the game, and both are managed expertly to ensure we get the social commentary AND get to enjoy the experience of watching women be intelligent and morally grey and sophisticated and manipulative and and AND. in conclusion, i will no longer be accepting applications from media that doesn’t have women in their cast because it “isnt realistic”. killing eve is tearing it up out there, and it’s almost overwhelmingly relieving to get to experience media like this.

*btw, im not trying to imply there are no women actually working at MI5. im sure there are many, but this is more a commentary on media interpretations (james bond, etc.), and the male dominated government landscape in general. 

[ratchedspeach]

can you write some Fallon/Kirby angst?

tOh … you know it.

Branch By Branch - A drunken exchange

“The girl in that book is selfish, callous. I mean she’s definitely a narcissist.”

They used to hold competitions between the two of them - races based on stamina and strength. When she was twelve, she had challenged Fallon to a tree-climbing competition, which the other girl accepted jovially before racing off to a cluster of oak trees at the far side of Carrington Manor. Kirby had bolted after her, using her full extension to scale past her in record time.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Fallon had called, “You’re just taller than me!”

“I gave you a head start!” Kirby had responded, not bothering to look back at the girl.

She reached the top in record time, perching precariously on a branch and looking out over the outstretch of land that encompassed the larger than life property the Carrington’s called home. Kirby looked down, expecting to see her friend mere inches behind her. Her heart plummeted when she wasn’t there, and not only that, there was a low, murmured groan coming from somewhere at the base of the tree. Fallon lay in a mess of curls and mangled adolescent limbs, her left leg positioned in an unnatural angle. Between wisps of hair, Kirby thought she could see the contortion of pain taking over the girl’s face. Even at such a tender age, Fallon didn’t scare easy, and she showed discomfort even less. It was a sign of weakness, and in a family full of sharks, that was unacceptable.

“I’m sorry. I think I need to be on my own for a while.” 

“Okay.”

Kirby hadn’t intended on eavesdropping, but found she didn’t have a choice as she rounded the corner on the two’s conversation as Liam started gearing to walk away. She was trembling - she could tell even from her skewed vantage point. It reminded her of that June afternoon where she had broken her leg - not because she had any bodily harm done to her, but because she couldn’t think of another time she had seen the woman so earth shatteringly miserable. 

Fallon whipped around as though she knew she could sense Kirby - her eyes narrowing on the redhead. Kirby felt the color in her cheeks rise, and she cursed internally before offering up a sheepish “Hi.”

The brunette rolled her blue eyes, blinking heavily as the glint of tears threatened to fall.

“Just say it, Kirby.” She rasped, crossing her arms over the front of her white sequined gown.

Kirby’s brow furrowed. “S-say what?”

“That I deserve this.” Fallon whispered, her lower lip trembling dangerously. “That this is all my fault, that after everything … after everything this is the very least of what I have coming to me, and that —“

Kirby thought she would regret hugging her, or more specifically that Fallon would make her regret it, but she didn’t care. It was too much to hear the usual self-assured businesswoman self-deprecate. Fallon tensed for a moment when Kirby closed the gap between them. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been hugged, and it felt unnatural, and warm, and …

She didn’t stop the tears that spilled over her lash line, allowing herself the momentary release as she buried her face in the nape of the other girl’s neck, because … it’s just Kirby, it’s not like its Cristal or Daddy or… Now it was Kirby’s turn to feel uncertain, because this was … this is all wrong. This isn’t the Fallon she’d come to know — the balls to the wall, eat or be eaten woman who didn’t take anyone’s shit, let alone get hung up over a man. Then again, Kirby countered, she was starting to think she didn’t know Fallon as well as she had initially thought.

She had been rushed to the hospital — or more specifically, it had been rushed to her — a private doctor being personally chauffeured to the manor the second Kirby had stumbled in carrying Fallon in her arms. She never cried, hardly bat an eyelash. She just grit her teeth, and answered the slew of “are you okays” with nods and “yes” and “its fine”.

They put her in a cast, and on far too many pain meds for a twelve year old. She was, for all intents and purposes, alright. A broken leg, a mild concussion, and a couple of bruised ribs, but nothing life threatening. Kirby thought she must be the luckiest girl in the world, because at a whopping ninety-three pounds (she had always been on the slighter side thanks to Alexis’s influence), the twenty-foot fall should have killed her, or at the very least maimed her a lot worse. But she was … okay. A little bruised, pretty scraped up, but coherent. Kirby would sit with her over the course of the next week, sleeping at the foot of her bed like a puppy until Fallon finally rolled her eyes and invited her under the covers of the massive king size bed.

Fallon’s bed felt the exact same today as it did back then — overly plush, insanely comfortable. It smelled like her lilac and primrose shampoo, and smoke from the fireplace that she lit when she was feeling especially down. Fallon offered her a glass of scotch, which Kirby graciously accepted. At nearly $2,000 a bottle, she was shocked as she watched the other woman down her glass in a single gulp. Kirby rolled her eyes when she remembered that a couple thousand dollars was effectively pocket change for the heiress.

“So what’s up?” Kirby inquired, swirling the potent liquid around in its crystal glass, watching it slosh up the side without ever going over.

Fallon grit her teeth before downing a second glass and slamming her own glass on the mahogany bedside table. She sat stiffly in the lush bed, wringing her hands, and averting the redhead’s gaze.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh come on, Fallon.” The girl drawled, her accent making the words hang like honey in the air. “I still have mascara on my shoulder.”

Fallon bit the inside of her cheek, but didn’t respond. She fucking hated this.

“Look,” She admonished, “I had a … moment … but it’s fine now. I’m fine. Everything is —“ 

“Let me guess, fine?” Kirby mused, stifling the smile that threatened the corners of her lips.

Fallon shot her a glare that she meant to be intimidating but looked more anguished than anything.

“It’s a blip.” She assured, mustering as much fervency in her voice as she could. “I’ve got bigger things to worry about. Like closing the deal on that new author you found us. Any news?”

Kirby sighed heavily, shifting in the bed so she was facing her. “Fallon …”

The brunette sighed, tucking a few pieces of hair behind her ear, but never meeting Kirby’s gaze.

“You know, I forgot how fucking persistent you could be?” It was meant to be an insult, but it came with the weight of their entire history, so it hit more like a remembrance.

Kirby smirked, her eyes glinting. “Funny,” she mused, “I never forgot what a had-ass you could be.”

It earned her a light smack on the forearm, which only forced her smirk into a smile. Fallon looked at her like she was was reading someone else’s bedtime story. Something dark and brooding flashed through her saturated blue eyes, but it was gone before Kirby could fully identify what it was, but then it didn’t matter, because —

“What if he’s right?”

It caught Kirby off guard. Usually when Fallon asked a question, it wasn’t for the sake of an answer, it was for some form of personal gain. Not this time. It was heavy, and dare Kirby say … yearning? And Kirby wasn’t sure how to respond, so she didn’t. Her mouth pursed, then gaped, then went slack altogether.

“Oh come on, Fallon.” She placated, wheels spinning.

She saw right through her, of course, snatching her still unfinished glass of scotch and practically inhaling it. She could feel her brain starting to lighten, her throat burning as the golden liquid hit her stomach and warmed it. Fallon wasn’t certain of much at the moment, but there was one thing she knew without question:

She was getting hammered tonight.

“No, I’m serious.” She choked as her words mingled with the last of the scotch. “I’ve spent my entire life looking out for myself, and he … I mean what if he’s right? What if I’m still the same selfish kid that I’ve always been?”

Kirby didn’t respond, just let the other woman’s gears turn. She learned long ago that there was no talking sense into Fallon. Not unless it came from herself.

“I loved him. I mean I … I really loved him. I thought I could spend my life with him.” She chuckled humorlessly, lying back on the silk-adorned pillow, her hair billowing out around the frame of her face. “I’m just like her.”

That caught Kirby’s attention.

“Who?”

Fallon’s eyes stayed fixed on a spot on the ceiling. She didn’t respond right way, just let the question hang in the air like a noose.

“Alexis.”

“Fallon.”

“I’m serious!” She persisted, pushing herself up on her shoulders, her eyes holding an uncomfortable amount of earnestness. “Think about it, Kirb.”

She hadn’t heard her use the nickname since they were children — since before she’d fallen from the tree, and then gotten her kicked out of the manor, and then …

“I’m just as insane as she is. I always have been, really. I just … I don’t know.” Her breath hitched in her throat. “I thought maybe he saw through that.”

Kirby’s brow furrowed. “He could.” She replied gently. “He wanted to marry you, Fallon.”

“That was before.” She snapped, and there was the Fallon that Kirby had come to know and hate.

She rolled her eyes, swinging her legs over the side of the other woman’s bed. This was getting tedious.

“Wait … where are you going?”

Kirby shot her a glare, her eyes narrowing critically on the other woman.

“Somewhere else.” Her tone was surprisingly casual for the poison that polluted her stare. “We’re going in circles.”

If Kirby thought she was a nightmare when she was able-bodied, she had another thing coming. Fallon was unbearable injured — an entitled, self-serving, bratty little princess. After three days of being at her beck and call, Kirby would even avoid the hallway that the pre-teen’s room sat on for fear of being spotted and called upon. Part of her felt guilty, because she knew it was her suggestion that they climb that tree in the first place, but … this is too much. Her father would notice the distance and ask what was wrong. Kirby would make up an excuse about having too much homework, and promise to visit Fallon later.

