#that I may not even have a fully coherent/realized idea ready for posting

[amaradangeli]

2 - Begging

More than half of her is absolutely mortified to feel the overwhelming urge to beg him to help her find relief. But not much more than half and that’s how she knows that the warnings they received about the atmosphere on this planet, about how the heightened oxygen levels fed the pleasure-center of your brain, were more than just idle.

She can feel the calluses on his hands against the smooth skin of her back, a perfect counterpoint to the roughness of his uniform pants against the petal-soft skin of her inner thighs. 

She is so keyed up that the way his stomach presses against her center while he breathes is pure torture. She can feel how she's soaked his t-shirt with her fluids and created a tortuous, heated slickness between them.

She can feel the chain of his dog tags pressing into her right breast.

She tightens her arms around his neck, squeezes his hips with her thighs, they’ve been like this so long that her limbs are starting to tire and she’s worried that she’s too heavy for him to support like this much longer. 

She never pictured a scenario in which she’d be naked and clinging to her commanding officer. That’s really saying something because it’s not even like this is the strangest situation they’ve been in. The most likely to make her orgasm, maybe, but definitely not the strangest.

When he shifts his arms, one hand grabbing at her left buttock, to adjust his grip, the way he jostles her causes her stiffly peaked nipple to tweak against the stitching at his shirt collar - he might as well have pressed his thumb against her clit. The sound she makes would be embarrassing if she wasn’t already worried about how much more noticeable the wet patch of his shirt fabric has become with the slight change in position.

Instinct, or good judgement maybe, causes her to pull her hips away from him just the slightest bit. He tightens his hold on her, “Don’t worry about it, Carter.”

For more than one reason, she’s grateful she’s not looking him in the eye. She rolls hers. “Nobility, really?”

His voice is gritty. “Self preservation. Denial. You choose.”

She wishes the sound that comes from the back of her throat was more perturbed than needy, but he’s cornered the local market on denial. She is perturbed, but her body’s demands are more than her brain can manage.

“How much longer?” 

“Less than an hour, maybe?”

They’re waiting as patiently as they can for Daniel and Teal’c to make it back to the temple from the gate. Their teammates should be coming in with the cavalry. Of course, if they’d just participate in the ritual they’d be free to leave immediately after. But as much as her body is screaming for stimulation, she has a weird feeling that’s pulling at her own ideas of consent as well as her concerns about his. She wants him to touch her, but she won’t ask him. She knows he thinks she’s the injured party - and perhaps, because of her physical nudity and inability to hide her body’s reactions from him, he’s right.

It’s not just the extra oxygen they’ve been exposed to. Sure, it makes the pleasure more intense, but it wouldn’t have manufactured the feelings she’s been fighting since they stepped foot inside the city walls. There’s something else... something in the air.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sit down?” She’s asked the question three times. Twice he was quick to decline a seat on the small stool situated just behind him. She knows it’s because the rules of this situation stipulate she must cling to him the way she has been. And if he’s sitting, that brings the more problematic parts of them into much closer contact, all things considered. His hesitation to answer the question this time is telling.

“Look,” he says... and then doesn’t continue. She can hear his teeth grinding. He jostles her a little. Though she feels flushed from the arousal, his skin is so hot against hers. She imagines she can feel the ridges of his fingerprints, even, where he presses against her - the fingers of one hand in the indentation of her spine, his right little finger in the crease where her ass meets her thigh. He clears his throat uncomfortably. “I’m okay like this.”

She’s practical enough to recognize that while she’s smaller than him, and objectively thin, she’s strong and tall and heavy enough that she shouldn’t reasonably expect him to support her weight for another hour on top of the nearly two he already has. His resistance is bordering on ridiculous. “Sir-”

He cuts her off by biting her rank in two between gnashed teeth. “Major. Enough, I’m fine.”

“Sir,” she tries again, with a more understanding tone.

He exhales again, a pained fuck puffing out against her ear. “I’m hard, Carter. And if I sit, well...”

... it dawns on her slowly and with a rush of intense and acute arousal. A change in position would leave her pressed against him in a way their professional relationship may not recover from. She wants to tell him it’s okay. After all, she’s been soaking him with the evidence of her own reaction to this situation for a while now. But the truth is, while she trusts him to be appropriately chagrined and restrained, she’s not entirely sure she could conduct herself in a manner befitting an Air Force officer. She’s so hot, wet and ready that proximity to his hard cock - clothed or not - is an orgasm waiting to happen. She knows she should be embarrassed about that. But she isn’t really.

She’s starting to pulse with need, with the realization he’s not simply enduring the situation, her heartbeat is strong at her clit and her skin tingles with every minor change in sensation. She’s worrying the edge of her teeth with her tongue with increasing frequency - her mouth feels too slack, too still, too empty. She yearns for the spice of his skin, his sweet breath... or the satisfying salty, bitter combination that tugs at the edges of her more wanton daydreams.

“Sam, please.” His strangled voice pulls her away from the trail she was just headed down and she realizes her desire has translated into the roll of her body against him. Her need, slaked the tiniest bit by the pressure she created by pushing her center harder against the hard wall of his tense abdominal muscles.

That overwhelming feeling she felt before... the one to beg him to help her find some relief... turns out to have been little more than a niggling sensation when compared to the agony coursing through her system. She feels hot and heavy an a total lack of restraint. If she were more in control of her faculties she’d wonder if whatever airborne aphrodisiac this planet boasted was somehow exacerbated by her natural hormone responses because she feels completely overblown in the moment.  

She turns her mouth to his ear and does something she’ll have second thoughts about later - she begs. He deliberates for only a moment then takes one measured half-step back towards the stool.

[ladyhindsight]

I decided to speak separately on the matter of racism in TLH. I'll give my honest opinion that I'm sure many people disagree (I don't care)

I suppose it's easy to just try to paint CC as someone who hates people of color even though we do not have factual evidence of that. I don't see a white person obsessing over their white characters and their features as a personal offense to me, I see it as something an author should work on so it doesn't get so atrociously obvious in their writing. The writing is problematic? VERY, but I'm not so simplistic as to believe this must mean the author is an horrible person who believes white features are objectively superior. The more I research about CC, the more I have reasons to side-eye her author persona, but I refuse to make this personal anymore.

The matter of race regarding Alastair is something I have felt deeply hurt and argued passionately about in the past, but once I realized how unserious CC's writing is, it stopped hurting me on a personal level and I went through a time of deep frustration while I saw fully how the world of TSC was so unplanned since the start and doesn't try to have any coherence. It helps that I have reads books so much more racist than any of TSC could ever be, that affects my view of it all, of course.

Part of the unseriousness is how in love the writing is with the characters. It's not one character in love with another, it's like the whole book is in love with the main characters. I'm sure I've read you saying: this before, the author's fascination with her own characters make the writing absurdly biased.

That takes to the treatment of Alastair's character: he is one of the characters of color I have related the most ever, I truly love him as a character. But the story is so in love with the main white characters that it gets fucked up how it can't not be forgotten how Alastair has committed the biggest of sins known to man: raise his voice to hurt the golden protagonists James and Matthew, not because bullying is bad, but because James and Matthew are so much better than him regardless of what they do, and regardless of what Matthew does or says against him, so hurting them is very, very bad. Bad Alastair!

In Chain of Iron, James seems perfectly ready to move on and be friendly to Alastair, and that's written as in to show how of a benevolent gracious kind understanding forgiving humble person he is, specifically how much of a perfect husband he is to Cordelia, being polite to her brother, it's not about actually showing understanding to Alastair - Matthew doing the complete opposite of James is not shown as flawed either. They are just perfecly right in whatever they decide to do, James being the perfectest and Matthew being just a little silly angsty guy.

The flaw is more actually in the writing of the MAIN white characters, and that has been the case since ever. As if Jace was split in two different parts, James and Matthew, and TLH just goes from there.

I should note, CC already mentioned Cordelia being half-Persian in early 2014, which can still be said to be early on the planning of TLH, so I don't think it's fair or accurate at all if someone talks as if Cordelia and Alastair's ethnicity was changed "last minute," that's definitely not the case

- R

I’ll add your other message here too since a lot of the subject matter overlaps.

I've been reading your posts that I had missed and this one is a contenter for my favorite post of yours.

The description of physical traits done by CC is something I've been observing for a while and I did my own research through the books.

I have reasons to be fond of CJ - she was the one who made up Robert/Michael and I'm inclined to believe CC may not have thought of it/included it in the books if not for CJ, and I wouldn't have Robert as he is in The Evil We Love. What a terrifying idea (to me).

On the other hand.......... CJ went a long way on her skills of painting skin color. The only slack I could give is 1) years ago nobody in the fandom knew how to paint dark skin, and even when ChoG came out a couple of years ago several artists showed how much they still didn't know how to paint dark skin with their takes on Cordelia and Alastair. It was a disturbing time; 2) CC's descriptions sucked ass.

First on the case of the Wiki: it's not 100% reliable, as I particularly noticed with skin color descriptions. I was the one to add there that Alastair has brown skin, what was written before was straight up lying and it was hard to not wonder if it was in bad faith somehow.

On the Rosales. The wiki has Diego described as olive-skinned with the only source being LoS, but in LoS his skin is described as brown.

Their color in that previous CJ artwork, as you noticed, sucks. Brown skin seems to be used very loosely in these books, and CJ seems to have projected Latino/Mexican stereotypes in her coloring of the ~Hispanic~ characters in general, and that goes together with the books also implying that Latinos all have the same coloring.

I know Americans/gringos don't understand much about Latinos but if you're doing some form of creation/art like writing and drawing it's expected that you try to understand this kind of thing.

Several of popular TDA fanart portrays Cristina very light, and it's annoying that people don't bat an eye at it. Latinos can have any skin color, and artists seem to use that as if it means that any color can be used to draw any Latino character, ignoring how they are actually described and instead going for the idea of Latino they have in their heads as reference.

Rafe is one of the Malec children and his ethnicity is left very vague, he is only assumed to be a person of color because he is Argentinian, but Argentinians are among some of the whitest Latinos. (No offense meant to Argentinians of color or even Argentinians in general - other Latino countries are often very white, like Cuba, with the obvious famous case of Camilla Cabello, a white Cuban). Rafe still could be an Argentinian of color, of course, but, you get what I mean? The generalization is definitely there.

Jaime's skin color has been corrected in his new flower card. I'm not Mexican so I'll just refrain from commenting the tattoo.

About Cordelia, you noticed the problem too. It was more a matter of general fucked-updness, but it's more complicated than it seems.

The oldest mention of Cordelia being half-Persian that I could find is from March 2014 (x). The first description was from CC's twitter in September 2014 (x) which artists used for a good while to make her very light colored, since it says "light" brown skin, and it was eventually changed to brown, just lighter than Sona's, Ariadnes's and Magnus' browns according to the on page TLH descriptions. Magnus really got darker over the tears didn't he

I assume this was the case of CJ too. I would like to point that since Persians can be generally very light-skinned, nobody had to assume they were dark skinned. I remember even talking to a Persian reader that was surprised at Cordelia and Alastair being dark skinned, but that person seemed to actually believe that they should be light skinned Persians, and I don't have knowledge of colorism-related tensions in Iran to have a deep understanding of this reaction. I don't get behind colorism.

Anyway, but even then CJ didn't have a problem drawing Sona brown-skinned, so she shouldn't have a problem drawing Cordelia brown skinned too.

There is the misconception going on even implied in the wiki that Cordelia and Alastair weren't Persian in the previous flower cards, that those arts were drawn before they were made to be Persian, and like I explained this is just NOT TRUE. CC and CJ simply fucked it up.

Have you seem one of Magnus previous flower cards? This is atrocious. What I collected in the books was that Magnus was first described as brown skinned in Clockwork Angel, it's a mistake that it wasn't first in TMI but CA is still many books and years ago. After it CC stil reblogged art with white-skinned Magnus and the fandom sure still did draw a lot of light skinned Magnus.

The casting for the movie and TV show surely didn't help. I was ignorant about the issues of Southeast Asian representation and this video series was very useful for me to understand the problem.

All these issues within TSC have been a big topic for me over the years, so I can discuss it at lenght, but here I talked a lot already. Hope my information was useful.

You probably have seen it already, but readers asked a lot for corrected flower cards of Cordelia and Alastair, and it happened. (x)

Thanks for reading all of this :)

- R

Like with the previous discussions about Cordelia, race, and racism in Clare’s writing, I said that I don’t really believe there to be any conscious malicious intent behind any of it. My opinion still stands on the thoughtless writing and Clare being unable to consider the implications of her writing being the main underlying issue. Obviously there are as many outlooks and thoughts on this as there are readers, and it’s difficult to speak in generalizations because the response Clare receives has been from side to side, and her readership is not a monolith.

I’m sure Clare doesn’t think of herself in any bad way, but as it is with her overall writing, her biases do show. The narrative is untrustworthy and partial to certain aspects and characters, so I can’t say those problems aren’t there. There’s also the issue of Clare’s behavior outside her books and writing. I am not incredibly familiar with everything within the fandom and readership, but I see stuff every once in a while. Somewhere around Chain of Gold, I saw people raising the issue of Clare’s Pinterest use. Where Cordelia was concerned, Clare favored images (for likeness, I assume) with light skin and red hair, because red hair was the trait she prioritized in Cordelia’s appearance, not her ethnicity which, I’d say, bears more significance and importance all things considered.

As to the flower cards, when An Illustrated History of Notable Shadowhunters & Denizens of Downworld was published in 2016, Cordelia’s card still featured her with white skin, though she and Alastair were told they were both half-Persian descent. Alastair did feature a bit darker skin tone though. Though it is notable that people of any descent vary in their looks, I think the problem was that Clare chose to include biracial characters of Middle Eastern descent and still chose Cordelia to be light-skinned, as if there wasn’t already so many white characters. I don’t know when the change did happen, but the flower cards did not reflect that Clare’s description of Cordelia in 2014: “She has light brown skin, dark red hair, and black eyes.”

It is questionable that only just a while ago in fall 2022 were the Cordelia and Alastair cards updated to be more appropriate to their looks. Also questionable that readers had to ask for them. Additionally questionable is that one twitter comment asking about Matthew and James because it seems like the purpose of updating Cordelia’s and Alastair’s cards went right over their heads. The information you provided was helpful, but also there still exists these inconsistencies that it’s incredibly hard to fault readers being upset with Clare and CJ. There’s been controversy around the official CJ art for a long time, I think (I suck at counting time), and it’s been really something. Aline, Jia, Magnus, for instance, were all drawn white for the longest time. There definitely has been issues with fan art overall as well for years, and not just exclusively in TSC fandom.

Magnus’ hands have been described as “white” two times, and both times (in City of Bones and City of Fallen Angels I think?) I was perplexed. Also shucks that the wiki wasn’t 100% accurate, because it was quicker to check it than go over everyone’s descriptions from the books. Also, now that you mentioned it, I did imagine Rafael with darker skin but because of the cover art for The Land I Lost, not that he was ever really described properly.

