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neuroprincess · 1 year

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Past, present and future - The Conversation (Chapter 5)

Emily Prentiss/Female Reader

Fanfic Chapter List

Summary: The agents on an old case become the target of a criminal group seeking revenge, and Emily returns after four years, thinking she doesn’t have much to lose until she learns about a part of her past that has been denied.

Warnings: A little angst, anxiety crisis, OC (original character)

Word count: +3800

Unrevised chapter

Lilibet's eyes are sweet and curious, there is depth and intensity in the gaze of such a little person. The eyelashes are long, thick and lovely, giving an even more angelic and expressive appearance. And remind Emily, they share the same shade of chocolate brown, which easily earn Y/N in just a few seconds staring at her with an adorable pout, this always makes her want to hug the little girl and fill her with kisses. In fact those eyes are the woman's greatest weakness, because she can never say no to the little princess. She is her weak point. Another thing the little girl shares with the chief is her smile, straight teeth, dimpled cheeks, and when she smiles, lips formed in a way that highlights her heart-shaped mouth. It's one of the most adorable features of the little one, along with all the other hundreds of features the mother can list as she faces her daughter about to fall asleep on her hotel bed, wrapped in a thin colorful blanket and hugging her plush teddy bear. Lilibet is having trouble sleeping after all that has happened and with the little nap on the way, it had not been long or quality, but enough. When this happens the brunette becomes sly and difficult to deal with, also a bit moody, so all that is left for Y/N to do is use her secret weapon, lullabies. "Hush Little Baby", "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star", "All the Pretty Little Horses", "Mary Had a Little Lamb", "The Wheels on the Bus" and "Row, Row, Row Your Boat". She sang one by one hugging Lili, caressing her dark hair and thinking how lucky she is to have her in arms, how every second counted so she could act, not even wanting to imagine what would happen if she didn't get there in time.

So many years working at Interpol and also at the BAU have made her realize that even though she is not in a job that requires guns constantly she has decided that she must protect her small family safe from the evils that surround them, from horrible people just like the ones she has had to deal with and possible retaliation from the past. Although Clyde has given her a clean record and a safe place, she can't ignore the fact that those monsters she has imprisoned or their partners may seek revenge. So that's why she decided to keep a gun at home, making sure it was always locked up and out of Lilibet's sight. She knew that she would need to be prepared in case any kind of emergency occurred and also to ensure their safety, determined not to allow her daughter to have to go through anything like what she went through before, in the end it only served to protect them because now she knows that even at a very young age Lili will probably carry marks from that day forever.

- How I wonder what you are... - she whispers the last verse of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star", the girl's favorite and sung for the third time in the night.

After two hours of fighting against sleep Lilibet finally falls asleep, her plush teddy bear pressed against her chest, face relaxed, body light and her breathing becoming calm as the minutes pass. Mother pulls the blanket over her body, covering her carefully and gently, placing a loving kiss on the little forehead before settling down beside her. But then, only after ensuring that her daughter is all right, can she deal with her own demons. Images from the day before take over mind like a movie that repeats itself several times, like when someone loses the remote control and is forced to watch the same bad channel over and over again. She sees herself running down the halls, the gun in trembling hand, the adrenaline high, the steps fast. She finds herself desperately trying to reach the room where Lili was, the panic and fear of losing her daughter consuming her, and then the familiar sound of gunshots, then red, very red mixed into the wooden floor of the foyer as the child stood there, standing. And she constantly watches herself reliving that moment, unable to change the channel, unable to pull out those memories along with all the unassimilated feelings and sensations.

Her eyes are fixed on the ceiling fan spinning at medium speed, on the city lights vaguely illuminating the dark room, attentive to the muffled noises coming from the ground floor seven stories below, and to those in the corridor where she is, memorizing the footsteps of the security guards, worrying about anyone different from them. But the dry thuds against the floor are more familiar than Y/N would like to admit, instead of knocks on the door she hears the metallic sound of keys against the lock and the knob turning next. She curls up in bed pressing the blankets even tighter against her chest, unable to look at the door and who has entered. She hears heels, but her mind refuses to believe the safe possibility and goes into another alert mode, survival speaking louder than reason. Her heart beats harder to the point where she could swear to hear it, hands sweat and she felt paralyzed, trapped in her own instrusive thoughts. When a hand touches a shoulder, Y/N trembles even more and her heart speeds up to the point of feeling almost pain, which makes her tear up, tears caught in the edges of the eyes. Y/N's hands tremble and she feels even more paralyzed against the bed, she feels helpless as if she is stuck in a maze of thoughts, unable to find a way out to free herself and suddenly back to square one, desperate. The woman still can't turn to look at who is there, but something inside her calms a little as she hears Emily's calm, familiar voice.

- Hey, hey... Relax, it's just me, Emily. - the brunette whispers taking the hand off her shoulder and moving to hold her in a tight hug, pulling the body against her own as Y/N stifles a cry in the curve of the chief's neck so she doesn't wake the child sleeping next to her - It's okay. Calm down, it's okay.

Emily has arms tightened around her, it is cozy and comforting, her touch is soft, Y/N can recognize the scent of the brunette's usual perfume as well as the shampoo as the strands rub against her face. Even though they were divorced years ago she can feel the familiarity and comfort of being in her arms, Emily still knows how to soothe her. She can feel the strength around, it somehow makes her feel protected, so her body slowly relaxes, allowing Y/N to snuggle even tighter against her ex-wife's body, hear her whispering in ear that everything is okay now while thin and gentle fingers caress her head slowly until breathing normalizes and her body stops shaking, the tears have stopped making eyes burn so much when they dry.

- I'm here, no one will hurt you. You don't have to be afraid, you're safe... - Emily's voice is clear, calm and gradually makes the woman relax, slowly the bad thoughts dissipating as she concentrates on the voice that continues to speak reassuring words, bringing her back to the present - - Are you okay now? - Emily asks gently, looking at her with a worried expression in eyes, the same expression she indentifies in her daughter every time she looks at her now and it made Y/N break into tears.

- I don't know, I still don't know. - she whispers, voice almost inaudible not wanting to leave her chest as she separates from the chief, moving quickly to check on the daughter, but seeing her peaceful appearance and in deep sleep reassures herself. Y/N looks over her shoulder to Emily, still seeing concern in her face - I don't know what was going on, but... thank you.

- You're welcome. - Emily nods, putting her hand lightly on Y/N's shoulder - I think it was an anxiety crisis. Are you ok now? If you need anything, I'm here. - she says gently, looking into Y/N's eyes and trying to give a smile, unsuccessfully, her heart aches to imagine what the former agent is going through and the child too - We can talk about it, if you want.

Y/N wipes the tears away and swallows hard, trying not to cry again. She turns to Emily, trying to keep a neutral expression, hiding her feelings of pain, fear and helplessness.

- I'm fine, thank you. - she says, forcing a smile. - Don't worry, it's nothing. I'll be fine in time. Now, let's talk about what we had planned.

- Are you sure you're well enough to talk about it? If you don't want to talk about it now, we can postpone the conversation. - Emily sighs and approaches carefully, gently trying to touch Y/N's shoulder again, but she pulls away, her hard gaze making it clear that she is not ready for contact - I understand, don't worry.

- No. No, I'm fine. - she replies, keeping a firm voice as she can, directing the topic - So, have you read Lili's entire file? Are there any questions that need to be clarified? Anything you'd like to know?

The brunette is silent for long seconds, head down as her mind fills with mixed feelings as she hears her talking about this topic with a certain distance and coldness in voice, Emily feels a combination of sadness and guilt, because if Lili is really her daughter, then she has missed important growing up years, all those first moments like first steps, word, school day, first soccer game or whatever she does as a hobby, as well as birthdays. She was not there to hold her and help blow out the candles. Emily sighs deeply, aware that she may never have the chance to make up for lost time, nor would there be any way to go back in the past and try to do something different, because if there was she would definitely do it. She raises her head, looking at Y/N, and swallows dryly settling herself on the bed. Her jaw is tense and she tries to struggle to formulate something decent, non-invasive, trying to find the right words to express her feelings, but she can't.

- I know the file tells some things about her, but... does she have something she likes to do? Something she loves? Favorite color? - the chief bites the tongue, feeling suddenly silly for having asked so many trivial questions when there is a big question in the middle.

- I thought the first thing you would do is question motherhood. - Y/N laughs and sits down on the end of the other bed facing her ex-wife - Let's start from this point.

- Okay, so, how? I left and you were already pregnant? But our last attempt was months earlier. - Emily tries to do the mental math between her going to London and Lilibet's birth, remembering the time period between their last attempt to get pregnant and her leaving, the question on her mind from the moment she read the file - And we had negative results.

- One week and a few days before you left I secretly tried one last chance, two after you left for London came the positive. I called you.

- And I never answered. - the woman completes in a shaky voice - I don't question being or not being Lilibet's mother, I believe you. Besides, she's the personification of the Prentiss.

- That's true, she has those eyes and smile of yours, the nose is clearly of Elizabeth. - Y/N squares her shoulders and turns to face her daughter, knowing she could never deny her genetic heritage when a small version of her ex-wife is lying there wrapped in the blankets -- If you want, we can do a DNA test, also, I still have all the documents of the fertilization clinic. - she suggests, with care in temper.

Emily sighs and nods reluctantly in agreement, staring at the child behind Y/N, her heart tightens and there is a strange weight in the pit of stomach. She feels the need to get closer, to know Lili's personality and way of being, to better understand who she is, who she can become. To know the little girl's world.

- I wish I was here with you Y/N, when you were pregnant with Lilibet and her growth. I wish I could have been a part of that. But, unfortunately, I can't change the past. - the brunette's body is trembling and she feels the sweat starting to run down her hands -- And I know that no matter how hard I beg you won't forgive me so easily. So I can only ask. Can you tell me how it all went? What were your symptoms when you thought you were pregnant? How did you find out? I want to know more about Lilibet.

The former agent sighs, feeling suddenly sick, everything that has happened in the last few days is simply too much, first the attack, that man, meeting her ex-wife again after 4 long years, Emily discovering their daughter and consequently probably returning to her life just as she once arrived. She looks at Lilibet behind her, eyes gazing at her baby with love and admiration, it's a little human being that she wanted so much and brought into the world. And even though Emily Prentiss didn't know it, she was a part of that process. Y/N understands that despite the hurts and events no matter what happened in the past for now, what really matters is Lili. She turns to Emily again, nodding.

- You're right, Prentiss. I won't forgive you so easily, but for me what matters right now is Lilibet and her feelings. She will never be denied of anything. - Y/N pauses, taking a breath and the courage to continue - I would never deny you the... right to be Lilibet's mother, nor would I deny Lilibet the opportunity to have the other mother by her side. She needs love and care, I just want the best for my princess. - she swallows down her saliva, still not believing that this feared moment has arrived and to go through her pride for the sake of the girl's happiness is harder than she thought it would be - I'm here to answer your questions, as apparently I won't be able to sleep. After all.

Emily opens the mouth to say something, but no words come out. She then quickly approaches Y/N and hugs her with excitement, wrapping her in arms tightly, affectionately and gratefully. Although she returns the contact the woman carefully pulls away, as if the touch is burning her, which is not entirely untrue. Where she is touched burns, leaving a lingering trail on Y/N skin, etched as well as scent of her perfume on her clothes.

- So...

- Ah! - the chief realizes she just did and practically throws herself back to where she was before - I'm sorry. I couldn't control myself. I want to think of something to ask, but there are so many things about her that I don't know where to start, maybe the basics. What is her favorite color? What does she like to do? Is she a lively child or a quieter one? That would be ironic, a quiet child was all my parents wanted. - she laughs sadly, unable to know what the girl is like even though she spends a day watching her, the guilt takes over her stomach and reaches into bile with this dull feeling.

- Well, her favorite color is green, she also likes pink tones, except for vibrant ones. Lili loves to draw and paint, and sometimes she can be quite agitated, especially on colder days, because all she wants to do is go out and play in the garden. - a bright smile appears on Y/N's lips as she talks about her daughter, and this doesn't pass unnoticed by Emily, who pays attention to every word, absorbing everything - She also loves to sing and dance, she is a little fan of musicals and Disney movies. Lili is really smart, she can already read little books, and is learning to count.

- It's amazing how smart she is for her age. - Emily comments, looking a bit amazed - You have done a great job with her. It's really fortunate that Lilibet has you for a mother. And... what else can you tell me about her? Does she do any activities? Maybe soccer.

- She is too young and small to play soccer, but she has been practicing ballet since 2 years old and wants to join the pre-school baseball league as soon as she turns 4. She loves sports, almost constantly accompanies me on walks, and when we are at home, there are the games and active play. - she smiles sadly, remembering that the girl had a day like that and was putting together her own mess when that man showed up, so she closes the eyes trying to erase it from her memory for the moment and tries to change the topic - Any other questions?

- I... - Emily was about to start asking, but was interrupted by the beep of her phone. She picks it up to see what was sent and her face becomes apprehensive - It's Tara calling me back to the BAU. There's a new lead. I have to go. Sorry, Y/N. I'd really like to talk more, but... - she gets up, already preparing to leave, putting her leather jacket against the body and the holster on her waist - Try to get some sleep, anything I call and if you need anything just call me, my number is on the nightstand.

- You can't tell me anymore about the lead?

- One of the invaders was captured. Do you remember the Petros Galanis case? - Emily feels frustrated for having to interrupt the conversation, but at the same time is motivated by finally having a useful lead about what is going on, besides that anything related to the case concluded years before has to be observed and treated with care - It's one of his former henchmen.

- Is Petros seeking revenge? Or one of his sons? - the question is practically rhetorical, Emily neither agrees nor responds - But we arrested him along with his sons, the only one who was not arrested reported him in and is in witness protection.

- He is a man with many cards up his sleeve. - the brunette says low, more to herself than to the woman, and shudders to imagine what the Greek mobster could do in retaliation, she knows he has connections with powerful people and has the ability to provide resources that many others don't have, which probably allowed him to invade the agents' house even in prison - I'll reinforce security here, Will and the boys are in the next room if something happens and I can't get there in time.

- Okay. - by now the tension has taken over the air, both feel the fear running down their spines, as much as they were protected and off the radar, the Galanis family had been one of the biggest criminal organizations they faced at that time, with a legacy marked of violence, power and intimidation, leaving a trail of corpses. When the case was closed there was the near certainty of the decimation with the arrest of the leader and his heirs, so the agents involved would be safe, but apparently not, no one is safe when there is one of them out there - Please take care.

- I will, you take care too. And of Lili. - Emily smiles weakly and approaches the child, leaving a kiss on her forehead. Then, she turns to Y/N and automatically does the same thing to her, an affectionate gesture and at the same time a farewell, something they used to do when they were married and even after years away her body still seems used to it. - Everything will be fine, try to get some sleep.

- Right.

And Emily left the hotel room with the feeling of fear in the pit of her stomach but mentally determined and ready to act on this case, to confirm if that arrested piece of shit is still connected to the greek mafia and what the hell Petros Galanis might be up to, or one of his four sons behind bars. Now, besides the BAU family, she has to protect the mother and daughter as well. She knows the danger they are in, especially Lilibet as she is an easy and fragile target, who could easily become the organization's ultimate goal of revenge. She was called Little Prentiss, just confirming that whoever goes after this sick plan knows about the maternal connection to Emily, knows about the marriage, and most importantly, knows that Lilibet Eloise Y/L/N (Prentiss) is the daughter of the two main agents responsible for the Galanis' downfall.

- Hey, we have a visitor... - Tara whispers practically running towards Emily as she passes through the glass doors of the floor, a bit distracted in her own thoughts.

- What?

- Behind me. Near the snack machine. - she points with her head to a woman in the same spot she indicated, the only person there -- Friend of Y/N and must be important to be here 3am behind her.

When looking closely at the place Emily comes across a tall woman, maybe almost or as tall as Tara, she is slim, her body is highlighted by a tailored feminine suit, she wears black Manolo Blahniks high heels, fine authentic jewelry, light makeup, her blonde hair is perfectly cut at shoulder height, her glasses perched on the tip on her thin nose as she searches for something on the machine reveals her light blue eyes, deep and penetrating. When she notices the chief's presence and directs her gaze at Emily, it is intense and inquisitive, as if she is reading her mind. Her expression is half amused, half serious, and she has an aura of authority that cannot be denied. This woman has an air of professionalism and elegance, standing out among the other people who despite wearing similar clothes seem just background in her presence. As she walks towards the women, the brunette can't not notice the beautiful pair of long, shapely legs fitted tightly into the chic skirt.

- Agent Prentiss, right? - she asks gently, holding out her free hand to the brunette, a small smile on lips.

- Chief, actually. - Emily shakes the woman's hand, feeling the firmness and confidence she conveys in just one touch. The handshake was brief but intense, as if both were evaluating and testing each other - And you?

- Dr. Helena Cavendish. - she faces her with a certain superiority, analyzing Emily from head to foot, as if she were weighing every detail of hers and analyzing it, then smiles before continuing - For closer, Lena. Y/N's girlfriend.

Note: Ladies, I present to you how I imagine the OC, for me Helena would have the same look and vibe as Alex Cabot from SVU

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #criminal minds fanfic #fanfiction #female reader #criminal minds

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sunsetzer · 5 months

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FFVI Characters as Things I Have Said at Least Once at Some Point

Setzer: Heteronormativity is out, binormativity is in: assume everyone is bi unless stated otherwise.

Edgar: I don't just need to decompress, I need someone to extract my files in WinRAR.

Sabin: The list of people I would personally like to yeet like a football grows longer with each passing day.

Shadow: He's a 10, but he's got more skeletons in his closet than an out of season Spirit Halloween.

Cyan: Dost thou wisheth to fuck around and find out?

Celes: Boss makes a dollar, I make a dime, I have a crisis on company time. :')

Locke: Inside of me there are two raccoons fighting in the back alley behind an apartment complex over a discarded container of leftover spaghetti. Their names are depression and anxiety and the spaghetti is my brain.

Terra: I don't know if my lack of interest in physical intimacy beyond hugging is because of trauma and severe trust issues or I'm just asexual, and at this point I'm too afraid to ask.

Gau: Sometimes I crave hose water. There's nothing in the world that feels the same way as grabbing a garden hose like a feral gremlin and slurping the ground juice.

Umaro: *unintelligible screaming after one more thing went wrong that day and completely broke me*

Gogo: My mom thinks I'd be a good leader but it also sounds Exhausting so instead I just go with whatever my friends are doing. This has had Bad Consequences.

Mog: He's got the energy of someone who has met both God and Death and fears neither.

Strago: Every time I remember the fact that Shrek came out over 20 years ago, I feel myself aging faster.

Relm: *taking a huge gulp of a strawberry acai lemonade refresher from starbucks* God I wish this was booze, and I don't even drink.