“Wait, I’m sorry.” Oh. Oh. Well this is new. “Just … please … don’t leave. Not yet.”

Fallon practically lept out of bed, snatching up the carafe of scotch and swinging it temptingly with a light smile. Kirby sighed, shaking her head, but complied. She grabbed the two classes and held them out as Fallon poured more of the liquid courage into either glass. The glasses clinked as the made contact, and this time, Kirby followed Fallon’s lead as she downed her fourth glass within the last twenty minutes. Kirby shuddered as the alcohol hit her tongue, swallowing hard. This was definitely not a drink meant for shots — nor was Fallon pouring singles - more like triples. Fallon smiled deviously, her eyes closing as she reveled in the wooziness of her buzz. 

“You’re insane.” Kirby giggled, watching her friend pour yet another glass.

“I am not. I’m sad.” Fallon smirked, and if Kirby didn’t know better, she would have thought it was flirting. “Feel badly for me.”

“Oh please.”

She kept pouring shots until they could both hardly remember their own names, let along what Fallon was upset about in the first place. Kirby swayed slightly, clutching her empty crystal glass to her chest, and tracing its pattern with her index finger. She didn’t remember Fallon turning on music, but it was there now — the soft tinkering of a jazz saxophone serving as the perfect backtrack for the melodrama that the two of them found themselves living in.

“Who the fuck forgets their own fiancee?” Kirby slurred, giggling slightly.

Fallon shrugged, grasping the almost empty decanter as she considered another shot. She didn’t respond — her eyes trained on the liquid inside. It was golden brown, deep but see-through. Through it she could see Kirby, still swaying and smiling lightly at the state of her own drunken stupor. It was Fallon’s turn to giggle, but it got caught in her throat, and came out more as a cackle — short and dishonest.

She dropped the carafe on the table, then took Kirby’s glass from her and placed it there too. Kirby watched her as carefully as she could through the blaze of intoxication that was cornering her vision. Fallon took her hands in her own, and spun her around to the music. Her hands came around the redhead’s waist, and Kirby placed her own around her shoulders. This felt … wrong, but then again … Kirby allowed the music to inform her as the two swayed lethargically to the melody. Fallon brought her forehead against her’s, her eyes closing and squinting like it hurt to keep them open anymore.

“Fallon…?”

“Shhhh…” She murmured softly. “Just …”

Her thought trailed off, her eyes snapped open, and then the warmth of her skin left Kirby’s. Fallon looked at the other woman. She looked at her like she was apologizing. Kirby hated it.

“I … I have t’find Liam.” She slurred, using the wall to steady her gate as she stumbled to the door.

Kirby stayed where she was, yearning for the glow that Fallon’s contact had afforded her.

There was a moment of levity as Fallon climbed that tree - it was unbecoming of a lady, utterly dirty, and completely the opposite of what was expected of her. Fallon’s heart fluttered. She was almost there, so close to the top of the relatively young oak tree. She hadn’t intended of coming in second - hadn’t intended on Kirby being able to come anywhere close to her, let alone having her win their silly little competition. When her foot caught a thin branch and snapped beneath her, it felt like flying - the rush of air and gravity made her feel limitless.

She had chased that feeling ever since.

[violet-knox]

Spectrumsempra

Year 5 - Chapter 22

Summary: On your way to the library to study with Severus, you run into some trouble with a few student’s who decide to have a bit of fun tormenting you. 

Word count: 2368

Warnings: Blood, near death experience

Previous Chapter - Chapter 1

~

Caroline had held you back after practice again, wanting to talk strategy with you as you had won your last game against Ravenclaw, but were still so behind. Hufflepuff had crushed Slytherin, leaving them well ahead in the race to the Quidditch cup and although you were glad that Caroline had such faith in you to ask for your advice, you couldn’t help but wish she would ease off a little. Quidditch was now taking up the majority of your time and Caroline’s obsession with making a comeback was getting out of hand. 

Your O.W.Ls were only a few months away now and you had fallen so far behind in your studies, you’d begun to feel immensely worried about how you can possibly get a high enough score in all your subjects to continue studying them next year.  

After leaving Caroline, you began to make your way to meet Severus at the library. Though you knew he’d been doing most of his studying during your Quidditch practices, you’d still begged him to help you catch up. His notes had always provided you with such pristine knowledge, they were more useful than any textbook in the library, so you figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask the master of insight to study with you. He, surprisingly, had accepted your request without resistance and told you to plan out a schedule to follow so you’d tackle a subject after practice each day.

Deciding to take a short cut, you snuck into a deserted hallway knowing that there was a door at the end that lead you near the entrance of the library. As you turned into the corridor, you heard a rough banging sound coming from the door to your left. At first you thought it was Peeves, which in that case, you’d have run down the corridor as the poltergeist had always opted to mess with any living creature over inanimate objects. But as you heard giggling muffled through the cracks of the thick wooden door, you paused, wondering if you should enter to see what was going on. 

You didn’t have to think very long as the door swung open and you suddenly found yourself surrounded by none other than Avery, Mulciber and Burlow. 

“Look. What we have. Here,” Avery pressed on every other word, boasting the menacing expression he wore as he walked around you.

You froze in place, heart pumping feverishly against your chest as you felt a rise of panic rumble through your body. Trying to keep an eye on all three Slytherin’s you frantically searched their faces, finding nothing but mischief and clear need to cause harm. You weren’t blind, nor were you ignorant. You knew what was on their mind and it only caused you to feel all the more threatened as you noticed your breaths becoming increasingly short and swift. Doing the first thing that came to mind, you pulled out your wand, intending to hex them and run as quickly as you could. 

“Expelliarmus!” shouted Burlow and your wand flew out of your hand and into hers. She smirked as she watched the startled look on your face turn to fear. 

“Isn’t this the chaser that humiliated you last year in the library, Liza” Mulciber spoke to Burlow as if he was talking about a mere pest on the ground. I have a name, you thought.  

“Yeah it is,” she looked at you with a twisted look in her eye. “What do you say about some pay back,” she pointed her wand to your throat as she stepped towards you. 

“Please,” you whispered before taking a step back, keeping your eyes on her wand. Last year, you’d had the upper hand. Last year, you were the one to sneak up on her, you had the control, you had your wand. This time was different. The roles were reversed, and you were the helpless one, wandless, at her mercy.  

“HA! Please,” Burlow mimicked your tone as she slowly made her way towards you, her smile stretching from one ear to the other. The fact that she seemed too pleased at this situation was all the more nerve racking. What did she have planned for you? What was on her mind? How were you to defend yourself?

“Hey, this is a great opportunity to try that spell Snape came up with,” Avery’s words had caused Burlow to stop in her tracks and you felt your heart skip a beat at the mention of Severus’ name. What spell? You watched the wheels in Burlow’s head spin, her smirk growing wider. Surely Severus would have shared any spell he’d created with you, but none of the ones he’d told you about popped out as threatening. Langlock perhaps? Or… Levicorpus?

“SPECTRUMSEMPRA!” shouted Burlow and the next thing you felt terrified you beyond belief as a deep gash appeared on your left arm. Clutching your wound, you fell to the floor in agony, moaning in pain. The three Slytherins began laughing and you couldn’t believe what had just happened. This wasn’t real. It can’t be.

“Let me try!” spoke Mulciber before he too took out his wand and cast the same spell, causing another deep cut to appear on your cheek. No, how could Severus invent such a spell. This wasn’t real! This can’t be happening!

“Aim for the limbs,” said Burlow, “That way, she won’t be able to play in next week’s game.”

“Brilliant,” said Avery before he pointed his wand at you. Tears were now streaming down your face and another cut dug deep into your right thigh.

“Please,” you begged, “Stop.” You gasped for air, trying to focus on light down the corridor, anything but the pain.

“No I don’t think so (Y/L/N),” said Burlow, “See, not only did you manage to steal the house cup from us last year, but you embarrassed me in front of my friends when I went to confront Snape in the library. Bit poetic don’t you think? Using his own spell against the girl who so desperately wanted to defend him.” The tone she used one the word ‘desperately’ alarmed you. Did she think you were some lost puppy seeking for Severus’ attention?

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, frantically trying to get away from your attackers. “Please.”

“Spectrumsempra!” yelled Burlow once more. 

“Expelliarmus!” you winced as a new cut appeared across your right arm, but even through the tears, you could see the blur you only assumed was Burlow’s wand, accompanied by your own, fly into your savior's hand. The figure stepped forward and all you could see were the cloaks of the person bellowing behind them as they rushed forward. Their face came into focus as you blinked, causing thick tears to stream down your face and you realized it was none other than Severus Snape himself who’d heard the commotion and ran to your rescue. 

“Snape!” shouted Avery.

“Leave!” he exclaimed, “Get out of here now!”

Burlow stepped forward with the intention of retrieving her wand, but Severus stopped her, telling her she’d get it back when he saw her in the common room later that night. 

You looked down and examined your fresh wound as they all hurried away, disappearing down the hidden hallway. 

“(Y/N), are you okay?” Severus had turned to you, kneeling beside you as he gazed at your injuries, unable to venture how his own spell had caused you this much harm. A pool of blood surrounded you almost entirely, and your wounds continued adding to the thick red liquid on the floor.