It’s good that you have personally been able to rise above the issue that it doesn’t hurt you anymore. The unplanned nature and the focus being somewhere else than authentic world-building goes for a long way in anything we discuss about TSC. There’s definitely stuff to be corrected in readers’ perception but at the same time, all the concern and hurt readers experience because of Clare’s thoughtlessness and bias are not negated by that (not that you implied it is, of course).  

[stargaze-issei]

— 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐤 𝐭𝐨𝐤 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝 + 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫-𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧 !

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭; karasuno and fukurodani react to their manager doing the body count/bodyody audio tik tok ! [insp by this tik tok]

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞; crack(?

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; suggestive themes, maybe a little swearing i can't remember ajaksjq.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞; the trend it's to put pictures of all the people you've slept with, in case anyone doesn't know!!

karasuno !

-> it was a joke, it wasn’t supossed to get out of the thrid year managers gc.

-> the girls found it hilarious and was a good conversation topic for hours, discussing who you put or didn’t put.

-> they knew, of course, it was fake. you hadn’t slept with oikawa, KYOUTANI, BOKUTO, tendou, atsumu, TERUSHIMA and OSAMU.

-> it was SO obvious it was a joke for them that nobody felt the need to point it out.

-> they just said things like “the most quiet are the worst ones” “OMG DETAILS ABOUT THE TWINS!!” “did terushima yk,, made a good use of his percing” because they KNEW nothing was real.

-> until tanaka and sugawara asked kiyoko for her phone to watch some videos of the new play they were trying.

-> and misaki, from johzenji, sent a “forget about teru— 🤢 can’t even say it,, Y/N I WANNA HEAR ABOUT BOKUTO!!! ik man’s  p a c k i n g”

-> tanaka looks at suga and suga looks at tanaka and they’re like .......tf

-> suga’s finger “slips” and they see the other messages until finally they reach your video.

-> you’re there looking pretty as usual and above your head reads “seems like were showing our body counts with this sound? here it’s mine 🤪”

-> tanaka is about to say “it can be what we’re thinking” but when OIKAWA’S picture appears both their jaws hit the floor.

-> nishinoya sees them and ofc he wants to know what’s so shocking, so he gets closer.

-> he drags hinata too, and shoyo’s like “that’s the great king!! play it again!! play it again!!”

-> fyi: suga paused the video because wOW and they don’t know who’s left in your video.

-> sugawara looks straight in the eye at nishinoya, going “keep hinata, kageyama and yamaguchi away and bring the team” with the MOST SERIOUS EXPRESSION

-> noya is lowkey scared??? like wtf??? but does as he’s told bc suga seems super intense.

-> kiyoko and yachi left to fill the bottles and pick some needed implements from the club room, you had classes for a few more minutes, therefore, there was nobody to stop them.

-> once the rest of the team, including tsukishima because everyone seemed to have forgotten he was a first year too, is together, suga plays again the video, while the littlest ones watch from afar in curiosity.

-> the silence, you will never hear them in a more tense silence.

-> they read what’s your tiktok about, daichi’s eyes go O.O, asahi goes RED, nishinoya seemed to be ready to FIGHT THEM ALL, ennoshita awkwardly laughs, even tsukishima blushes a little.

-> then oikawa appears. EVEYRONE’S EYES ARE FULLY OPEN AND NOYA LET’S OUT A GROAN???

-> but when kyoutani shows up they’re in SO much shock they kinda forget oikawa before, and daichi whispers an “oh god”

-> then it’s BOKUTO’S TURN and tsukishima just stops functioning. asahi is static on his place contemplating, withouth being able to form a coherent thought.

-> suga highkey wants the tea.

-> tendou feels like a betray to asahi, tanaka and tsukishima. noya, just for a second, wonder what was that like.

-> ATSUMU AND OSAMU FUCKING MIYA AND THEY EXPLOTE.

-> THE EXPLOTE LIKE WHAT????? WAS IT AT THE SAME TIME???? Y/N?¡¡¡¿¿1

-> they aren’t ready for the cherry on the top at the end, a picture of terushima sticking his tongue out, sweaty after a match, SMOKING HOT, and it’s not a picture he posted to his social medias or anything.

-> it’s only suga, and daichi a little bit, who realize that if that picture isn’t public, then either he send it to you or YOU TOOK  IT.

-> that’s when you walk in the gym, just to say hi before going to change.

-> the first year are playing among each other and you are like ????

-> they don’t even notice you’re there so you go nearer to see what they’re watching. and you see the picture of tersuhima yukie, from fukurodani, once sent asking misaki WHY her kouhais where that hot. it was also the only picture you had of him and the one you used in you video the day before.

-> the phone in suga’s hands seems familiar and... that’s kiyoko’s

-> “Y/N” screams asahi when he sees  you and the rest looks like they saw a ghost.

-> a second of silence goes before everyone blows in questions and you just hear names between bambling, “OIKAWA MNASNANPGDF” “MANASKL BODY COUNT ASLKLAS” “MAD DOG!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

-> and daichi makes himself heard despite the screams.

-> “y/n, i know you’re 18 and capable of making your own decisions, but we have to talk about... physical relationships, with our rival teams”

-> kiyoko arrives and quickly puts two and two together and asks yachi to go check on the first years.

-> she looks at you and sees you like WHAT TF DO I DO and nods and say “you shouldn’t have gone through my phone, no matter how curious you are, sugawara-san” COLD AS ICE ISTG.

-> AND SHE CONTINUES “what who y/n does or doesn’t do on her free time is none of your business, all of you, if she decides to get together with anyone it’s just up to her. you should be ashamed of yourself, specially the third years. you weren’t just violating y/n’s privacy, but mine, kaori’s, yukie’s and misaki’s. it may have been a joke, or not, but it doesn’t give you the right. if you ever do something like this again, we will be talking with coach ukai and takeda sensei” SHE GRABS YOUR ARM, TURNS AROUND, CALLS YACHI AND YOU THREE LEAVE LIKE QUEENS????

-> once you’re in the club room, both you and kiyoko start laughing because the team was FROZE in place. not even daichi was so scary.

-> the team then apologizes to both and send an audio to the groupchat too, and never bring the subject uo again.

-> still, they all wonder everyday if you really did or not.

-> and of course, they get so defensive when they see any of the boys in the video it’s hilarious to you and the other managers.

— fukurodani !

-> damn yukie making up dares that always ended up bad for either you or kaori.

-> mostly you doe.

-> at a sleepover, she was like let’s make fake body count vids and who falls asleep first has to show them tomorrow at practice!!! it will be fun!!!

-> you accepted because you usually fell asleep after one of them did but that time it was like they gave you a sleeping pill because you fell like a rock after a few hours.

-> as to why you were there, the day after, about to go ask the team if you should post it.

-> you list consisted on kenma, kita, sakusa, daichi, and just for the fun of it, konoha.

-> the girls call konoha aside so he doesn't ruin the prank, and you proceed.

-> "hey guys, should i post this?? i’m not sure if i look good enough to be seen by the world” bokuto practically yells at you that you always look pretty before taking your phone from your hands.

-> “why don’t you ask yukie or kaori?” asks akaashi, that was a question you hand’t thought about and by pure luck, you were saved by bokuto yelling at the team to come and see what you’ve done.

-> konoha is about to head their way and yukie just grabs his arm like “no ❤️"

-> and nobody can contradict yukie’s no so he has no choice but to stay.

-> anyways

-> the team gather around bokuto, who is about to press play. at first it’s just your face, and everyone agree you look pretty.

-> but then they read “did anyone say body count? ;)” and they look at each other like ......what

-> washio leans to stop the video because he genuinely doesn’t know what body count is, sarukui explains it a little too loud, grinning, and washio goes "oh–"

-> thanks to sarukui’s explanation bokuto confirms his idea because one part of him did think it was how many people you’ve killed.

-> they press play again and kenma appears and bokuto just stares, doesn’t react.

-> akaashi’s eyes widened and he GASPS, washio can’t hide his disappointment mostly because why would you make this video and then show it to them.

-> when kita shows up bokuto lets out a surprised squeak, along with washio that’s just question your and his whole existences-

-> sarukui is smirking, his complete expression yells “way to go y/n!!!”

-> sakusa comes as a shock to every one of them, even sarukui loses the grin for a bit.

-> “how did you manage to...?” whispers akaashi, half amazed, half grossed.

-> bokuto then has to pause it for a little to keep his composure, he looks at your like WHY WOULD YOU MAKE ME GO THROUGH THIS

-> but when they resume it and daichi welcomes him he thinks it just can get any worse.

-> washio is like “isn’t that karasuno’s–?”

-> “HELL YEAH IT IS” SHOUTS SARUKUI AND THE GIRLS BEHIND YOU LAUGH SO HARD BECAUSE HE IS SO PROUD OF YOU.

-> the rest is like 🧍‍♂️ while sarukui is SO happy for you LMAO.

-> it’s at the end when no one smiles. konoha’s picture smiles at them and bokuto just stops the video to look at him, only a few meters away.

-> he looks at the picture and then at konoha and so on.

-> can’t get his mind around it????? lowkey no one can.

-> akaashi isn’t even blinking and his eyes are concerningly open, washio is regretting all his past choices that led to this moment.

-> sarukui death stares at konoha. no more fun sarukui, he crossed the line.

-> kaori and yukie are wheezing WHEEZING I SAY and konoha is so confused.

-> his teammates look like dogs about to attack but he hasn’t done anything to upset them?? has he??

-> like robots, akaashi and bokuto get up and walk towards konoha. a part of you tells you to protect him but... what are they going to do tho...

-> “you’re out of the team” THEY SAY AT THE SAME TIME AND ALL AND KONOHA GOES WHAT

-> your co-managers can’t even breath istg NO HELP

-> you then intervine trying to keep konoha in the team lmao “IT’S FAKE GUYS!! A PRANK!! KAORI!!!! YUKIE!!!! BACK ME UP!!! I’M KIDDING DON’T KICK KONOHA OUT”

-> akaashi partially believes you, but bokuto?? nope.

-> you planted the seed on his mind.

-> the whole team acts weird when they see guys from your vid and are looking for chances to bark at konoha.

-> “AKAASHI HAS TO STAND BETWEEN YOU TWO ALL THE TIME” that’s the new rule he set.

-> just to see them freak out, konoha sometimes flirts with you at practice ;)

[excelsi-or]

just a little sweeter (pt. 4)

This is sorta just a filler to get to the next part, which I may post later today because I like that part. Anyway, hope you guys like it :D

w.c. 1.7k (sick jihoon needs coddling, lots of soonhoon best friend moments)

pt. 1; pt. 2; pt. 3

Soonyoung enters the café, his eyes scanning the place. They settle on the person in the black cap sitting in the corner nearest to the cashier with his head down. 

Soonyoung looks to the front to acknowledge the voice that greets him. Her customer service smiles shifts to something friendlier: recognition. Soonyoung crosses the room to her. They both glance at the human being sat in the corner, who is also wearing the largest headphones that scream ‘do not disturb’.

“When Seungcheol told me he’d be here, I was honestly surprised.”

She shrugs. “He came in, ordered and sat down,” she explains. “He hasn’t said much. Where’s Eunha?”

“She’s spending a week with Jihoon’s parents, I think.”

“So why is he so stressed out?” She pauses before lightly tapping the top of the counter. “Wait, never mind. That’s none of my business. My business is about whether you want a drink or not.”

“Yeah.” Soonyoung’s eyes skim through the menu even though he has it memorized and orders 12 drinks. He hesitates for a moment. “Has he… said anything to you?”

She glances over her shoulder, now in the process of making drinks. “Like I said, not much. He said something about getting sick.” She nods towards where Jihoon’s sitting. “So I told him to sit and rest for a while.”

Soonyoung nods his head before sliding into the seat across from Jihoon. The man looks up at him, his eyes glassy. It seems to take a second for Jihoon’s eyes to come into focus.

“You’re sick,” Soonyoung states.

Soonyoung recognizes the pallor of Jihoon’s skin. It suggests that he’s been overworked and his body is forcing him to slow down. A flush is spread across Jihoon’s cheeks, his ears, and down his neck.

“Yes.”

“And you’re here.”

“Yes.”

“When you normally come to the dorm.”

Jihoon hums in agreement.

“So… why are you here?”

Jihoon offers a small shrug. “I wanted to be alone.”

“Alone,” Soonyoung repeats. 

That’s a new one. Jihoon tends to be more affectionate when he’s sick. He asks Soonyoung to do things for him, clings to him when he’s ill. He asks Soonyoung to spend time with him in the studio. While the man has done some of that, he wonders if Jihoon is finding a new safe place to be.

Soonyoung had overheard Seungcheol and Jeonghan discussing Jihoon’s new interest. And while Soonyoung is excited that Jihoon is thinking of getting back into the dating game, a part of him is scared for his best friend. They’ve spent so much time together that Soonyoung knows Jihoon well. For all the pushing and lack of skinship that Jihoon offers, Soonyoung knows that the man appreciates him. Otherwise he would have pushed him further away.

When Jihoon had stumbled into his room on that fateful night and said, “I’m going to be a father,” Soonyoung had no idea what to say. But he didn’t need to. Jihoon just needed someone to listen to him cry about how he wasn’t cut out to be a father. 

Then that relationship ended and Soonyoung had been the person Jihoon found solace in. He’d spent hours on Soonyoung’s bed working through how taking care of Eunha would go. While all the boys were supportive during the custody battle that Jihoon ultimately lost, none of them had seen Jihoon break down as much as Soonyoung and Seungcheol had.

And when Eunha was reintroduced into all their lives, Jihoon had come to him first and panicked. Before finding Seungkwan and Minghao who seemed to know more about children than himself.

The idea that someone else could break Jihoon’s now fragile heart worries Soonyoung. And the fact that Jihoon came to the café instead of the practice room screams volumes.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Jihoon insists.

Soonyoung nods slowly. “Do you want to come back to the studio with me?”

She appears at his side then and Soonyoung gets to his feet. The drinks are packed carefully. She and Jihoon make eye contact and she gives him a small smile before returning her attention to Soonyoung. “I’m pawning off a few sandwiches, because they’ll go to waste if I don’t.” She hands them over to him, making sure he’ll be able to carry it all. “Take it to the members. You guys need to keep your energy levels up.”

Soonyoung grins at her. “Shall do.”

She bows her head and then goes to a recently vacated table to clean.

Soonyoung notices Jihoon’s lingering eyes. “You know where to find me if you need me.”

Jihoon hums.

Soonyoung starts to head out of the café, but retreats as he passes her. “Hey.”

She straightens, her hands full of dirty mugs.

“Can you watch him for me?”

She glances back at Jihoon. “Sure.”

“And make sure he eats?”

She nods. “Yeah. I’ll send him home when my girls take over later.”