Kefka: It honestly feels like I'm just one more traumatic experience away from completely losing my mind and going full supervillain.

Leo: Sometimes in life, you just don't realize your friends are actually terrible people until it's Too Late.

#i will not tag everyone thats like 16 ppl #final fantasy vi #ff6 #final fantasy 6 #ffvi #my post

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lobotomyladylives · 2 months

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Hey i am also anti psych as an institution but im also in therapy and on meds because I cant function.............. do you believe the meds can benefit me or am i just lining their pockets at my own detriment? im not about taking medical advice from tumblr but i have been looking for more opinions because im not knowledgeable on this and i want to read

I'm the first to admit that some people do in fact benefit from their meds, I'm one of those people to some extent. I am pretty happy with a few of my prescriptions. but on a larger scale, there are certain classes of medications that are widely prescribed that I believe do far more harm than good in the way they're currently being used.

the most harmful of these are antipsychotics. I used to be on one & I now refuse to take it, APs are just a chemical lobotomy, they literally shrink your brain over time + make you balloon up & give you diabetes, tardive dyskinesia, etc, thats just the tip of the iceberg. literally every single schizophrenic client I had who had been on APs for a long time had a million physical health issues bc of them & most were very lethargic to the point of falling asleep during group therapy.

while APs do have their uses in extremely severe cases, the big problem with them is that doctors aren't just prescribing them as a short term silver bullet to deal with severe psychotic episodes, as they ought to. they are handing them out like candy to anyone & everyone, from people with PTSD to curmudgeonly elderly patients to literal children, usually "difficult" ones in the foster care system, prison inmates with MH conditions-even people with nothing more than mild depression get given APs. and it's all bc big pharma sent their pill pushers out with bogus fraudulent studies exaggerating the positive effects & downplaying the negative ones so that they could make more money off meds that ought to be a very rare Rx.

this is also my primary issue with the second most harmful class of MH drugs, benzos. they work phenomenally when taken /as needed/ to stop panic attacks but psychs who prescribe them as a long term every day solution need to have their licenses taken away & I'm so serious about that. benzo withdrawal is the worst there is, you can literally die from it & it lasts YEARS with an insane amount of horrible side effects including rebound anxiety. I know people who trusted that their psychiatrist knew best & took xans for mild anxiety & now they literally cannot get off them, they are physically & mentally addicted & it's more difficult to kick than a heroin addiction (not exaggerating). well, guess who's a paying pharma patient for life now? how convenient.

SSRIs (as well as SNRIs) are another extremely commonly prescribed class that's come under fire recently due to the fact that the studies showing their efficacy were discovered to have been completely falsified. they literally don't do what the pharma companies claimed they do, the science is NOT there & on top of that they have some nasty side effects. what's particularly scary is what can happen when you try to come off them (withdrawal symptoms lasting years, anhedonia, also PSSD-there are people who haven't had an orgasm in years after coming off these drugs). I'm planning to take part in some of the lawsuits that are in the works due to this mass defrauding of mental health patients including myself.

the body count psychiatry has is a direct result of our for profit healthcare system that incentives overprescription, and the issue is so massive that I honestly think it totally dwarfs the opioid crisis prior to the overcorrection & fent & tranq being introduced. fuck, at least opioids /actually/ do what they're supposed to do, unlike most of these MH meds. it's insane & infuriating. I recommend reading Mental Health Inc if you want to know more about this, it gives you a sense of the scope of this issue.

#that was such a rant lol. anon if your meds work for you thats good & you can still criticize psychiatry while being on them!#also therapy isnt psychiatry since theres no medicine involved. psychologists dont have the ability to rx. therapy isnt likely to harm you #unless you have a hannibal lecter type therapist but im guessint thats not the case #i mean some therapists are just Bad but its pretty easy to identify them early on #asks

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fdelopera · 2 years

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An Autistic Analysis of Moon Knight (or, Why Having Good Autism Representation Is a Revolutionary Act)

Sooo I was rewatching Episodes 5 and 6 of Moon Knight as part of my analysis of the show from an autistic perspective. These episodes affected me profoundly in ways that I’m just starting to be able to process and articulate. The end of Episode 5 caused me to have an … existential crisis. But paired with Episode 6, it also helped me reframe my perception of myself as an autistic person. Basically, it caused me to have a paradigm shift. And I want to talk about that.

If you want to see my other autistic analyses of Moon Knight so far, you can read Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3.

PART 1: My Experiences with Autism-Specific Mental Health “Treatments”

So, Episode 5 is hard to watch. We all know this. I think everyone collectively wanted to send Marvel their therapy bills after it was over. What I’d like to talk about in this post is watching it from the perspective of someone who has intersected with autism-specific mental health treatment. Like many autistic people, I have had psychologists who attempted to reach into me and pull pieces of me out in some misguided attempt to make me “whole.”

I want to clarify that I am someone who has not had a particularly good experience within the mental health system. I know that there are some absolutely AMAZING therapists out there, and so I don’t want anyone to think that I’m knocking the profession. At all. Therapy is an essential resource. I know people whose lives have been saved because of therapy. I just happen to be someone who hasn’t really been helped by the “treatments” I have experienced.

I also feel that I need to disclose that I have generational trauma around psychological and psychiatric treatment — my mother went through periods of psychosis when she was young, and her experiences in 1970s psych wards were about as bad as you can imagine. I know little bits and pieces of what happened to her in those settings, and none of it was good. Luckily, her family doctor was able to keep her from being committed (her psychiatrist wanted to institutionalize her).

So, when I was growing up, I believed that I couldn’t tell anyone about my severe depression, my anxiety, or my periods of dissociation — all of which stemmed from my autistic neurology, as well as the unending daily torture of being bullied at school and neglected at home. I was terrified that I would be locked up if I let anyone know how bad it was inside my head.

When I did eventually seek out psychological treatment in my 20s, it didn’t resemble the psych wards of the 1970s, thank goodness, but it was insidious and destructive in its own way.

I’ve spoken before about getting my first set of diagnoses, which happened when I was in my late 20s. The psychologist who diagnosed me gave me a large packet with my autism diagnosis and a list of comorbid conditions. She then said, “Well, this gives us an idea of what’s been going on for you. Now you can look for some resources to help you.”

I decided to follow her advice and look for help, but I was still afraid to go to an actual talk therapist, because I believed that if I opened up too much about my internal experience, they would have me involuntarily committed. I now know that this would never have happened (unless they felt that I was a danger to myself or others), but it was a misperception that I had at the time.

So, instead of therapy, I started to look for autism-specific resources that could “fix” me. I want you to understand that at that point, deep down, I hated the fact that I was autistic. I also had a deep and entrenched sense of self-loathing for my masked self. I just wanted to be “normal” and to live a “normal” life. I wanted to be able to have regular friendships. I wanted to work a regular job. I just wanted to exist in society as a “regular” person.

Autism is characterized by extreme gifts, but also some pretty extreme “deficits” — at least, they are deficits when viewed in the context of modern neurotypical society.

The program that I found to “fix” me was called the Perspectives Program. It had been originally designed to “treat” schizophrenic people, but they were now revamping it to “treat” autistics. The name was based on an ableist (and false) idea that autistics and schizophrenics lack "theory of mind" (i.e., the ability to understand another person’s perspective). It was a well-funded research program that was part of a major university’s psychology department. It all was very “official.” They said that they could help me “manage” my autism. I signed up voluntarily.

In order to be part of the program, I had to have another psych eval, which was even more extensive (and uncomfortable) than my first one. After they confirmed my autism diagnosis, the head psych allowed me into the study.

At this time, there was a big push in the psychological and psychiatric communities to try to “cure” autistic people of their autism. What this meant in practice was attempting to somehow restructure our brains to “function” like neurotypical brains. That was the aim of the Perspectives Program. Every week, I would go in and do hours and hours of exercises that were supposedly designed to get rid of my autism.

This push to “cure” autism wasn’t just coming from the psychiatric community. Actual autistics were towing this neurotypical party line, as well. John Elder Robison (an autistic guy and the author of Look Me in the Eye) had very publicly tried to rid himself of his autism. Back then, he was working as a shill for Autism $peaks — he served on their board as the lone token autistic person. Through his connections with Autism $peaks in Massachusetts, he underwent an extremely experimental procedure called Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation. It uses powerful electromagnets to zap different parts of a person’s brain while they are still awake. This procedure left him with increased emotional lability (i.e., mood swings), but it definitely didn’t “cure” him of his autism. Still, the message that he sent to the autistic community was loud and clear: if you’re autistic, you should consider trying to cut the autism out of your brain.

Now, of course, it is not possible to “get rid” of autism. Autism is an epigenetic restructuring of the brain that is often first apparent by the age of 2 years old. Autistic brain wiring is extensive and life-long. There’s no way to “remove” it. Psychology, psychiatry, and other therapies can treat some of the comorbid conditions, like depression, anxiety, ADHD, and sensory processing issues, but there is no way to “treat” autism directly.

So, as much as the Perspectives Program would have liked to have “cured” me, what the program really did was teach me how to mask my autism even better than I had before. I had started developing my masked self when I was around eight years old (when shit really started going downhill), but it had always been a bit haphazard. The Perspectives Program taught me how to strengthen the mask so that it could hide me from sight.

I learned how to disguise my autistic traits from these psychologists, who chalked up my “progress” to the program “working.” Nope, I was still just as autistic; the only difference was that I was spending more and more spoons on hiding it.

So, why did I keep going back to the program? It wasn’t an inpatient program, so I could have found a way to leave. Psychological research programs are required to let you quit at any time. Honestly, I ask myself that a lot. I could have dropped out of the program. But back then, I was such a people-pleaser that I was afraid of the psychologists being upset at me. I also knew that they would have tried to talk me into finishing the program so that I wouldn’t mess up their data. I think I felt that it would have been worse to try to leave and then be coerced into staying. At least now, I could gaslight myself into thinking that I was contributing to “autism research.”

But there was another reason too. I had friends in the program, people that I cared about. There was one person in particular that I was very protective over. They were more “overtly” autistic than me, so they were always being singled out and picked on by the psychologists. Whenever the psychs started zeroing in on my friend, I would try to deflect their attention away from them. I was afraid of what would happen to my friend if I wasn’t there.

After a year, the program was done, and the psychologists gave us our final assessments. Based on my scores, my autism was declared to have been reduced. I was closer to being “normal.”

It took me a long time to process what happened to me. In a way, I’m still processing it. I know that the program dramatically increased the shame I felt about being autistic. It also increased the “mask” that I am, making it a stronger part of my being. The mask is me. But so is the autistic part. And the autistic part was suffering.

I remember talking to a psychologist around this time, someone who was a facilitator in one of the autism support groups that I attended (these support groups were led by neurotypicals and were very ableist). She asked me, “If Autism Speaks is able to find a cure, would you take it? Because I think that you’d really benefit from it. Just imagine how much you’d be able to accomplish if you didn’t have autism.”

I felt so sad when she said this. Because she thought that the only “real me” was the mask. She perceived my “autistic self” as an invader, something to be removed if possible. She didn’t know that I am both. I’ve been building my mask since I was a child (I wasn’t good at it back then, but I still tried), so if I somehow “removed” my autistic neurology, I would be half a person, maybe less.

Most of the psychologists that I’ve known view my autism like a tumor, something that in an ideal world could be “taken out.” For them, autism is a brain defect that prevents someone like me from being “normal.” If that part could just be excised, then I could be “happy.”

But for me, my autism is at the very core of who I am. Yes, there are “deficits,” but there are also tremendous strengths and gifts that I absolutely would not have if I weren’t autistic. My autism is my superpower. But we’ll get to that.

Okay, so now that I’ve given you some background on my autistic experience of psychological “treatment,” I want to return to Moon Knight.

PART 2: Steven’s “Death”

I want to emphasize that what I’m going to discuss next in relation to Episodes 5 and 6 is from the perspective of my autistic experience.

I’m not a system, and I don’t want what I’m about to write to overshadow the experiences that systems may have had while watching the following scenes. I know that the end of Episode 5 was painful for a lot of systems, but probably in a different way than it was for me.

I want to share my experience of Steven’s “death” from the vantage point of autism-related mental health “discourse.” As I’ve said, most of the interactions I’ve had with psychologists have been centered around “curing” or “removing” my autism. And so, this is the message that I believed the writers were giving at the end of Episode 5 when Steven fell into the Duat.

It was nearly 4:00 a.m. on a Wednesday morning (yes, I stayed up to watch every episode as soon as it dropped), and as Episode 5 ended, I began to have a mental health crisis.

Because, you see, Steven had been the more identifiably autistic alter in the system, the one that masked the least. Steven was just like me. Or rather, he was just like my fully embodied autistic self.

And now he was dead.

Now, I’m very familiar with Marvel. I know that unless a death is 150% confirmed, chances are, the character is coming back. The logical part of my brain told me that Steven would probably return. They wouldn’t feature Mr. Knight so heavily in the promo for the show and not have him fight in the final battle that had been teased.

But the part of me that had gone through decades of hating my autistic self, the part of me that had tried to cut out the autism from my brain (as if such a thing were possible) – I suddenly saw what I had been doing to myself.

It was captured in the stony expression on Steven’s face.

I had been trying to destroy a part of myself.

And I had allowed all those psychologists into my head. I had given them my permission to subject me to their treatments. And even though the treatments were unsuccessful at “curing” me of my autism, it didn’t diminish the fact that I had wanted them to work.

I might as well have thrown Steven into the Duat myself.

And I felt ashamed and guilty for what I had tried to do to myself.

And then I had a terrifying thought. What if the Moon Knight writers were taking the side of those psychologists? What if they were trying to say that it was “necessary” for Steven to “die” in order for Marc to be “balanced”?

Why did I think that? Because the hearts "balanced" as soon as Steven turned to stone. With a definitive clang, Marc’s and Steven’s hearts stopped moving. Taweret confirmed it. And a moment later, Marc found himself in the Field of Reeds.

I started sobbing. Were the writers parroting the same kind of “cure”-focused psychological discourse that I had experienced? Even though that’s not how any of this works! It certainly doesn’t work that way with DID. Alters can’t “die” like that. And it doesn’t work that way with autism. You can’t forcibly remove part of yourself like that. And from what I understand from systems who have undergone forced integration at the hands of psychiatrists, it is a harmful process and it doesn’t work.

So now, it was 5:00 in the morning. I had to be up in a few hours to start my editing work. But I had to know that Steven would be back. Because if he weren’t coming back, that meant that the writers were telling me that those psychologists were right: “If you are visibly autistic, you are expendable. Only those who mask shall find peace and happiness.”

I couldn’t bear the thought of this show that I had come to love so deeply telling me that Steven had to be sacrificed for Marc and Jake to survive.

Then I made the mistake of going online, desperately searching for Episode 6 spoilers. I looked for anything that indicated whether Mr. Knight would appear in the finale. No one on Reddit or Twitter had any information. But the ableist discourse online from uneducated singlets had already started to pour in.

These are what the most common opinions seemed to be.

TRIGGER WARNING for ableism, singlet asshattery, and just general bullshit:

“Steven was the one who was keeping Marc’s scales from balancing. That’s why he had to sacrifice himself.”

“Steven’s job was to protect Marc, and he died doing that.”

“Now that Steven is gone, Marc can begin to heal.”

“Steven was like Bing Bong. Marc didn’t need him anymore.”

At that point, I basically accepted that I wouldn’t get any work done on Wednesday. I was in full-on grieving mode.

I wasn’t just mourning the death of a character that I had come to love, I was mourning myself, because underneath all the masking I do, I am basically Steven. I have the same mannerisms, the same kinds of special interests, the same ways of infodumping, the same obsession with antiquity, the same compulsion to collect enough books to overflow my apartment, the same (charmingly!) foul mouth, the same drive to come up with idiosyncratic yet practical solutions to problems, the same literal thinking, the same obsessive need to learn languages, the same terrible driving skills (though I do have my license), the same answered rhetoricals in my speech, the same need to point out every animal that I see, the same kind of courage (being terrified of something but doing it anyway because it’s the right thing to do), the same social awkwardness, and the same desperate need to connect with people. Plus, when I was younger, I had a little goldfish with a stunted fin (I named him Cucchiaino, which means “teaspoon” in Italian). Dammit, Steven and I even have the same favorite French poet (Marceline Desbordes-Valmore).

And here I had been, trying to destroy that part of myself.

This is why GOOD REPRESENTATION MATTERS, folks.

Until I saw Oscar Isaac portray Steven on screen, I thought that all those qualities I possess made me weird, awkward, undesirable, and ultimately unlovable.

Because nearly every other intentional autistic portrayal that I’ve seen on screen is either pitiable, punchable, or pathological (think Rain Man, Sheldon Cooper, or Sam from Atypical). These characters are certainly not heroic. Or loveable.

And yet, here was Steven, on screen before me, and he was both loveable and heroic. And not only did I feel that way; practically the entire internet had fallen head over heels for him. Here was proof — if Steven is lovable, so am I. If Steven is worthy of love, so am I.

But now, he was gone. And I think I mentally went somewhere else for the next week. I have no memory of what happened for the next seven days. I have appointments, client calls, and work deadlines in my calendar that I must have kept, but I have no recollection of doing them.

The next thing that I solidly remember is telling myself that I really shouldn’t stay up to watch the finale, because I knew I couldn’t handle another tragedy happening at 3:40 in the morning. I tried to sleep, but I started to panic, and I knew that I had to watch the episode. Whether Steven lived or stayed dead, I had to find out.

I turned on the finale as soon as it dropped, and then several minutes in, Marc went back for Steven. I was pacing around my kitchen at the time, and I remember falling onto the floor. My cat was very worried about me, and he started licking my hand.

As I saw Steven frozen there, all alone in the Duat, I started to cry again. Because I knew that this was what I had been doing to myself. I had been trying to freeze the autistic part of me, the part of me that was like Steven. It was like when I was younger and I used to get ingrown nails. The doctor would freeze the nail first before cutting it out.

Then Marc gave his speech. The speech that ends in this line:

You are the only real superpower I’ve ever had.

That choice of the word "superpower" feels intentional here from a mental health standpoint. I believe that Oscar, Mohamed, and the writers were familiar with the kind of ableist discourse that my psychologists had used on me. And they were choosing to reject that discourse.

You see, that specific language is so important. Within the autistic community, as well as other neurodiverse communities, we often refer to our neurology as our superpower. I’d used this language, too, when talking with other autistics, but I’d never really believed it, not fully, because I still saw my autism as something that made me broken. But then Marc said it, and both he and Steven started coming back to life.

And I realized that, YES, this part of me that is like Steven, this un-masked autistic part of myself IS my superpower. Without qualification. Without the need to justify myself to anyone. And I started to thaw.