“No!” you shouted at him, waving his hand away from you as tears continued to fall down your face. You felt appealed, you couldn’t even stand the sight of him, not after what you’d just learned. “They said you came up with this spell Severus! Is that true?” your voice cracked between words as you sobbed, more so from the betrayal you felt than the physical pain. You thought you knew him, you thought you were close enough to know if he’d so something so reckless as to not only perform but to actually dabble so far into the Dark Arts that he’d come up with such a horrendous spell. Clearly, you were wrong.

“I-(Y/N), I never intended for it be used like this. On you,” he desperately tried to explain himself as he saw the hurt in your eyes. He couldn’t lose another friend like this. Not after drifting so far from Lily.

“This is Dark Magic Severus! How could you!”

Severus wasn’t sure any explanation would ease your mind right now. The amount of pain you must be in, he could only imagine what it felt like. And it was all due to a spell he’d created. A spell he’d dared to share with the people he thought were his friends. There was no denying it. This was his fault, and he knew that.

As you closed your eyes, you realized just how much blood you’d lost as you began to feel faint. “I-I think you need to take me to Madam Pomfrey,” you said quietly.

“I don’t know how much she will be able to help,” Severus pointed his wand and began chanting a charm you didn’t recognize. “Ah! I still haven’t perfected the counter charm yet,” he said in frustration. 

“Let me get this straight,” you said calmly as your head fell back against the wall in absolute defeat, “You went around, sharing a spell using Dark Magic, to harm people, that you created, and you haven’t finished its counter charm?”

“I’m close! I know I am,” you could hear the panic in his voice as he concentrated on your open wounds. “See, look!”

Peering down, you watched as the gash on your right arm decreasing in size, but not fully closing. Severus had managed to get the bleeding to stop, but it was clear that if these open wounds didn’t heal quickly, you would eventually bleed to death. 

“Okay,” you said shaking your head as you decided to put off this conversation for later. “How did you come up with the spell that did this?”

Severus went on to tell you his process and what he has tried to counter it. You began brainstorming with him, trying different approaches until eventually, your wounds began to heal completely. 

“Vulnera Sanentur,” mumbled Severus, over and over again as he waved his wand over you. Once you were completely healed, he helped you off your feet before you suddenly punched him in the arm. 

“DARK MAGIC SEVERUS?! REALLY?!” you shouted, as you shoved him backwards. Clearly the counter charm had worked well, your energy boosting through the roof. “I THOUGHT YOU WERE BETTER THAN THEM, I THOUGHT YOU WERE DIFFERENT!”

“I-I am, I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said, lowering his gaze to the ground as he rubbed the spot you’d hit. “I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

“And what did you mean to happen exactly? Why would you create a spell like this?”

“I just…” Severus looked away, he knew you wouldn’t approve, neither would Lily and he was afraid that if he told either of you his intentions behind this spell, you’d never want to speak to him again. But he knew he couldn’t hide it anymore. Least of all to you. He owed you an explanation after what you’d just endured. “I just thought I could use it against... certain people,” he pointed his wand to the pool of blood and performed the vanishing charm, using it as an excuse to keep from looking back into your eyes, knowing he’d find nothing but dread and disappointment.

“Who? Who has wronged you so much to earn themselves such a punishment?” you asked. But when he looked back into your eyes and began to shift uncomfortable, you understood immediately. “James,” you said as you nodded your head. 

“He deserves it! He-”

“No one deserves this!” you interrupted him as you felt your rage reach its limit. “Dark Magic is not the answer to his bullying Sev!” His eyes immediately shot to yours at the use of his nickname. “Dark Magic should never be the answer to anything! How could you do this!” tears had returned to your eyes as you began to take a step back. 

“No, (Y/N) please,” he said desperately, “Please don’t leave.”

“How do you expect me to continue being your friend if you’re going to be dabbling in the Dark Arts like this? Being interested in it is one thing, but actually using it?”

“I won’t,” he said quickly. ‘I’ll never use it again if that’s what you want.”

You paused, staring at him in awe. “If that’s what I want? Severus, you can’t be giving up Dark Magic for me, you have to do it of your own accord.”

“Please (Y/N), I-I don’t want to lose you,” you could see the hurt in his eyes as you took another step away from him. You both stared at each other for a while before he spoke again. “I’ll give up the Dark Arts. I won’t even study it,” he whispered.

You looked up at him, wondering if he was genuine about what he was saying or if he was only saying that because he was afraid of losing you as a friend. “Do you promise?”

You also didn’t want his interests to drive a wedge between you both as you understood that he had a good heart but was so easily influenced by the people he was surrounded by. You’d put up with his deep infatuation with the Dark Arts, and you’d always told yourself it was fine so long as he’d stayed in the theoretical section of the subject. But learning that he was willing to use it, against others nonetheless. It was definitely a hard pill to swallow.

“I promise, no more Dark Magic. I swear it.” he said as he handed you back your wand. Perhaps if you stayed friends, you could show him that Dark Magic wasn’t a clutch he needn’t lean on.

“Good,” you whispered as you took it, stuffing it back into your robes. Perhaps he’d learn to use love as a tool instead.

~

Next Chapter

~

@hoppingsnape @dusk-realm @a-slytherin-sin​ @trashandshook ​@gbatesx 

[formeandmyfics]

AT THE CHATEAU MARMONT

JUGENEA FAN FICTION

Snippet Collaboration by @formeandmyfics & @ohmygarlands

1946

GENE KELLY’S PERSPECTIVE

By: Formeandmyfics

          It was a muggy evening in Hollywood at the end of summer. As I sat in my Cadillac at a red light on a corner on Sunset, I stared up at the ‘castle on the hill’, or the Chateau Marmont. The white palace widows lit up the dark sky, twinkling, like a thousand fireflies beckoning me to join them. I could already hear the happy chatter and beautiful music from inside.

Before yesterday, I had never been to the Chateau. I never had a reason to. When I first came to Hollywood, during the war, the hotel was being used a shelter for residents near by. But times before and after the war, I had heard of its reputation. Its elegance and expense was just a mask to the things that went on in there. From the rumors I had heard, the hotel was a popular, and very respectful and inconspicuous, celebrity and mogul hideaway for private parties, orgies, unadulterated sex and drugs. Salacious didn’t even seem to be the right word to convey its promiscuity.

The day before, I had been invited to the hotel’s restaurant to have brunch with Howard Hughes and his group. It was daytime, the hotel didn’t seem crowded. It was airy, with lots of light, obviously old-fashioned with a French décor. We had a good time chatting over sandwiches and Bloody Mary’s in the restaurant. I did remember thinking how different the hotel must be at night, how much more alive it must become. What I didn’t realize was that I was about to partake in the hotel’s reputation and it didn’t matter that it was daytime.

After lunch, I head to the bar to get one more drink when one, unmistakable, unique laugh stopped me in my tracks.

Judy.

Nearly 3 years. It had been nearly 3 years since we called it quits on our love affair. I went into the Navy and although still unhappy in my marriage, I wanted to focus on my infant daughter. The decision to break it off wasn’t mutual. She was getting divorced; she wanted to be with me in a real relationship. I just couldn’t give her what she wanted. As much as we felt like soul mates, I wasn’t ready. When I was gone, she ended up having quite a bit of fun with a few well known men trying to forget about me I had heard.

When I came back, we had seen each other occasionally at the studio and at restaurants but hadn’t spoken to one another. She had married Vincente and seemed genuinely happy. As her best friend, I was genuinely happy for her. Then she became a mother. Our ship had sailed. I had read she was only doing radio shows and other than that, had been staying home. Part of her always told me she wanted that happy home life and to settle down as a wife and mother but Judy was too vibrant, too energetic, too social, too much of a star to be satisfied with just that family routine. Judy and I shared many mutual friends. I had heard from the grapevine, that Judy was getting bored at home and with Vince. There was no excitement anymore, she had told Kay. And as much as she loved being with her now 5 month old baby girl, she missed it all. I knew it wouldn’t be long before she started partying again.

Last time we had been together, Judy still looked like a girl. She certainly didn’t act nor have the body of one. But she was my girl.  Seeing her in that bar, she had changed. She was all woman.  Thinner than the last time I saw her, she was still drop dead gorgeous.  Everything about her was alluring: her summer cocktail dress, her spiked heels, her hair, her eyes, her lips and her smile. She stood there, surrounded by three men I didn’t recognize, and she was laughing. She was laughing when she saw me. I could tell it was a forced laugh and it amused me. I knew her body language. She clearly was acting. She was trying to have a good time and put on a show for these men who were giving her attention. I must have looked smug, as I placed my hands in my pockets and bit my bottom lip trying not to smile.

Her smile faltered as we stared, and she looked taken back. We both knew this was the last place we ever expected to see each other. And just like that, her expression changed. Her eyebrow rose as her lips curved into a seductive smile. I had seen that look many times in the past. I knew what it meant. And I quickly found myself walking away.

I remember thinking how odd it was that the pool deck on the roof was deserted on that hot August afternoon. Only an elderly couple played cards under one of the tents on the far side of the pool. I was taking in the view over Hollywood, when I felt her. I felt her before I saw her. Most people did. She just had that type of energy. When she slid up next to me, I smiled. I had gone up there to escape her; yet, inevitably I knew she’d find me. She always did.