Soonyoung looks over at Jihoon again. The man has his head ducked, the visor of his cap covering any view of his face. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, Soonyoung. No worries.”

A few hours later, Jihoon has barely moved. She wondered a few times if he’d fallen asleep, but he would adjust himself, reassuring her that he hadn’t. She doesn’t approach him again until the end of her shift.

“Hey.”

Jihoon lifts his head. She’s nonplussed by how ill he looks.

“I’m heading home. Are you going to stay here?”

Jihoon looks down at his half-filled page of nonsensical lyrics. “No.”

“Are you going to be able to make it to the dorm?”

Jihoon stands and then topples forward slightly from the headache. She reaches out for him and helps to straighten him. “Yeah, it’s not—” he takes a deep breath, “—far.”

She stares at him and says, “Maybe you should come with me until the boys can pick you up later.”

Jihoon nearly snaps his neck to look at her.

“Or… not,” she says slowly, taking a step back.

“I… uh,” Jihoon massages his forehead with one hand.

They stand there for a a beat, waiting for Jihoon to finish his sentence. When he can’t, she takes a step back. “Come on. I’ll feel bad if you pass out on the way and no one knew.”

Jihoon doesn’t have the energy to protest and can’t even think of where the dorm is in his hazy state. So he trails after her. It comes to his brief attention that he could stay in the studio until the members get back. But that thought only lasts a moment. 

She stops by a convenience store and he catches a whiff of her perfume. He realizes he probably looks like a stalker following her around like this. She doesn’t seem to care or mind, as she keeps looking back to check on him. They wind through aisles and he thinks she asks about orange juice.

By the time they make it to her apartment, Jihoon is near falling into her. She clucks her tongue and lets him rest his head on her shoulder when his head starts to spin in the elevator.

“You’re on fire, Jihoon.”

“Thanks,” he mutters.

“Not that kinda—never mind.” She gently takes his wrist and leads him out of the elevator and down the hallway. She helps him sit on the couch in her apartment and he curls himself around a pillow. It gives her time to move the coffee table and set up a pile of pillows and blankets for him on the floor. When she encourages him to lie down on it, Jihoon knocks out immediately.

“Yeah, I would have contacted you directly, but I only have Seungcheol’s number. He really wasn’t well.”

She laughs.

“It’s not like that. You know that.”

Was that the door?

“Thank you.”

Jihoon wakes to the sound of water sloshing and acoustic guitar. His head is pounding when he opens his eyes. The smell in the air isn’t immediately familiar, but he recognizes the couch he’s facing and the rug beneath the blankets. When he rolls onto his stomach, propping his chin on his arms, he sees the desk and all the art supplies hidden beneath it. Lifting his head a bit higher, Jihoon can see her hunched over something.

Jihoon clears his throat.

“Drink the water and orange juice,” she says without turning around.

Jihoon’s brow furrows before he notices the two glasses nearby. He sips both. “What am I doing here?”

“Well, until a few seconds ago, I’m assuming, sleeping.” She turns in her seat and smiles down at him. Jihoon notices the takeout container at the corner of the desk. “You didn’t seem like you would make it to the dorm and you sort of just went with whatever I said. So you’re here. Soonyoung said that they should be done by midnight and that he’ll come pick you up later.”

“What am I? A child?” Jihoon closes his eyes to get the spinning to stop.

“No, just sick. You need to slow down for the next couple days.” The slight squeak of her chair tells Jihoon she’s gone back to painting.

He doesn’t have the energy to argue with her.

Jihoon wakes up again to distant voices.

“He’s been in and out.”

“Thanks for looking out for him. He hasn’t been sick in a long time.”

“Well, I know Eunha was sick last week, so maybe he caught something she brought home.”

“At least while she’s with her grandparents, Jihoon can rest with us for a while.”

Jihoon is fully coherent when he sees Soonyoung squatting near his head. “Hey.”

Jihoon hums.

“You ready to come back to the dorm? I’m driving.’

Jihoon winces. “Where’s Jeonghan hyung?”

“Sleeping at home probably.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost 2. Schedules ran late.”

Jihoon closes his eyes again. “Okay.”

Soonyoung glances back at her. She’s dressed in her pajamas. He recognized from her voice that he had waken her to pick up Jihoon. “Come on. I think your host wants to go back to sleep,” he whispers.

Jihoon wants to sit up, but his body won’t cooperate.

A familiar chuckle fills his left ear. Two gentle hands find the space between his neck and the pillow, and the back of his head. Then he’s pushed to sitting. Someone moves around in front of him and takes his wrist. “Come on, Jihoon, I can’t do this alone.”

Jihoon puts as much energy as he can into standing. He topples forward into whoever was holding him.

“Wow, you’re clingy as hell today,” Soonyoung grumbles. He untangles Jihoon’s arms from around her to his shoulder. “Let’s get you home.”

[sol1056]

wuxia/xianxia: a loose and somewhat second-hand introduction to the genre, pt1

Sorry for the unconventional q, but i keep seeing Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation everywhere and I kinda want to get into it but a) don't know where to start (web series? live action adaptation?? wait how many are there!) and b) i don't really "get" wuxia / xianxia, that sorta stuff, i find it really hard to cross that cultural barrier and chinese mentality seems very alien. (it's not that i have no experience w different mentalities but chinese in particular is v hard to grasp w/o sources).

So if you have the time and patience, I'd love to hear a summary of it (like, a coherent summary bc all i get on the wikis is a shower of names and concepts that don't make sense to me) and perhaps some "intro for dummies" abt the relevant parts of chinese history and mentality tied to it? not just the cultivation / buddhist part but also re: familial relationships, philosophy and all that. (v brief and low effort of course) Thank you and sorry for bothering you!

("brief and low effort" referring to what I'm asking from you, not to what I need for me - as in i asked for it so i'm more than ready for a complicated essay, but you can write with as much detail as you like, I don't want to ask for some sort of comprehensive tome)

Okay first, you do realize that if you want “brief and low” for anything, you’re asking the wrong person? I was a philosophy major. brief got drilled out of me a long time ago. 

Second... well, explaining what makes The Untamed / Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation (mdzs for short, from the chinese title, Mo Dao Zu Shi) such a standout story does require understanding some of the wuxia conventions it subverts -- as well as some that it plays straight (so to speak) very, very well. 

I figure the best approach (again, sadly not brief) is to first get a handle on the genre of wuxia. Gonna break this post into two, so you’re not reading in a single three-hour stretch or something. I’ll do a follow-up about mdzs, to hopefully make it a bit more accessible for you. 

before I do that, let me first say: I didn’t grow up with this genre, so there’s going to be parts that I may miscast unintentionally. for an insider’s view, my go-to voices are @guzhuangheaven, @atthewaterside, @dramatic-gwynne, @the50-person and @drunkensword. if any of them are reading this and can point to more/other/better voices, please do.

I have three analogies -- like cultural doorways --  and like all analogies, they break down when you get into the finer details. In the broad strokes, though, they mostly work, and if nothing else, hopefully they’ll demonstrate that wuxia may be a chinese-specific version, but part of a storytelling tradition that’s nearly universal.

The three doorways are: the american wild west, the samurai era, and the british arthurian romances. And, in a tangential way, the regency period in the romance genre. 

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

The term ‘wuxia’ can be translated several ways, but I prefer ‘martial chivalry’. Most wuxia takes place in the jianghu, a harder term to unpack. Generally, though, ‘the jianghu’ has connotations not all that different from what americans mean when they reference the wild west. 

More of a concept than a physical place, the jianghu (like the ‘wild’ west) exists beyond the reach of the law and/or civilization. It’s occupied by a diverse cast of farmers, merchants, beggars, and so on, but also by outlaws, gangs, hermits, pretty much all those who don’t like the suffocating nature of the civilized world, for whatever reason. It’s not a lawless place (except to outsiders); it does have laws, but those are only unto itself. 

So, jianghu is a world to itself, for the most part -- which also makes it kind of timeless. Tang dynasty, Song dynasty, Ming dynasty, it could be any of them and all of them and none of them. Just as the heyday of the cowboys and the cattle drives was barely a decade long, a culture’s romanticized history stretches into lifetimes that exist separate from any date you could pin down on a calendar. 

The average wuxia protagonist would fit in reasonably well as knight errants in an arthurian romance, with one important detail in difference: they’re rarely aristocrats. Wuxia protagonists are just as likely (if not more so) to be lower-born, whether the child of farmers, or servants, some common caste. 

This is where wuxia diverges from the british and japanese traditions, which have a bit more noblesse oblige going on (knights and samurai both being upper-class types). Even ‘aristocratic’ characters tend to be so only within the jianghu -- sort of like the way a territory’s elected leader in the wild west would’ve had no pull in Washington, given they weren’t from a fully-recognized state. 

Wuxia does often have politics, between competing sects (think schools of learning), but that political infighting is independent of the capital’s rules or wishes. A lot of stories -- in the rare cases the topic even comes up -- tends to speak of ‘the capital’ in disparaging terms. 

That’s not to say wuxia is all about the flat social systems (it’s definitely not), but most commonly a rank implies some level of competence/study. The title of sect leader isn’t granted, it's earned. Children inherit, but it’s also a common storyline to have an heir with no skills (who then goes through all the trials and tribulations to finally level up and earn that position in turn).

What makes wuxia hard to grasp is its vernacular: the conventions that form the backbone that make something recognizably ‘wuxia’ and not just ‘historical drama set on a frontier in a loosely-defined time period’. 

Frex: in a Wild West story, convention is two gunfighters at opposite ends of the street, and at least one of them is wearing a holster tied to his leg with string in a way that no real gunfighter wore, ever, but Hollywood came up with the idea and now it’s a permanent part of our imagination. In the arthurian romances,  convention is carrying the token of one’s lady love (a distant, untouchable figure who rarely appears on-page), or meeting the unnamed knight in black on the jousting field. Convention are the samurai who’ll die for their lord’s honor, always touchy and prickly at the first sign of disrespect. 

These are things granted the most remarkable gravity, that to an outsider might seem ridiculous. (Why is there always tumbleweed?) 

Now, wuxia is the latest evolution in a long-lived literary tradition (and by ‘long’ I mean like 2000+ years) -- but like any living tradition, each subsequent generation reinvents it for their time. Part of that reinvention comes from particularly influential writers, who put their own spin on things, and their interpretation becomes the next generation’s standard for the genre -- “of course wuxia must have X” or “a protagonist never does Y”. (Like how Tolkien almost single-handedly changed western concepts of elves, in fiction.)

And here’s where I explain what regency romance has to do with it. Another short-lived period, in real history, but along came Georgette Heyer, who took bits and pieces of actual research, blended them with her reactionary politics, exaggerating some things and ignoring other things completely. The result is a time-that-never-was, but she cast (and still casts) a shadow so vast that I’ve seen multiple romance writers complain that readers will see a footnoted-and-researched version as wrong, if it contradicts one of Heyer’s made-up conventions. 

Modern wuxia has its own Heyer-sized influencers -- like Jin Yong (the Condor trilogy, Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils), Wen Rui'an (The Four), Gu Long (The Legend of Flying Daggers, The Proud Twins), to name a few of the biggest. If you have a chance or are inclined, the big names get remade on a pretty regular basis, and catching one will at least let you see some ur-tropes in action. 

But it also means that you can’t really extrapolate, in the sense of saying, “in wuxia, people do X, ergo, X is also a factor in Chinese culture.” It’s like... take any western made in the 50s, and the vernacular is simple. The bad guys wear black hats, the good guys wear white hats, the prostitutes wear bright-colored dresses with frills and the good women wear subdued colors buttoned up to their neck. It told an audience exactly what character filled what role, but that’d tell you zero about real people you might meet in Nebraska or Utah, let alone New York City. 

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

Almost forgot: xianxia is basically wuxia but with ‘immortal heroes’ -- so there’s gods, divine influences, non-human beings as characters (main or NPC), etc. (Btw, by ‘immortal’ I mean exactly that, like this character is six hundred years old, that one’s a thousand years old, etc.) You can think of xianxia as wuxia, but amped way up on the mystical scale. 

Xianxia will sometimes take place on earth (jianghu) but sometimes in the celestial realm (heaven). Or a mix of both, like stories where a character falls (or is banished, or defects) from heaven and has to go through various trials and tribulations as a mortal human in order to regain a power, rise in rank, fall in love, or whatever their goal is. 

A number of wuxia stories are driven by some sort of mcguffin, but in xianxia, the mcguffin is more likely to be a powerful spiritual weapon. But I can also think of a number of wuxia in which the mcguffin would fit right in, in xianxia (some near-mystical thing with significant positive, or negative, power independent of the wielder, which often amplifies or boosts the wielder to an inhuman degree, etc). 

Thing is, the mcguffin being divine/infernal supernatural isn’t enough alone to make the story xianxia. I’m pretty sure you need non-human or super-human immortals and/or creatures to be considered in the xianxia genre. 

part two

[travllingbunny]

The 100: 7x02 The Garden

I love this episode. Mostly for the beautiful and emotionally complex Octavia-centric flashback story, for all the exciting revelations about the nature of the Anomaly and time dilation and the overall story of this season (all the exposition was done in a surprisingly natural way and never bothered me), and the way the two timelines were interwoven. It says a lot that I wasn’t even bothered by the lack of Clarke or Bellamy  - or the fact that this episode featured only 6 characters (plus some extras in suits), one of which was a deranged minor character we’ve never seen before. Episodes focused on a small number of characters and plots often feel more coherent. 

Comparisons between The Garden and Eden are obvious, the two even have basically the same title, and many similarities and contrasts, so I rewatched Eden yesterday, and I’ll be writing a post about that episode soon, too. I rewatched the entire show just before season 7 started, but season 5 is the only one I’ve never written reviews of, so this seems like the right occasion. it will also be interesting to rewatch Red Queen after this.

One of the things that I noticed rewatching season 5 is how well the cinematography has been used in seasons 5, 6 and 7 and how it differentiates different worlds. The ruined Earth in season 5 was mostly in sepia, yellow and grey tones, looking like a gloomy desert - except for Eden, which had normal colors. Sanctum has bright colors - it’s beautiful, but a little too colorful, almost psychedelic, dangerous. Skyring in this episode mostly seen in soft light and blueish-green colors - a peaceful paradise. 

Or is that a prison? A solitary/house arrest? I love this duality - it can be both. The most beautiful place can be a prison that drives you insane, if you’re all alone.