You see, I had already come to “accept” my autism years ago. But deep down, I had never reached the point where I could love myself BECAUSE I am autistic. It was an impasse, and I thought that “acceptance” was the best that I would ever experience.

But now, I saw Steven joyfully running with Marc, keeping his alter from stumbling, yelling “Hippo!” because (just like me) he needs to point out every animal he sees, and I realized, I love this character. And if I love this character, for all that he embodies, in all the ways that he is just like me, then I love myself too.

Moon Knight didn’t just help me embrace myself as autistic. It helped me celebrate myself as autistic. Because Moon Knight is, at its core, a celebration of a system, in which each alter has a different experience of autism.

And Steven, a canonical, intentional portrayal of an un-masked autistic person, is the hero of this show. And that is revolutionary.

Seeing Oscar Isaac talk about his love for Steven in every interview he gives about Moon Knight; seeing the internet fall in love with Steven and collectively mourn his “death” — because of this, for the first time in my life, I was able to see myself as an autistic person from an outside perspective that was loving and positive.

Watching Steven embody autistic experience so beautifully made me realize that I don’t have to mask so hard. I don’t have to hide who I am. I don’t have to constantly wear this costume of “performative normality.”

And yes, there will always be people like Donna that I work with — but fuck ‘em.

It is never worth compromising who I am to please other people for money, acceptance, or any other benefit that can be gotten.

The masking part of myself was designed around conformity, and so it has allowed me to blend in with neurotypical society. But in order to stay "safe," I bullied my autistic self into hiding. And then all the while, I profited off of my autistic strengths. I’ve held my autistic self captive, like an internal servant to do my work. I have masked as hard as I can to try and look “normal” to neurotypical eyes, and then when I get a work contract, I tell my autistic self, “Alright, nose to the grindstone, shoulder to the wheel.”

Because the "mask" of me can’t do this work. The mask of me can talk to neurotypicals, but it can’t do my editing and ghostwriting work. The autistic me is the one who writes books, which is what allows me to earn a living.

It’s time to be assertive and stand up for myself, just like Steven does. It’s time to allow myself to be. My autism is my superpower. Any accomplishments that I have made are BECAUSE of my autism, not in spite of it.

And maybe some of the neurotypicals that I work with will think that I'm weird and awkward, because I've definitely got some Donnas in my client base. One of my current business partners is a Donna. Who fucking cares. If they are really that put off by my autistic self, then I don't want to work with them. It's not worth the money if the money means that I have to deny the essence of who I am in order to earn it. If they can't see the amazingness of my autistic self, then they can piss off.

So Moon Knight really shifted my whole perspective on myself. I think I was already at a breaking point, but it was the catalyst I needed to get through that impasse. I’m in a very different place than I was just a couple of months ago.

So, I guess the ultimate lesson here is that representation matters. Good, positive autistic representation is vital. And it is revolutionary. Autistic people need to be able to see ourselves as heroes in our own narratives. No longer are we the pitiable, the punchable, or the pathological. We are courageous, we are heroic, and we are loveable.

If I’d had this show when I was younger, I think it would have helped me release that desperate need to “fix” myself. I know that I wouldn’t have let those psychologists get up into my head and try to rearrange me. Again, therapy in general is great, just not if the goal is to use shame to make you fundamentally change yourself. This show reminded me that I have many strengths and gifts. I’m going to focus on those now. And I’m going to stand up for myself as an autistic person in a neurotypical world. I now have a model of a heroic autistic self. I’ve got to protect that.

#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #oscar isaac #mohamed diab #tw ableism

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galacticwildfire · 6 months

Text

Fire Meet Gasoline | Poe Dameron

Three

Poe Dameron x Solo Original Character

Hope Solo’s haunted by the night the temple burned. Having gone rogue she hunts the First Order in search of answers until a fateful encounter with Poe Dameron brings her back to the Resistance and Leia puts her daughter under his command to find Luke Skywalker.

Word count: 10k

Tags/warnings: simp poe, exhausted leia, (those may as well be permanent tags), the meet cute, Poe giving oc an existential crisis with his jawline alone, flirting, attempted x-wing race, ego's, rizzpoe, resistance command having a panic attack, mentions of war crimes/systematic kidnapping and indoctrination of children, trauma, first half is sexual tension second half is angst. Leia trying her best to be a good parent to a traumatised child. They will make up I promise.

All my stories are written for adults with adult themes, I use appropriate tags but read at your discretion.

A/N: I have three chapters of the prequel published on ao3/wattpad. the story kicks off properly in this chapter.

Hope

By late afternoon the hanger's quiet enough that I can work on my x-wing in peace, which thankfully hasn't been repurposed. Although Mom knows if she ever gave my x-wing to anyone I'd probably blow it up out of spite, and she knows this because I'd threatened as much.

Major Brance ducks in and out of the entrance several times in the hours that pass as I run maintenance, as if ensuring he isn't hallucinating and looking disappointed each time he realises he isn't, speaking with greater levels of panic into his comm each time.

"We had six months of peace after she left and then Dameron was recruited. Now there's two of them," I hear him ranting as he exits the hanger again, thinking I'm out of earshot. "Two of them!"

I can't help but smile to myself a little in intrigue, finding myself growing increasingly curious about this commander who seems to give Brance the same headache as I do. That might just be enough for me to overlook his rank. Almost.

His ship sits on the other side of the hanger, the orange and black paint noticeably standing out from the rest, and I'm chuckling to myself in satisfaction at noticing the paint's been touched up since I called it beaten up. Although now mine is the one that needs a touch up by comparison.

The next time Brance comes in Statura accompanies him and gives me an awkward wave from across the hanger before pulling Brance back out, thankfully that's the last time I see them.

"Gee R2, you'd think they weren't happy to see me," I remark as I get to work installing the new parts after finishing general maintenance and he beeps at me. "Alright maybe I'm enjoying it a little."

At least my infamy's still feared by high command, even if that doesn't extend to a commander who should very well know exactly who I am. All things considered I should be more concerned by the thought that Mom could arrive here at any moment, but I can put off that anxiety for a little longer.

My hands are stained with soot and engine oil, but my mind seems to quieten as I tinker. Something I always thought came from my father, until my grandmother's surviving handmaidens told me it also came from my grandfather, among other things. Thankfully with the years I've found some level of acceptance with that fact, even if the memories sharpened with Ben taking the mantle Vader left behind. At least Lando can share my humour at calling him Grandpa Vader even if Mom looked like she wanted to hit me over the head the first time she heard it. And every time afterwards. Turns out dark humour only goes so far.

My mind's focused on the adjustments to the thrusters, transferring over the parts I'd taken off my N-1 at the lakehouse so the modifications are similar, making it far faster than ties and any other navy starfighter. Faster than any other x-wings on base as well. I was tempted to get R2 to pilot the N-1 here for me but considering what I've been using it for I thought it best it stays in storage on Naboo. I'd forgotten how old these x-wings are in comparison to the newer models of ships, my N-1 was average in comparison to the models I grew up flying, but still newer than these. So while some of these parts might be a little overpowered for my neglected x-wing I can make them work, it'll make it highly illegal, but fast.

Just how I was taught.

At least I don't have to pay to replace the proton torpedo I'd used up now, it might have been a bit overkill considering they're generally used to attack larger capital ships or freighters but I'd always wondered what would happen if I shot them into a bunch of tie-fighters and now I know.

I'm quite content working while talking to R2 until a now slightly familiar voice calls out to me in the empty hanger.

"Need any help up there?"

"No," I answer automatically, too caught up in what I'm doing to take any real notice. R2 chides me for being rude like he isn't worse and I realise Threepio's yet to talk my ear off which means he must be with Mom, wherever she is. "But since you're offering toss me up a wrench will you?"

He chucks it up and I catch it before tightening the last bolt and only then do I recognise the voice. Suppressing a smile I look down and see him standing back, trying to figure out what I'm doing. "Problem? Because I can tell you those parts have too much kick for a T-70."

"That's the point," I reply, swinging my legs over the edge of my ship so I can take him in and find that he immediately recognises me from the stunned look that crosses his face, the look in his eye leaving me pleasantly surprised after all the wary stares of the afternoon. Although I'm more surprised by the immediate effect his face has on me now that I can see it properly. I don't expect to like it as much as I do, pegging him as the type that's ridiculously handsome and knows it, although it's certainly not without reason. "Once I'm done my baby's going to have more engine power than any of the newer models, might need some reinforcements but I'll make it work."

He shakes his head, grinning up at me with white teeth that stand out against the shadow of a beard on his certainly well-chiselled face that reminds me of the statues that adorn Naboo's art museums, but it's his dark eyes that take my attention as he studies the engine and my other modifications, recognising them with equal surprise and respect. "You know those mods are illegal right? The type you can only find in blackmarkets in the Outer Rims."

"I should know since that's where I found them, but considering this is faster than any of the New Republic's ships, and yours, I don't have to worry about that do I?" I smirk a little too proudly and find myself saying. "I see you gave the General my regards."

He looks at my ship and then to his with the slightest jealousy after mine had outrun his in the field and I just smirk to myself from my ship.

"I did," he says, something about the look in his eye drawing me in. He still doesn't realise I'm her daughter, that much is clear, and so I play coy. "I told you I could put you in touch didn't I? But just a warning, we might be a paramilitary but she doesn't like us breaking too many New Republic regulations."

Oh, he has no idea and I can't help but tease "If you're going to report me for breaking regulations don't bother because she's already given up on me."

"I take it the two of you have some history then?" he gathers and despite the curiosity in his eyes he still doesn't put it together, which means Mom has definitely lied to the Resistance about where I've been for a commander to have no idea who I could be, but I shouldn't expect anything else by now.

"Let's just say I've done some work for the Resistance, had some disagreements and ended up where you found me," I explain simply, revealing just enough. When I'm used to everyone knowing my name it's almost nice to be a mystery. "So illegal modifications will be the least of her worries."

He makes a surprised sound, running a hand through the almost black curls atop his head. "The General must like you then to let you get away with this type of stuff." He looks me over with slightly nervous eyes before putting on a charming smile. "You must have been stationed on the Raddus because I know I would've definitely remembered meeting you before."

A self-satisfied smile comes to my face at his attempt at flirting and find myself amused, but more surprised by the fact that I don't actually mind it. "I've been on this base far longer than you have commander, you're the one who's new here."

"General recruited me a few months back from the Republic Fleet," he says and my eyes narrow now, wondering how the hell a new recruit could possibly be made a commander when I never was after years of service. But I swear behind his self-confidence there's a sincerity to his words as he says "You know, if you were new to base I was going to offer to show you around."

"Really?" I say, leaning forward from the edge of my ship in intrigue, giving him my full attention as I look him up and down. Somehow only finding more things to like much to my own surprise considering I've never been the type to be partial to a flyboy, or much to men in general.

"What can I say?" he shrugs but the look in his eyes is a little less carefree than what he's trying to portray as he returns the gesture, tongue running over the seam of his lips as he takes me in. Leaving his intentions maybe a little less innocent than his sincerity. "You're a hell of a pilot, one of the best I've ever seen. You left an impression to say the least."

I can't help but feel warmth come to my face at the look in his eyes that I've never quite seen in anyone else's and turn my head, not knowing whether to be frustrated he's actually having an effect on me or flattered I have a commander standing here flirting with me, but I do like the attention. As for flattery well... that's something I've always received little of.

So maybe I'm being a little bit of an asshole, but I genuinely don't know how to do anything but rebuff him considering it's second nature by now. "What was your name again?"

I remember it, but I want to see how he reacts to his ego being bruised. Somehow he's not put off and just challenges "You know now I think of it you still haven't given me yours."

Wanting to get a little closer I hop down from my ship to find that he has half a foot on me, maybe a little more although it's not exactly hard when I inherited my mother's height. His face is closer now and somehow even more striking up close much to my frustration, a problem I've never had before or at least not to this degree. The sudden proximity leaves me a little more bashful than I'd anticipated but I may as well enjoy the moment considering it'll be over once he learns my name, for a multitude of reasons.

"You can call me Captain," I state. I might have had that title stripped away with every other privilege I had when I was grounded but if she wants me back she's going to have to make compromises.

"Captain?" he repeats back in surprise but respects it. "Alright Captain..." he trails off for a moment, considering his options but inevitably deciding to go with one of the riskier ones. "How long have you been away from base for?"

"Almost a year," I answer, curious to see if that leads him down any trail of thought but he doesn't seem to be using his head to think, although unfortunately for me that face makes up for it. He's older, late twenties, a man who clearly takes pride in his appearance judging by his hair. Again, he has good reason too and even more unfortunately I'm too susceptible to that damn face.

"Then let me give you a tour of the new and improved facilities," he begins before changing tactics, his voice deepening slightly as he leans closer. "Or I could take you out to a spot just outside base with a clear view of a constellation I think you'd like, and maybe by the time we make our way back you'll like me enough to be on a first name basis." His eyes are kind, but there's a mischief behind them that draws me right in. "If that's alright with you?"

It takes me a moment to register what he's saying let alone asking, and when I do I'm convinced that surely I've misheard him or definitely misinterpreted his words. But his interest is something I definitely I haven't misread, intentions are another matter, but this... this was the last thing I'd prepared myself for when I returned to base. I've had passes made at me sure, but certainly never this.

It leaves me speechless for a moment longer than I'd like, but I manage to quickly regain myself and my dignity. I've been back here for five minutes and I'm blushing over some flyboy's pickup line, a flyboy who holds the rank I'd sought for longer than he's been a part of the Resistance.

Oh no this, whatever it is I'm feeling, this won't do.

"Alright commander," I say, making sure whatever happens next is on my terms. "I'll consider it, but first how about you show me what you've got and finish what we started in the field."

"What I've got?" he repeats as I look at the x-wings. "Sweetheart you're speaking to one of the best pilots in the galaxy."

"Sweetheart?" I repeat and actually laugh knowing it didn't end well for the last guy that tried to call me that, and he momentarily panics before seeing the glint in my eye, only more determined to put him in his place before I can consider maybe, just maybe, taking him up on his offer. "Alright then flyboy, get that ass in an x-wing and prove it."

He's tempted, tongue running across the seam of his lips as he leans down and crosses his arms over his chest. "As much as I'd love to do that, I don't want to get put on probation in my first few months and neither should you."

I whistle, taking pleasure in taunting him. "I got the big ego part right but I didn't take you for a pussy."

Now I've got him. "Oh no, I'm not a pussy."

I look down at his astromech who beeps at him knowing it's a bad idea, just as R2 gives me a beep of warning to not get myself in trouble but I've already made up my mind and so I look back up at him with a raised eyebrow. "Really?"

His dark eyes are locked onto mine with determination and I find a spark in them that's the same as mine. "Really."

Knowing I must have some effect on him I tilt my chin up, smirking as I challenge "Prove it."

I must look like a hot mess after hours of maintenance with my braid falling out and the top of my white blouse unbuttoned and stained with oil, my body's covered in engine grease wiped off my palms and smells like it, but he seems to like that.

And I definitely like his face.

Maybe I was right in coming back to base after all.

"Alright," he agrees, physically closer than I've let anyone come to me in a long time. "But you'll lose."

"Fifty credits," I bet knowing I've certainly returned a lot richer from my exploits, even if most of it's gone into my ship and weapons, and he doubles it.

"Hundred."

"One fifty," I challenge to raise the stakes and see that same restless excitement in his eyes. Pilots, people who live on risks and rushes of adrenaline, they're a disaster waiting to happen when it comes to gambling. "You on?"

"How about this, I win and you let me show you around base," he says, the glint in his eye proving to me he might be more of a worthy opponent than I'd originally taken him for. "You win and you're the one who gets to show me around."

He knows he's got me there, and I'm shaking my head with a stupid smile on my face knowing it too. It's a win-win situation for him although I'm curious to see if it would be the same for me, silently cursing how something in his eyes makes me electric. He might be a flyboy but he's one smooth bastard and I've got to get him back. "Alright then hotshot, first one to circumnavigate the planet's atmosphere and land back here wins."

"Atmosphere?" he repeats, knowing atmospheric flying in one of the more dangerous thrills a pilot could partake in, but he only grins back at me with that spark in his eye. "You're on."

"Let's see what you've got then commander," I say, waiting for him to realise he's screwed with the work I've done on my ship but again, he's thinking with anything but his head, and I tease "Then we'll see about me showing you around."

I'm not the only one with a stupid smile on my face and his eyes follow me as I walk back to my ship. Maybe I'm guilty when it comes to liking the attention, I've had my fair share of it not that I've ever entertained it, but none have ever looked like him or had that spark in their eye. I go to pull the ladder over, considering using the force to leap up might give him a little bit of a shock, and hear him call out "Need a foot up?"

"Piss off," I laugh and he flashes a teasing grin at me that only feeds my own determination. "You know you're going to lose right?"

"Don't worry I'll go easy," he promises as if he's doing me a favour.

I raise an eyebrow, not afraid to pull a dirty card to throw him off his game. "Because I'm a girl?"

"Oh no, no, no," he quickly corrects with a nervous laugh, his momentary panic only confirming that he isn't that type of flyboy. There shouldn't be any of them on base considering who the General is but you never know, I mean she did marry one after all. But still, I find an awful amusement in how quickly he refutes it. "Women are just as capable in a cockpit I can promise you that, but as damn good as you are you haven't seen me in action yet."

"Because I'd taken care of all the action before your slow ass ship could get there," I reply and he's all the more ready to try to show me up and my ego meets his as I smirk. "Don't worry I'll go easy."

The droids beep at each other in question as to whether or not they should get involved as he takes on the challenge, jumping up into his x-wing and I climb into mine, only for another ship to suddenly appear in the atmosphere as our droids get into their respective astromech ports. I blink in confusion at the ship, only to sense her before I begin to register who the ship belongs to. "Shit."

He looks at me as to ask if I'm ready to take off and he flashes a confused look as I give him the fall back gesture and shrink back into the cockpit as the ship lands, seeing the same look of panic on his face when he realises who's caught us.

I'm wearing a guilty smile as Mom comes out of the ship, walking with purpose but stopping in her tracks the moment she senses me, whatever emotion fills her face is quickly replaced with exasperation as she looks up at me, and then to the commander, shaking her head at us both.

"Get out of those x-wings."

The commander panics as we both climb out of the x-wings and I come to stand in front of Mom for the first time in almost a year. She wears the familiar expression of frustration, but thankfully I still see the fondness amongst it. I open my mouth but find myself lost for words as I suddenly clam up.

"General," Poe stammers beside me. "I was just-"

"I'm not blaming you, Commander," she sighs and turns her head towards me. "I know my daughter has a habit of causing trouble."

He does a double take, one I've seen often when the men on base have realised they've attempted to chat up the General's daughter. Although none have admittedly been as successful as him. "Daughter?"