“So, what are their names?” I asked.

“Larry, Mo, and Curly.”

“What are you doing here?” I knew it came out a little more forceful than I intended but this place was not where Judy Garland should be, not with those type of people around, even in the afternoon.

“Came for some fun,” she bluntly stated putting her hand on her hip. Clearly she didn’t appreciate my tone, “And you?”

“Had lunch with Hughes.”

“That all?” I knew she was well aware of this place as I was. “That was enough,” I said honestly.

She laughed, this time a real one and this time I smiled fully. Just one comment and a shared laugh and we both felt that connection again like nothing had changed. She placed her arms around my arm and leaned her head on my shoulder holding me tight. It was comforting.

“I missed you.”

I had to clench my jaw from the emotions that suddenly churned in my stomach and heart.

“Don’t you miss me?”

“Of course I do.”

That was it. Her big, chocolate eyes turned dark as we once again stared at each other.

“Will you come with me?”

“Where?” I was suddenly anxious and aroused at the same time.

“Just follow me.”

I stood motionless as she grabbed my favorite fedora from my head and plopped it on hers as she walked away from me. She must’ve realized I wasn’t following because she turned around. Tilting it to the side, she smiled and motioned for me to come with her as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Let’s go,” she demanded in a playful whine.

Judging by her playfulness, I felt relaxed again and smiled as I pushed myself off the railing. She took me to a different bar in the hotel and we sat on an outdoor patio by some potted palms. I don’t know why she didn’t just tell me that’s where she wanted to go but I suspect it was because she didn’t want me to say ‘no’. We shared cocktails, laughed and reminisced. It felt like old times when we’d be cooped up inside one another’s trailer.

At one point, she took out two very small packets of some glittery white powder from her handbag and poured each into our drinks before I could even stop her. I thought at first it was some type of hard drug which was odd because she was totally against recreational drugs. She hadn’t even like marijuana when she had first smoked it. I was upset and shocked that she was trying to ‘drug’ me right in front of my eyes. She was beside herself trying not to laugh like a guilty child. Whatever she was doing, it was clearly naughty and she could tell I was clearly not amused.  She told me it was something called ‘Cupid Dust’ that Mickey had given her to help her marriage become more ‘fun’ again.  Apparently, what I had learned later on was that it was an immediate libido enhancement for couples and would spice things up. Seriously, she looked me in they eyes and told me she didn’t want to have fun with him. She wanted to have fun with me. I didn’t exactly know what that meant but I knew she wasn’t lying and I trusted her. I was an idiot but I drank my cocktail with her. That would be our last for the day.

As I drove past the green light on Sunset, and the hotel came closer and closer into view, I gripped the leather of my steering wheel as I stared up at the exact room Judy and I had gone to that afternoon. I could still feel the intoxication of the enhancement and of her. What we did in that room was beyond comprehension to me, even now. I never remember taking a woman quite like that, nor did I ever remember a woman taking me like that. My head was reeling and I felt so primal. One couldn’t help but become almost obsessive when in Judy Garland’s company, but this was different. I wanted to make her mine…in every which way. And she complied just the same with zealous actions and vocalization. She wanted to be taken and she made no hesitation that she wanted to take me. It was so intense.  There was no dominance, only equal passion. I could still remember the sounds she made, the arch of her back, and her nails on my skin, the sound of our skin meeting, how my own loud voice felt strange to my ears. The room was spinning and our blood was pumping. At one point, we both felt like we were floating outside our bodies. Our rendezvous was spontaneous, erotic, passionate and, dare I say, dirty. Something happened in that room that day that I had never experienced, but I’m glad it was with her – the only woman I felt truly, wholly and completely at ease with.

When I had awoken from my nap, Judy was gone but there was a note in her handwriting that said, ‘Meet me here tomorrow night at 9 under my usual alias. Miss you already, darling.’

JUDY GARLAND’S PERSPECTIVE

By: Ohmygarlands

          The Chateau Marmont is never my first choice for a place to rest my head but on one particular evening at the tail end of summer, the hotel’s notorious reputation caught up to me. Feeling frivolous one afternoon, I decided it might do me some good to get out of the house and see whom I might find to share a drink with. Before that day, I had been cooped up inside with a loud crying (though sweet and loving at the drop of a hat) baby, and the family life I had once yearned for was beginning to bore me. I love my little girl, but I wanted something. I couldn’t put my finger on it, all I knew was that I wanted… something. And that something was something my darling husband was not able to give me, no matter how hard he tried –bless his soul.

I left Liza that afternoon with her nanny while she napped, promising I’d be home before she awoke again. I put my hair up and slid on a breathable summer dress –it was so hot that afternoon. I jumped in my car and drove down Sunset until that castle of a hotel became visible on the horizon. I knew of its history and something about it peaked my interest; maybe it was the lack of excitement at home, maybe it was the need for that something, or maybe it was simply because I knew I would run into someone worth spending my time with.

When I entered the bar, it didn’t take long before the men began to make their way towards me – something I don’t think I’ll ever get used to. A group of 3 in particular swarmed me almost immediately. They reminded me of the Three Stooges; not so much in the way they looked but in the way they acted. It was as though they had never been in the company of another woman before! It was awkward, and not at all the something I was searching for. I never know quite what to do in situations like those, so I did what I do best, I acted the part. I laughed at their silly jokes and hoped they would quickly run out of material so I could make my escape… and then I saw him. For a brief moment, I considered that he must be a figment of my imagination but no, it was him and he was here, at the other side of the bar staring me down. When he’d look at me, no matter where we were, I felt naked. He could read me better than anyone, he could not only tell what I was feeling but what I was thinking because more often than not they were his thoughts too. I felt a knot form in the pit of my stomach that eventually turned pleasurable the longer he stared in my direction. For a moment, I felt a little pang of jealousy, assuming he must be here with somebody but the look he gave me quickly settled that brief musing.

In a perfect world, he might approach me, offer to buy me a drink and catch up on old times but our world was far from perfect, and try as he might, he wasn’t so perfect either. He was stubborn. He loved a good chase and he loved being chased even more – perhaps his competitive nature was to blame. Who knows. I watched as Gene turned and walked away, disappearing into the foyer. He’d never admit it but he  wanted me to follow him and he knew that I would.

I thought of a million reasons not to follow but my body was drawn to him. I felt a complete loss of control as I excused myself from the Stooges and went in Gene’s direction. I had worked tirelessly to rid him of my mind in the last few years and after having Liza, I thought for sure the heartache he unintentionally left me with would go away. It did for the most part but what didn’t go away, no matter what I did, was the desire to have him again. Nobody knew my body like Gene Kelly did.

He must have known that I was behind him because he turned around before I had even said a word –which was a good thing because I couldn’t think of a single thing to say, fearing no matter what I said, it would come out wrong. I approached carefully and stood beside him there on the rooftop. I wanted more than anything in that moment to tuck my arm under his and rest my head on his shoulder – it felt like a natural thing to do. But I couldn’t. Not yet.

“So what are their names?” He asked me rather brazenly.

“Larry, Mo and Curly,” I quipped.

“What are you doing here?” Gene looked at me as though I was a villain that had come back to wreak havoc in his fairytale existence.

“Came for some fun,” I suddenly felt an uncontrollable urge to make him jealous. It didn’t take much to spark that in him, I remember one of our very first fights was over a dress I had worn in a little film I made called Girl Crazy that accentuated my figure a little too much. He said I looked naked and couldn’t handle watching me dance with other men while wearing it. I don’t think we spoke for days after that.  I will admit, however, –but never to him–, I liked that about him.

At any rate, he told me he was at the hotel for a lunch with Howard Hughs, I felt relief that his answer for being at the hotel didn’t match mine. He made a little joke about the hotel’s reputation that hinted at the irony of us both being there on the same afternoon and for the first time in the longest time, everything felt O.K. between us. It felt like nothing had ever changed, like in that one little insignificant moment we had forgiven each other for everything. I couldn’t help but admit to him how much I missed him and I could see it in his eyes that he missed me too. I wasn’t sure where the conversation would go after that, and I sure as hell was not ready to let him walk away. Fearing he would do just that, I grabbed the fedora from his head –which ironically enough was a gift I bought him when he had finished filming Du Barry Was a Lady– and I asked him this time to follow me. He was reluctant, giving me that villainous stare once again, only this time I could see the arousal behind it. He was intrigued.

I took him to another bar in the hotel, this time a more secluded one where I was hoping we could relax a little and let loose. This was exactly the something I came looking for. When the waiter arrived, Gene ordered for me, remembering exactly how I liked my vodka soda prepared –it made me smile.

“Liza looks so much like you…” he said, almost under his breath as though it pained him a little to talk about it.

“And she’s got the attitude to boot,” I laughed, trying to lighten the mood a little. He only half smiled.

I asked about Kerry, I always adored that little girl on the rare occasions Gene would bring her by the studio, but found myself straying away from the topic of Betsy. He didn’t offer any information and I felt it better not to know. After he shared a story with me about the Navy – I couldn’t tell you now what it was he told me, all I can remember was getting lost in his eyes as dark as the night sky– I slid my hand into his and I felt his pulse in his wrist with my thumb. His heart was racing. I pulled my hand away and boldly reached into my purse. I had confided in Mickey awhile back that my marriage was beginning to crumble. Vince and I hadn’t been intimate since before Liza was born and he offered me a little something to spice things up in the bedroom. When he handed me the white powder, I thought it had to be a gag. He assured me it wasn’t. Whether it was or it wasn’t didn’t help with the lack of desire to try it with Vince. I kept the “Cupid Dust” –as he called it– tucked away in my purse, and as I sat in the bar with Gene, I couldn’t help but wonder.