One garden, two serpents

Isolation is a theme we’ve seen on The 100 with many characters: Clarke was in a solitary for a year, distracting herself with drawings, then alone roaming around for 3 months, then forced to spend 6 years on a deserted planet, but she was only completely alone for the first 2 months, when she was fighting with nature and lack of food and water as much as with loneliness, and she was talking to Bellamy every day - who couldn’t even hear her - and hoping to see him again. Murphy was alone for 3 months in a fully stacked bunker on Becca’s island, but comfort is no help when you’re all alone, only have one and the same videos to watch and music to listen to, and you don’t know if you’re getting out. Octavia was the Girl Under the Floor for 16 years, and she had her mother and brother, but no one else; then she was locked up for a year; and after all the fighting, including the 6 years in the bunker with 1200 people she ruled over (which was maybe the time when she was more lonely than ever!), she ended up spending 10 years of her life on a planet with a family of two people - again - and no one else, and - just as when she was a child - with little hope that she will ever have a chance to meet anyone else. And here we see the effects of a  prolonged isolation from everyone else, with poor Orlando (that’s what he’s called in the end credits), the prisoner who dug out dead bodies and used a creepy doll just to have an illusion of friends. 

Unlike Clarke in 5x01, Octavia did not have to struggle with loneliness or fight to survive, but the paradise in which she had accidentally ended up in was also a prison of sorts, since she could not get out of it and was likely to spend all her life there, without ever seeing her brother or any other people, except for Diyoza and Hope. Like Clarke, Octavia found a family, and a child to take care of, but unlike Clarke, Octavia did not become a little girl’s adoptive or substitute mother.

The title evokes Diyoza’s line from 5x13: “One garden, two serpents. Eden never stood a chance.” Instead, they got to have their paradise here, until Octavia’s attempt to send her brother a message brought the Disciples from Bardo there to capture them. I’m not sure if that was a bad or a good thing - since that was probably their only way out of Skyring. 

(There’s also a literal garden in the episode, and  this was the first time we saw Octavia farm the land since 4x09, when she learned how to do it on Ilian’s farm. That was the last time Octavia tried to escape her darkness by having an idyllic farm life and a relationship, at least for a few days before the end of the world comes, but her past came back in the form of those people who recognized and attacked her - and she realized she wasn’t cut out for peace and rode into Polis looking for a war. She wasn’t ready at the time to give up violence. In season 5, she insisted that “Farmers won’t save the world, warriors will” - which Monty proved wrong. And now, Octavia has become a farmer.)

But Octavia’s paradise was forced on her, and it was clear that she and Diyoza didn’t really feel the same about living the rest of their lives on Skyring. The difference is, Diyoza doesn’t have anyone else in the world she cares about - everyone she once cared about has been dead for centuries. and she has given up on trying to change the world. She obviously wanted to do it once, when she was fighting “the fascist government who tried to take my home” and blowing up buildings, but she’s now tired of the violence, after being a terrorist/rebel, then a prisoner of a big corporation, again a rebel fighting against that corporation to save prisoners from being left to die just because they were deemed expendable, then she led another war - which ended with her baby-daddy destroying the Earth, and now she’s tired of the violence and wants to have a different life in peace with her daughter, who she didn’t even want to teach fighting of any kind. She’s also content to live without ever reuniting with the rest of the human race. Maybe partly because she was quite hurt to learn that she was supposedly in history books as one of the worst people ever. (Which she really shouldn’t have taken seriously - since it was Russell who said it, so these “history books” can only be Sanctum history books, written by Russell or his family members or other Primes. They left Earth around the time when Diyoza was just arrested, so it’s unlikely they even knew what history books said about her in the next few years - and even if those history books said so, they would be history books written under the same government Diyoza was fighting against.)

Octavia, on the other hand, still has other people she cares about in the world, most of all her brother. Not only did she leave a time when she knew Bellamy and others are likely to be in danger from the Primes - and she had no way of knowing they had learned the truth about the Primes by themselves - but they parted on bad terms and with unresolved issues and with no catharsis, and Bellamy would probably be left thinking she really died when he left her on Alpha - instead of learning that she did resolve her issues and find peace.  She didn’t know that her attempts to get back the way she came, through the lake, would never work - if she had succeeded, she would have probably ended up on Bardo instead. Ironically, only when she made peace with the fact she couldn’t go back and sent a letter in a bottle, it ended up alerting the Disciples - but it all eventually resulted in Octavia ending up back on Sanctum in the same place she left (whether she escaped and came back from Bardo or through some other planet?), and got the chance to tell Bellamy in person that she understands him now. 

There’s some ambiguity about Octavia’s relationships with Diyoza and Hope - at times it seems that Octavia is Hope’s co-parent: she lives with them and is closely involved in raising Hope, after all - not exactly like an aunt who just occasionally visits and plays with the kid. All three of them are shown as a close family unit. However, Octavia does not see herself as Hope’s mother - nor does Hope see her that way. She is “Aunty O”. Hope has a mother, and not an absent or inattentive one, but someone like Diyoza, fully focused on raising her daughter. Octavia and Diyoza may be seen as sisters - with “Aunty O” and Octavia telling Bellamy in the letter that she loves her like she loves him even though she’s a ‘pain in the ass’. Or they could look like “an old married couple”, as Diyoza called them back in season 6 when they were finishing each other sentences.

(But if we’re supposed to think that Octavia’s and Diyoza’s close relationship never got sexual in any way, in spite of the fact they lived together for 10 years without any other adults around and with almost no hope they would ever see another adult, then I guess one or both of them is really extremely heterosexual, real 0 on Kinsey’s scale. If we’re supposed to think that. Technically, we don’t know for sure.)

Anyway, this ambiguity of whether Octavia was a co-parent to Hope or not has caused some debate on Twitter about what degree of responsibility Octavia exactly had towards Hope and whether she was allowed to leave her. But even if Octavia is seen as a co-parent, I don’t subscribe to the idea that every adult, especially a woman, who comes into the situation of taking care of a child must immediately forget about all other relationships, concerns and desire and subjugate their entire life to taking care of that child. Especially when it also means that the child will be isolated from the world at large. I didn’t think it was healthy when Bellamy’s whole life revolved around protecting Octavia, either, or when Clarke, after escaping Polis in season 5, thought for a moment that her and Madi living all alone, as they did during those 6 years, would be an OK future for either of them.

Octavia may not have thought the whole time dilation through (yes, it’s quite likely Hope would be old or die before she returned from Sanctum with the other people, since she’d need time to find Bellamy and others, explain things to them and back them go back, but she still had hope (no pun intended) that both she and Hope could have more of life than and was still fighting to make contact with her people on the other side. Diyoza may have been right about the time dilation, but how did she imagine Hope’s life was going to be in the future? Yes, if Octavia left, Hope would end up alone after Diyoza died. But if Octavia stayed, Hope would still be left all alone after Diyoza and Octavia died, and never got a chance to meet anyone else, have any other kind of life, be a part of the human race.

One may argue Diyoza was being selfish, trying to keep Octavia there, and she certainly did take away Octavia’s choice and forced her to stay. Though, in her defense, she thought she was saving her life - but it was still was one of those “I’m making choices for you because I know what’s best for you”. And it wasn’t her whole motivation - it was mostly about wanting to keep Octavia there as a part of their family unit. Octavia called her out on the fact that it wasn’t all about Hope, it was about their relationship, too. Which certainly seemed emotionally intense, with Diyoza being hurt and sort of jealous at the thought that Octavia would leave her and Hope and that she may love her less than she loves her brother. 

The episode played a lot with the parallels between Octavia and Bellamy, with O using what she had learned from Bellamy to take care of young Hope the same way. And the parallel between Octavia and Hope as “Girls Under the Floor” were even more obvious, even before Hope literally had to go under the floor to hide from the Disciples. That would put Diyoza in Aurora’s role and Octavia in Bellamy’s. It’s not a perfect parallel, as Bellamy didn’t  have any other strong attachments to anyone or any other family while Aurora was alive. But, while Aurora seemed to have no other vision for the future except focusing fully on hiding Octavia, Bellamy tried to give his sister an opportunity to meet other people and live a life - by taking her to the dance - and Octavia was similarly the one who wished to bring other people to Skyring and was giving Hope the hope (!) she would meet them.   

The Three Stooges and the Anomaly

(Thanks @jeanie205​ for that moniker LOL) The one thing that brings down this episode (I’m taking away half the point from it) is the very unlikely degree of plot-induced incompetence that the trio of Hope, Echo and Gabriel displayed throughout this episode - so they could get stuck on Skyring, maybe for 5 years:

Hope knew the bridge was under the lake - she should have known the note could get washed up!

How come Hope didn’t know there was more than one door to the cabin? Or if Orlando built the other door, or someone else who was there while she was away, how come none of the trio noticed that other door?

Even the windows looked big enough for someone to come in. Why didn’t at least one of them stand guard in the cabin? Or at least somewhere close where they could see what’s happening in the cabin? Why were they both sitting somewhere outside? They weren’t even close to the door. Did they think Orlando could only come into the cabin from one direction?

Why didn’t Gabriel take the memory viewer with him when he ran out? Come on, dude, that’s one of the most important things you have there, and you know there is a deranged guy outside, and you just leave it there?

Still, I enjoyed this part of the story, too, especially with all the new info we got - which got me speculating the whole week - see my theories  here.

Gabriel is so adorable as an old man scientist in a young body and even the fact he is more interested in the Anomaly than in any living human is kind of endearing. We also got a glimpse of the nerdy young doctor who was once crushing on Becca before going to the mission and meeting Josephine.

Echo is finally starting to justify her main character billing this season, getting an actual storyline rather than tagging along around Bellamy, and she is already a much more enjoyable character. She hasn’t actually changed much yet - but she’s now put in the position as an audience surrogate, wondering what the heck is going and asking question like “Where is Bellamy?” while Hope and Gabriel spout exposition (they do it so well though that you don’t even mind it).  It helps a lot that she’s not around any of the Spacekru, so we don’t have to deal with the forced “we’re all close family due to the 6 years off-screen, which we spent in utter boredom and without any actual dangers we’d have to deal with” dynamic. Instead, now a character she’s interacting with (Hope) and Echo’s own hallucinations are constantly calling her out on her past actions, which helps fix the issue that season 5 created - the impression that Echo is the one character who doesn’t have to deal with the consequences of her past actions, with her past being simply waved away with “they spent 6 years with her and she’s now one of the good guys” (Although, while I like Hope calling Echo out, Hope got it wrong - Echo didn’t kick Octavia over the cliff after stabbing her, Octavia tripped and fell. But that’s not the first time in the show the writers Octavia has misremembered an event.)

This will be the second time Echo is stuck somewhere in a peaceful place with just a few people for 6 5 years. How much of this will be off-screen? It certainly helps that we’ve already seen her interact with Hope and Gabriel in two episodes, and the dynamic between Hope and Echo is developing, with Echo starting to comfort Hope when Hope showed vulnerability behind her fast-talking snarky exterior. 

Echo still doesn’t seem ready to “face her demons”, since her reaction to her own hallucination telling her she’s still just a killer and asking her who she is if she doesn’t have someone (Bellamy) to follow, was to ignore it and try to kill people and now swear she’ll kill everyone she needs to in order to get to Bellamy. But I assume this is just the beginning of her long overdue character development.

Was there significance to Echo plucking the flower and then looking at the sky? Was it simply her starting to appreciate the beauty of the planet? t It reminds me of how Clarke was  touching the flowers in Eden in 5x01.

Other observations:

Technically, I guess this episode was really Hope-centric, since she was the only character in both timelines. 

I’m not sure what exactly the scientific explanation is for Octavia’s arm healing the moment she got to Skyring. How does the whole temporal flare thing work? 

"What is it about Bellamy that makes otherwise sensible women willing to die for him?” - I see what they did there. I bet this is a hint about what the focus of a lot of this season is. Hope meant Echo and Octavia, but we know that Clarke’s storyline will also soon become about looking for Bellamy “her missing people”, “her family”, “people she loves”. On the other hand, I’m not sure how much it makes sense for Hope to ask that - she must have heard Octavia’s stories about Bellamy, so she’d know what it is about him that’s so special - his devotion to those he loves and how ready he is to do anything for them. But maybe Hope felt some of that same jealousy Diyoza did, or her mom’s jealousy rubbed off on her, because Octavia kept trying to get back to her brother.

It’s interesting that Octavia named “Bellamy, Clarke and Madi” as the main people she wanted to bring here. She didn’t mention Raven or Miller (as she would if she was talking about the Delinquents as a family going back to season 1, or even her mentor Indra, or friend Niylah. Just Bellamy and Clarke and Madi - as a part of her family she wants to bring. There’s no reason why she’d see Madi as her family but not Indra, so this definitely seems like Clarke and Madi are seen as Bellamy’s family and a package deal in Octavia’s eyes. (And that’s before she even witnessed what happened in 6x10.) Not that surprising considering Octavia’s “another traitor who you love” comment from 5x08 and her dislike of Echo. Ironically, almost killed all three of them as Blodreina, which is maybe also a sign of how much she’s disconnecting from that role - even though she hasn’t gone through her 6x09 Face Your Demons hallucination yet.

It turns out Octavia was older than Bellamy in 6x09-6x13. The green box was probably her peaceful life on Skyring that she did not remember. But the red box was the unfinished business with her past. It seems that she was changed psychologically by her time on Skyring even without remembering it.

Hope is now the third child raised on stories about the Delinquents. Little Hope liked Murphy, just like Jordan did  during his “rebellious phase”. Madi, however, was an Octavia fan.

I guess Orlando saw Hope’s name written on the door, since it doesn’t seem they ever met before. But where did the creepy doll come from? 

If prisoners all end up insane as he did - and they probably do, after such long periods of complete isolation - that’s a really messed up way of making people into “true believers”, by breaking them completely. A solitary confinement that’s years long? Cruel.

The Bardo symbol (Phoenix) was seen in the bucket and bottle Octavia was using, which proves that the Bardo people had already been on the planet before Octavia and Diyoza ended up on it.

If Orlando had no one else to dig out, I guess they always make sure to bring the prisoners back after they’ve served their sentence. But they probably killed Dev.  I hope we get the story about Dev and Hope in flashbacks. Seeing what his facial expression was at the time of death, that guy certainly didn’t die a natural death.

The Becca cameo was cool, and this was a whole new face of Becca, kind of cheeky and funny. But her comment that time dilation is “sexy as hell”... um, OK, Yeah, how lucky you get to “get to the future faster” and possibly die before getting a chance to ever reunite with anyone else you know? To be fair, she did not expect all the others in the mission to die and leave poor Colin on his own.

Gabriel “had to be sure she (Josephine) was really gone”. But maybe a part of him deep inside hoped she wasn’t..

So the Anomaly was already there when Colin Benson crashed on the planet. Hmm... that seems to go against my theory that the Anomaly Stones were made by humans at some point during the previous 230 years, but I’m still not giving up on it. Eligius 3 must have travelled longer to Skyring, if it is so far away from Earth and Sanctum,  I don’t think that “Beta” meant that Skyring was the second stop of Eligius 3 - maybe the planets were graded by how good conditions they had for human life. Which would put Sanctum and Skyring at the top, but Sanctum was closer. And with all sorts of time shenanigans going around, maybe there’s some way that the Anomaly Stones could have been placed there by humans. I just can’t believe that it was really some alien race millions of years ago, especially with the Anomaly symbols looking like Greek letters, many of those used in physics or math,  the gender symbols, and the infinity symbol is there, too. 