Mom just gives a slight shake of her head as she sighs, as if she hadn't expected anything else. "Commander Dameron meet-"

"Hope Solo," I say shaking his limp hand, he's stunned as I meet his eye and for just a moment I see the faintest flicker of recognition amongst the pure mortification. "General's daughter."

"Unfortunately for my sanity," Mom remarks and shakes her head at me as Brance rushes into the hanger to meet her only to go unignored as she asks "Did you seriously try to drag my newest commander into an x-wing race?"

Brance looks between the commander and I at those words and suddenly seems to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown as he marches back out of the hanger as quickly as he came. Again, Mom looks as if she hadn't expected anything else.

"Maybe," I admit as Poe scratches his head, clearly more than a little blindsided. She looks at my x-wing, mechanically literate enough to realise the parts I've put in aren't cheap or legal and I try to smile and exploit the big eyes that seem to work on everyone else but her. "Miss me?"

She raises her eyebrows in warning and I quickly shut up.

"Commander, considering you've already become acquainted with my daughter you can be gracious enough to escort her to intelligence where she will hand over the information she has on the First Order outpost she destroyed before Snap could gather data on it," she says, barely reigning in her frustration with me but it's the disappointment in her voice that stings. "Then you'll meet me in my office, Hope."

"Yes General," we both say in unison and she shakes her head as walks past out of the hanger, leaving the commander and I standing there in shared awkwardness. While I feel guilty he's purely mortified, and I actually feel slightly bad now.

It's silent until he breaks it. "I'd say you were trying to set me up if she wasn't so happy to see you."

"Yeah," I say, his sarcasm being nothing but truthful. "Won't lie, I was hoping for a warmer welcome back but it could have been worse."

He looks at me now with his own eyebrows raised, standing there in a state of barely constrained panic. "It could have been worse? Worse for you you mean?"

I look at him in surprise. "A flyboy who actually cares what his commanding officers think of him, how rare."

"When my commanding officers are war heroes, yeah I care," he says defensively, incredulous that I don't share that sentiment. The tension between us is just as thick as it was moments ago but different now.

"Well commander, you'll come to learn your heroes are quite human," I assure him, knowing how every person on base reveres my mother, which is fair as she deserves every bit of it, but their reverence for Luke and my father is less justifiable. "Legends are often disappointing."

If I'm the last hope for my family then I'm only proof of that.

He looks at me now how they all do when I don't live up to the expectations they have of their heroes, little do they know their own heroes don't even live up to them.

But my own reputation? Well I can certainly live up to that.

He takes me in more carefully now, with equal caution and curiosity, but also with the slightest bit of wonder in his eye as he says "So, you're Hope Solo."

"That's me," I say, shrugging my shoulders despite knowing the weight my name carries. "Am I missing some grand reputation I'm meant to be living up to?"

From the way he stammers I know I am and it usually falls into two categories, a Jedi or a political scandal. My reputation as a pilot clearly isn't as prominent as I'd like it to be despite my stint as a racer.

"Well," he begins and I can tell he's not quite sure what to make of me. "I- you aren't what I expected."

I'm intrigued now as I take him in, sensing nerves beneath that cocky exterior. "And what did you expect?"

I don't miss the way his eyes skim over me and so I return the favour, somehow still quite liking what I see despite his fleeting defensiveness. "Well-" he coughs to try to cover himself. "Not you."

That's an answer I don't quite mind and I laugh under my breath. "Acceptable."

"So," he continues, keeping a respectable distance from me as we continue through the base, suddenly taking a very different approach towards me now he knows I'm the General's daughter. A fact that inevitably scares off anyone who looks at me how he did, although I can't quite say anyone has, not like that at least. "How did the General's daughter end up rogue in the Outer Rims?"

"That's quite the story," I say, realising what I did must have stayed classified outside of high command. "And not a pretty one."

"Alright," he says, he doesn't push but asks "So what did you do here before that?"

That's the question.

"Well I'm the General's daughter," I say, repeating what everyone else does with some embellishments. "Best damn pilot here, but considering I prefer blasters to negotiating they tend to keep me out of the loop."

He raises an eyebrow, a glint of almost childlike excitement in his eye as he asks "Not a lightsaber?"

And there's that one final legacy that Luke left me when he went into exile, that of the last Jedi. When the news of the temple's destruction broke they all looked to the supposed sole survivor for answers, but some looked at me as a suspect. The Jedi Killers grandaughter being the only survivor of a fire that killed all of the Jedi... that's one other legacy I've been left with.

But he only looks at me with an awestruck curiosity, not too dissimilar to how I'd look at Luke and the other students before I'd started my training, back when the Jedi were still mysterious to me. I can't quite remember anyone looking at me that way however, not until now.

"Oh I've got my lightsaber but I've been frequently reminded that it isn't a good look for the Resistance to use it for combat," I explain as we walk through the hanger towards intelligence, not quite sure why I'm still speaking to him when I'm about to get torn to shreds by my own mother but he's listening and perhaps I don't mind the sound of his voice. "And then there's the fact we aren't meant to engage the enemy first."

"That's a big one," he says keeping his tone light, playful even, but I can feel a mutual frustration there. "Something tells me that's part of it?"

"I might have gotten a bit carried away once or twice," I admit, something tells me with an ego like his he has as well, but not to the severity I did. "But there's nothing like practice."

He meets me in the middle there. "As frustrating as it is not being able to engage the Resistance is better when it comes to action than the Navy, I can promise you that."

"Yes but be warned commander, a little too much action and you'll get yourself grounded," I say with a bitter edge to my voice. "I would know."

"Too much action or insubordination?" he asks in amusement and if his face wasn't enough to take a liking to him that's sealed it.

"Well there's no point committing insubordination if there's no action," I remark and he laughs, something tells me he's no stranger to it either.

"I like the way you think but I'm glad I'm not your commander."

"I prefer to work alone so rest assured you won't have to deal with me," I say as we reach intelligence but something in his eyes tempts me against my better judgement, strikes a boldness in me I had never quite realised was there until now. "Unless you want to?"

But as expected he's suddenly hesitant. It's typically seen as disrespectful to even look at your superior's daughter that way and well no one wants to disrespect the general, but it's a little late for him to pretend like he wasn't quite interested just a few minutes ago.

He quickly becomes nervous, trying to laugh it off before not so subtly changing the subject. "So uh- I guess I will be then if you're going to be flying?"

"I will be," I state as he clams up, putting on his friendliest face and the gives me an awkward thumbs up of all things before guiding me inside the command centre. Usually I wouldn't care, usually I'd laugh when I'd watch them suddenly clam up, but it seems this one's left an impression, for better or for worse.

Brance stands there as we enter the room and hesitates at the sight of us. "The General said you had some reconnaissance data about First Order patrols?" he swallows and I can't recall what I did to make him like this, but he's in charge of intelligence. He knows exactly what I've been doing. "Around Tatooine I presume?"

There's judgment in his voice upon mentioning Tatooine, but Brance's judgment's only a fraction of what I'm about to get from Mom.

"Well, I don't exactly have it," I say looking at R2 but he's hardly been collecting any. "I saw an outpost and I blew it up, twenty four tie's in total including the ones this commander saw me take down, three squadrons, not much else to say." I turn to the commander now, since these patrols should be his area of jurisdiction, but mostly because I don't like to walk away without the last word. "But if you'd like a report on all the First Order outposts I've cleared in the outer rims you can come and find me."

Poe stops and blinks at me in slight alarm. "Cleared?"

"Cleared," I confirm and leave him to put together what I mean as I dismiss myself with a sly smile. "Commander." I nod my head to Brance who's turned pale. "Major."

Both their eyes follow me as I leave the room, forcing myself to keep a straight face as I willingly send myself to the interrogation chamber.

The encounter still plays on my mind as I wait to speak with Mom, it's almost a welcome distraction from what's waiting for me. But it's hard not to dwell when it's left a bitter taste in my mouth.

I'd once joked to Lando that no one would be brave enough to take a chance on me with who my family is, little did I know then just how true it would be, and that was before the entire galaxy found out I'm the heir of Darth Vader himself. In the public's eyes Mom was never a Jedi, she as far as they know can't wield the force. They could throw every accusation of treason and conspiracy against her but that, the claims of being a danger to society because of our blood was reserved for me and Luke and Ben.

Not to mention I've become the sister of a pretender.

But he's not the one accused of being the Jedi Killer, how can he be when much like Anakin Skywalker the galaxy believes he died with the rest of the Jedi. Like Luke he left me to bear those accusations alone. To carry this name that's only gotten heavier with each passing day.

But for a moment I liked being a mystery, and I liked it even more when he still looked at me with awe instead of apprehension after learning my name. Poe Dameron. I hate to say it but unlike the other flyboys that come through here I actually like this one.

Wait.

"Are you fucking serious," I whisper under my breath in irony into the empty space of Mom's office and remember where I've heard his name.

It was just days before everything went to hell. I'd travelled to Theron to be with Dad after I'd gotten myself expelled from university after a rather dramatic display that I'm still quite proud of. Lando and I sat watching the Five Saber's races when a man had caught my attention in the stands below, or if memory serves me the force had drawn my attention to him. Not that it would have mattered to Lando, all Lando saw was his niece staring at some guy.

"Oh no, now I know for a fact pretty boy down there's too old for you," Lando had laughed.

I'd just reminded him about how much older Dad was than Mom when they met and he laughed with me while trying to hush me. I don't know how the conversation had descended into what it had, with me expressing to him my juvenile worries no one would ever want to take a chance on me with who I was. Perhaps now I don't care about something as silly as love, I've experienced enough of it to know how it ends, but back then I did, what sixteen year old doesn't? He tried to ease my worries, giving me the sort of pep talk only an uncle can give, Mom had echoed similar statements not long after but Lando's words stuck with me over the years.

I'd thought that had been the end of it until I'd sat in the cantina as Lando went to the bar and I watched the same man introduce himself. Growing up with war heroes for parents, especially Han Solo, I was never a stranger to having aspiring pilots wanting to meet their heroes and so I'd watched from a distance as they spoke, happily out of sight.

"General Calrissian," Poe Dameron had said shaking his hand. "It's an honour."

"General?" I heard Lando repeat in amusement. "No one's called me that in a long time."

"You fought with my parents on Endor," he'd said and I'd been slightly more interested.

"Wait don't tell me, I know that face," Lando had said and laughed in realisation. "You're Kes and Shara's boy aren't you?"

He'd given his name "Poe Dameron."

I'd recognised his parents names, particularly his mother's since she'd defended Naboo during Operation Cinder. More than anything I just remember being confused by the strange nagging I felt, almost as if I knew him, or rather that I would know him. It seems my intuition was correct.

All things considered, that day is something I'd all but forgotten about until now and it leaves me unsettled. Nothing good ever comes when the force starts throwing these coincidences at me, or rather as it seems wrapping up loose ends. There was more to the conversation I struggle to recall, conversations about the navy and whatnot, but I do remember them talking about his mother.

As an aspiring pilot I'd taken an interest in the women who flew such as her and Hera Syndulla. Dad would often feign offence when I'd beg Mom to be able to come with her to meetings with General Syndulla since they'd had a friendly rivalry back in the day. Although Hera never abandoned her kid despite him being force sensitive so I know who I like more. Wherever he is I'm sure he's glad he was grown up by the time Luke began taking students, with Ben's age group having been the oldest ones he trained. The youngest however... that still pains me to think about.

I'd disappeared before Lando could introduce us, so at least some of my anonymity remains intact. While I'm vaguely familiar with him, all he knows of me would be reputation and that's how I prefer to be known.

Although the force isn't finished with me yet, the lingering tension from the last time I sat in this office still remains, bringing back other more uncomfortable memories.

"What do you mean I'm grounded!" I raged at her after coming back from what I thought was a successful mission. "I did everything you asked me to-"

"I sent you to run reconnaissance not to engage!" she yelled, as beside herself with anger as I'd ever seen her. "Instead you used the force to interrogate an officer and not just that, you engaged an entire squadron of stormtroopers with a lightsaber-"

"And I took them out!" I reminded her, proud of my accomplishment even if she was horrified, or at least proud in the moment.

"And potentially started a war!" she snapped and slammed her hand down on the table. "What is the one rule I ask you to follow, the only damn rule that matters!"

Still I didn't care. "How are we meant to stop them if we can't fight them-"

"We stop them through these missions you think are pointless, through collecting data and using it to secure whatever funding we can get from the very few allies we have in the senate," she tried to make me understand and she grit out "Hope, we do not have the numbers or the facilities to enter into a war. The Rebellion was thousands strong, we have less than a hundred and the Resistance cannot afford to lose the only Jedi we have because she decided to go rogue and take matters into her own hands with the very weapon that should never be used for such violence."

Those words rubbed me the wrong way "So that's my role, the one symbolic Jedi. Not a pilot, not a fighter, not even your daughter-"

"Don't go there," she warned, the mother-daughter relationship we'd finally forged during the scandal with Vader having worn away with every disagreement over strategy. "I am speaking to you as your general, not your mother, and it's time you learned the difference. Which is why you aren't just stripped of your rank, you are grounded until you can pull your head in and not endanger this entire resistance on a whim. You tortured a man Hope." The way she looked at me made me sick. "You used the force to torture a man like-" she cut herself off but we both knew damn well who she was comparing me to. "For someone who can see the past you sure as hell don't know how to learn from it."

"He mentioned Ben," I ground out and she couldn't meet my eye. "He's calling himself Kylo Ren and has made himself the First Order's enforcer. Did you think I was going to let that officer go without finding out everything I could about what my brothers been doing!"

"I'm more concerned about what you've done," she said, terribly pale. "Saving those children at whatever cost, that I could excuse, that I would have even promoted you for. But the carnage you left behind and giving the First Order grounds to attack us I can't excuse. Using the force for that- as the last person with any authority to tell you how the force should be used... I am disgusted Hope."

But not as disgusted as I was at what I'd seen. "He was dragging children screaming from their homes-"

"And what intelligence did you torture out of him?" she asks me and that's when I clamped my mouth shut. "You could have asked where they were to be taken, how many, where their battalion is stationed, but no. You weren't just reckless you were selfish. If you were going to take your anger out regardless you could have given us something useful instead of chasing after Snoke. Tell me how did you rationalise the thought that a low ranking officer would know where either of them are?" I opened my mouth but she cut me off sharply. "Every single member of high command across all of our stations has petitioned for your demotion and an official court martial which has never happened before in the entirety of this organisation. They want you not just grounded permanently but banned from any Resistance operations and frankly I agree."

I gaped at her, betrayed. Command could believe whatever they wanted, but this was my own mother. "You think I'm dangerous?"

"I think you have been nothing but angry and spiteful these past years," she confessed to me as I stood there with tears burning in my eyes. "I understand you went through something horrific, I understand why you're acting out, but right now I can't trust that-"

"I won't end up like Ben?" She still couldn't meet my eye and I felt more betrayed by her in that moment than I ever did when I discovered the truth about Vader. "You think I'm like him?" But I knew there was something else. "No, you don't think I'm like Ben. You think I'm like him. Your father."

There was a bite to her voice. "Don't call him my father and don't you dare think for even a moment I would believe you could become what he did."

"Then why?" I whispered, tears of anger wetting my cheeks. "Why don't you trust me?"

"Because as of this moment you are too unstable to be trusted with important missions, or any mission for that matter," she said carefully, but the words hurt just as much. "I can't protect you from the law if you decide to let darkness take control, which is why you have to work where I can keep an eye on you. I want you to go to Hosnian Prime to work with the few allies we have left in the senate, Varish will look after you. You spent years being educated for a career in politics and I gave you your title so you could take my place in the senate. If I can't trust you in the field then that is your assignment."

I shook my head. "No." She was leaning over her desk, head hung in distress. "If you won't let me fight then I'm not staying here."

"Hope," she argued. "Please for once in your life think before storming out."

"I have," I said. "If you don't trust me then I'm going to find the one person who does." She looked up in fear, and I knew what she assumed. "Not him, Dad."

She sighed. "Honey, your father-"

"Is out there," I said, tired of failing to live up to her expectations. "And if I'm too much like him for you, or any other man in this damn family, then I'm going to find him!"

I'd stormed out with hot tears running down my cheeks, now I sit here cold as she enters the room and sits down across from me without a word, neither of us knowing what to say until I break the silence.

"Am I being court-martialed?"

"No," she answers shortly, her voice difficult to read.

"Lando convinced me to come home," I say, unable to calm the defensive tone in my voice. "I was hoping for a warmer welcome considering the speech he gave about how much you've missed me, how worried you've been."

"I was worried," she says, struggling to hold back her frustration. "I was worried sick that you were hurt or out of your mind but no, I find you the same as ever going off to race x-wings whilst I've been in the core worlds doing the job I'd asked you to do." I just shake my head to try to fight off the guilt and look away until she relents and asks "Did you find Han?"

"No, but Lando will keep looking," I answer stiffly and get to business. "He said you had a mission for me."

She nods, but if I thought she was going to let the past be the past I was wrong. "We will get to that, but now enough time has passed I hope we can speak honestly now about what happened so let me begin by saying what you did horrified me Hope. My barely nineteen year old daughter torturing an enemy officer and committing a massacre beyond what was necessary to protect those children. Even after they were off the planet you went back to finish the job to ensure there was no one living to testify to what you did. You committed a war crime, several I might add."

Against my better judgement I retort. "Legally it's not a war crime if we aren't technically at war."

She shakes her head, having not expected any different. "A cold war is still a war and it's only getting worse."

"Which is why-"

"Why you've been hunting the First Order for sport?" she finishes and I'm glad Snap gave me a warning. "Commander Dameron told me all about your encounter before you decided to come back and try to- what- what the hell were you even doing?"

I put it simply. "Trying to prove a point."

She just sighs and puts her head in her hands. "Hope you've been back five minutes and you're already giving me a headache."

"You asked me to come back," I remind her, wishing I'd stayed gone. "Sent Lando to beg me to come back-"

"Yes because you're my daughter and I love you despite how infuriatingly stupid you've been," she says bluntly and pure anger suddenly fills her eyes. "Working for Boba Fett?"

Shit.

Despite my panic I hold my ground. "He pays well."

"He pays well?" she repeats. "I should think so considering the money he got from giving your father over to Jabba the Hutt."

"Well that's his own fault for making shitty deals and not following through," I say, knowing well enough by now how it works. "You say I don't learn from the past but he's the one repeating it."

"And you should be smarter than to get into the same mess for the sake of spiting him," she lectures. "Because that's why you did it in the first place isn't it? To spite your father and when he didn't come back to drag you off Tatooine you decided to take the credits and take your anger out on tie fighters."

I remain unremorseful. "Would you rather me use a lightsaber?"

I'd almost forgotten that like myself, she gives as good as she gets but it's a comparison that doesn't phase me anymore. "Like Vader did?"