I slipped it into our drinks before he could even say a word. It was a bold move but I could tell whatever this dust would do for us, he wanted it just as badly as I did.

“What the hell are you doing?” He was upset, he must have thought I was trying to drug him. When I explained what it was, he laughed. He, too, thought it was a joke so he lifted his glass to cheers mine before downing the rest of his bourbon in a single gulp. Jokes on him.

My back slammed hard against the wall inside the hotel room we procured after our, shall we say, “enhanced” drink. The feeling of his lips all over my body again was something I’ll never forget. Perhaps it was indeed the drink or maybe it was simply being with him again after so long that made it so intense that afternoon. Every touch, every taste, every sound he made seemed bolder than ever before – I was bolder than ever before. The sheer intensity of what we were doing in that room frightened away the thoughts of reason that attempted to flood my head. I should have been thinking of my daughter, my husband who was probably sitting at home on that rocking chair of his wondering where the hell I was –but I couldn’t care less. As I became one with Gene, my primal instincts kicked in and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop it. It didn’t matter that I had just taken about 27 steps backward and I was right back where I was before he left me. All that mattered was that I was in his arms again, feeling his warm and laboured breath against the side of my neck as he slid in and out of me so wonderfully… so carnally. I can’t seem to find the correct word for what it was like that afternoon. Euphoric comes close.

Gene had fallen asleep when we finished what would inevitably be the start of something we worked so hard to stop, and I laid there beside him for what must have been an hour, at least, watching him. God, he was a beautiful person. Every inch of his body was chiseled to perfection and I couldn’t help but want to touch him all the time. A few times as he slept, I slid my hand over his cheek, running my thumb along that crescent shaped scar of his. He didn’t even budge. I guess you could say I tired him out.

It took all the will power in the world to get up out of that bed as he slept there so peacefully, but I had to get home –back to reality. I found a notepad on the desk emblazoned with the Chateau Marmont logo and a pen placed beside it. I must have written and tossed about 32 sheets of paper in the trash before finally settling on what words to leave him with. I placed the note neatly on my pillow and ducked out as quiet as a mouse.

Until next time.

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY Recaps: Vol. 5 "Unforeseen Complications"

This is a re-posting from Oct. 28th, 2017 in an effort to get all my recaps fully on tumblr. Thanks!

This RWBY review had to be put on hold while I finished Stranger Things 2. In all honesty if you're reading this instead of watching the new season... please re-think your life choices.

For those of you who have binged properly you'll already know that though RWBY doesn't do holiday-themed episodes, they're still bringing in the Halloween spirit this week with the rather terrifying title "Unforeseen Complications." We open on Blake, Sun, Kali, and a pacing Ghira, wearing his tiny reading glasses that everyone was gushing over when the promo picture first dropped. Luckily we haven't lost the adorable cat Dad (yet), but things aren't looking good, especially when he's given this much screen time in a show that just loves breaking up happy families. Ghira is prepping a speech in regards to Adam's recent power-play and the only thing that eases the tension is a warm, family hug.

And Sun's awkward fourth-wheeling. Honestly, that was funny about ten episodes ago. For a side character that's been thrust into one of the main cast's storyline, Sun sure hasn't justified his place there yet. He's done little in the way of really assisting Blake in her work and the injury that worried everyone last Volume was explained away this very episode, amounting to nothing. The guy either needs something to do or finally needs to clear out--which, I should add, Blake wanted him to do weeks ago.

Sun aside, Ghira remains a favorite among fans for his sweet nature, fair views, and unending support of his daughter. His speech here, laying out Adam's rogue faction in the White Fang and his involvement in the Fall of Beacon, isn't anything that the viewer didn't already know about. In fact, the scene is a little confusing if you don't catch that Blake's story is apparently taking place a month behind everyone else's. There's no overt indication of this using text on screen and given that we're following so many characters, there's no easy way to imply an ellipsis, let alone that we're jumping around a suddenly non-linear timeline. I had originally taken Ghira's warning that Adam intends to kill Sienna as an indicator that news of her death hadn't reached the island yet. However, it was pointed out to me later that Ghira mentions Haven opening in two months time whereas Ozpin, later in the episode, says that school starts up in a month. I'm not sure why RT has chosen this form--or why they've made it so convoluted--but I'm trusting that it will somehow benefit the overall structure of the Volume.

Ghira's call to assist the humans in Haven certainly doesn't get an outcry of support from the crowd, but he's entirely undermined when Ilia (dramatically) throws off her cloak and reveals herself, shouting that they should never help the humans when they've done nothing but harm the faunus in turn. Sun tries to grab her (he fails) but the damage is already done. As we see through the camera focusing on our two creepy fox brothers, Adam's splinter faction has wormed its way in deep. We know thanks to Ilia's scroll that Adam not only plans to attack Haven but take out their CTT tower as well. RWBY is chock-full of themes surrounding communication (or the lack thereof) and literally taking out the kingdoms' one way of contacting one another is highly reflective of that. Combine that with Ilia’s few words sowing so much discord. Divide them and they’ll fall, and all that. 

The real action of the episode though is with Team RNJR. After a full two weeks we finally get to see the gang's reaction to Professor Ozpin's return and oh boy, it did not disappoint.

Ruby: "Isn't it weird?"

She's so excited about this! Qrow reminds the kids that this is strange for everyone involved, including the boy you're hounding, so they sheepishly give Oscar some space. He admits that he's a little nervous because he's never met real huntsmen and huntresses before, which is a wonderful callback to Ruby's excited, "Can I have your autograph?" to Glynda in Episode One. She's come far enough now that she's the one people look up to with awe. There's also perhaps a bit of rosegarden here, but that's obviously a ship that can only happen if Ozpin gets a body of his own.

We then (bless) finally get some actual information regarding this Oscar-Ozpin situation. Oscar shows everyone his "parlor trick" where, with a flash of green aura, gold eyes, and white hair, Ozpin takes control of his body, making everyone emotional with a sincere, "It is so very good to see you again, students."

It's a remarkably light scene for all the revelations. Like I've been noting in all these recaps, Ozpin admits how pleased he is that Ruby and the others can retain their sense of humor in the face of confusing and traumatizing circumstances. We get another callback as Ozpin apologizes, saying that he wasn't exaggerating when he once told Ruby he'd made more mistakes than any man, woman, or child. We learn that he has been “cursed” by the gods for failing to stop Salem centuries ago. For thousands of years Ozpin has lived, died, and reincarnated in the body of a "like-minded soul," though there's still no explanation of what exactly constitutes "like-minded” in this scenario. 

Jaune: "So who... what are you?"

Ouch. Though not an entirely unwarranted question when you’re suddenly dealing with the impossible. Ozpin says that he is the "combination of countless men" who have spent their lives trying to protect Remnant. The implication that he only reincarnates as a man aside (seems like a missed opportunity there), this seems like a pretty firm confirmation of the merging theory. The person we know as Ozpin might not entirely erase Oscar, but it certainly sounds like they won't remain completely separate people for forever. Indeed, Ozpin says straight out that at some point, "eventually," they'll “merge” and become the new Ozpin, a man who retains the memories of all his past lives. It’s all still horrendously murky, but honestly, if Oscar doesn't have at least a little bit of a freak out over this I'll be sorely disappointed.

We still don't know who or what Ozpin was originally. Was he just a man who took on too much, cursed by the gods for his failure or arrogance? Was he the wizard, one of the few capable of wielding magic in Remnant, thus making his survival (and the curse to ensure as much) a necessity? Ozpin isn't saying just yet. After assigning Qrow to find them more huntsmen he turns his sights on Team RNJR, telling them that they'll need to get into "fighting shape" before they can face Salem.

There is nothing that I don't love about this scene. Bringing back Ruby's lack of skill in hand-to-hand after Yang's character short spent so much time emphasizing it? Check. Implying that we'll finally unlock Jaune's semblance this Volume? Check. Ozpin confirming that outside the confines of his headmaster persona he's a happy, dramatic showoff?

Triple check.

All poor Oscar asked is that Ozpin not do anything embarrassing while he has control of their body and what does this man do? Act extra as fuck of course, performing a backflip onto the chair and spinning his cane far, far longer than he needs to. Nora is the only one unimpressed by this display, but I personally can't wait to see Ozpin training the kids. It should be especially interesting given his sudden loss of control--Oscar coming back unexpectedly and losing his balance, toppling them off the chair. Training is hard enough. Training while you're stuck in the body of a weak, undisciplined child... that's something else entirely.

The end of our episode takes us back to Weiss, still guarded by Raven's bandits. It's a moment of psychological torture, with her captor taunting Weiss with her own weapon and demonstrating that the one tool she has, information, is severely outdated. Ironwood has recalled all his troops from Mistral, including Winter. She's not around now to save her little sis’ like Weiss had hoped.

Which is hilarious, because in no world does Weiss Schnee need saving. Our last shot is of the miniature knight she's made out of a tiny glyph and her confident smile. Can't wait to see what she's planning to do with that.