This was one of the rare episodes of The 100 where no one died. Though we did learn about some people’s past deaths.

Rating: 9/10

[alyssabethancourt]

If you only read one of my project updates, make it this one.

It took most of the day to kick in, for some reason, but the price of the Mornnovin eBook on Amazon has finally adjusted to 99¢. It will remain at that deeply discounted price at least until February 26th. I may or may not be persuadable on the subject of extending the sale for an additional week.

So now that the stress of that unexpected snafu has lifted, I can do a proper update.

It's Friday, five days in, and as of posting this the fundraiser is sitting pretty at $821 or 22% funded. We're nicely on track. The next big goal, obviously, is getting to 25% ($925) and I'm confident we can hit that mark easy-peasy before the end of the weekend. Please, keep talking up this series and sharing the link with your friends, family, and followers.

Trajelon is a special book not just because it's mine and I have to say that, but because it explores issues and themes that I don't think we see often enough in fiction – especially not in the sparkly elf magic genre.

I'm going to get real with you for a minute.

I've talked before about how the version of Mornnovin that is now published is the culmination of thirty years and four versions of telling that particular story. What people may not know is that I'd also written Trajelon once before.

In late 1997, I was 18 years old and I'd made some terrible decisions that I was locked into living with for the foreseeable future, both because of the nature of responsibility but also because of pride. People had tried to warn me, and of course being the age I was, I knew everything. I'd been downright insolent about my conviction that I knew what I was doing.

So there I was, miserable, bridges burned, everything to prove, struggling under the load of several massive responsibilities all taken on at once, knowing that I'd made the bed I now had to lie in. I was also trying to pass my first semester of college as an English major. I can't remember now precisely which combination of events led me to come to this conclusion, but I started to feel that although I was reasonably good at academic writing, my creative writing was a clear waste of my time. I actually went as far as deciding to give it up.

I think, now, that I might have been trying to punish myself.

That take makes sense in hindsight because as soon as I'd grounded myself from the sort of writing I actually enjoy doing, two things happened.

One, at odd moments I started doodling scenes that weren't supposed to be part of anything, so I was free from the feeling that they had to be any good or make any kind of sense or fit within a larger narrative. This would come to be important later.

And two, the scenes I was scribbling down without any commitment to story or quality were all about bad things happening to Loríen.

Because writers have to write, even if they've made bullshit nonsense declarations about how they've given it up, a story idea did eventually coalesce out of all of these snippets. And because of where I was, the story was dark. The finished product was horrible, but it was genuine – a savage cry of pain from someone who believed she had no right to it.

Fast forward ten years. Now it's 2007. I'm still living in that hell of my own making, but it's different because I'm ten years older and time does change things, for better or worse. Now I'm working a crappy retail job and it's killing me. To save my sanity, one day, I pull some blank receipt paper out of the cash register and in tiny, cramped letters I start scribbling some scenes that aren't supposed to be part of anything. They're just junk for my brain, something to keep me alive. Because they're not for anything real, I don't worry about them being any good or fitting within whatever other arbitrary writing rules I have for myself. At night, while the household is asleep, I transfer the cramped letters from cash register paper to computer file.

After a while, I realize they are actually starting to make a coherent story, but it's not canon, I tell myself. It's just some cracky Asrellion fanfiction. Just some mindless entertainment. I keep giving myself permission to tell a different kind of story from whatever I imagine canon to be.

By the time I leave that crappy retail job, I find that in my time there I've managed to scribble onto bits and pieces of receipt paper what amounts to roughly twenty typed pages of... something.

Then I realize that what I have on my hands isn't just something, it's the seed of a new version of Book 2. One that actually has something to say besides screaming in wordless agony. The only problem is, this new book that I can see laid out before me is far too good for the terrible most-recent draft of Book 1 that would precede it.

Then I realize that I'm going to have to write this book, which means that I'm also going to have to rewrite the first book in the series in order to lay the necessary groundwork.

That's the story of how I came to begin my ground-up re-imagining of Mornnovin in 2008.

It turns out to be a good thing that I took the time to do that first, because I wouldn't have been ready then to tell the story that I ultimately had in me in 2016 when I wrote Trajelon over the course of six intense months. By then, I had escaped Hell. By then, I was safe. By then, I had some perspective on what it is not just to live through but to survive trauma and depression.

The first incarnation of Trajelon was what I needed it to be when I screamed it up, all those years ago. It was catharsis. I don't blame it for its darkness or its ugliness any more than you would blame a post-surgical scar for its raw appearance. This iteration of Trajelon is what it needed to be. Almost Athena-like, it sprang fully-formed from the brain of its creator. And it's no longer a cry of suffering. It's... a meditation on living with the suffering that inevitably comes along with the triumphs we experience in life. Living with, enduring, growing from. Learning to discard where possible. Drawing into our identity and building off of where necessary.

No doubt this is scary territory for some readers, but that's exactly why I think it's so important to tell these stories. They can't all be about glorious victories on the field of battle. There are more shades to the spectrum of the human (elven?) experience. I so wish this book had existed at a time when I could have drawn strength from it. Now I no longer need to draw on that kind of strength, but others do. I know they do.

So maybe this was a big old heavy update for a Friday evening, but I hope you don't mind the candor. This book is very personal for me, as you now understand, and that would have become clear anyway as soon as you read it. Because I think that's actually its truest and purest strength, I wanted to be up front about it in this fundraiser. I am pitching to you a fantasy novel written by a survivor of abuse, trauma, and depression written for survivors of abuse, trauma, and depression.

If you, like I do, think that's an important thing to have exist in the world, please help me get the word out and bring it into reality.

And thank you for letting me get real.

Help fund TRAJELON on Kickstarter.

[epicpastefailure]

Finally, that long pan-to-bi story.

The only reason I changed from bi to pan in the first place is I believed the hype about pan being more inclusive and I'm not wedded to a Type, so I thought it fit better.  I actually didn't have any animosity towards bisexuality because I was already happily identifying as bi by the time I came across this discourse, though ages before that I briefly hesitated on doing so because I knew I preferred men and didn't want to be saying something that wasn't true "just to look cool or something".  (Didn't realize as a young one it's not about raw numbers.)  I bring that up only because I'm the type of person who wants to be extra-sure a label is correct before I apply it to me - meaning that if I had known in advance about real bi history I certainly wouldn't have changed in the first place.

The change to pan was during some of the earliest days of tumblr, something like 2012~2014, back when I was much more credulous than I am now and assuming the people making lists and infographics about LGBT things were both well-informed and also acting in good faith, when it's clear now that a lot of them were at the least not well-informed.  I also happened to be fortunate enough to be among people, parents included, who had no problem with my sexuality, so I wasn't thinking very critically about my labels and the history behind them except to choose what seemed to be the most "accurate".  What changed my mind was continually encountering bi people explaining why they preferred bi to pan (one irritated person finding pan- identifiers to represent "one more person who decided bi wasn't good enough"; even when I wasn't ready to retract yet, that stuck with me), explaining that bi didn't mean the things that non-bisexuals had decided it meant and never meant those things, and it finally occurred to me:

"Well, to me it's a complicated question, because if bi- is not to mean "two" or to necessarily imply a limitation then I don't see a real point to pan- anymore, and this is as somebody who would call myself pansexual.  There's no functional difference between "I'm into all genders" and "gender doesn't matter to me", though a difference is there.  The way that pan would make sense as distinct is as a way of saying the person has no type, no preferences or no strong ones.  Like a bi person might still have a look or a personality they prefer in a partner, but with a pan person all you really need to do is "click" with someone.  But if even that definition doesn't work, then pan is pretty much unnecessary."

I have no idea what circa I wrote that (more than a couple of years ago) but I clearly intended to post it as a response to something, and never got around to it.  I even forgot that I had already parsed all this out until recently.

After getting past that point, the only reason I didn't ditch pan sooner is, I admit, liking the flag better, since CMY(+K) = full color spectrum (although I knew that's not the original intent of the choices, it just ended up that way) and I disliked the bi colors.  I mean, it wasn't just "I don't like this as much as that", back then I thought the bi flag was just outright ugly.  Didn't like the "drab look", didn't like the colors, didn't feel a connection to it at all (when I didn't know what the symbolism was).  Pan's was brighter and "more beautiful" and more pleasing... (putting it that way, it seems like my reactions to the flags more or less mirror those of pan identifiers who take a dim view of what they think bisexuality is, looks like, and means).  And it did factor into why I jumped ship to pan all those years ago, maybe more strongly than being led to believe pan was "more accurate".

May I digress about that?  I guess because that's the motivation for more than a few people, it is pretty relevant.  I've been slowly getting over it because when I paused to really look at them, the bi colors are actually very nice - it seems I just didn't like the plum-ish lavender between the magenta and blue.  I've seen a version of the flag with a way prettier lavender shade I actually like (but the flag's creator's only request was to keep the shades consistent, so I must).  The result of the symbolism of the color choices, though, is actually very close to how I instinctively felt about bisexuality and the exact nature of the genuine pride I take in/joy I feel about being bi, having all doors open to me.  What is there not to like?

Even then just over the flag is not a good reason to have a whole other label for the exact same sexuality.  I guess it was just hard for me to get past my gut reaction and realize that, 'cause I don't like to realize I've been wrong/misguided for really silly reasons even if it's been a long time and I've learned and changed since then.  (I have to be honest, too, the symbolism of the pan flag is not only less coherent than the bi flag's (by focusing on divisions instead of blending and mixing), but seems to have led some people to assume that the bi flag uses the same type of symbolism, when it's actually one of the ones that doesn't use gendered/gender-role-based colors at all (which I like).  I actually saw a bi-identified person say "The purple stripe on the bi flag is meant to represent attraction to nb genders"... no, that's not even close to what it means...)

So just a few months ago, before I even had any clue about the huge pushback going on, I finally cut the cord and jettisoned pan, even the colors.  Not before buying a couple pan flag things at a ComiCon, unfortunately, but one I would have gotten anyway because it was the pan colors with the words "Pretentious Bisexual".  I thought that was perfect and had no idea that was Shots Fired at the time, lol.

Had I known back then what big problems pansexuality has been causing for bisexuality I wouldn't have waffled for as long as I did.  But I have to say, even if I still ID'd as pan, I wouldn't think it's "erasure" or "-phobia" to acknowledge that in the modern use it's another word for bi, because that is a true fact (and one I was kind of already aware of even back then; for instance when labelling my own bisexual characters, even "being pan" I couldn't just say they were pan since bi was "so close to the same thing" and I never wanted to throw bisexuality under the bus by excluding it when it could apply.  I always said "bi/pan").  And even if someone disagrees they shouldn't shit on bi people, holy fuck, and then go on to wonder why people find "pan" to be anti-bi.

(It IS biphobic anyway, because as pointed out bi has historically meant what pan was "supposed to fix about it".  Nobody's saying IDing as pan is inherently a violent attack, it's fully possible to be biphobic out of simple ignorance.  It's okay; you can fix it.)

[somuchbetterthanthat]

OKAY. ramblings thoughts. I’m probably not coherent enough yet for this. I should relisten to the episode, I was too busy being a mess of emotions. But! I’m going in. Yes, by the way, it seemed i have entirely misinterpreted the ending of the episode, so, you can call me as dumb as you want.

“I know you said we should wait for basira” = Look, it implies even more time passed, and Melanie and Jon talked about the plan a bit. It also means that Melanie “refers” to Basira, that is, she definitely thinks Basira has more brain than Jon, who’s got so much heart, and - fair enough. But I’m really, really curious about Basira and Jon’s future dynamics, okay? I really fucking am. Especially now that Jon’s plan *gasps* worked. In a way. Either all of you guys are right and Basira was the one who saved him, in which case Jon might just defer to her as well like he’s been doing since the beginning of the season, OR, Jon getting out was independent of her, and he might start to, well; argue a bit more Basira’s general decisions. (let’s not forget, after all, she hadn’t told him about Helen....) (....yes, i just really fucking want some basira&jon drama I GUESS)

“If I don’t come back all you lose is...” JON MY DARLING WE LOVE YOU OKAY STOP HATING YOURSELF. God. That self-loathing and utter disregard of himself breaks my heart. He genuinely believes he’s unimportant in their lives - or, worst, he’s the source of their problems, and they might as well just have been better off without him. I just. Jon. Jon. JOn; i love you. Please get a hug from someone. anyone. I’m not picky at this point. 

Those coffin noise? Haha. terrifying. Horrible; When Jon started to hear the rain??? HAHAH N O P E. When he said he was stuck? it was awful! I hate the buried! said the one who just wrote a fic where the buried was nice! WELL I CHANGED MY MIND. 

I feel - Dear god, I feel like i’ve been so UNFAIR to Daisy Tonner though I realize that we had no way of knowing that, y’know, who she was without the Hunt guiding her. But? I was expecting her feral, i think we all did? and then NOPE. She sounded scared and soft and god, god. It was FASCINATING. The change! the Hunt had had her for so long, basically since she was a child! And underneath it all -- though, hey, Elias was right, or rather, he pulled that information of her right, i remembered her non-statement “I like that people call me daisy because it’s sweet” (i think it was something like that). I know this won’t talk to many people, but suddenly she made me think SO MUCH of Eponine. Maybe Alice Daisy Tonner was meant to be a dove, she just turned different because of bad luck and the chase and the blood taking hold of her. 

Jon: “Hey, dear Beholding, can I know where my spare rib is now that i’ve got daisy? we’re ready to go home.”

The Eye: “Nope, here’s the knowledge that you are stuck there forever. Enjoy, my darling son.”

Jon: get a new statement, sort of. Experience the doom of being entombed alive. 

The Eye: “Never mind darling, now that you’ve learnt your lesson, let’s get you back up. Look at all the tape recorders waiting for you!”

Like @cuttoothed said in their previous post, I agree that I was a bit surprised, even a bit bummed out, for a moment - by the fact there was no Big Emotional Anchor Revelation Moment. I fully expected, when Daisy talked about Basira that this was going to come into play??? But - not at all. In this particular case, we can assume Daisy yearnt for Basira for six months, and it still didn’t free her. THOUGH, in a way, wasn’t her fear of what she would be if she got in the coffin keeping her inside as well? That would have been an interesting angle to explore, y’know? I mean, i’m intrigued at what they’ve hinted at instead, the tape recorders and all, but --- Jon trying to get Daisy to think of Basira, musing/joking self-depreciating about the fact that /he/ doesn’t have anchors to hold on to when Daisy says that she /tried/ but couldn’t get to it; and then of course big Oh My God I Care About People moment, but somehow both of them are still stuck because they fear who they are outside... 

(tho, does Jon fear it? I mean, he said he did, but mostly he sounds so..resigned about it all. “I’m even less human now” he says, and it’s careful and just - resigned, but also matter of fact. “that’s what my life is i guess whatevs”)

OKAY SO LET’S TALK ABOUT THE ENDING.