"I was once told Anakin Skywalker was a war criminal," I say, remembering that history lesson on the Clone Wars after years of Luke making our grandfather out to be the ultimate hero in Ben's eyes. "It only seems right I continue his legacy."

She does not like that answer. "Alright then I was wrong, you haven't matured enough to take on this mission."

She gets up to leave and I relent "Wait, Mom." She looks at me expectantly and we've been through this enough times I know what she wants to hear. "I'm sorry."

She still waits. "For?"

"For being a smartass about committing a war crime, no matter how justified it was, and running away for a year," I say and watch her inhale deeply to keep herself calm. "And for being a smartass now."

She sits back down and leans back in her chair. "A year Hope. I would have thought being gone that long running around the Outer Rims would have matured you at least slightly."

I actually scoff. "You really thought that after being married to Dad?"

"For one single minute can you not be a smartass," she pleads and raises her index finger. "Just one."

I wisely keep my mouth shut and nod, knowing it won't last.

"Long enough has passed I believe I can convince command you've grown up and have seen the error of your mistakes," she begins, moving to negotiations. "Now we both know that's a load of crap but if you want to get back in the field they need to believe it. I might be the General but there is only so much I can do to help you because I can't be seen giving my daughter or any member of this Resistance special treatment. While you've been gone I've done my best to try to rebuild your reputation for the day you inevitably came back, most of the base believes you've been studying politics on Naboo and completing your education."

I scoff in offence and suddenly it all makes sense why a commander would see someone pull off what I did and never even think of my name. "That's the best lie you could come up with, that I willingly went back to university after they expelled me for arguing with that old Imperial bitch?"

"Yes," she states and my frustration only grows, that I'm only known as the spoiled princess sent off to Naboo instead of what I've worked hard to become.

"So you discredit the fact I'm the best pilot in the Resistance so everyone believes I'm just some spoiled princess playing politics at some prissy university to the point your shiny new flyboy can't even realise who I must be and thinks he's actually better than I am?" Her eyebrows shoot up at that remark. "That's your solution to rebuilding my reputation? By utterly falsifying it and discrediting the one thing I've worked hard to be." I stick a finger into my chest as I grit out "I started flying when I was a child, I begged and pleaded to join the starfighter corps when I was just twelve years old and have spent my entire life working damn hard to be the pilot that I am. It's bad enough everyone just dismisses me as being Han Solo's daughter when I'm a better pilot than he ever was, but for no one to even recognise me as a pilot and just think I'm off prancing around Naboo-" I have to cut myself short. "How could you do that?"

She sees I'm genuinely hurt but remains firm in her decision. "How do you think they'd take it if I said you were running around with pirates and hunting the First Order on some mad vendetta?"

"They'd think I was actually doing something worthwhile," I say and she blinks at me incredulously. "You might think I've been acting like an idiot but I've been smart about it."

She's unimpressed and bites back. "Words right out of your father's mouth."

"I made sure even if people pieced together I was the one in that starfighter they couldn't do anything about it because I was being legally contracted to defend a system from an unwelcome force, hell I had an invitation to the bounty hunters guild that I didn't accept because I knew it would be a bad look for the Resistance and for you. But I've been damn good at what I've been doing and I'm not going to apologise for it."

"Congratulations," she deadpans. "In trying to piss off your father you've become him, running away from your family for the thrill of making credits and blowing things up."

That finally shuts me up, Vader I can take being compared to, but not him. Not when I know she looks at me and sees him more than anyone else. She suddenly looks remorseful and reaches for my hand.

"Hope, you are my daughter and I love you more than you could ever know," she says and I wasn't prepared for those words, looking away as I force back tears. "But you need to realise your actions have consequences, if your father's situation isn't evidence of that I don't know what is. Luck inevitably runs out."

"It hasn't for you."

Her eyes are sad. "It ran out a long time ago, but yours hasn't. Not yet." I don't expect the ache when she reaches for my face and forcing back tears has not felt this hard in a long time. "You've grown up."

"Yeah well, that happens," I say curtly and she withdraws her hand. "I know you think I ran off like Dad did but you didn't give me a choice."

"You had a choice and you made it," she says gently, the love in her voice only making it worse. "But now I need you to own up to it and make better ones."

"If you want me to be ashamed of what I've done and apologise for it I won't," I say and finally she listens. "I did make my choices, and don't think I wouldn't make them again."

"Alright," she says upon seeing this won't go the way she wants. "Do you want to hear the truth?"

Believing there's nothing left she could say to hurt me I shrug. "Shoot."

"I never believed it when I was told the Skywalker blood ran strong in you, but I should have. When Sola and my mother's handmaidens told me you reminded them of my father I didn't listen. When Luke warned me dark things would come of your training I should have listened but I didn't and you were nearly killed as a consequence."

"Mom-" I immediately whisper at her blaming herself.

"I knew something was wrong between you and Ben, I knew something was wrong with him, but I sent you back to Ossus with him regardless," she says as if Ben gave her a choice in the matter. He'd taken me as his apprentice, and his eyes his authority overuled our own mother's. "Days later everything was gone. Ben, Luke, eventually Han. Everything was lost in that fire except for you." Her voice breaks. "I have tried in every way I know how to help you Hope, but you aren't helping me. It is a fact that you share many similarities with your grandfather, more than Ben ever did. Everyone who's ever lived to know both of you has said as much. I am aware of the darkness that's clung to you ever since you discovered what he became and I want to help you Hope, but I need you to let me."

My throat's tight. I've always shrugged off the comparisons, but they've never come so strongly from my own mother, the one person in the galaxy who has the most cause to despise him. Yet in my travels I've only found more people who've confirmed what I've tried to deny for years. "So that's why you can't stand me, because I take after him?"

She shakes her head in disbelief that that's the conclusion I'd come to, voice incredulous as she whispers "No, Hope that's not what I'm trying to tell you."

"Do you have any idea how long I spent trying to live up to you?" I ask her, remembering now just why I ran. "Trying to live up to a perfect hero but no matter how hard I try I'm told time and time again that I'm my father's daughter, or worse that I take after Anakin Skywalker. Never you, never Padmé Amidala, only ever them." Frustrated tears burn in my eyes that she truly can't fathom. "I don't want to hear that, I don't want to live up to anyone's legacy. I've spent years training to make my own path, I've spent another year out there in the Outer Rims not even recognising myself in the mirror trying to make a name for myself just to have all these powerful people look at me and tell me I'm just like a man I never knew. Desperate for validation, living up to a self-imposed prophecy, the one to restore balance and save us all only to lead the slaughter. Or worse that I'm like the father who abandoned me."

She quickly becomes unnerved at the cynical laughter that escapes me along with the tears. "Hope-"

"I don't want that, I just want my family but I can't have that," I say with a barely contained primordial rage burning in me. "All because of a voice in Ben's head." She's deadly quiet as I finally look her in the eye. "So if killing stormtroopers is as close as I can get to killing Snoke then that's what I'm going to do."

For the first time I sense a deep fear within her and she again reaches for my hand only for me to sharply pull it away. "I need you to listen to me."

"No!" I yell, a trembling mess as I slam my hand down on the desk. "I need you to listen to me when I say that if I can get my hands on Snoke I can end this! Or if I can just find Ben I know I could bring him back or convince him to turn on Snoke, but to do that I need to get my hands on these First Order officers and-"

"And you'll what, torture information out of them?"

The answer's simple in my mind. "Why not?"

"Because it's torture hope!" she yells. "For the love of-, you are not going to be torturing anyone for information. I know how much you loved your brother, I know how close you were and you are not the only one who wants him back." There's tears in both our eyes now. "But you are simply not prepared to take on Snoke."

"Luke took on the Emperor didn't he?" I retort. "He convinced Vader to turn on him and so will Ben. I know him better than you ever did Mom as much as you hate to hear that. I know he was screwed in the head and delusional, hell I know that better than you ever could and I have permanent scars to remind me of it every day!" There's nothing but pain in her eyes. "But everything he did was to protect me as twisted as it was and he would never let Snoke do to me what he's done to him. I know if I bring him back we will destroy Snoke."

She tries to steer me away from the subject, to de-escalate, to distract me from the spiral I'm heading down. "Someday yes, but for now I need you focused on proving to the senate what the First Order is truly doing so we can prepare. I promise you the day will come when you can use your saber but until then we need to build up the Resistance before starting a war we can't win and you are only one person. We need the support of the New Republic and the senate-"

"When are you going to realise we need to damn what the senate says and go after them ourselves?" I exclaim and it's then I fess up. "Do you have any idea how many of those bastards I've killed before they could gain a foothold in the Outer Rims?" Her face turns to stone. "How many outposts I've destroyed-"

"I don't want to know," she says hoarsely. "I don't want to know how many people you've killed or how many outposts you've blown up. I just want you to do what I'm asking you to do."

"What are you so afraid of?" I ask her at a complete loss. "I am capable-"

"You are too capable and you know it which makes you dangerous," she states factually and years worth of anger finally comes out. "You think you're smarter than everyone else in the room, but you're not. You think you are better and that you know better but you don't and it's past time you heard it. You don't do what is asked of you, you either go too far or disobey. You have always been all or nothing Hope. You run away for a year and now come back asking for me to trust you but I can't. You're impulsive and rash and not in the way we need. You don't think before acting and still refuse to do what is asked of you. You always have and I had hoped you could be mature enough to sit down so we could both apologise and move forward so I could give you this very important mission but no, you're too defensive and too defiant to even listen to me without interpreting me trying to get through to you as an attack!" Her voice breaks and for one of the very few times in my life I see tears running down her face. Three times I've seen it, but never solely because of me. "I love you, but I cannot trust you when you're like this."

Her words hurt, they're true, but they still hurt.

No, they don't just hurt, they tear me apart and I've never craved to be back in my bedroom on Hosnian Prime so badly. Back when I was still a child, back when I was still young enough if I cried I knew someone would come to comfort me, whether it was her or Dad, or most often Ben. Back before everything went to hell, and I can't stop the tears from coming now.

She goes to take my hand again but I pull it away, shaking my head as I stumble back out of my chair away from her, my flight response taking over. "Hope!" she calls out as I head for the door. "Wait-"

I'm already out the door and halfway to the hanger when I slam into Poe Dameron as I round a corner, he catches my arm and goes to ask if I'm alright but I pull it free, not stopping to make conversation as I rush to find R2 so we can leave.

For good this time.

#poe dameron #poe dameron x solo!oc #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron x oc #sequel trilogy #poe dameron x original character #solo original character #skywalker original character #solo!oc #poe dameron x solo original character #star wars fanfiction #star wars original character #sequel trilogy fanfiction #poe dameron x f!oc #poe dameron x female original character

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female-malice · 6 months

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Israeli Peace Activists Who Lost Loved Ones in the Hamas Massacre Stand Their Ground

Many of the victims of the Hamas pogrom and their family members were and continue to be peace activists. The surviving relatives now have to deal not only with profound grief and dread, but also with hateful comments; but their personal tragedy hasn't changed their dovish stance. On the contrary

Shany Littman Oct 27, 2023 10:35 pm IDT

Yakovi and Bilha Inon’s children didn’t wait to be officially notified that their parents’ bodies had been identified before they began sitting shivah. On the night of October 7 they posted a death notice and the next day they embarked on the week-long mourning ritual, according to their son, Maoz Inon, a social activist and entrepreneur, and co-founder of the Abraham Hostels in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. Yakovi’s body was identified 12 days after Hamas’ attack on southern Israel that Saturday. Bilha’s body has yet to be identified at the time of this writing, 17 days later.

Maayan Inon, Maoz’s older sister, says that already on that terrible Saturday they had a feeling about what was happening in their parents’ moshav. “Early Sunday, my brother-in-law traveled to their home in Netiv HaAsara, accompanied by security forces, and saw two unrecognizable bodies, but it was clearly them,” says Maayan, 50. “That was enough for us, we didn’t need more than that to realize we need to start mourning.”

The first shivah of the October 7 War became a collective ritual of mourning. “Survivors from Nir Am, Netiv HaAsara, bereaved families – they all came to us,” says Maoz, 48. “It shook all of us up. There was an emotional bond between all the survivors, or maybe they’re better described as victims. During the shivah you’d hear about this guy from school who had been killed, and that girlfriend, and this person’s son – a lot of people you know.”

“We arranged the shivah in a very intuitive way, and in retrospect, it was correct,” Maayan adds. “We were together, and we had the space and the time to come to grips with the fact that they’re gone. Survivors from Netiv HaAsara were dispersed and didn’t have a place to gather and process what happened, so they came to us. I heard my parents whisper in my ear, ‘We’re fine, take care of them.’"

Yakovi was an agronomist and farmer, a native of Kibbutz Nir Am; Bilha was an educator and artist, born on Kibbutz Ruhama. Both were people of the Negev who lived their whole lives near the Gaza Strip. Their first home was on Nir Am, which is where their five children – Mor, Maayan, Maoz, Magal and Magen – were born.

“My father had Bedouin and Palestinian friends,” Maoz recalls. “I remember being 6 or 7 years old and traveling with one of them, Ali Khamis, to fix his truck at a garage in Gaza, and then he’d take me to a restaurant. When I told him my parents were killed, he collapsed and was hospitalized.”

When the kibbutz movement faced a severe crisis in the ‘90s, the Inons decided to leave Nir Am and start over some 60 kilometers to the north, in Netiv HaAsara, with barely any financial means. They bought a small plot of land and built a modest home. Yakovi was the head of moshav’s secretariat, helped plan a large logistics center adjacent to the Erez Crossing, and even advocated unsuccessfully for the opening of a hospital there that would serve the residents of Gaza.

On the morning of October 7, Yakovi sent a message to his children saying that he and his wife had locked the doors and were in their safe room. “When we realized that there was a terrorist infiltration, it became clear to us that they wouldn’t survive. We always knew the house couldn’t withstand an attack. We called it a cardboard house,” says Maayan. “But they felt safe. My dad always said: We can’t live in fear. He claimed that fear is a subjective thing and he didn’t really feel it. My mom had some bouts of fear and anxiety. But they still chose to stay because they loved the area and the people, they were pillars of their community, and they lived well. The fact that he locked the house was a sign that they sensed that something unusual was happening.”

It emerged that the terrorists who infiltrated the moshav fired a missile at the house, which went up in flames. Yakovi and Bilha died in the inferno.

“In their will, my parents asked that their bodies be cremated,” Maoz says. “They said the soil was a place for wheat, not graves. They asked that we spread their ashes in the moshav’s fields, and over the graves of my dad’s parents on Nir Am. And that’s what we’re going to do.”

Maoz Inon says that up until October 7, he didn’t describe himself as a peace activist, but rather as a social activist. For two decades he has been coming up with initiatives that focus on using tourism as a tool for social change, and linking it with a vision of Jewish-Arab coexistence and joint cultural and business ventures. In 2005, he opened the first backpacker hostel in Nazareth’s Old City, the Fauzi Azar Inn, in partnership with the Palestinian family that owned the premises. He went on to help create hiking trails linking Jewish and Arab locales and founded the Abraham Hostels network, which in addition to accommodating travelers in an atmosphere of “sustainable tourism,” offers activities for different communities in Israel: Haredim, asylum seekers and LGBTQ people. Most recently, Inon founded Abraham Tours, which organizes trips to the Palestinian Authority, Jordan, Egypt and Israel. One of the tours used to pass through his parents’ moshav.

After the flare-up of hostilities between Israel and Gaza in May 2021, Inon began organizing tours with a political agenda, together with Nazareth-born activist Kholoud Abu Ahmad. “We realized that the first step toward a life together is to get to know the other’s narrative,” he says. “It’s very dangerous to repress, silence and block out the narrative of the 20 percent of Israel’s citizens who are Palestinian. They are citizens, and they aren’t going anywhere. We shouldn’t be afraid of the Palestinian identity. We should get to know them, hear their story, know what causes them pain.”

The personal tragedy that struck the Inon family three weeks ago has not changed his views. On the contrary. Since that Saturday, Inon defines himself as a man on a mission. “Look at our state,” he says. “We’ve been warning for years that we were on the precipice of an abyss, and now the biggest disaster since the Holocaust has struck the Jewish people, under the leadership of the ‘fully’ right-wing government, which will be the end of us. We have to change all our terminology and our basic assumption that Israel’s security is based on military might.”

You aren’t angry, you don’t want to punish the people who did this?

Inon: “I understand the anger and the frustration, and I understand the desire for revenge, but I also see where this revenge has gotten us over the past century. If the Hamasnik who fired the missile at my parents’ house was sitting across from me right now, I would talk to him. I would want to understand. I would want him to see me cry.”

His sister Maayan also says she doesn’t feel hatred or anger – just pain. “It tears me up inside that people have gotten to the point where they are capable of behaving this way. The question is, do we want to continue this round [of fighting], is this round good for us? Or do we want to look for a different, less violent, less cruel and destructive path? I don’t think we can say hocus-pocus and reality will change. But I believe that through work and growth, there’s hope and opportunity for change. We can create healthy, balanced and proper relationships.”

‘No innocent lamb’

Quite a few peace activists and their relatives were murdered or taken hostage during the October 7 pogrom perpetrated by Hamas. In the three weeks that have passed since that terrible day, their families have had to deal not only with profound loss and grief, and dread over the fate of loved ones who are hostages or still missing – but also with hateful comments on social media and on the street.

Facebook posts mentioning Vivian Silver from Kibbutz Be’eri, one of Israel’s most prominent left-wing activists, who served on the board of the B’Tselem rights organization and helped to found the Women Wage Peace group, and is now being held hostage in Gaza, were met with comments like “she wasn’t abducted, she’s just visiting friends,” “she ought to stay there with her peace-loving friends,” and “this is a story of an Israel-hater who made her bed and slept in it,” among others.

Similar comments greeted Neta Heiman-Mina, a member of Women Wage Peace and a native of Kibbutz Nir Oz, after she published posts about her 84-year-old mother, Ditza, who was also taken hostage by Hamas.

“People wrote me that the blood of all the 1,300 victims is on my hands, that I deserve the fact that my mother was abducted to Gaza, and that they’d be willing to help me join her. All kinds of pearls of wisdom. After I appear in the studios of the main television channels, I am immediately attacked. A few days ago I was interviewed at about 2 A.M., I was sure no one was listening, but by the next day my inbox exploded. Someone wrote, ‘Yuck, you stinker – because of people like you there’s antisemitism. You’re the reason she’s there. Go help soldiers instead of stinking Arabs.’ Someone else wrote, ‘Leave Israel and move to Palestine.’”

You haven’t blocked comments on your page?

Heiman-Mina: “No. Facebook has blocked people who aren’t friends from responding in order to prevent all kinds of hateful comments about Israel, but it turns out we need protection from people who are among us. People who have been poisoned for so long don’t know when to stop.”