Other Details of Note

I was incredibly nervous during the later half of Ghira's speech where he's just going, "We have ALL this INCRIMINATING evidence on this ONE SCROLL that I'm going to WAVE AROUND out here in the OPEN where anyone could EASILY STEAL or DESTROY IT..."

The faunus press all using their scrolls instead of cameras or old-fashioned pen and paper. It's a small but enjoyable bit of world-building.

The voice acting for Ozpin as Oscar was incredibly well done. Jury's still out on whether the echo is just a byproduct of his control or is somehow more meaningful. One theory currently says it's used whenever Ozpin says something that references all of his past lives, not just his last two.

Qrow immediately gets Ozpin coffee. Or hot chocolate. Whatever it is. He might be in the body of a 14yo, but you know as soon as he has control he needs a mug in his hands.

... Qrow then breaks the table and the mug. Hello, semblance. I'm looking forward to seeing more of that as the Volume goes on. Does the bad luck get worse the longer Qrow stays in one place? Is that why he's so eager to leave and recruit more huntsmen? What exactly are the rules here? No one has laid them out and (like silver eyes...) no one seems very interested. 

Oscar upon learning that he'll be training too: "Wait, what?"

And you've gotta love Nora. She went from thinking over how she could bribe her powerful, dignified headmaster ("No wait, he has a school") to flouncing about and calling him their "little cute boy Ozpin." I really hope she ignores his request and keeps calling him that indefinitely. It's very amusing.

[theliterateape]

A Boat Adrift Is Still Going Somewhere

by Don Hall

“I feel like I’m in a boat set adrift in the ocean. No land in sight in any direction. I have no clue as to where the boat is headed but I still have to maintain the integrity of the craft or it’ll sink and I’ll drown.”

A lot of my recent past is due for some serious reframing.

I learned the term from Alice, a woman whom I met on Match.com, fell in love with, and lived with off and on for four years. We broke up badly three times during that span yet kept coming back to one another. It was a fraught and overly dramatic relationship fueled by incredible sex and little else.

She was (and I’m guessing still is) incredibly well read. She liked to reframe her experiences to benefit her position, often using the technique to justify her behavior. I didn’t care for that specific use as it generally reframed me right out of the picture yet I learned the method as a manner in which I could spin those glass half empty moments into a more optimistic point of view.

Reframing requires seeing something in a new way, in a context that allows us to recognize and appreciate positive aspects of our situation. Reframing helps us to use whatever life hands us as opportunities to be taken advantage of, rather than problems to be avoided. Breakdowns are transformed into challenges and new possibilities to experience life more fully and to become a more whole human being.

On any given in my new reality—living with my folks, helping with the caregiving of my father, divorced for a third time, back in Kansas, my material possessions locked away in storage waiting to be broken out, perpetually on a razor’s edge between incredibly sad and authentically annoyed that my ex-wife so casually blew up our life—I find myself checking on dad as he naps to see if he’s still breathing. The cosmos has tilted in a way that I was unprepared for. I watch the final meeting of the January 6th Committee and I don’t really care. I dread the idea of going back to substitute teaching in part because of my dismal experience with the job in 2018 and in part out of ego. I go to the gym but feel more like a hamster on a wheel than a GenX guy getting back in shape after nearly six months of bad habits.

While not under threat from the Russian army or homeless in San Francisco, I’m in a pretty shitty place.

Time to reframe.

PROBLEM: My wife of nearly eight years was working as a prostitute for the last couple of years under the radar and I divorced her. My confidence in my ability to detect those now obvious red flags, my ability to earn a living that doesn’t make me want to put a pistol in mouth, and my potential to hold on to a reason to keep going is shot.

REFRAME: She told me when I asked her, after two and a half years of this sordid situation, how long she had hoped to continue being married and secretly blowing dicks for cash, that she had intended to do it “for as long as I could.” By getting out when I did, I dodged a major bullet. No john ever came to the apartment, in love with his hooker, to off her husband. No pimp ever grabbed me on the street to demand his money. No STDs. Aside from the emotional devastation, I managed to squeeze out a circumstance so bizarre it feels a bit like a Netflix series relatively unscathed.

PROBLEM: I dread getting back into a classroom with kids who will, be default, have zero respect for me (substitute), will not look to me for any sort of education, and will do whatever they can to push the envelope of acceptable conformity in order to get away with just about anything they can in the absence of their regular warden.

REFRAME: By embracing this I am a temporary solution to a permanent problem. I’m a skipping stone through multiple schools, will successfully avoid the internal politics and drama of the staff and students, am not tossing frozen french fries into a vat of old grease, and have the flexibility to continue helping my pops get to dialysis for two of three times a week he has to endure this Jiffy Lubing of his blood. Win/Win/Win/Win.

PROBLEM: I’m a 56-year old man living with my parents.

REFRAME: I’m here to help. I’m here to get my boat back on track. I’m here to save money so I can rebuild a life I hadn’t expected to have to rebuild. And my parents are wonderful people who love me and appreciate the help I’m providing. Watching my mom go from resenting my father’s illness and the constant narcissism that chronic pain develops in him to relaxing, going to church, having lunches with her friends is worth almost everything that brought me to the place in my life. She told my dad that I was "saving her life" with both my presence and assistance and it makes everything I'm here for feel validated.

Reframing puts those issues I may be facing in a new light and provides lessons rather than just the bruising of the soul.

I recall a young woman I used to perform with in Chicago. She was a grand human being, very generous with her joy, and her long-term boyfriend dumped her. She pissed and moaned for weeks about her broken heart. Finally, after everyone telling her that there were ‘other fish in the sea’ and that sort of thing, she asked me what I thought.

“That was it. You’ll never find another man or partner you will love or could possibly love you. Hang it up and do you because he was your only chance and it didn’t work.”

She was furious with me. She felt judged and betrayed. Two weeks later (after a silent treatment for the ages) she called me. “You’re a real fucker.”

“Sounds about right, I suppose. Why am I a fucker this time?”

“Because I couldn’t thinking about what you said and then it hit me yesterday. If I just go with your admonition that he was it and I’m done, I have to focus on me just being me. No compromises about what I want in life, no conciliation to the desires of someone else. I have to resign myself to being single. I’ve never done that and it’s liberating. So fuck you. And thank you.”

As I type that I recognize that I need to use the exact same reframe on myself. I’ve been single but always on the hunt for The One. It’s likely that my leap into my third marriage was a final gasp of that I Wanna Dance with Somebody motis operandi. I’ve failed to find The One three (or four) times. No more. That’s it. I’m done with that pursuit. Now I have to focus on myself as a single entity. Hell, Joe is amazingly successful at it—I should’ve just looked over his way for some tips.

PROBLEM: I’m now really single.

REFRAME: I’m now free to just be myself without apology to anyone I need to please. No more apologies for eating cheese or loving the way dryer sheets make my clothes smell. No more justifying a partner who would rather dig things out of the trash than just go to the store. No more fixating on my weight but focusing on my fitness. Single is fucking freedom, gang.

I've leapt into the world of substitute teaching in Kansas. It's a strange combination of high energy (to get everyone settled and on board with whatever we're doing) and then extreme boredom (as I sit and they do the work and dick around on their phones). Hey. It's some coin and an opportunity to get out of the house so I ain't complaining.

PROBLEM: I don’t want to die but I don’t really care to live.

REFRAME: When you aren’t afraid of death, of ceasing to walk the Earth anymore, the freedom to do anything—run naked in a mall, do mushrooms in a park, leap fully into the unknown without a survival instinct whatsoever—is completely a way of living. I might be a bit more cautious but I’ll still leap.

[foundcarcosa]

(I haven’t been actually keeping up with this series, and I belatedly realise I probably should for the fun of it, but hey, we’ll see)

#MonthOfSpreads2 Day Six: Exploring Your Subconscious Shadow

this was... hrm. :V

1. What emotions am I currently holding back or suppressing?

Tower XVI (reversed)

So, I like change, and I like transformation, but I also have a human brain that very much doesn’t like these things, especially when applied to itself. Drugs had made me a lot more malleable for a time, but now I have to do that work the manual way, and it’s not as easy -- especially considering a lot of my compulsive patterns and thought processes are trauma-based and haven’t ever been addressed in a therapeutic context (therapy has failed me time and time again, and I’ve failed it in angsty retaliation, and it’s just been a 15-year mess).

What I’m suppressing isn’t so much as a specific emotion, but rather just... the whole spectrum of them, I suppose. I am resisting the transformative nature of vulnerability, because [insert several common trauma-based reasons here -- y’all know the ones]. It’s not even really fear I can blame anymore. I’m not necessarily afraid, I’m just repeating old patterns of behaviour. I think I (*sigh*) require assistance, but we’ll revisit that in #3.

2. What unexplored ideas or beliefs do I need to delve into?

Wands 6

So the trajectory of my life isn’t anything to sneeze at, right? I mean, it’s only been 3 decades, but a fuckton has happened in those 3 decades, and some of it has even changed me for the better (if not at first, then later). And I haven’t exactly been sitting on my ass the whole time, either -- there are patterns of behaviour that I’ve broken, or am breaking, that have made me slightly less of a poison porcupine (yeah, believe it or not, I actually used to be worse). I have grown as a person, and continue to grow as a person, even though being a person is pretty much the most fucking difficult thing I can possibly imagine.