First, Jon experiences the Fear of being buried and trapped. Then, suddenly, the anchor “is closer” --- frankly that part baffled me, at first; i still thought the rib was the anchor and that somehow it was WORKING which seemed super weird but i was so happy we were going to get them out that I just went with it. AND THEN

... Okay so. Listen. Listen. I heard all those tape recorders going off, and I thought “... Jon and Daisy actually spent weeks in there, and the tape recorders are just a proof that time went on and Things Happened and are waiting to be Listened To.” 

BUt apparently, what truly went on, according to all of you guys, is that tape recorders were jon’s anchor; and that maybe basira put them here????

... honestly.

God, honestly? I don’t want to. I mean, i’ll accept it if it’s what happened, especially if it was like, on Elias’ advice, but - But i sort of really want this to have worked on this on. Like, yeah, it wasn’t the rib, that pulled Jon through, it was the tape recorders, sure, but I want this to be between Jon and the Eye, if it must. I... I don’t want this to turn into “everything jon does is stupid, everything basira does is always brilliant” i’m sorry. 

HOWEVER, while I know that Basira being here is probably because melanie sent a text going “So, Jon’s in a coffin now, wanna come back?” the idea that maybe Elias and Basira were midchat and then suddenly Elias grinned a very satisfied, smug grin, and looked at her and went: “you may want to go back home, Detective. I believe my Archivist has finally entered the coffin.” is like. Peak Comedy to me and I want it to have happened this way; Please. 

“Hi,”

“Oh my god.”

WE WERE ROBBED OF THEM BEING REUNITED I AM MAD TWO MINUTES MORE OF JUST THEM STARING AT EACH OTHER AND NOT EVEN KNOWING IF THEY SHOULD HUG BECAUSE THEY WERE NEVER HUGGING PEOPLE LIKE???? WHY CAN’T WE HAVE THAT??? WHY ARE WE ROBBED LIKE THAT?????? SCANDALOUS. 

oh, oh - and - 

“oh my god what i have done?” “yes but not alone -” “..right.. not alone” oh. my. god? this gave me so many feelings?????? Let Daisy and Jon be friends as well????????

“Like all your other plans?” I burst out of genuine laughter oh my god DAISY. Yes. that was good.

People are aware Jon is here, and also his clothes change in dreams. Nice. Now that he has that knowledge, can he wear nice things going to bed with encouraging gentle messages for the people who suffers the nightmares. LIke, YEAH, he can only watch and be terrifying in them, but i feel like all the victims would feel much better if he had a t-shirt that said: “You are valid and you survived and i support you. Good luck and also i’m sorry” (okay that’s a long t-shirt but y’know)

[the-kings-tail-fin]

Cal doesn't believe in ghosts. But both Lightning and Bobby had something in mind;;; based on my random oneshot where both did a prank on da poor Cal (in da forest) and scared da heck out of h i m HUHUHU

I was sitting at work when I saw that picture you posted on Instagram and I nearly choked on my water in the break area. Cal looked so worried!

“Come on, Bobby, are we there yet?” Cal complained. “We’ve been out here forever.”

“It’s been ten minutes, Cal.” Bobby reminded him. “And don’t talk so loudly. You’ll wake the spirits up.”

“Whatever.” Cal rolled his eyes and kept trudging through the undergrowth.

Bobby’s property was extensive, and right smack dab in the middle of Nowhere, Mississippi. Mississippi in summertime is as swampy as it gets without going to the Louisiana bayou itself. With outrageous humidity and insects the size of small tires, Cal didn’t want to be outside in the daytime, let alone at night.

His friend thought differently. Bobby had told him all about this supposedly haunted shack a half a mile or so back through the woods. When Cal laughed and told Bobby he didn’t believe in hauntings, ghosts, or anything of that sort, he’d essentially signed his own permission slip for going and checking it out.

The sound of the crickets and bullfrogs was overwhelming, consuming the night around them. They were driving with no lights through a lightly wooded, swampy field, guided only by the moon and Cal’s wavering trust in his friend. The dew had coated everything, so not only were they getting dirty, they were getting wet and itchy as well. 

“This place better be as good as you say it is.” Cal said, shaking some mud off his front right tire. “I’ll have you know this is the sketchiest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Relax, man.” Bobby continued to talk in a hushed tone. “Just go with it. Take in the lore.”

“I told you, I don’t believe in lore.” he reminded him. “The only piece of lore I ever even found interesting was The Legend of Wooley Swamp and that’s just because Tex likes to listen to The Charlie Daniels Band a lot. And if you’ll recall, that story didn’t end well for anyone.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now come on, there’s a creek up here we need to cross. Then we’re almost there.”

Cal heard it before he saw it. Bobby took point and crossed it first, leaving Cal to hesitantly follow. He didn’t like not being able to see what was in the water, and flipped his headlights on to get a better look. 

“Cal!” Bobby hissed at him. “No lights! What’s with you?”

“I just wanted to see the water, sheesh, calm down.” Cal turned his lights back off and entered the stream hesitantly. He hadn’t seen anything, but then again he’d had all of two seconds to look.

The moment his front tires beached on the other side of the water, something loud and thudding came pounding towards them from the yonder side before splashing into the water. Cal screamed as something hit him in the side, and kicked up dirt and mud all over Bobby as he high-tailed it into the woods. He couldn’t see anything, but only something huge could have made a sound like that. Was it chasing him? Was this the end?

“Cal!” Bobby caught up with him and pulled him to a halt. “Dude, what was that?”

“I don’t know!” Cal was whispering now, panting. “I don’t know, man, but it was big. Did it follow us?”

“I don’t think so. But then again I didn’t see it either.” Bobby looked worried. “I don’t even know what kind of creature could make that big of a commotion.”

They sat in silence for a moment and listened. There was nothing, not even the crickets and frogs now, at least not for a long ways off. It was eerie. Cal felt a shiver run through him.

“Alright.” Bobby sighed, still speaking quietly. “Come on. Stay with me. No lights, no loud sounds. Got it?”

A twig snapped behind them, and Cal squeaked in surprise. He could almost feel something breathing down his side.

“Okay.” his response was barely audible as they slowly, quietly started into the final leg of their journey.

Cal couldn’t shake the feeling that something was following him, but every time he turned and looked behind him, there was nothing. He would drive through patches of warm air, cold air, warm, cold, then warm again. In some places the insects would be singing, and in other places they wouldn’t be. Something wasn’t right, and Cal began to realize there may be more to the place than he’d given it credit for.

To keep his mind occupied, he began mentally singing the lyrics to the song he’d had stuck in his head ever since they’d started in on their adventure. It wasn’t exactly comforting, but it was distracting.

Well if you ever go back to the Wooley Swamp, well you better not go at night.

There’s things out there in the middle of them woods that’d make a strong man die of fright.

There’s things that crawl and things that fly, and things that creep around on the ground.

And they say the ghost of Lucius Clay gets up and he - 

Bobby stopped so suddenly Cal nearly ran into him. Bobby motioned for him to stay still, and Cal wasn’t about to protest. He was suddenly very acutely aware of the environment around him, like his senses had all just been dialed to ten. There was something small moving in the weeds to his right. A bird flapped its wings above him and to the left. All other life was silent around them.

Cal shivered. He wanted to go back to Bobby’s house, but he didn’t have the guts to say so. He had to tough this out or he’d never hear the end of it.

“Did you hear that?” Bobby asked.

“Hear what?” Cal didn’t hear anything. All he heard was a lack of something.

An unnatural screaming sound came from behind them, and something warm and writhing fell onto Cal’s hood. He jumped, shook the screeching creature off of him and pushed Bobby forward. Bobby didn’t ask questions. Cal was trembling, too shook up to make any sort of noise.

“Maybe this wan’t a good idea.” Bobby murmured. 

Cal, wide-eyed and paranoid, stuck to Bobby’s side. “You think?”

They continued to drive. Cal saw it before Bobby pointed it out. That old rickety shack looked just like what Cal’d pictured Lucius Clay’s house to be. He was immediately on the lookout for pits of quicksand. He wasn’t dying tonight if he had anything to say about it.

“Finally.” Bobby said in a normal tone of voice. “We made it!”

“Yeah, great.” Cal's fear nullified any excitement he might have felt. “Now what?”

“Now we go check it out!” Bobby approached the front door and opened it.

The hinges creaked ominously until the wooden slab came to a halt. Cal nosed in and flipped his headlights on again. They’d made it past whatever had been following them, right? If Bobby thought it was safe to talk out loud, it was safe to use lights.

It would have been a cozy little area had it not been for all the cobwebs. The house looked like it had been left in a hurry. There were dishes still in the cabinets and a table set to be served. A window on the opposing wall opened up a view of the pond behind the building, and it was actually quite serene.

“Hey, this is pretty cool.” Cal called back to his friend.

No response.

“Bobby?”

Cal went to look out the way he’d come in, but the door slammed shut as he turned. There was more silence.

“Uh, alright, man. Really funny. You bring me out here, we get chased by something, you lock me in an old building, I get it.” Cal sounded much more confident and relaxed than he was.

There was still nothing. Cal pushed on the door, but it wouldn’t budge. He thought he heard whispers from across the room, but when he looked there was nothing there. As if on cue, the light of the moon was obscured by darkening clouds, and Cal was fully dependent on his own lights.

“Come on, Bobby, I - “

The floor was shaking. Or was that him? No, it was definitely the floor. He could see each individual wooden board modulating under some unseen weight. Cal felt cold again. And scared. He wasn’t afraid to admit he was scared.

He tried ramming the door, but there wasn’t enough room for him to make a run at it. That didn’t keep him from trying. Silently panicking, he tried to consider his options, but his mind wouldn’t process anything more complex than what was right in front of him.

Something touched his rear fender. Cal yelled and whipped around, ready to strike. Two figures approached him from behind, covered in old ratty sheets that had horrible embroidery on them. Cal’s fight or flight mechanism had switched from flight clear to the other end of the spectrum. He reached out, and in one swift motion, pulled the fabric off the two intruders.

The two immediately started laughing while Cal looked on, speechless and a little angry.

“What the heck?” he asked incredulously. “Bobby, how did you get in here? And Lightning, where the heck did you come from?”

His friends only responded to his questions in more laughter and mockery. Cal finally felt safe, but at what cost?

“Dude, you were so scared.” Bobby wheezed. “When McQueen jumped into the water earlier, I thought you were gonna… and then he threw a...”

His own laughter cut him off mid sentence. Cal gave Lightning an annoyed look, expecting a more coherent answer.

“Cal, there was another door right over there.” he informed him. “You could have just gone out that way instead of trying to bring the place down. Oh, and by the way, where’d you learn to scream? I’ve never heard anything like that.”

Cal just sighed. “Alright. Whatever. You got me. Now what? We’re out here, aren’t we?”

“I brought beer, cards, and poker chips.” Bobby said, catching his breath and pulling a box out from behind an old wooden chest. “Who’s down for some backwoods poker?”

[devoraakss]

Dangerous

Chapter 1: Nothing Like a Close Encounter with Death 

AO3 Link  

Summary:                          

Aveana had always had some small amount of magic, nothing as extravagant as Asra's, but she could weave life into the most difficult plants and heal most minor wounds with a bit of concentration. Under Asra's laid back teachings, she grew in leaps and bounds, he even took to teaching her how to read the cards, which she seemed to have a natural gift for.  It was useful, and she provided her magical services to the needy or poor, and only asked that they take care of themselves in return. She was a kind soul, and perhaps that was why she felt so out of place in her current situation.

Aveana didn't think of herself as helpless, far from it actually, but she would be a fool to say she was experienced in violence. Which made meeting an assassin... unfortunate, at best.  Before she had met Asra, from what pieces she remembers, her life was simple. She was a healer of sorts, herbal remedies and all that. She spent her days tending her plants and browsing the marketplace with a peaceful sort of calmness. When Asra arrived on her doorstep, he seemed to bring chaos with him. She wasn't sure what compelled her to allow him to stay, perhaps it was his charm, or her ache for companionship. In the end she couldn't be sure, but in return for her hospitality he took her under his wing as his apprentice.

Had she known how many times he would be absent, perhaps she would have reconsidered, but she didn’t regret it.  It was both a blessing and a curse, to learn under him. He was so secretive, and only provided the most minimal instructions before leaving her to her own devices. Which of course, she could manage but still, a little more guidance would have saved her from many ills.   Aveana had always had some small amount of magic, nothing as extravagant as Asra's, but she could weave life into the most difficult plants, and heal most minor wounds with a bit of concentration. Under Asra's laid back teachings, she grew in leaps and bounds, he even took to teaching her how to read the cards, which she seemed to have a natural gift for.

  It was useful, and she provided her magical services only to the needy or poor, and only asked that they take care of themselves in return. She was a kind soul, and perhaps that was why she felt so out of place in her current situation. She ached to waltz barefoot amongst the marketplace once more, basking in the hot sun and the call of the gulls overhead. At the Countesses palace, the only cry was of the tropical birds who sounded like they were dying, and her every step measured and evaluated for weakness by Nadia's court.  But now was no time to be aching for home, as an unknown attacker nearly knocked her off the bridge as she and Portia headed back from the town after a day of shopping for the upcoming masquerade.  Aveana stumbled to keep her balance, the vampire eels in the water below gathering under her shadow cast on the water. Portia screamed, alerting the guards as her attacker pulled a knife.   Sharp and serrated, and with the faintest hint of magic, it glinted menacingly in the setting sun. Aveana tried to put some distance between herself and the assailant, but to no avail as the attacker swung at her. The blade caught on her clothes, cutting deep into her chest. Stumbling back and out of her shock, Aveana quickly conjured a ball of magic and hurled it at the attacker, knocking him off the bridge in his stupor.   A splash, and a shrill cry was all they heard as the vampire eels took the man under.    Aveana was shaking, covering her wound with her cloak, she did not wish to have anyone fuss over her, though by the whispering coming from the guards she suspected the entire town would know before the sun had fully set.   "Oh, Aveana! Are you alright? You're not hurt are you?"  The apprentice shook her head. "No, no I'm... alright. Just shaken... I do not think I will be able to join the countess for dinner tonight... I am feeling quite drained.. I am not trained in offensive magic. It has taken a toll on me." It was a lie, but Portia looked convinced, though barely.  "I see. I will alert milady at once, after I have seen you to your room, and I will have guards posted at your door. Alright?" Portia looked at her earnestly and Aveana could only nod, though she did have plans to visit a certain... friend.

  Portia looked pleased and quickly ushered her through the palace doors and to the guest wing, busy servants glancing at them curiously. Portia ignored them, and was silent until reaching Aveana's room. "I'm sure my lady will want guards posted at once, I will check on you soon. Are you sure you are alright?" Aveana laughed softly, nodding. "please, do not fuss over me. It is just some fatigue. Nothing I haven't experienced before."  Aveana didn't wait for Portia to leave as she shut the door, letting her cloak flutter to the floor as she let her guard down. 