Heiman-Mina is sure that her mother was taken to Gaza alive because footage captured on October 7 shows Ditza being forced into a car by Hamas terrorists. In the clip, she appears to be healthy, but since then there has been no information about her fate. Meanwhile, her daughter has been traveling from funeral to funeral.

“Every day,” she says, “I have to choose which one to attend. First I go to the funerals of relatives of people I grew up with. Of the 13 people in that group, two members’ families weren’t on the kibbutz that Saturday, and two other members’ parents survived. The rest all have parents who’ve been kidnapped or murdered, or both of those things.” An estimated 79 residents of Nir Oz are among the hostages.

Heiman-Mina has been active in the Women Wage Peace organization since 2017, and explains that, “It’s a group that talks about a diplomatic accord [with the Palestinians], and doesn’t necessarily demand two states for two people. Some of the members live in the settlements … But it is a movement that believes ‘peace’ is not a dirty word – that it can belong to everyone, not just those on the left.”

When you were growing up, what was your attitude toward the Palestinians on the other side of the fence?

“They worked for us, they were around on the kibbutz. No one was afraid of them. Or at least that was my sense as a child. Most kibbutzniks believed in peace. There was a big group that belonged to the Peace Now movement. That was the feeling, that all people are equal and everyone deserves to live in peace. As children we didn’t feel like we were on a border. Before the first intifada, people from the area traveled to Gaza to shop.

Do you feel today that you were wrong about the Gazans?

“No. Not at all. Those who didn’t think like us were mistaken, and they got us into this situation. Those who didn’t think they [the Palestinians] deserve a fair life, who thought that we can rule over another people for so many years and it wouldn’t backfire – they were wrong. Many others were wrong. We weren't wrong. If they had listened to Women Wage Peace – who have been screaming at the top of their lungs since the 2014 Gaza war that the time has come to end the suffering, and that it’s possible to end it – we wouldn’t be in a situation where my mother is in Gaza in the hands of monsters.”

Heiman-Mina says that the horrific events of the past few weeks have only strengthened her belief that a diplomatic process is necessary to solve the conflict: “No matter how many times we try to eradicate Hamas – after all, we supposedly erased it a few times already – the next round will always be worse. The belief that the solution must be a diplomatic one hasn’t been undermined; it has grown stronger. Because this time I have been personally affected.”

Her opinions about the terror organization haven’t changed, either. “We didn’t think that Hamas was some innocent lamb. What surprised us now wasn’t that they tried [to attack], but that the army couldn’t protect us. The Palestinian people suffer a lot from the Hamas regime, but what can you do? Hamas is our enemy right now, and peace is waged with enemies, no matter how cruel they are. We have no other choice. It’s not easy, it will be painful, but it can happen. Of course I feel rage toward Hamas. Clearly the people who took my mom and the people who perpetrated the slaughter are animals. Of course the initial anger is directed at them. But that doesn’t reduce the anger I feel toward those who didn’t protect the victims, who include my mother, who helped to found the state.”

Speaking out while cannons roar

Tom Godo was 52 when he was murdered in his home on Kibbutz Kissufim, in the northwestern part of the Negev on the morning of October 8; he had been bodily blocking the door to the safe room in his home for 24 hours to protect his wife and three daughters. As the terrorists opened fire at the door with armor-piercing bullets, Godo’s wife and daughters escaped through the window – and survived.

In the eulogy he delivered at his son’s funeral, on Kibbutz Na’an, Yaacov Godo said: “The fingers that pulled the trigger and murdered, the hands that held the knives that stabbed and beheaded and slashed were the loyal and determined emissaries of the accursed, messianic and corrupt government [of Israel], which consists of an arch-criminal accused of illegal acts and a group of entirely incompetent sycophants who lack any political vision… At these very moments, a violent rampage of Jewish, messianic terrorism is being waged to ethnically cleanse and kill [Palestinian residents in] villages and communities around the West Bank and the Jordan Valley, backed by the army and the police.

“I can’t tell Tom, ‘rest in peace,’ because his tumultuous soul will detect the hypocrisy. At the end of this hellish ordeal, and after the stables are thoroughly cleansed, when the sun really starts shining, I will visit your grave, dear beloved Tom, and tell you: ‘Rest in peace, you are free.’”

In the eulogy for his father Eviatar Kipnis, 65, who was killed on October 7, Yotam Kipnis also chose to mention Eviatar’s commitment to peace. “We will not stay silent while the cannons roar, and we won’t forget that Dad loved peace. He wasn’t willing to serve in the territories ... Do not write my father’s name on a missile, he wouldn’t have wanted that … We will stand up and protect our home in the name of life. We will sanctify life, not death, because there is good in the world, and it is worth fighting for. Not for revenge … Dad never forgot that innocent people live in Gaza, stuck between the rock of the Israeli government and the hard place that is the Hamas dictatorship. Hamas is the enemy. Not the Palestinians. Hamas, knowingly strengthened by the [Israeli] government that believes in a race war. We will not forget and will not let it be forgotten that this war won’t really be over until there is peace.”

Yaacov Godo, 72, is active in Looking the Occupation in the Eye, a relatively new organization that aims to raise awareness of goings-on in the occupied territories, and accompanies Palestinian shepherds in the Southern Hebron Hills to protect them from settler attacks. Since the war broke out, he notes, almost all of the shepherding communities in that area have been driven away: “Immediately after the war began, a crazy ethnic-cleansing rampage was launched by the settlers. The army is observing from the sidelines. The settlers injured five of our activists. They detained and beat them.”

Godo wasn’t always a peace activist, but was motivated to become one by the so-called Balfour protests against Netanyahu and the government in 2020-21. “My opinions were always left-wing but weren’t given expression on the ground. Over the years I avoided visiting the territories. When I did go there, I was shocked. I was familiar with Judea and Samaria from my military and reserve service, and suddenly I saw a terrible reality there.”

Since Tom’s murder, however, Yaacov has not resumed his activist role. “My wife and I need to protect each other now,” he explains. “But I’ll be back. I told myself that if I go back there now, I might do something irrational. Sometimes the settlers push us and hit us, and we’re not violent in principle. But in my current state, I might lash out.”

Your feelings are aimed at the settlers, and not at Palestinians?

“I see these violent people using all means to commit ethnic cleansing, hurting people – children and women. They hit, shoot sheep sometimes. What happened on Saturday was terrible and unforgivable. But I don’t think that acts of revenge should be carried out against all Palestinians, or against all Gazans. I don’t think Gaza should be razed to the ground. Killing women, children, the elderly – how are they to blame? As much as I am mourning Tom – he was murdered by Hamas, and I believe that they were emissaries of Israel’s government, whether they knew it or not.”

Godo says he has not been able to sleep since Tom’s death; at night he replays the events that happened there, in the safe room. “Cruelty is cruelty, what happened there is unforgivable. But where was the army? My son, Tom, was in the safe room for 25 hours, under attack. At 4 P.M. Saturday, an Egoz [combat] unit arrived at their home. The soldiers told Tom and the family, ‘We’re not evacuating you yet; in a few hours someone will come rescue you.’ Who am I supposed to blame?”

Hamas wasn’t fighting soldiers, but attacked civilians, including children. How can that be explained, how can it be forgiven?

“If the army had been there, they [the terrorists] might not have infiltrated towns. I’m not justifying what happened. I can be angry and also in pain. But Hamas can’t be eradicated as an idea, so what we’re doing now beyond physically taking out Hamas’ members is that we’re raising the next generation of haters and pogromists. And they will be more hateful and bloodthirsty. Gaza already has more than a million refugees. How can that be justified? Can a state exist, based on revenge? ”

Have you gotten comments on your eulogy on social media?

“Yes, someone said, ‘If these are his opinions, why does he live on Na’an, he should go to Nablus.’ Someone else wrote, ‘I’m sorry for your loss, but why stick politics into a eulogy?’”

People also found it difficult to accept the comments made by 85-year-old Yocheved Lifshitz, who was released by Hamas this week along with Nurit Cooper, 79. Lifshitz told reporters that her captors in Gaza had provided food, hygiene and medical care. She said she even turned around to shake the hand of the Hamas operative who handed her over to the Red Cross, and told him “Shalom.”

Yocheved’s husband, Oded Lifshitz, 84, a former journalist, was also abducted and remains in Hamas captivity. Over the past few years, he volunteered with The Road to Recovery, an organization that arranges transportation for sick Palestinians from the Erez Crossing on the Gaza border, and at the Tarqumiyah Crossing in the West Bank, for treatment in Israeli hospitals. Many of the volunteers come from the Gaza border communities. Some were murdered in the Hamas rampage; others, like Lifshitz and Haim Perry from Kibbutz Nir Oz, were taken hostage.

“Almost every kibbutz in the area has a volunteer in our group – or two or three,” says Yael Noy, who heads the Road to Recovery nonprofit group and was born on Alumim, another kibbutz on Israel’s border with the Strip. “Most are retirees. They give as many rides as they can. Adi Dagan, from Kibbutz Be’eri, who was killed in the attack, gave a lot of rides, both from Gaza and from Hebron. Vivian Silver, who was taken hostage, Eli Orgad of Kfar Azza who was murdered, Tammy Suchman of Kibbutz Be’eri who was murdered – they all gave people rides from the Erez Crossing.”

Noy always saw helping Gazans as a natural thing for residents of the Israeli border communities to do. “Anytime someone would say ‘The poor people of your city take precedence,’ I would respond: Gazans are the poor of my city. It’s the city that’s closest to me. As far as I’m concerned what we do is a humanitarian act that helps the neighbors who live closest to us … In the Road to Recovery organization, we don’t ask people about their politics. We have volunteers from Nokdim and Kedumim and Kfar Etzion [West Bank settlements], and my dad who lives on Alumim votes for right-wing parties, and the organization is his home as well.”

Since that black Saturday, Noy admits that she has had trouble accepting the losses that have been suffered, as well as the complexity of the situation. “I’m torn. All day long I get WhatsApp messages from patients in Gaza who ask how I’m doing. There’s a lot more empathy and interest from patients and our coordinator in Gaza than from the people we work with in the West Bank. We continue to drive patients from the West Bank but it’s very difficult, because they’re silent. They don’t have even one word of empathy [for us]. I’m always looking for that place inside me where I can find peace in the face of this, and I don’t always succeed.”

And yet, Noy has no doubt that she has to keep going: “I always think about the morning after. There are cracks that have to be mended. A few days ago I didn’t notice that I left the house wearing a Looking the Occupation in the Eye T-shirt. I was on my way to visit a neighbor, and when I realized what I was wearing, I took the shirt off in the middle of the street and turned it inside out. I don’t feel comfortable wearing it now, I don’t want to cause anyone pain and I feel like my opinions may cause pain now. I never felt doubts before, or uneasiness. When I visit my parents, who have been evacuated to a hotel in Netanya, some members of the kibbutz say: ‘You realize that this is because of you and the people you drive around.’ I cause them pain with my presence.”

Does that shake you up?

“Yes, but it’s clear to me that I’ll keep going. I’m fighting to keep my humanity. I’m scared of turning into a monster like [Hamas]. I don’t want the seeds of evil to sprout within me, because they’ve sprayed us with that filth. We have no choice but to bear witness. You have to hear the stories and stay human, and I don’t know how that’s possible. There’s a very big rift inside, but I keep going. The requests come in and we respond. There are lots of new volunteers joining now, especially now.”

You don’t harbor any anger vis-a-vis the Gazans?

“Not even a drop. They’re being held hostage by Hamas, and are more afraid of Hamas than we are. Some patients would call to ask how our volunteers were doing each time rockets were fired at the border communities. I feel like the Gazans are, in a way, in the same boat as [our] volunteers from places near the Gaza border. They suffer the same way, the Gazans and the kibbutzniks. “

Nadav Weiman, a former senior figure at Breaking the Silence, credits his former commander in the Nahal Brigade, Shachar Zemach, with convincing him to join the anti-occupation NGO. On October 7, Zemach, 39, a member of Kibbutz Be’eri’s security squad, was killed after fighting the terrorists for seven hours, at which point his ammunition ran out.

“Shachar was a special person,” Weiman says now. “The week I was discharged, he called me and said, ‘I joined an organization called Breaking the Silence, and I think that you should join as well.’ I told him to leave me alone. All I wanted at that moment was to make enough money to go to South America. I took my trip and when I returned I broke the silence after all. Zemach was the activist who mentored me there, which gave me a lot of confidence. He was a very smart man who loved to argue about politics. From his first day at Breaking the Silence he didn’t accept the code of the organization [as it is], he questioned things. And he was the beating heart of the Zionist left at the organization. At some point he started studying economics and went to work at the Finance Ministry. I didn’t understand how a leftist could do such a thing. But that’s the kind of person he was.”

People from different periods of Zemach’s life attended his funeral, and everyone said the same things – he was a good person and a true friend, he was argumentative, loved Israel, loved hiking and loved flash floods. “His dad said that he died with a gun in one hand and a olive branch in the other,” Weiman says. “That’s also how I felt about him … It was the first time that I heard Breaking the Silence mentioned at a funeral.”

Have the recent events made you rethink your own political ideas?

“Yes and no. The ‘no’ is regarding the fact that the murderous rampage by the insane Hamasniks proves yet again that Gaza doesn’t have a military solution. It doesn’t work. No matter how many missiles we launch at them. Only a diplomatic solution can help. It also demonstrates the power of the settlement movement: that so many soldiers and weapons were transferred to protect the settlement regime [in the West Bank], to the point that there weren’t enough troops to protect the communities abutting the Strip. The settlers are above everyone in this state. From that standpoint, I still think that we need a diplomatic solution for Gaza and the West Bank.

“What did change is [the realization] that the scope and depth and murderous insanity of Hamas isn’t something that can be ignored. Not that I supported Hamas in the past, but there was an idea that Hamas is the one you talk to in Gaza, that you transfer money there and let the laborers in. But I don’t think these are people with whom you can discuss peace. This is a historic moment in Israeli society. It was the biggest terror attack that has ever happened here. Many things are shifting with regard to our attitude regarding possible solutions and the issue of who we talk to now on the other side. I was taught in the army that my role as a soldier is to protect the State of Israel with my life. If I’m wounded, it’s part of defending this place. But civilians are outside this story. To go to a house on a kibbutz and abduct people and torture them, that is entirely different from taking over an army post and shooting at soldiers.”

So what’s the conclusion?

“I don’t know. We’re still trying to grasp what’s happening now. It was one of the reasons that I immediately traveled south to volunteer at the war room set up by the aid organizations down there. Breaking the Silence is the most important thing that I do in my life, aside from being a dad, but now we have to help our own people, because the government doesn’t care. We’re in a holding pattern, and after that we’ll figure out what to do next.”

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whyileftthemusicindustry2024 · 2 months

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Why I left the music industry

By Lia Holland

About the Author The first thirteen years of Lia Holland (they/she)’s career were spent in the music and events industry, founding Bassnectar’s Ambassador Program, Electric Forest Festival’s Plug In Program as an employee at AEG Presents’ Madison House Presents, and Bassnectar’s Be Interactive nonprofit. Lia now works in digital and human rights activism.

On January 25, I gave an eight hour deposition in a suit against my first employer, Lorin Ashton a.k.a. Bassnectar, for sex trafficking and child pornography. This journey took years. In fact, I’ve spent over a year working to protect my physical safety alone.

I first met Lorin online in 2007, when I was seventeen. He recruited me to put up posters, but I quickly became more. A hardworking superfan, I helped manage his Facebook, then sold merchandise on tour.

From the outset, I confided in Lorin about severe abuse from my overt narcissist mother. And when she gambled away my college fund after my family faced financial ruin in the 2008 crisis, getting on his tour bus in 2009 was my escape.

Out on the road, others spoke of Lorin very differently than as a sensitive-yet-righteous recluse. However, I had my first job, one that I desperately needed. I started crate-digging music blogs for the live show, taking the first ‘family photos’ of Lorin with the crowd, managing record releases, and did wide-ranging executive assistant work for both Lorin and his tour manager, Elliott Dunwody. Over the next two years, I organized support for nonprofits and activists at shows and online, founded the Dollar Per Basshead charity program, and founded the Ambassador fan volunteer program.

From the outside, I had the world’s coolest job. Yet I lived in a state of anxiety and burnout. Even when I quit in early 2012, I couldn't tell where my sense of fear and exhaustion was coming from. I thought that various superiors wanted to get rid of me. And up until Rachel Ramsbottom's recording came out on the Evidence Against Bassnectar Instagram account, I believed that Lorin, too, was a victim of incompetence and malice in turns.

Now, I know better. Looking back, I believe I was manipulated to think that Lorin was the true victim. Today, it is easy for me to believe the women who have come forward with stories of being abused by Lorin. Articles repeatedly quote Lorin's aggressive legal team threatening individuals and reporters alike with lawsuits. And, if I were them, I would be highly motivated to punish me. To minimize the likelihood of Lorin suing me into bankruptcy and avoid contributing to any dynamic that his publicity team might pretend exonerates him, I must be careful. So, while incredibly painful, I hope that someday my whole story gets out. Giving this deposition was the culmination of over three years of hard personal work, guilt, shame, and ultimately the insight that freed me: I saw that what happened to me was intentional. It was only possible after my childhood of grooming from an overt narcissist, and all I can do now is take my power back.

In order to do so, I recognized that I had to end my career in the music industry. My experience of the industry, from grungy clubs to celebrated stadiums to some of the US’s largest music festivals, is that it is a very small place. You get gigs based on your relationships and your reputation. Everyone’s first job is to protect the musicians, even and especially from themselves—and coming forward would show I wasn’t willing to do that anymore. In a highly competitive industry, that is all you need to lose your livelihood. With few labor rights or other protections for music industry workers, this tyranny of bad behavior and culture of retaliation has no end in sight. Frankly, I’m done with the idea that you have to grin and bear assholes even as they take credit for your work.

Even my independent festival clients who might stand by me also depended on relationships with large monopolies of artist booking and management that are wrapped up with event ticketing giants, media conglomerates, venues, and vendors. And so I helped these festivals return from COVID while, painfully, training my replacement and beginning a new career in human rights advocacy.

Extricating myself from my first career has been profoundly isolating—because the truth is that I never really left Lorin’s orbit after I first quit in 2012. I worked with his collaborators and with the sister company of his booking agency on Electric Forest, a festival he headlined for years. Then, expecting new management would provide a better work environment, I returned to found Bassnectar’s Be Interactive nonprofit as its Executive Director in 2018. I profoundly regret doing so. But at the time, I couldn’t see that what I had been taught was the normal behavior of a genius artist, wasn’t. I broke out of my toxic cage thanks to the profound bravery of others who revealed new lows in Lorin’s conduct—lows that had been unthinkable to me.