I say that, because I like to uphold facts, but believing in it and operating in that belief is a different story sometimes (like now).

Still, there’s something to be said about being encouraged and heartened by one’s own progress, to give oneself strength and courage for the further progresses to come. Grumble.

3. What untapped potential do I need to develop?

Wands 5

I feel like there’s a lot going on in this answer (which, I guess, makes sense). One thing I want to explore is how I looked at the cards themselves -- the 6 and the 5. In the 5 in my deck, there’s five figures battling around these five wands, with the winds of discord swirling around them. But in the 6, there’s just one figure in the boat. The story being told between those two cards could be interpreted as the five figures actually being parts of one figure, battling amongst themselves, and the 6 card could be the fruits of cooperative resolution, of integration. Which fits with one interpretation of 5 being a battle of wills, or a struggle to figure out what one wants to do about a current situation or issue. The potential for peaceful resolution of whatever problem I’m making a big deal out of could be already existing in me and I’m just fighting for the sake of fighting, like a dumbass.

Which would fit, because battling with myself is a constant pastime, but there’s also the idea of me fighting against other ideas, ones that may seem like something I don’t want to do or consider at the moment, but ones that might actually be more beneficial to me than I’m allowing. Maybe something (/someone) I’m pushing away has something to teach me, and I’m missing it for the sake of preference. The potential to transform me could be in others, or a different way of thinking/being/understanding than I’m used to.

I don’t know, obviously. But I guess it’s something to look out for, either way. Less fight, more listen?

4. What past event do I need to understand fully to bring myself closure?

Swords 4

This seems like a strange answer. A non-answer, even. But if I take it in the context of the entire spread, I’m already seeing a lot of “step back, stop running/fighting, be fucking quiet for a second, you squawking peacock”, and this 4 seems to be the perfect conclusion to that (”just in case you didn’t get it the first three times...”). So it fits the cards, but I’m not sure it fits the question.

Hm. Could be the rest of the answers will come if I actually do what 4 says.

CONCLUSION

Honestly, my brain’s been running like a coked-up hamster on a wheel lately but it hasn’t been saying anything. It’s just a lot of repetitive garbage thoughts, the kind intended to keep one in the mire when there’s a stone path right fucking there if we could only stop navelgazing long enough to clamber onto it. Unfortunately, I also can’t see the stone path very well, and for all I know it isn’t even there.

Or it’s still being built. I don’t know. 

Either way, I won’t see anything if I don’t stop navelgazing. That’s definitely easier typed than done, so I can’t make any promises. I didn’t really revisit the “perhaps I require assistance” idea from #1, probably because I hate it, and because I have learned to believe that no one has time or energy for me and my bullshit. I’m likely going to believe that until I die, since I learned it during formative moments in my development (like building a house on a shaky foundation). But I also see where it’s just making me feel worse, thereby impeding my progress.

Great! I see this, but what is possibly going to be different?! Still spinning in the mud here, deck. I don’t know what else I’m missing, but at this point it’s going to have to drop an anvil on my head for me to see it.

Accio Anvil!

[maniacalshen]

Beginner Bicycling Tips

Lots of people out there have been eying or hopping onto bikes to get exercise, run errands, and even commute. This post is to point out the most common things I see beginners get wrong. I want everyone comfortable and safe out there!

1. Helmet is too loose. If you choose to wear a helmet (and I do respectfully recommend it), it's only worth the trouble if it fits. The strap should be snug under your chin so that, if you go flying, it won't come off your head. If you're not sure whether you need to tighten the straps, put the helmet on and tug it up and forward. If it slips forward, tighten it! There's also likely something you can spin at the back of the helmet to make the shell fit more snugly against your skull.

2. Trying to be a hero with their pedaling. Chances are, unless you're riding BMX or a penny-farthing or a beach cruiser, you have a bike with gears. (If you live in an area with hills, and someone sold you a single speed or a fixie, they did not have your best interests in mind.) Use those gears! You will naturally find a cadence that feels most comfortable to you. It will be relatively fast. Learn to shift so as to comfortably maintain that cadence. That means shifting down on uphills and shifting up on downhills or just coasting there. Easier gears are the cogs closer to your wheel/frame - smaller cogs in front, larger in back. Learn how to shift your bike, and make a habit of it. Neither grinding nor spinning out are fun!

3. Seat is too low. Having a properly high saddle is more efficient, but more importantly, it's better for your knees! This doesn't matter as much if you're casually tooling around, but if you keep biking, you'll get avoidable soreness with a low seat. A saddle that is too high can cause different pain, either from overextending your leg (knee pain) or from rocking back and forth in the saddle (saddle sores). Rule of thumb is that, while in the saddle with your heel on the pedal and the pedal at the trough of its turn, your leg should be straight. This means that when the ball of your foot is on the pedal, it'll be slightly bent at the trough. You may need to work up to this. And if you don't get all the way there, it's okay.

4. Doesn't know how to start and stop properly. Does the aforementioned saddle height seem impossible? That's likely because you are trying to stay in the saddle when you come to a stop. Don't; you should come completely out of the saddle when you stop. I will let this legend explain what I mean. And don't forget to down-shift at stops so restarting isn't a bear!

5. Doesn't know to put air in their tires and lube their chain (and maybe clean it sometimes). This is the barest minimum of bike maintenance, and if you bike regularly, you should do it every few weeks. Your tire will have a recommended pressure range printed on the sidewall. A little lower can be okay; higher is generally not advisable. If the pump you use does not have a pressure gauge, you can use a separate one made for cars as long as your tire has a schrader valve. If it does not have that valve, you can get a schrader adapter for the presta valve you likely have instead, and it will be VERY cheap. No excuses! Too-empty tires are more likely to go flat at potholes, and fully inflated ones are more efficient.

You are best off buying chain lube intended for bicycles and dripping it onto the lower part of the chain as you spin the pedals backwards. There are tools that make chain cleaning a breeze, but in a pinch, some cleaner and a cloth will be worlds better than nothing.

Hope this helps someone!

[thecoroutfitters]

Through the years, I’ve noticed preppers tending to fall into one of two categories, when it comes to self-defense.

The first category is the survivalists who are all about guns and bullets. Their self-defense strategy is to outgun the other guys by having more firepower. The second is into other types of weapons. While they might not be against firearms in general, they don’t want to depend on them for their survival.

I guess you could say that I’m part of both groups. I’m a big fan of guns, carrying concealed and stockpiling enough ammunition to get me through a small war.

But on the other hand, I would rather save my guns and ammo for a last line of defense. When it comes time for survival hunting or just defending myself, I’d rather use something that’s not going to make so much noise and attract so much attention.

So, while I carry concealed and make an effort to get to the shooting range every week, I haven’t limited my arsenal to only firearms. I carry a fighting knife, concealed, right alongside my pistol and I practice regularly with my bow and crossbow. Fortunately, I can do that in my backyard, rather than having to pay for more range time.

I am also constantly on the lookout for other weapons, either to add to my collection now or to make for myself, should the need arise. I believe that the ability to make weapons is an essential survival skill, especially if we are ever faced with a major disaster that takes down the grid or otherwise serves to disrupt society as we know it.

As part of this effort, I’ve made my own bows and arrows, experimenting with several ways of making arrowheads for your survival defense. I’ve also made a number of knives and other handheld weapons. This led me to looking into the idea of throwing spikes.

Click here to get your guide to a layered survival defense!

If you aren’t familiar with throwing spikes, they are a martial arts weapon, originating in the orient. It’s not sure whether they are an outgrowth of throwing knives or of throwing stars, as they are somewhat of a combination of the two.

There are several things that make throwing spikes attractive as a survival weapon. First of all, they are considerably easier to make than either knives or throwing stars, not requiring the fine degree of balance that a throwing knife requires and much easier to shape than a throwing star.

Secondly, a number of them can be carried quite easily, attaching a multi-pocketed sheathe to either the forearm, the belt or a tactical vest. Finally, they are small and lightweight, making it easy to carry a number of them, without them encumbering you.

One thing to keep in mind with throwing spikes, as with throwing knives or throwing stars is that Hollywood aside; you probably won’t instantly kill your opponent with them. These weapons are more disabling weapons, than they are killing weapons. But that’s okay. In a self-defense situation you don’t necessarily need to kill the person, you just need to disable them enough to allow you to escape.

Throwing Spike Design

There is some confusion on the internet over throwing knives, throwing stars and throwing spikes. That’s mostly because there is some overlap between their designs. Suffice it to say that all of them are pointed weapons, intended to be thrown a short range, by hand, in such a way as to stick firmly into the intended victim, causing them harm.

As I mentioned above, what makes throwing spikes attractive as a weapon for survival is the ease of making them.

Unlike a knife, there is no blade to sharpen, just a point. And unlike a throwing star, there is no complex shape to cut out. All you have to do is cut the material to length and sharpen it.

Throwing spikes can be single ended or double-ended. The only real advantage of a double-ended one is that you don’t have to worry about how you grab it. It will work the same with either end hitting. Some people like a tail or tassel on their throwing spike, which helps you to throw it straight; however, these weapons didn’t traditionally have any sort of tail.

The basic throwing spike is about six inches long and from 1/4” to 1/2” in diameter. Thicker spikes are heavier, requiring more strength to throw. At the same time, they have more momentum when they hit, so are likely to do more damage.