Almost collapsing into a chair, she peeled off her nearly blood soaked tunic, luckily it was dark enough to go unnoticed for a while. Examining the wound in the mirror she hissed. The blade tore he skin from her sternum to her collar bone, she's lucky he didn't catch anything important. Digging in her bag for her supplies she gathered the bandages and herbs she always kept on her person, chewing the healing herbs in her mouth before pressing them onto her wound gently. it was probably a bad idea to use her mouth to grind the herbs but it was the best she could do.

The healing sting made her knees shake, suddenly thankful for the chair. Ignoring the pain she pressed the clean bandages over and tying them off around her to keep them in place.  Something cool and smooth slithered over her ankle, red eyes peering at her from beneath her discarded cloak. Faust looked at her, tongue flicking out to smell the air and quickly sliding up her leg once the scent of blood was realized. Strange enough, the familiar looked concerned, as concerned as a snake could be anyway. "I'm fine Faust. But I'm sure you'll tell Asra, regardless. I've got to go now." Faust seemed to look disappointed and slithered off somewhere.  Grabbing the new clothes she had brought from her home she slipped the clean tunic, a soft fabric from overseas that was a rippling blue color, that seemed to change in hue as she moved. She can't quite recall how Asra came upon it, but she remembered him telling her it was her color. Though she was convinced he was just buttering her up to apologize for accidentally smashing her vials of wolfsbane. Changing out of the rest of her dirty clothes and donning what she had brought from home, she once more prepared to venture out, this time ready to fend off all future attackers. 

No doubt her 'friend' would have already heard of the incident, and be causing a scene if she didn’t arrive tonight. Scribbling a quick note for Portia about a lead on the murder, which wasn't a lie. she did have an idea that would help, but probably not help the countess, and leaving it on her bed.  'Portia, that attack gave me an idea that may help Nadia's investigation. I'll be back when I can, keep the gardens clear would you? And... don't tell the countess, I don’t want her to get her hopes up if it turns out to be nothing.'   she opened the window, glancing down, her vision doubled and she swayed slightly. She quickly tucked her head back into the building, feeling sick.   Foolish. She had forgotten the side effects of those herbs, but it was too late now, just don’t look down. Grabbing hold of the firm vines that crawled up the building she climbed down quickly, and quietly headed for the secret route out of the palace. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  Entering the Rowdy Raven, the tavern was quieter than she had ever seen it, but only slightly. At the sight of her, the barkeep let out an irritated sigh. " 'bout time ya got here. Jules is 'boutta wear a damn hole in my floor, and im tired ah hearin' his damn boots click.." the old man grumbled, but looked pleased, whether it was about and end to julian's worried pacing, or that she wasn't dead she couldn't be sure. His fake eye rolled in its socket as he whipped his head around to yell upstairs. "'ey devorak! Ya friends here."    The sound of boots hurriedly marching down the stairs announced Julian's arrival, grey eye wide as he searched the room until settling on her. "Am I late?" Aveana joked, the herbs effects making her feel fuzzy all over, which was both a good thing and a bad thing. Good, it was working properly, bad, her tongue would be looser than usual.  Julian's look of relief was obvious, but he didn't seem to lose his worried demeanor. "My dear Aveana are you hurt? When I heard what happened I was mortified, I thought--"  The barkeep snorted, which sounded almost too similar to how a boar would, scowling at the two of them. "bah, save yer sweet talkin' for the bedroom boy. Yer takin' up space by the door."  Julian's cheeks flushed briefly, before he began pulling her towards the stairs. "Come, and tell me everything that happened. Is the bastard dead?"    Aveana followed without protest, shaking a hand through her hair, making it come loose from the bun that sat atop her head. "I mean, I knocked em off the bridge. Vampire eels probably got em... dunno if the guards got em in time. Don't really care. " She was coherent enough to know her slurred words would likely catch his attention, but she couldn't bring herself to care. It occurred to her she was suddenly cold... and Julian’s arms looked... really warm.  Julian frowned, lifting a brow. "I.. See." As they reached his room he led her to the only furniture there, the bed, and sat her down before he shut the door. "now, back to my other question, are you hurt? You do not seem well."  Aveana shrugged, shaking off her cloak and letting her hair down. "just a side effect of the medicine... makes me more relaxed."  Julian narrowed his eyes, brow furrowed and mouth drawn in a small scowl. "You were hurt."  She waved him off. "just a little cut. Nothing you need to worry about. Probably leave a scar... scars are hot." She hadn't meant to say that, dammit this was why she avoided using her mouth to crush herbs... where was her pestle when she needed it?  Julian sighed, kneeling in front of her. "I think I'll decide that. Come, let me see." 

Aveana looked down at him, brown raised. "If you wanted me out of my shirt jules you coulda' just asked." She teased, and a ripple of laughter left her lips as his cheeks ignited once more. He scowled again. "Aveana." His tone was serious, almost scolding and she relented, pouting.  "alright fine... jeez you're starting to sound like..." She held her tongue quickly, remembering the rocky past Asra and Julian seemed to have. She let herself trail off and instead removed her tunic, crossing an arm over her chest as the fabric was lifted from her form.    Julian eyed the bandage, lifting a gloved hand to remove it, stopping when she shied away. Julian looked up at her, worried. "you alright?"  Aveana nodded, keeping her face carefully pointed away from him to hide her burning cheeks. It had been years since anyone hade seen her this bare, and the one time Asra had was on accident, and she nearly launched a vase at him. Heh, seems she had a habit of doing that. "Yes, I... I'm just not used to..."   She trailed off and julian nodded, understanding. "do what makes you comfortable my dear. I simply wish to make sure you are alright. And if I can help i will."    Aveana carefully let her arm drop, undoing the bandages herself, hissing softly as she peeled away the herbal poultice as well. It was still bleeding, but not as profusely as before, and the way julians eye darkened she was in for a scolding. 

"instead, she got a soft sigh and a gentle hand on her leg. "I'm glad you are safe." He stood, heading to a small nightstand and grabbed more bandages.   Aveana's eyes followed him curiously, perplexed by his attitude. If it had been Asra... no, she shook that thought out of her mind. Julian was not Asra, and perhaps that’s what she liked about him. He returned to her and help her better dress the wound, silent as he did so. At least that was until he moved behind her to wrap the bandages around.    "What... are these?" He questioned softly, and she stiffened as his gloved hand traced the raised skin on her back. Of course, she knew what he was talking about. It was how she had originally obtained her magic, or so Asra hypothesized. But her memory of obtaining them was lost to her. Scars, old but still very much there, in intricate rune-like patterns, spanning the entirety of her back.  "They've been there so long... I've forgotten." She whispers, scared to speak louder than she had to. The only other person who had seen then was Asra... she felt very vulnerable under his gaze, unsure of his reaction. disgust maybe? horror? she felt like crawling into a hole and dying.  Julian traced the scars gently, his fingers running over the strange language that was seemly carved into her, long ago. He said nothing.    Aveana nearly jumped out of her skin when he spoke, murmuring softly to her. "They're beautiful."  That made her heart stop, heat flooding her cheeks as he continued to wrap the bandages. When she finally remembered how to breathe he was done, once again in front of him. She couldn't read his expression, but his gentle smile told her everything she needed to know. "You're perfect, Aveana."  His words made her blush darken, tearing her gaze from his. "Flatterer."    Julian smirked, shrugging his shoulders as he handed her tunic back to her. "I'm trying." 

Aveana took the fabric gratefully, trying to ignore how hot the room was getting, and slipped it back over herself. Trying to calm the fluttering of her heart she cleared her throat, attempting to change the subject, but Julian beat her to it.     "Has anyone ever told you blue is your color?"

[vietphapnhomkinh]

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[starnova-between-two-worlds]

Brain things

Ironically, I didn’t even realize that my previous reblog was about how brains that have experienced trauma have physical differences to regular brains. But that’s what this post is gonna be about. Brains and the emotional things that end up fucking them up physically. 

Because I found out the nature and cause of my brain damage and it isn’t pretty. I also had no idea this shit could happen to a brain. 

So, it turns out that yes, my brain has indeed been damaged and that yes, this did happen during the years in which it was trying to develop. I spent years muddling over how the fuck I could have ended up with brain damage when, as far as I know, I never had any severe head injuries, no blunt trauma to the head (well minus the time I cut it open and had to get stitches when I was like 3), never been exposed to chemical/toxic fumes or anything like that, no fetal brain damage. Yet my symptoms were presenting as brain damage. Where the fuck did that come from?

Well, I found out where the fuck it came from. And it turns out, I even knew what was happening while it was happening. But all my pleas to fucking help me were ignored and my symptoms brushed aside as “You’re just trying to get out of something/you’re just trying to get something you want. It’s not gonna work.” I have a nasty feeling that even at the end of this post they’re still gonna be brushed off as such. 

There’s something called a psuedoseizure or a “psychogenic nonepileptic seizure,” which is seizure activity that occurs with no seizure disorder present. It’s not a true seizure (due to the lack of seizure disorder), but mimics the symptoms of one, including convulsions, “absence” and loss of attention, stiffening/seizing up of the body (your legs may forget how to be legs, you might pitch forward/fall backward, etc), etc. Since there’s no physical component to this type of “seizure,” it’s not going to show up on brain scans unless one is occurring right at the moment of the scan. Which explains why this shit did not show up on the EEG or MRI of the head that I had when I was a teenager. 

So what’s the cause of psuedoseizures? Psychological trauma. Basically, when exposed to ongoing trauma that just. Won’t. Stop. The brain ends up firing all these neurons all over the place, and becomes overloaded as it frantically tries to protect itself from all of the distress that it’s getting all at once. With no other option, it legit just “turns itself off and back on again” because at that point it just doesn’t know what the fuck to do anymore. And then the psuedoseizure happens.

I’d run out of fingers and toes if I tried to count exactly how many times throughout my childhood my body just froze up and I was caught just...zoning off into space. My dad would call it “mooning,” and say “Oh, she’s mooning again.” And during these moments, coherent thought is replaced with bullshit like a single line from a song repeated over and over again like a skipped record, or one single word on repeat (e.g. for an example, my brain would get “stuck” on, let’s say the chorus line of Default’s “Wasting My Time” and just go “not wasting my time...not wasting my time...not wasting my time...not wasting my time...” ad infinitum until it’s ready to be a brain again). There were times when I’d be just sitting in my room, or in school, or...wherever, and suddenly everything locked up, my eyes would fixate on...well, nothing, and I’d go catatonic. There were times when my whole body would sort of “lock” or “twitch.” 

Later on, when I got my guardians, they were there when it happened. They saw how after a particularly fucked-up situation I would drop everything I was holding in my hands, and they’d have to help me hold things again for the next few minutes. They’ve seen me pitch forward and have had to hold me on both sides when it happened. They’ve been caught in the fucking center of traumatic situations with me as they desperately tried to protect me or remove me and saw how I’d fall to the ground--I’d be sitting in a chair and then end up on the ground, with my guardians circled around me and holding me and me just...breaking down because I was scared and didn’t know what was happening to me. They’ve seen me start shaking and my entire body cease to work, how I’d be hyperventilating and they’d have to fly me over to the nearest chair or bed or, barring that, the fucking floor. They’ve had to help me walk because my legs would fly out from under me and lock up. They’ve held me while I convulsed in their arms...and cried, because they just didn’t know what to do but they knew something was horribly horribly wrong and they just wanted it to stop...but it wouldn’t. Nobody who could make it stop would. 

I knew something was horribly horribly wrong. I was terrified. I knew brains weren’t supposed to get stuck and I knew bodies weren’t supposed to lock up and forget how to do body things. I didn’t know what it WAS, or what was CAUSING it. I just knew that it was happening and it wasn’t supposed to be and somebody please just make it stop. I remember it happening and then, when I “turned on” again, frantically tugging at Yuna or Rikku or Cloud or whoever and going “Help me, help me...” and them just holding me by the shoulders, rocking me gently, telling me, “You’re okay, sweetie. It’s going to be okay.” Then carrying me over to the bed--and being at a total loss for what to do, every single time it happened again and again and again. 

I’d gone to the school about it because it happened a LOT when I was in school--in high school it got to the point where it’d happen constantly, because high school was an extremely hellish and traumatic place for me to be in general. I went to the school nurse ALL the time, the counselors, the teachers...pretty much everybody in the school who I could talk to. I’d tell them that it was so bad in there that it was making my body freeze up and I was experiencing actual physical pain, that my vision blurred and that my brain stopped being able to think thoughts, that I couldn’t hold things anymore...what could they do? They had no idea why the fuck those things were happening either and my parents were called countless times...and then they were told “She’s doing this because she doesn’t want to be in school. Just don’t worry about it.” 

I went to doctors about it. My dad’s wife overrode the doctors and told them it was just “something I did when I didn’t like something” or “she’s just trying to get her way. She starts up on this stuff when things don’t go the way she wants them to.” In actuality, they happened when she was going at me, when I was being abused, when I was being bullied or exposed to overstimulation at school (you think middle/high schoolers give a crap? Hell, they found it funny and would keep on prodding me just to see that shit happen again). I had the one brain scan when I was 12 (EEG) and one when I was 15 (MRI) and when nothing showed up on either one of those, it was as if my dad’s wife had her “suspicions” confirmed about how I was making the whole thing up “to get something out of people.” When I was little I went to my dad’s wife about it because she was the only one I had to go to about it--no guardians back then. She told me “That doesn’t happen to you.” I told her it does, it really does. “No it doesn’t, stop it. There’s nothing wrong with you.” I told her it does happen and it hurts when it does. “Then it’s something YOU’RE doing to make it happen. YOU tell yourself to make it stop happening when it does. It’s all YOU.” 

(For the record, what the fuck benefit would a 9-to-16-year-old girl get from faking seizure activity???) 

It happened a lot when she was going at me or after she had gone at me. It happened a lot when I was in school (like I said, there became a point in high school where it happened ALL THE TIME). It happened a lot when I was being bullied or abused. Now I know why. But back then how the fuck was I supposed to know, especially when something was clearly happening to me and my soulbonds saw it happen, and yet I continued to be told I was either making it up or causing it to happen. 

And that was my developmental years, ladies and gentlemen. That shit was going on in my brain throughout every single of the years my brain was just trying to grow and form into a brain. 

So my brain wasn’t able to fully grow and form into a brain.

Every single one of those fucking psuedoseizures was causing actual, real damage. Because a brain isn’t supposed to just “turn itself off and then on again” and a brain also isn’t supposed to be constantly exposed to the type of stimulus that CAUSES it to have to turn itself off and then on again. I knew that. A kid knows when something horribly wrong is happening to their body. They know that they’re not supposed to be locking up and seizing every day, ESPECIALLY knowing that they don’t have epilepsy or some other seizure disorder that would explain that away. 