Few people felt safe to speak to about any of this, because many of my friends were connected to him or in the industry. I was afraid his aggressive legal team would sue me. I also feared that unstable and violent people among his fan base would harm me. Wracked with shame, I faced threats and harassment myself. The gender-based violence nonprofits that helped me prepare for this day told me my instinct for silent self-preservation was spot-on. Then, I got my incredible attorney, and my plans became privileged even from my handful of confidants. Today, finally, my silence ends.

I’ve never been particularly good at standing up for myself, but I’ve always been a passionate advocate for others. And now I recognize that my advocacy also must rest in who I give my power to: that if they mistreat me, it is likely that such behavior extends beyond me. Today is the ultimate reminder of the importance of choosing my collaborators more wisely, and I encourage all those who remain in the entertainment industry, but are legally or economically forbidden from speaking out, to do the same.

Resources

RAINN and the National Sexual Assault Telephone Hotline: https://www.rainn.org/about-national-sexual-assault-telephone-hotline

Equality Labs’ Anti-Doxing Guide: https://www.equalitylabs.org/research/publications-resources/

Why Does He Do That? Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men, by Lundy Buncroft: https://archive.org/details/LundyWhyDoesHeDoThat

Navigating Narcissism Podcast: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i5BFyvPbIUA

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cyncerity · 1 year

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CYN CYN CYN!!!!

In your store shifter Au, please please please tell me that Tommy and Tubbo mess with Wilbur when small?!?!? Oh the pranks they could get into and just have Ranboo as like lookout or covering for them!!!!!!

Or Wilbur sees them and Ranboo is right there and Wilbur goes: “TINY PEOPLE??!? RAN DO YOU SEE THIS?!?!? And Ranboo is just straight up: “see what?” So Wilbur has an existential crisis wondering if he’s going crazy (or we’ll crazier in this setting)

If this has already been asked ignore me :3

OH ABSOLUTELY

Tubbo just steals shit and Tommy helps him. He knows where all the hidden stuff is, and they just grab it and run. They have a little hoard in the walls that not even Ranboo knows the location of, it’s just theirs. Multiple times they’ve had Ranboo as a lookout and they’ve just been in the middle of a heist and Ranboo has grabbed them and shoved them in his hoodie pocket as Wilbur right as enters the room.

They also mildly vandalize shit, and Wilbur has no idea who keeps writing barely legible curse words on the counter (it’s Tommy cause Tubbo is literally illiterate since borrowers in this au were never taught to read or write but the marker is still too big for either of them to use properly)

And YES Ranboo is the king of gaslight hskssksnsk. Wilbur has seen glimpses of tiny people and Ranboo has talked him into thinking he was crazy every single time. Wil has also tried to put up mouse traps to catch whatever he’s been seeing, but every single one was snapped with a crude picture of a penis or a middle finger in the middle, nothing alive. Wilbur just suspects this is Tommy. Which, it is, but Wil thinks that Tommy drew that at normal size and sprung the traps just to mess with him. So he’s kinda half right lmao.

They also both annoy the shit out of Ranboo.

I’m gonna give a nom example

under the cut if you don’t mind

Rambo noms them very often on the job. Normally they’re chill to just sit and be quiet or nap, but a few times theyve just started singing to irritate Ranboo while he’s trying to answer drive through calls. He may not be able to understand their words, but he can understand their pitch, and the Avengers theme is pretty recognizable. It makes it very difficult to get peoples orders correct.

They also like to know when Ranboo is having an interaction with a customer cause Ranboo has an ultra sensitive stomach and any sort of rubbing will make him severely falter in whatever he was doing. He is pretty much unable to do tasks while getting rubs and just needs to lie down until they stop and he can continue his job. Bonus is that Ranboo noms Tubbo a lot so he knows all the most sensitive areas. Ranboo also flushes really easily and gets flustered at noms a lot, which Tommy and Tubbo take full advantage of.

Also Borrowers aren’t that tiny in this au, swallowing only one makes a little bump, but swallowing two is definitely more noticeable. Ranboo gets a lot of comfort by just having a hand over the bump with his friends, knowing they trust him that much makes him really happy and Ranboo uses noms to help relieve his anxiety.

Also anytime that Ranboo has nommed either just Tommy or Tubbo and they’re taking a nap in the break room, the one who wasn’t nommed will usually come to take a nap with them. Tommy especially likes to rub Ranboo’s stomach from the outside cause he’s been on both sides of noms, unlike Tubbo and Ranboo, and he knows how good it feels for both parties. I am not immune to third person vore scenarios, I in fact love them.

#i have more stuff for Tommy but it’s past 1am and thanksgiving is tomorrow lmao #cyncerity #mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #tw vore #store shifter au #got a bit carried away sorry Becky hsslsksj #*Beckyu autocorrect

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limerental · 2 years

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while digging through my wips, I found a whole fully finished ficlet so here's that I suppose!

a frinfran corporate office au

While her fellows in the office yearn for the weekend with a religious sort of zeal, moaning and gnashing their teeth less and less as their pitiful two days off from their corporate hell finally approach, Fringilla has always dreaded Fridays.

There is never enough time in the work week to do everything that needs doing, always one more memo to write and one more report to look over. Contrary to her coworker’s apparent belief, the world does not stop turning over the weekend, and every Monday brings a backlog of briefs and voicemails and messages to slogs through.

She frets over falling behind, always seeming to miss her next promotion, always landing just shy of the accolades that others achieve, offered formulaic praise for her tireless work but never more than that.

She has already fallen behind, her dear family so quick to remind her of the successful lives of her older siblings and cousins. Her mother calls her each Sunday night with news and gossip, and Fringilla sits in her pristine kitchen with the phone crooked against her ear and makes the appropriate noises in the right places and feels her dread grow all the while.

Fridays also allow for business casual office wear. Fringilla does not observe the practice, keeping to her rotating wardrobe of neutral-toned power suits and simple jewelry, but sometimes, she looks at how the women and even the men in the office dress each Friday and wonders how exactly they make the simple act of wearing clothing seem so effortless.

She fears there has been some memo she missed, not just about fashion but about socializing at all and about hobbies and music and TV shows. About friendship and romance. About life.

In the evenings, Fringilla goes home to her luxury apartment alone and looks out over the glittering lights of the city and sips at a glass of red wine while her microwave low calorie meal heats up and frets and dreads and wonders.

Then, there is Francesca.

Fringilla hears about the merger with the new firm on a Wednesday morning and is immediately anxious of the flood of paperwork that will no doubt be her responsibility if she wants any of it done promptly and done right. Despite the fact that Nilfgaard Industries is an ever-growing, multi-national company, she feels as though she is the singular member of corporate who cares if things are done properly and on time.

She voices this concern at the morning’s planning meeting and is told that if she is so worried, perhaps she can handle their integration. Perhaps she can have lunch with their upper management this Friday afternoon. Yes, there's that new seafood restaurant near the business district, yes, get out of the office for a moment on the company's dime.

Fringilla frets.

For one, she is allergic to shellfish, which is a secondary anxiety to knowing just how dreadful she is at small talk.

Friday looms, and she aims to soothe her fears with frantic googling and only worsens them. Francesca Findebair is beautiful and successful and happily-married, smiling in her corporate headshot alongside impressive achievements and titles. For more diminutive companies than Nilfgaard but no less respectable, especially for her age.

Only a year older than herself, Fringilla notes miserably.

She considers feigning illness. She considers inventing a crisis. She considers admitting to her severe seafood allergy and ordering lunch alone in her little office per usual. She really is swamped with work. Her file cabinets need dusting. Her pen collection is in desperate need of reorganizing. Her label maker probably requires a recalibration.

But she imagines the disappointed grimace of her superiors. Imagines someone like her supervisor, Cahir, going instead. He probably doesn't have to rehearse possible topics of conversation. He probably doesn’t have any allergies at all.

On Friday, Fringilla summons all of her courage, punches the address of the seafood place into her GPS, and heads to the restaurant.

The woman who meets her on the sidewalk outside is more beautiful in person than in photos. She smiles warmly and offers a hand, and Fringilla tries not to tremble as she shakes it. Her palms are smooth as butter. She looks like a woman from a magazine, her skin warm-toned against the steely winter-grey of the city.

Fringilla feels her body flush with heat the longer they clasp hands. She almost forgets to let go, even as her palms grow embarrassingly clammy.

“Francesca,” says the woman, touching her elbow as their hands unclasp. “You’re Fringilla Vigo? You look different than your photos.”

Fringilla thinks of her own headshots, greyscale and simple. She has not thought to update them in a few years. She is rarely photographed for press releases or marketing opportunities and has no social media. She cannot think of the appropriate response. Has she already failed to make an impression?

“Don’t worry, it’s not a bad thing,” says Francesca, laughing softly. Her laugh is musical and airy. “You look much less stiff in person. You have a gentle eye.”

“Oh,” says Fringilla, the reassurance doing nothing to ease her worry. “Um.”

“Ah, I’ve been too forward. I’ve made you uncomfortable. My apologies,” says Francesca , dropping her hand from Fringilla's elbow. She immediately misses it. "I meant only that it is a relief not to meet with another brown-nosing man who thinks himself better than me."

Fringilla nods with a tight smile, thinking how many times she has been accused of exactly that.

They enter the restaurant together and are promptly seated in a booth beside a large potted plant. Fringilla stares at the plant to avoid watching Francesca so closely as she peruses the menu but soon cannot resist looking.

Francesca's style is unique, feminine and artistic and colorful, while still remaining appropriately professional for a corporate setting. Her crimson beaded earrings match the color of the hair clips pinning her intricate braids, and she does not cover the dark freckles across her cheekbones with foundation.

Fringilla feels both plain and overdone.

She is wearing her favorite pinstripe suit in dark pewter and has never felt self-conscious wearing it. For years, she has kept her hair close-cropped and simple and enjoyed the practicality. Now, she feels stiff and formal next to Francesca's effortless beauty.

"You're staring," says Francesca. "Is there something on my face?"

"Is that a ficus?" blurts Fringilla, redirecting attention to the plant beside them. "I think it's in need of watering."

"I'm fairly certain it's plastic."

"Ah. Right."

"You're nervous." Francesca smiles, and Fringilla's nerves increase tenfold, her stomach fluttering. "There's no need to be. We're equals here. No corporate nonsense. No politics. This is just lunch. You haven't even looked at your menu."

"I'm um." Fringilla swallows, steeling herself. "I'm allergic to shellfish."

Francesca laughs and sets aside her menu.

"Why didn't you say so? I can barely stand seafood myself. Especially this overpriced nonsense. Do you always neglect your own needs for the good of the company?"

"I don't know," Fringilla says honestly.

Francesca stands, and for a terrifying moment, Fringilla fears that the woman will walk out, that she's stupidly blown this whole thing. But Francesca doesn't look angry and doesn't storm away.

"We'll go somewhere else," she says. "Do you have any other allergies or ailments I should know about? Or do you plan on waiting to reveal the next one when our food is on the way?"

"No that's-- I'm sorry," she says quickly. "Anywhere. We can go anywhere. I'll eat anything. I mean-- Cats. And oh, you meant food allergies of course, I um."

Francesca smiles at her without pity and without judgment, and she loses her line of thought.

They walk together from the restaurant, Francesca waving an easy goodbye to the perplexed hostess. The weather is as brisk and grey as when they arrived, and Fringilla has eyes only for Francesca beside her. She almost stumbles in her heels on the sidewalk trying to keep up.

Francesca appears amused.

"Are you always so easily flustered?"

"You're very pretty," Fringilla blurts and wishes the city street would swallow her. But Francesca only smiles her same disarming smile and touches her arm as they walk.

"In that case," says Francesca, "why don't we call it a date? Nevermind that your boss is so graciously paying for it."

Fringilla really does stumble, Francesca tightening her hold on her arm to keep her from faceplanting.

"But you-- you're--"

"Married?" Francesca shrugs and twirls a gold ring on her fingers. "Tax benefits."

"Oh," says Fringilla. She feels like she's lost the plot of the afternoon. If there is a social script for this situation, she has certainly never thought to study it. "What does that mean?"

"It means I would like to meet you again next Friday. Somewhere you would like to go. And I'll be paying."

"I-- I don't know what to say."

"You can tell me no. I won't be offended. But I don't think you want to say no."

"No," Fringilla admits. "I don't."

She feels as though she may pool into liquid on the sidewalk, but she knows she does not want to say no.

"It's time you stopped making yourself so small," says Francesca. "Your resume is impressive, Fringilla. There's no reason you shouldn't be number one in your company."

"Oh, I mean, I--"

Francesca nudges her, her beaded earrings dangling.

"No more excuses. You owe yourself more than that."

Fringilla has never met anyone like this woman. She wonders if she should be offended or frightened. No one has ever seen through her defenses as easily as this. Is this a test? Or a joke?

"Why do you… why are you saying this?"

"Because I think you're very pretty as well," she says. "With gentle eyes. And if we're to work together, I want us to be able to be honest with each other. As a mutually beneficial partnership."

"Right," says Fringilla. Honesty. She can try that, though it feels absurd and impossible.

Honesty.

She finds Francesca beautiful and compelling. She wouldn't mind listening to her talk on and on, though ordinarily she would rather sequester herself away instead of sit to talk with anyone for any length of time. She would like to hear her laughter again.

She takes a deep breath. "I like pizza," she says, "but I'm allergic to mushrooms. And certain lotions. And birds."

Francesca laughs. For all her intensity, she laughs so freely and sweetly.

"I'll keep that in mind," she says, and their shoulders bump. "Pizza it is."

In the end, Fringilla has little reason to dread another Friday again.

#the witcher #frinfran #fringilla #francesca #fringilla x francesca #my fic

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thebleedingeffect · 9 months

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I feel that both SS and botw/totk zelink aren't toxic but that they have very good potential for it. The potential is rife for co-dependency, impostor syndrome, obsession, strong separation anxiety, goddess-related trauma, etc. "I don't know who I am without you" type beat. Love so deep it swallows you whole. Pre-calamity also has fantastic drama potential in the need to keep secrets, etc.

YEAH THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I MEAN I UNDERSTAND YOU!! Canonly? Yeah they're not toxic at all cause I very much doubt nintendo would ever be brave enough to make Link's and Zelda’s relationship questionable in any way lmao. But like... the potential is there, there's so much of it, and the worst thing is that it's not unbelievable at all to interpret that they could very easily slip into toxic tendencies. I also agree with you I think sksw and botw/totk zelink are the two with the biggest risk of becoming toxic lmao.

I made that joke post thinking about sksw zelink cause I just could not thinking about of the sheer amount of implications about their relationship in that game. Surface level? Yeah it's pretty sweet, very much classic 'gotta save my love from evil' sorta deal, but there's SO MUCH going on besides just that!! There's an entire conversation where sksw Zelda straight up says 'I emotionally used you and purposely stayed away from you because I and this world needed a hero. Hylia decided this for you and I'm currently experiencing an identity crisis because I'm not sure if I just fabricated your love for me, but either way I must take advantage of it.' LIKE WHAT THE HELL??? HI??

Like just fucking, personally I think Link would be a more victim of the codependency, separation anxiety, and maybe obsession? Idk I see that as something that I think Zelda would go through actually, along with goddess-imposter syndrome, and severe trauma towards fate and all that. What's even worse is that once you start digging into sksw and botw/totk zelink's relationship there are so many things that are borderline concerming if anyone decided to expand on them. Tbh I also completely agree with you about the pre-calamity thing I think they would hide SOOOOOOOO MUCH SHIT FROM EACH OTHER !!!

Personally I really like to imagine that botw Link actually did hold some resentment for Zelda because he was jealous over the fact that she was able to avoid her fate for so long. From what we're told in botw it's very heavily implied that the opposite happened to Link, the goddesses had chosen him when he was just a kid. Also the idea that Link had been purposely given extremely difficult and near-abusive training for years to prepare him for being Zelda’s guard and Zelda never knew <333 and he never told her <333 so he has even MORE buried resentment <333

But those are just my ideas cause my favorite zelink relationships are when they're emotionally MESSY and FASCINATING TO ME sjsidjd they don't even need to be romantic, platonic is actually totally fine for me, I just love messy bitches.

But yeah I totally agree, I think while they're not toxic in the text itself, I think they very much have the potential to be. The potential for being so intertwined with destiny that it becomes as much of a slowly corroding force as much as salvation. You love them so much, you can't imagine a world without them, you hate them, you resent them, you wonder if they actually love you or just what purpose you serve, you wonder if they love you or if they've just been broken down and told to. You panic if they're not by their side, your skin itches with the need to run away, you can't look at each other in the eye, did you ever love each other if you were never given a choice?

I think zelink has a ton of potential, BUT I think it's more toxic flavor just deserves to be explored way more cause there's no way sksw/botw/totk are HEALTHY in the SLIGHTEST

#though I do think that maybe oot. tp. ww. and other variations would be mostly okay??#actually I think oot would have their toxic moments. but its more tragic than anything #tp have their bi-yearly toxic moments and then never see each other besides that SJSJSJS #thebleedingeffect talks

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ina-nis · 1 year

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Hi! I think you've mentioned you don't deal with anxiety or low self-worth in AvPD (sorry, if I'm misremembering). Could you describe what that experience is like? I'm working on those myself, but it's hard for me to imagine having AvPD without those. Thank you for your time.

That's right, yes. It might have to do with the fact that I've been in therapy for a long time (huge TL;DR [sorry!] in the last paragraph if you don't feel like reading all this).

I have always had low self-esteem caused by long-term trauma.

I used to be an extremely anxious, nervous person because I was under a lot of stress constantly. Of course, I also had really bad social anxiety, lost opportunities because I couldn't get a phone call, almost failed school because I wouldn't get into group projects or talk in front of the class. I spent several years just struggling that way since I was scared of going to therapy but eventually I had to do it because I was too suicidal.

I've been in therapy for years, doing different treatments and approaches, on and off.

I started treating depression. I had some exposure for social anxiety due to job-related things, I have done DBT and it has great coping skills for crisis, I came out as trans and that helped with my self-esteem, I left many stressors behind and moved elsewhere.

I still experience anxiety and social anxiety nowadays but mainly by dissociating. It feels like my brain is using a less "destructive" coping mechanism, because I'm not as nervous or stressed out as before, since I'm in a safer place.

I still experience self-esteem issues too, but I have learned to be more gentle with myself, to stop comparisons and just be more patient with me in general.

One part of the treatment is internal. I had to treat my other mental illnesses too, just dealing with anxiety didn't do much, it would just come back over and over. Everything is connected and treating one leads to another.

The other part is environmental/external, but that can be harder to tackle since it might require actual, physical changes: be it a place or your body.