Making a throwing spike consists of cutting off the material to length and sharpening one or both ends. Cheap throwing spikes will only have a very short point, less than an inch long.

Ideally, you want that point to be at least two inches long, which allows it to be sharper, increasing the ease of penetration. The thicker the material used, the longer the point will need to be, in order to have the same angle.

Materials You Can Use to Make Throwing Spikes

Ideally, throwing spikes are made of a hardened tool steel. Soft, cold rolled steel, of the type you can buy at your local hardware store, can be used for practice, but you really wouldn’t want to use throwing spikes made out of cold rolled steel as a weapon. The tip would bend or break too easily. You need hardened steel, so that the point doesn’t bend.

This means either buying tool steel rod or using whatever readily available material you can find. One of your limiting factors here is going to be what you have to cut the steel with. The best thing to have is a band saw, with a metal cutting blade. Even if the band saw was not originally designed for cutting metal, it will still work, as long as you have the right kind of blade.

The other thing you’ll need to do, to use any power saw for cutting steel, is to cool the steel with oil. This will help prevent the metal and blade from overheating, which will cause the blade to go dull very quickly.

True metal-cutting band saws have a pump so that they can spray a cooling fluid onto the metal at the point of cut. But if you don’t have one of these, you can do a pretty good job by just spraying oil on the metal and blade every few seconds.

So, what sorts of makeshift materials can you scrounge to make your throwing spikes out of?

Broken screwdrivers

Hardened (grade 5 or 8) bolts

Leaf springs from cars

The rods from old shock absorbers

Engine lifter rods (these are just about perfect)

Metal-cutting files and woodworking rasps

If your tool collection is limited, you may want to stick to materials that are already about the right diameter, such as the engine lifter rods or broken screwdrivers, so that all you have to do is cut them to length and sharpen them.

Making the Throwing Spikes

There really isn’t much to making a throwing spike, as it is one of the simplest weapons there is. The first thing you have to do is cut it to length and the second is sharpen it. That’s it.

I have made knives using both a bench grinder and a bench-mounted belt sander. Of the two, I prefer using the belt sander, as it gives me a broader grind surface. This helps to control the cut better, providing me with a cleaner, non-segmented grind.

When using a bench grinder, there is a tendency to end up with a somewhat segmented surface, unless you are extremely careful and consistent in how you move the material over the grinding wheels.

No matter which you use, chances are that you will generate enough heat in the metal to turn the tip blue. This, or the metal turning red while grinding, indicate that you have lost the temper in the steel. So, once you finish grinding the spikes, you really need to temper them, once again.

Tempering will require a torch or forge, so that you can heat the metal up until it is red hot. Once heated, the metal is then quenched in an oil bath (not a water one). The oil absorbs the heat from the metal at a controlled rate, providing the final temper to it.

Video first seen on The Small Workshop.

Throwing Spikes

Throwing spikes are thrown differently than knives or stars. Typically with knives, you’re looking to flip the knife, spinning it into the target. Depending on the range to your target, you try to have from one to three flips, so that the knife arrives at the target point first.

Learning how to throw by both the blade of the knife and the handle allows you to go for half-flips, giving you more steps in the number of flips between you and the target.

But a throwing spike is thrown flat, not flipped. While this means that you won’t be able to throw it as far as a knife, it also means that you won’t have to worry about ensuring that it arrives point first; it will be point first from the time it leaves your hand.

The trick to throwing flat is the way you hold the spike. Rather than holding it between your thumb and forefinger, you hold your hand flat and allow the spike to sit against the flat of your hand, with your thumb holding it in place and the point about equal with your fingertips. This hold is critical to keeping the spike on a flat trajectory.

The throw itself is made by swinging the arm up, bending the elbow, so that the hand is beside the ear. From there, the hand is moved forcibly towards the target, as if you are trying to point to it. At the moment the arm is fully extended, the thumb releases the spike, allowing it to slide off the hand, directly at the target. Once released, the arm drops to the side in the “follow through” to the throw.

Please note that you will need some practice to get this technique right. It is actually easier to throw a knife by flipping it, than it is to throw a spike flat. But it is easier to get the spike to stick, simply because it will always hit the target point first, once you get the technique down. That is useful when you are in a rapidly changing situation, defending yourself.

This article has been written by Bill White for Survivopedia.

from Survivopedia Don't forget to visit the store and pick up some gear at The COR Outfitters. How prepared are you for emergencies? #SurvivalFirestarter #SurvivalBugOutBackpack #PrepperSurvivalPack #SHTFGear #SHTFBag

[alittlewitchyplace]

This got really long. I had a lot of feelings. Hopefully it’s articulate enough. 

Anyway, TL;DR is: If you’re not a part of a minority, you can never understand what they’re experiencing. White people need to step back and listen to what black people are telling us. We need to acknowledge that we’ve been influenced by a racist society and actively seek to change our way of thinking.

This is something I’ve wanted to talk about for awhile, and now seems like a perfect time. I’m going to preface this by saying; I am a cisgendered white woman, and so I have a lot of privilege that others aren’t afforded. I acknowledge this fully.

I also understand that, as a cisgendered white woman living in a society where white, cis privilege is the norm, I understand that I do not experience and can never understand the daily, constant fear and discrimination that people of color experience. I acknowledge and accept that I am inherently part of a racist and transphobic society, and therefore that no matter how much I try to relate, I have and maybe always will have some tendencies that may be offense to people of minority groups I am not a part of.

Therefore, if any of my followers ever notice me saying or doing things they consider offensive, racist, bigoted, anything like that, please know that it is not intended, and please tell me. I want to know, I want to learn, I want to improve.

I have recently found myself as a part of minority groups I previously did not consider myself a part of, or was not affected by. Namely, I have begun living as an openly gay individual with my partner Vivi. I hear and see the heteronormative stereotypes all around me now, and am distinctly aware of my own language and thoughts now, which occasionally are part of the same problem that makes me feel belittled, and sometimes afraid for being with another person of my same sex.

Constantly I’m being asked “Do you have a husband? Do you have children? Oh, your boyfriend must be a lucky man-” things that cause a brief surge of panic in me because of the abuse I suffered from my Christian upbringing for being homosexual. When I tell someone I’m engaged and their first response is “What’s HIS name?” Correcting someone and telling them that “HER name is...” is so terrifying.

And I realize that I have passing privilege. People don’t look at me and assume I’m gay. People look at me and see a pretty, cis white girl and assume that I must be straight. If I feel unsafe in my environment and don’t think it’s safe for me to out myself, I can easily divert the discussion, I don’t have to reveal that. I can’t imagine having that fear literally on my skin. Knowing that my appearance is an identifier of something people can and will be discriminatory about.

The second minority group that I’ve found myself suddenly relating with is as a disabled person. Several years ago, I was in a severe car accident, in which I shattered my hip. I was very lucky and did heal, and was able to go back to my life as usual after a little over a year. However, now, ten years later, complications have arisen because of my injury. I’m going to be needing a surgery soon, but I can’t currently afford it. I experience pain on a daily basis, at varying degrees. I have to use a cane to walk most days, on really bad pain days I might have to use a motorized chair at a grocery store to be able to get around. 

I realize because of all of this how Ableist I can and have been in my life. I’m one of those people who will see a partially mobile person getting up out of their wheel chair to reach something on a shelf and feel an eye roll, or thoughts that they must not be “that” disabled. This is a horrible mindset, and I hate it, and I am consciously trying to stop this mindset, especially since I am one of those people now. Some people might see me some days without even needing my cane, then needing it the next day, and needing a chair on other days. It might look like I’m faking or doing it for attention, but the fact is that my disability isn’t always consistent, that some days are better than others.

These things have caused me to start trying to rewire the way I think, to be more conscious of my thoughts, words and actions, and the inherently Heteronormative, Ableist, Racist, Homophobic and Transphobic and otherwise judgemental and negative thoughts. It’s a work in progress, it’s hard, and it’s not something that will change overnight.

The reason I wanted to share this experience now, is because I know there are white people out there right now who may be offended by some of the things said during this time, with the black lives matter movement. Maybe you’re someone with the “but all lives should matter” mentality, maybe you’re someone who believes you’re in no way racist and don’t ever have racist thoughts. Maybe you think people are overreacting. 

You’re wrong. You cannot understand what it is like to be a part of a minority, to see judgemental looks and be fearful of physical violence or death just for being who you are. None of us can understand that. And we live in a society that has taught us to b suspicious of people of color. To have racist thoughts. To turn a blind eye to the problems in the world. To believe what the media is telling us is true. To believe that cops have our best interests at heart.

If you consider yourself an ally in this movement, please, please take some time to reflect on yourself, on the way you think, the words you say, and the things you do. Think about it from a black person’s perspective. Try and put yourself in that place. Try and spin the narrative in a way that makes sense to you. And listen to what people of color are telling us right now. Listen when someone tells you that what you’re saying/doing is racist. Don’t get mad, don’t get defensive, just listen, and try and improve.

We all need to stick together through this, and if we’re going to change something that has been so ingrained in our culture for so long, then we need to start with ourselves. We need to start internally with changing our language, our beliefs, our biases. We need to be good allies. We need to step aside and let the black people speak. We can support them, and we should, but they need to lead this fight, and we need to listen to what they need from us and stand with them.