But no. “You’re just trying to get something out of us.” “It’s all YOU. If you don’t want it to happen anymore, YOU make it not happen.” 

So my brain destroyed itself because that bitch refused to take fucking responsibility for the fact that her own actions and the trauma that she was inflicting on me (either directly or by-proxy, by just letting school bullies and overstimulating maladaptive environments let loose on me with reckless abandon and then overriding any and all attempts to mitigate it) were actually causing it to destroy itself.

Of course, if she let the school intervene and I was taken to the doctors for more than just a 30-minute brain scan (I wonder what a brain scan would show NOW that the damage has been done?) then I would’ve found all this out way back then. 

But that doesn’t do anything now does it? Now when I use “My brain got stuck” as an explanation for why I’m, well...the way I am, I can say it knowing that I know exactly how, why, and when it “got stuck.” 

I wonder what a brain scan would show now that my brain is done trying to grow. I’m going to see if I can get to a neurologist. 

...And now when I think about SO MANY of the things that I did, or the things that happened, I can at least forgive myself because now I know that I literally was not, and am not, playing with a full deck. Of course my brain doesn’t do shit that normal brains do, or even that other autistic brains do. Because normal, autistic, or otherwise brains did not spend their entire developmental years fucking seizing because they were being abused so damned badly that they had no choice but to shut off.

Great.

Like I said, I’m going to see if I can get to a neurologist now that I know this shit was going on. 

[snoopctm]

Turnadette Tuesday

Reflection #8

Sister Julienne Sees

Well, here we are! It’s time to reflect about the series 6 finale, and this week I’m focusing on the Turners as viewed through the eyes of someone else–particularly Sister Julienne. I’m using these scenes for my reflection post because I think I’ve made a connection between the awkward 5x07 office scene and what happens in 6x08, particularly the relationship between Sister Julienne and Shelagh, and how Sister Julienne views the Turners’ relationship. Thanks as always to @mg-bsl381 for the 6x08 screencaps, and especially this week for helping me to think through some of these ideas. More thoughts follow:

So I think I’ve figured something out, and it’s a connection between two episodes that prominently feature a story about the Pill, although what I’m focusing on here particularly is the Turners (because this is Turnadette Tuesday), and how Sister Julienne views them, and particularly how she views Shelagh. Earlier this series I admitted that I had probably over-exaggerated the tension between Sister J and Shelagh caused by this scene but now I think the main idea I had was right, in that the tension in that scene was caused by Sister J’s seeing Shelagh in a new light. She wasn’t just Sister Bernadette without the habit. She was Shelagh Turner, and she was seeing the world in a different light than she had as a sister, to the point of taking her husband’s side in the moral debate about the Pill.  Although that didn’t actually cause a major rift in Sister J’s relationship with Shelagh, I do think it challenged Sister J to examine the way she viewed her former sister, even though she obviously still viewed her as a dear friend. I now think that 6x08 showed us the resolution to that initial situation.

In the first scene, we see Sister J’s look of disappointment when Shelagh doesn’t have an adequate answer to her challenge. I think Shelagh just didn’t see the point of arguing. She knew where she stood, and arguing wasn’t going to change anything. Sister J looks confused and upset, but as we see later in the series and especially in series 6, it wasn’t enough to damage their friendship, although I do think Sister J was confronted with the fact that Shelagh had changed, and Sister J didn’t know exactly what to do with this change. 

I think she finally figured out how to process the change in 6x08, in this wonderful scene where she is now serving as Shelagh’s midwife, helping her bring her longed-for child into the world and seeing even more the woman Shelagh has become and especially the intense bond between Shelagh and Patrick.  As Shelagh struggles with her pain and Sister Julienne encourages her to sing to help her regulate her breathing, I think Sister J finally comes to terms fully with the new person that Shelagh has become while noting that the “old Shelagh” is still a part of the “new Shelagh”, and important in making her who she is.  Shelagh, who had been struggling a little with outside perceptions and expectations as she tends to do, finally gives that up and admits what she really needs, or in this case who she really needs–her husband. This is why when Shelagh is ready to sing, she chooses the song “Secret Love” because in her eyes it’s about her and Patrick. Patrick, listening outside the door, clearly recognizes this and sings back to her, and Shelagh’s reaction is this look of absolute love. Although Sister J is there, to a degree Shelagh and Patrick are in their own world here, but they allow Sister J a glimpse into that world. I think they view this as “their song” and it’s Shelagh’s way of telling Patrick that she wants and needs him with her. What Sister J does, though, is simply to listen and then glance at the door, because she knows what Shelagh’s doing, and she accepts it.

Although Sister J has always accepted the Turners’ relationship and Shelagh’s new life, I think there was always a degree of  not quite understanding it. Yes, she had been in love before, but she had made a different choice. Shelagh’s choice and how that choice informed her personality was somewhat inscrutable to Sister J, I think, but here is where she comes to terms with who Shelagh is now, and who the Turners are as a close, unique couple.  Shelagh acknowledges that too as she speaks her decision to Sister J, and Sister J nods, knowing it’s right. Later, we see Sister J happily blessing the Turners and their new baby, recognizing even more the rightness of this family and this marriage, and that Shelagh is really and truly where she belongs, and Sister J isn’t just OK with that–she loves it.

Although I don’t exactly see Sister J’s and Shelagh’s relationship as directly maternal as some fans do, I do think there is a maternal element there, and to a certain degree I think Sister J’s process of realization can be summed up as acknowledging that her “baby” has grown up. She has her own life to live, and while Shelagh definitely loves Sister J and highly values her opinion and advice, Shelagh is not dependent on her as she may have been before. I think to a degree, Sister J may have still not known quite how to relate to the “new Shelagh”, but now she embraces not only Shelagh but Patrick as well. She knows this is right, that these two and their family belong together, and she gives her complete blessing. Peace has well and truly been made, and Sister J takes joy in her dear friends’ joy as a new member is added to their family.

There. That’s all for this week. I hope this was coherent because it took a while to formulate these thoughts. I think the relationship between the Turners, as well the the relationship between Sister J and Shelagh, grew in important ways in series 6 and as far as Sister J is concerned, especially in this episode. It will be interesting to see how they relate in future series, and how this important friendship continues to grow and develop.

Next week I’ll be out of town so I’ll probably do an “overview” post of some kind before I start my Timeline posts hopefully the next week. It’s been an eventful series and there’s still a lot of think about. Tune in next week for more of my thoughts.

[lorenzobreid]

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[lovelettersfromthebarn-blog]

February 9. 1988

A continuation of the letter I posted yesterday. Just a heads up, the baseball metaphor in the beginning is pure torture. This is also the bulk of the thirty seven page letter

9 February

The other day I was thinking about your observation about my letter being “clear and coherent”, the words “direct and pointed”. I had to think of being a baseball pitcher, throwing across homeplate in a critical game and a critical inning. At first, in an effort to be right on target, I overthrow; then, to compensation, I underthrow; then, I get a couple of close calls, still missing the mark. Finally, I forget about the fans, I forget about the batter, I forget about the coach and I forget about myself. I simply let come what is pure, what is real, what is necessary. I become the channel for the energy. It took me many, many tries to finally hit the target in writing that letter. Generally, when I’m behind on something, or avoiding something (as a homemaker, nurse or in whatever assignment I may be), I reach a point where anger at myself or the situation finally fires me up to charge through and bypass al but what is essential. That’s in part what happened in my writing to you recently. Thank you for trusting in the honesty and truth of my sharing, but thank you, too, for verbalizing the “point-counterpoints” of various themes in my letter, as you tried to understand and test out the currents. It’s good for me to consider the various possibilities again and again, to check your concerns against my own concerns. 

The way you chose to respond means alot (sic) to me. I felt primed to receive your words regarding the specifics of my letter by their following your reflections on the day, and your experiences in it. By sharing in this way, you reinforces the like-mindedness of our beings. It is your remarking upon these moments of your daily living that I deeply miss. I hear you, often, in my memory and in my imagination. And that is in itself a blessing. But it also sets up a comparison, and I need to remind myself on physical, mental and emotional/spiritual levels of how and why it’s o.k. that Jonah and I have a different flow than you and I... or someone else and I, for that matter. A thought came to me recently about how much I value you-- there is not a “room in my house” in which I would feel uncomfortable with you. I’d enjoy you in the library/study for sure--talking of books and ideas and sitting quietly with our heads or hands zeroing in on reading or writing. In the kitchen--you have such a gentle, rhythmic manner as you prepare tea or chop up celery, and your theology is talked out/worked out here, too, as it is in the library and every other room. The dining room table is the scene of the poetic in you--your prayers, your musings, your humor. The sitting/music room--ooooh, that piano! The bathroom--well, let’s brush our teeth. And the bedroom, well,let’s...

Anyway. I was just thinking about how important it is for persons contemplating marriage to imagine themselves in every room of their house. How would they relate? What would they expect? What day to day rhythms are essential? There are several things I’d like to explore or share with you along this lines; but for now I’ll let them rest. Perhaps another day, on paper. But preferably, one day in person. But just a quick comment: my hope is that Leslie, as she grows, will have opportunities to be with you, or with you and I, in some of these different rooms--to experience your rhythms, your textures, your colors--to better understand and discover her own. Had I as a younger person trusted relationship with someone possessing the qualities that you bring to our relationship, and that Dr. Fisher brought to my relationship with him, I think I wold have had a stronger, better develop sense of myself and my expectations and I approach marriage and career. It amazes me still that, in your letter, you responded so perceptively to that which I said, that which I was trying to say, and that which I wanted to say, but couldn’t. It takes me right back to Ch’ville, to the first time I met you at CMC--I could tell from hearing you speak one time, from seeing you one time and from one conversation with you, that God had given me the answer to the biggest questions of my life--he’s given me you. All the pieces came together, for the very first time. Not in a static sense, but in a “working” sense.

It is beginning to get late but I’ll try to write a little more. Then, I guess I’ll send this on, and continue in another letter. I made cookies for you and your “family” tonight. I want to send them while they’re still fresh. They are mostly peanut butter.

I was impressed, in reading your letter, with how much you fit into your day. You spoke of the film, Rosa Luxemborg (sic). I was reminded of Jonah’s and my trip to Philadelphia for our 12th anniversary; we went to dinner and then to the Ritz to see Dark Eyes (if I remember the title right). My parents had Leslie and Johnny. Jonah and I had a really good time together, we were able to reach a good level of honesty and pleasure in being together, in reminiscing, in looking at the present and the future. It is these moments that inpart reassure me, yet I must acknowledge that the sexual outgrowth of these moments is more sexuality for the sake of sexuality, and less for the sake of spirituality. And perhaps that is what it always will be, for Jonah and I--> meaning, for me, with Jonah. Not that there is no “love”, for there is. It is so hard to explain, yet so clear in my experience.

“Plying the art of indirect pleasure”... I so appreciated this distinction as you contracted this to “simply responding” to my letter. In truth Gabriel, I so appreciated everything about your life. Your intuitions, your analysis, your perceptions shared with such care and serving to illuminate so much. I feel humbled in much the same way as I did upon learning of the night you spent in prayer for me, in my marriage.

Humbled, and blessed.

I think, Gabriel, you are rare; not as a vanishing breed, but as one of only a few ever t exist. I have been in love a number of times; have experienced varying degrees of sexual compatibility with various males and have come away knowing just what it was that drew me to them, and what it was that inspired me to leave. Somehow, I’m trying to say something like: “I can’t compare Jonah and I to you and I as I consider satisfaction in marriage”, because “most” men are less intuitive or perceptive or insightful or “something!” than you. You, if I were to generalize, aren’t “typical”: of the average male. I think I need to compare my marriage more to the “typical”:marriages of today, and less to what you and I might have had. (You are probably ready to shoot me!) This is hard to put into words for me, particularly on paper, but I’ll try to bumble on through... This is not to say: “settle for less than the status quo”; I do believe in the potential for growth and change, discovery and development. 

You and I have been blessed with a love in which to incredibly {crossed out: fully} reveal ourselves, perhaps even in ways more       ?        then in a marriage, where day-in, day-out realities take their toll. I don’t know. In a sense, I wonder if it is akin to the range or nature of the love Jesus had with his disciples and some of the women with whom he was close. An awareness of the sexual, yet expressing it in ways other than “intercourse”. 

I’m going in more than one direction, so let me get back to a point I was trying to make. Somehow, I worry hat part of your reason for not having found the passion you seek in current relationships is because you think about me (indulge in fantasies) too much, just as I drift away from Jonah when I fantasize in certain ways or to certain degrees about you. I will always have fantasies about you (and I hope you always will about me, too), but I must use them wisely. You wrote that connecting with you, now, seems to be part of my working through the situation with Jonah. In part, it is. But, as you wrote you wanted to believe, it also stands on its own as a sharing between us. I underlined always, because it is a “fear” of mine that one day, upon finding a lover/wife, you may not choose or want or need to relate to me as you do now. You address this, too, as you write of being well-aware of your current vulnerabilities, and of the distinction between “personal readiness” and love. We’ve talked of this “fear” before, and essentially you said (if I recall correctly) that you didn’t know how you’d feel or act in that case. You did say, though, that you would be desirous of a relationship of mutual understanding and wherein, in essence, “plying the art of being present to each other”, whatever that might mean then, would be our motivation. 

Dr. Fisher used to speak of being able to love fully someone else, even fulfilling sexually, without there needing to be a physical-sexual relationship (meaning intercourse), but rather experiencing fulfillment by simply acknowledging that you want such intimacy and will realize it mentally, emotionally and spiritually, or as you put it, “vicariously live it in imagination and communication”.

You represent that kind of person that most inspirits me, that evokes the most from me, that connects with the {artist in me} deepest longings of heart and soul within me...yet, from which, in my past, I’ve always turned away. Largely, I believe, out of fear. I was afraid I wouldn’t mean as much to someone as he might mean to me; I didn’t trust myself; I didn’t even know if I believed in the deepest inclinations of my being; how to respond to them, interpret them, name them, go with them. I needed a means to come out. Perhaps, so as to give myself “some” credit, I needed assistance in the attempts I did make to express this part of myself, to live from this part. It seems that all the attempts or circumstances that came close to this dimension were somehow cut off, if not by my own insecurities, then by what others (supposedly friends) did or said to influence me. For instance, a friend who intuitively connected with me eventually wanted a “dating”relationship in college. Several of my girl friends remarked with great emphasis-- “I can’t see you two together! You two don’t seem the same type at all”. This only served to augment my self-doubt as “creative, radical, activist, artist, intellectual”, yet this was what the friend who asked me out what is in touch with within me. This happened with another male friend, too. Actually, 2 others. And during this same time, Jonah and I began relating. I kept coming back to Jonah, not exclusively but certainly significantly for a sense of safety and security in the knowing.

I see some of this same dynamic in my mother as she relates to my father. It is my hope that Leslie will not be caught by the same hook.

Ed. Note--the last section of the letter will be posted tomorrow.