On my journey to diagnose AvPD I did stumble upon anxieties and it was confusing at first, but I experience these disorders in completely different ways: AvPD is more about avoidance and self-isolation, and fear of rejection itself; while anxiety is more situational. My fear of being alone forever has nothing to do with anxiety, it feels much more visceral. Also, anxiety feels much more personal and "mine" while AvPD feels more interpersonal and "ours", I have "my" things but not "our" things between me and others.

Best of luck with dealing with these issues and if anything, time will help you tremendously! Even if it's not possible to get therapy or leave a bad situation, it's still possible to decrease your anxiety by using many different skills, takes time and patience. For your self-esteem and worth, you have to learn to like yourself. I'm afraid there's not many ways around it, enhance what you already enjoy and change what you dislike (but don't get too hung up on "dislikes", you can find many good things about yourself and spend your energy there instead).

TL;DR: your self-worth, anxiety and other things might be all linked together:

Get professional help if at all possible (it can be done on your own, just harder and slower);

Figure out where these feelings are coming from (usually stuff in your childhood);

Exposure does work. It's great for social anxiety (but if you don't have a sense of getting better, you might need to work on other areas of your life/mental health);

DBT skills (you can do that without therapy, they're great for anxiety crisis);

Figuring yourself out helps with self-esteem (who are you? Who do you want to be? What do you like? Basically become obsessed with yourself and find out how cool/smart/talented/beautiful/etc you are/can be);

Your self-worth starts when you start putting yourself first, be "selfish" and be bold, it takes practice but it can be done and you'll thank yourself later;

Comorbidity can make things harder but it's possible to address things separately and at whatever pace you can, you'll get where you need to be;

Environmental/external factors have a bigger impact than people think (you might need to literally move out of a bad situation or cut toxic/abusive people out of your life, among other things), it's probably one of the hardest things to pull off.

#ask #anonymous

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legolasghosty · 2 years

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I would love to read that essay about Willie's responses to Alex's anxiety and how good it is if you want to write it and have time for it☆

They are very good for each other and that is a fact♡

Alright, this ended up taking a while to write, Idk, brain being weird. Sorry! But... I can always talk about Willex...

Okay, let's go chronologically and start at their first meeting.

First off, Willie doesn't ever judge Alex for asking a million questions. He's a bit surprised at first by Alex's question about what a lifer is, but he just answers it and clarifies that Alex hasn't been a ghost for long. And while he laughs a lot in both this scene and later scenes, it's never at Alex. Alex makes him laugh, but it's always very clear that he's never being mean or looking down on Alex. This continues later when they're on the bench, with Willie listening and not making Alex feel stupid for not understanding stuff, even if he does laugh about it a couple of times. He just explains things and asks questions when he doesn't get something. Good traits for the partner of someone with anxiety, especially Alex, who at this point has just left a situation where the million questions he has are sort of being brushed off by Luke and Reggie.

Second, and I could go on forever about this bit, we have the little bit where Alex mentions his 'minor afterlife crisis,' then immediately follows it up by teasing Willie about running him over. Willie laughs and accepts the joke, then returns to the afterlife crisis thing. To me, what Alex is doing here is sort of a cry for help that he's too scared to really make. He admits that something is wrong, but quickly follows it up with a lighthearted comment meant to distract Willie. Like, he wants to talk about it, but he also doesn't want to put his issues onto someone else, especially someone he just met. And it works for a second. Willie laughs and gets distracted by the jab. You can see the disappointment in Alex's eyes though. He wanted to talk to Willie about it, and while he was trying to distract him from the concerning comment, he's still a bit sad when it works. AND WILLIE NOTICES!!!! He notices, he backs up, and he lets Alex talk.

Alex is a bit surprised, because people don't usually pick up on what he's doing when he pulls stuff like that, but he dives right in, almost like he's afraid that Willie will take it back once he realizes Alex has things to say. But Willie just asks some clarifying questions and lets Alex blow off some steam. As someone who regularly uses this same tactic Alex does, it means so much when someone picks up on it. Cause like, Alex doesn't want to burden Willie, but he does want to talk about it, so Willie actively giving him an opening to talk means the world and is a prime example of Willie being so so good for Alex.

Willie really is good for Alex right from the getgo.

Moving on, we have the museum scene. All the Willex gold in this scene, but I'll just pick on a couple things. First off, Willie is pushing Alex out of his comfort zone in several ways during this bit, but he's always there to help Alex do whatever it is, and he isn't trying to get Alex to do things he really doesn't want. When he pulls him into the museum, when he gets him to move the bench, and when they scream, Willie is there to help Alex do all of it. He grabs Alex's hand to pull him through the door, helps him focus enough to lift the bench, and screams right along with Alex. He's pushing Alex to do new things, but he isn't just leaving him to try and figure them out on his own. So important in any good relationship, romantic or otherwise, and something I think Alex really needs, especially at that point in the show where there are still so many unknowns for him and his band.

And of course, gotta talk about the screaming, cause what Willex analysis would be complete without it. I'm gonna talk about their communication again because I love it so much, but Willie notes Alex saying he's anxious, remembers it, and makes a point to ask. Alex shares, Willie connects it to his drumming, and is like, "Wait, I have something kinda like that that I do, maybe it would help him." Again, he doesn't force Alex, but he helps him do it and let loose and stuff, and it's a really great moment for them! Sharing coping mechanisms, my beloved!

At this point in the show, we run into the club stuff, which makes things sad for a bit between Willex, so instead of thinking about that, we're gonna talk about how openly happy Willie always is to see Alex. Speaking from experience, anxiety really likes to try and convince you that people don't actually want you around, but Willie is always so freaking happy when Alex is around, and it's very obvious. He's noticeably more cheerful and relaxed when Alex is around, and even Alex can see it, which has got to be so good for Alex. The reason Alex is so freaked out when Willie starts avoiding him is that he could tell Willie liked being around him. And Willie knows it. He immediately tells Alex that he isn't the issue when they talk outside the garage. Because he loves being around Alex, and the only issue is Caleb, and while Willie knows he can't actually tell Alex that, he doesn't want him to go crazy trying to figure out what he did wrong. Willie being so obvious about loving to be around Alex is so important for them, and is probably really good for Alex's anxiety.

From there, we have the lovely, "Because I care about you, Alex!" bit. Both in that scene and in the scene between them at the Orpheum at the start of episode 8, Willie is being completely honest with Alex, which is so so important in any relationship, but especially so when one or multiple people involved have anxiety. Willie doesn't dance around what he thinks and wants to say, he just says it. And Willie's honesty gives Alex permission to be honest in response, with the "I would have still followed you," bit and stuff, as opposed to deflecting and hiding with sarcasm like he does at many other points in the show. Good communication between the boyfriends!!!

And finally, we have the last scene in front of the Orpheum and the hug. So much good stuff here, but I'll just talk about the hug and one other line. First off, the hug. Alex is the one who initiates it, but Willie immediately grabs him back and hangs on just as tight. Alex isn't nearly as touchy as his bandmates or Willie, but he trusts Willie enough to reach out for him, and Willie instantly confirms that the comfort is both allowed and appreciated. They both know that this is probably goodbye, but neither can stand to say it, so they just hang on for dear life until Alex forces himself to back away. Willie lets Alex hold him for as long as he wants, and doesn't try to pull away. Another edition of the 'Willie counteracts the anxiety that makes Alex assume people don't want him around' show.

The last thing Willie says is to tell Alex he'll see him around, which, even though they both know it's probably not true, is really sweet. Willie is just like, "Of course I'll see you again, and I'm gonna love it so much when do." So like, post Magical Hug of Destiny, I don't think Alex has any question in his mind that Willie wants to see him again. Which is so good, and honestly hard to get with anxiety screaming in your brain. Because Willie makes sure Alex knows that he cares and wants to be around him.

Anyways, in conclusion, Willie is good at communication and making sure Alex knows he wants him around, and is so so good for Alex's anxiety. I love them.

#julie and the phantoms #willex #alex mercer #willie jatp #jatp #willie wilbur williamson #sorry this took so long #I wrote the first half and then forgot I hadn't finished it #plus school and life have gotten crazy #but here is the essay #I could probably give you more if I was in possession of more than like half a brain cell #but I guess this will have to do for now #I hope you like it #and that it's legible #legolas tag #legolas ask

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independentaussie · 1 year

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#career #mentalhealth #selfesteem #writing

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puttingherinhistory · 3 years

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“Covid has unleashed the most severe setback to women’s liberation in my lifetime. While watching this happen, I have started to think we are witnessing an outbreak of disaster patriarchy.

Naomi Klein was the first to identify “disaster capitalism”, when capitalists use a disaster to impose measures they couldn’t possibly get away with in normal times, generating more profit for themselves. Disaster patriarchy is a parallel and complementary process, where men exploit a crisis to reassert control and dominance, and rapidly erase hard-earned women’s rights. (The term “racialized disaster patriarchy” was used by Rachel E Luft in writing about an intersectional model for understanding disaster 10 years after Hurricane Katrina.) All over the world, patriarchy has taken full advantage of the virus to reclaim power – on the one hand, escalating the danger and violence to women, and on the other, stepping in as their supposed controller and protector.

I have spent months interviewing activists and grassroots leaders around the world, from Kenya to France to India, to find out how this process is affecting them, and how they are fighting back. In very different contexts, five key factors come up again and again. In disaster patriarchy, women lose their safety, their economic power, their autonomy, their education, and they are pushed on to the frontlines, unprotected, to be sacrificed.

Part of me hesitates to use the word “patriarchy”, because some people feel confused by it, and others feel it’s archaic. I have tried to imagine a newer, more contemporary phrase for it, but I have watched how we keep changing language, updating and modernising our descriptions in an attempt to meet the horror of the moment. I think, for example, of all the names we have given to the act of women being beaten by their partner. First, it was battery, then domestic violence, then intimate partner violence, and most recently intimate terrorism. We are forever doing the painstaking work of refining and illuminating, rather than insisting the patriarchs work harder to deepen their understanding of a system that is eviscerating the planet. So, I’m sticking with the word.

In this devastating time of Covid we have seen an explosion of violence towards women, whether they are cisgender or gender-diverse. Intimate terrorism in lockdown has turned the home into a kind of torture chamber for millions of women. We have seen the spread of revenge porn as lockdown has pushed the world online; such digital sexual abuse is now central to domestic violence as intimate partners threaten to share sexually explicit images without victims’ consent.

The conditions of lockdown – confinement, economic insecurity, fear of illness, excess of alcohol – were a perfect storm for abuse. It is hard to determine what is more disturbing: the fact that in 2021 thousands of men still feel willing and entitled to control, torture and beat their wives, girlfriends and children, or that no government appears to have thought about this in their planning for lockdown.

In Peru, hundreds of women and girls have gone missing since lockdown was imposed, and are feared dead. According to official figures reported by Al Jazeera, 606 girls and 309 women went missing between 16 March and 30 June last year. Worldwide, the closure of schools has increased the likelihood of various forms of violence. The US Rape Abuse and Incest National Network says its helpline for survivors of sexual assault has never been in such demand in its 26-year history, as children are locked in with abusers with no ability to alert their teachers or friends. In Italy, calls to the national anti-violence toll-free number increased by 73% between 1 March and 16 April 2020, according to the activist Luisa Rizzitelli. In Mexico, emergency call handlers received the highest number of calls in the country’s history, and the number of women who sought domestic violence shelters quadrupled.

To add outrage to outrage, many governments reduced funding for these shelters at the exact moment they were most needed. This seems to be true throughout Europe. In the UK, providers told Human Rights Watch that the Covid-19 crisis has exacerbated a lack of access to services for migrant and Black, Asian and minority ethnic women. The organisations working with these communities say that persistent inequality leads to additional difficulties in accessing services such as education, healthcare and disaster relief remotely.

In the US, more than 5 million women’s jobs were lost between the start of the pandemic and November 2020. Because much of women’s work requires physical contact with the public – restaurants, stores, childcare, healthcare settings – theirs were some of the first to go. Those who were able to keep their jobs were often frontline workers whose positions have put them in great danger; some 77% of hospital workers and 74% percent of school staff are women. Even then, the lack of childcare options left many women unable to return to their jobs. Having children does not have this effect for men. The rate of unemployment for Black and Latina women was higher before the virus, and now it is even worse.

The situation is more severe for women in other parts of the world. Shabnam Hashmi, a leading women’s activist from India, tells me that by April 2020 a staggering 39.5% of women there had lost their jobs. “Work from home is very taxing on women as their personal space has disappeared, and workload increased threefold,” Hashmi says. In Italy, existing inequalities have been amplified by the health emergency. Rizzitelli points out that women already face lower employment, poorer salaries and more precarious contracts, and are rarely employed in “safe” corporate roles; they have been the first to suffer the effects of the crisis. “Pre-existing economic, social, racial and gender inequalities have been accentuated, and all of this risks having longer-term consequences than the virus itself,” Rizzitelli says.

When women are put under greater financial pressure, their rights rapidly erode. With the economic crisis created by Covid, sex- and labour-trafficking are again on the rise. Young women who struggle to pay their rent are being preyed on by landlords, in a process known as “sextortion”.

I don’t think we can overstate the level of exhaustion, anxiety and fear that women are suffering from taking care of families, with no break or time for themselves. It’s a subtle form of madness. As women take care of the sick, the needy and the dying, who takes care of them? Colani Hlatjwako, an activist leader from the Kingdom of Eswatini, sums it up: “Social norms that put a heavy caregiving burden on women and girls remain likely to make their physical and mental health suffer.” These structures also impede access to education, damage livelihoods, and strip away sources of support.

Unesco estimates that upward of 11 million girls may not return to school once the Covid pandemic subsides. The Malala Fund estimates an even bigger number: 20 million. Phumzile Mlambo-Ngcuka, from UN Women, says her organisation has been fighting for girls’ education since the Beijing UN women’s summit in 1995. “Girls make up the majority of the schoolchildren who are not going back,” she says. “We had been making progress – not perfect, but we were keeping them at school for longer. And now, to have these girls just dropping out in one year, is quite devastating.”

Of all these setbacks, this will be the most significant. When girls are educated, they know their rights, and what to demand. They have the possibility of getting jobs and taking care of their families. When they can’t access education, they become a financial strain to their families and are often forced into early marriages.

This has particular implications for female genital mutilation (FGM). Often, fathers will accept not subjecting their daughters to this process because their daughters can become breadwinners through being educated. If there is no education, then the traditional practices resume, so that daughters can be sold for dowries. As Agnes Pareyio, chairwoman of the Kenyan Anti-Female Genital Mutilation Board, tells me: “Covid closed our schools and brought our girls back home. No one knew what was going on in the houses. We know that if you educate a girl, FGM will not happen. And now, sadly the reverse is true.”

In the early months of the pandemic, I had a front-row seat to the situation of nurses in the US, most of whom are women. I worked with National Nurses United, the biggest and most radical nurses’ union, and interviewed many nurses working on the frontline. I watched as for months they worked gruelling 12-hour shifts filled with agonising choices and trauma, acting as midwives to death. On their short lunch breaks, they had to protest over their own lack of personal protective equipment, which put them in even greater danger. In the same way that no one thought what it would mean to lock women and children in houses with abusers, no one thought what it would be like to send nurses into an extremely contagious pandemic without proper PPE. In some US hospitals, nurses were wearing garbage bags instead of gowns, and reusing single-use masks many times. They were being forced to stay on the job even if they had fevers.

The treatment of nurses who were risking their lives to save ours was a shocking kind of violence and disrespect. But there are many other areas of work where women have been left unprotected, from the warehouse workers who are packing and shipping our goods, to women who work in poultry and meat plants who are crammed together in dangerous proximity and forced to stay on the job even when they are sick. One of the more stunning developments has been with “tipped” restaurant workers in the US, already allowed to be paid the shockingly low wage of $2.13 (£1.50) an hour, which has remained the same for the past 22 years. Not only has work declined, tips have also declined greatly for those women, and now a new degradation called “maskular harassment” has emerged, where male customers insist waitresses take off their masks so they can determine if and how much to tip them based on their looks.

Women farm workers in the US have seen their protections diminished while no one was looking. Mily Treviño-Sauceda, executive director of Alianza Nacional de Campesinas, tells me how pressures have increased on campesinas, or female farm workers: “There have been more incidents of pesticides poisonings, sexual abuse and heat stress issues, and there is less monitoring from governmental agencies or law enforcement due to Covid-19.”

Covid has revealed the fact that we live with two incompatible ideas when it comes to women. The first is that women are essential to every aspect of life and our survival as a species. The second is that women can easily be violated, sacrificed and erased. This is the duality that patriarchy has slashed into the fabric of existence, and that Covid has laid bare. If we are to continue as a species, this contradiction needs to be healed and made whole.

To be clear, the problem is not the lockdowns, but what the lockdowns, and the pandemic that required them, have made clear. Covid has revealed that patriarchy is alive and well; that it will reassert itself in times of crisis because it has never been truly deconstructed, and like an untreated virus it will return with a vengeance when the conditions are ripe.

The truth is that unless the culture changes, unless patriarchy is dismantled, we will forever be spinning our wheels. Coming out of Covid, we need to be bold, daring, outrageous and to imagine a more radical way of existing on the Earth. We need to continue to build and spread activist movements. We need progressive grassroots women and women of colour in positions of power. We need a global initiative on the scale of a Marshall Plan or larger, to deconstruct and exorcise patriarchy – which is the root of so many other forms of oppression, from imperialism to racism, from transphobia to the denigration of the Earth.

There would first be a public acknowledgment, and education, about the nature of patriarchy and an understanding that it is driving us to our end. There would be ongoing education, public forums and processes studying how patriarchy leads to various forms of oppression. Art would help expunge trauma, grief, aggression, sorrow and anger in the culture and help heal and make people whole. We would understand that a culture that has diabolical amnesia and refuses to address its past can only repeat its misfortunes and abuses. Community and religious centres would help members deal with trauma. We would study the high arts of listening and empathy. Reparations and apologies would be done in public forums and in private meetings. Learning the art of apology would be as important as prayer.

The feminist author Gerda Lerner wrote in 1986: “The system of patriarchy in a historic construct has a beginning and it will have an end. Its time seems to have nearly run its course. It no longer serves the needs of men and women, and its intractable linkage to militarism, hierarchy and racism has threatened the very existence of life on Earth.”

As powerful as patriarchy is, it’s just a story. As the post-pandemic era unfolds, can we imagine another system, one that is not based on hierarchy, violence, domination, colonialisation and occupation? Do we see the connection between the devaluing, harming and oppression of all women and the destruction of the Earth itself? What if we lived as if we were kin? What if we treated each person as sacred and essential to the unfolding story of humanity?

What if rather than exploiting, dominating and hurting women and girls during a crisis, we designed a world that valued them, educated them, paid them, listened to them, cared for them and centred them?“

#women #coronavirus #life and style #world news #inequality #Covid 19 #COVID-19 #feminism #womanism #gender inequality #gender equality #corona virus

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