#I believe I am entitled to a certain level of emotion given my past.

[honored-worm-king]

Greetings, Worm King! I hope you’re having a nice evening. I assume, from your recent posts that your relationship with Vanus has changed..quite a bit? It seems that you are no longer enemies, of course . Please forgive my curiosity…but If you don't mind a personal question, how is your relationship with the Great Mage now? Are you guys getting through your problems, have you managed to forgive each other? Has it become something... more?

And greetings to you, wherever you may be.

I do not begrudge your curiosity. I have not exactly been secretive in my writings here, after all. I only request that what is divulged here remain between friends, as it were. It simply would not do to have any prying authorities searching for my location — or my associates.

Allow me, then, to explain. Vanus and I have indeed undergone quite the recent changes in our relationship. More precisely, that we have one now. We have agreed to put aside our past differences and attempt to rebuild our previous friendship, and then some. We are no longer enemies, but partners. In order for us to even attempt this, I was required to come to terms with some aspects and facts about myself that I had been keeping buried for quite some time.

To greatly simply a complex emotional reckoning, some few years ago, I was presented with a crisis. I was… quite shocked, to not only be informed that our shared mentor, the late Ritemaster Iachesis, had passed, but to learn that no one had told me so for several years, because they assumed that I would not care. I reflected deeply upon what brought me so far from the person I once was, and why I truly pursued necromancy so intently. I decided that the pursuit of personal power to the destruction of all else was no longer worth it. I abandoned my previous life, and began to live in quiet seclusion, as something of a “recovery” period.

In the meantime, Vanus and I… reconnected. I apologized for the wrong I had done him, knowing that I could not change it, but vowing to attempt to be better going forward. I was unambiguously thrilled to have him accept those terms.

I still have many faults. I am selfish, vain, temperamental, and can still be quite ruthless, though now more often in words than actions. I am still the mer who once claimed himself to be the King of Worms, god in the making. But that is no longer entirely me. I am still growing, even after some six centuries of life. Such is life’s nature; change, and adaptation.

For now, I am simply pleased to go through that process with someone dear to me at my side.

[animemangasoul]

You Are Wanted Obi-Wan Kenobi

Summery: Summery: Qui-Gon lives and Mace gets a new Padawan.

[In which Qui-Gon repudiates Obi-Wan and Mace isn't about to let the kid leave the order without a fight.]

Chapter: 7/10?

"Talk we must."

 

Qui-Gon sighed. "I only wish to see Obi-Wan, Master. Nothing more."

 

Tilting his head, Master Yoda's grim face transformed into a familiar expression of disappointment. An expression that Qui-Gon had unfortunately been seeing far too much off these past couple of weeks and it made him instantly tense up. "See him you cannot."

 

Clenching his hands around the mug his Grandmaster had handed to him as soon as they'd sat down to have this dreadful conversation, Qui-Gon bit his tongue not blurt out something he was sure to regret. Instead he took a deep breath, pulled his feet under him and let his eyes wander around Master Yoda's apartment; gaze lingering on a kyber crystal emitting a soft glow to illuminate the swamp like waters covering half the apartment.

 

"Why not?" he finally managed to force out. "He---"

 

"Your Padawan he no longer is." The words are said with a level of gentleness that pierces through Qui-Gon's heart and the Jedi Master found himself having to blink back the sudden prickle behind his eyes.

 

"I know that," he whispered; fingernails digging into the chipped paint of the red mug. "I know."

Putting his own mug down, Master Yoda gave him a penetrating stare. "Know in your mind you do." Tapping a crooked finger against his chest, his gaze softened. "Much to accept, your heart still does."

 

Qui-Gon hated when he did that. When he was all understanding and wise and acted as if all of Qui-Gon's problems were solvable if only he looked at it like his Grandmaster wanted him to.

 

He gritted his teeth. "Don't," he said. "Don't act like you---- This isn't something I can just--" biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, he closed his eyes for the briefest of seconds. "It's Obi-Wan."

 

"That it is."

 

"I only did what I had to," he said, refusing to acknowledge Yoda's judgment. Putting the cooling drink back on the table, Qui-Gon ignored his ever so slightly shaking hands. "I didn't want to give him up. I…. He's my-- was my Padawan and I know he needed me when I did what I did. But I had to and…. I know he still needs me, I just…. It was the right thing to do, you must see that." Fingers dinging into his legs, Qui-Gon swallowed thickly. "You have to see that."

 

"Speaking of rights and wrongs you are. Know for certain you do, what is right or wrong?"

 

"What are you implying, Master?" His voice took a sudden cooling turn.

 

Master Yoda's gaze hardened as well. "Only a Jedi you are. One of many. Allow yourself to assume too much you do."

 

"I'm not assuming anything," Qui-Gon snapped, temporarily forgetting who exactly he was speaking to. "The prophecy is real. Why am I the only one who sees that?!"

 

Picking up his gimer stick, Master Yoda slowly rose to his feet, jumping down from the chair. "If believe so much in the prophecy you do. Why then wish you do, to keep young Obi-Wan with you?"

 

"I don't….." Qui-Gon faltered. His words suddenly refusing to come out. They wouldn't come out. No matter how hard he tried; mouth opening and closing, his tongue felt too heavy, too large. The words wouldn't come out.

 

He couldn't say what he wanted to say.

 

The prophecy was real. He knew that much. Knew it as if the very fact was engraved into his bones. Knew it as surely as he knew the force. And yet…..

 

Why then wish you do, to keep young Obi-Wan with you?

 

Did believing in the prophecy somehow forbid him from caring about his former Padawan? Did doing the right thing forbid him from looking out for his boy anymore? How was that fair?

 

Qui-Gon glared at the old Jedi.

 

But when Master Yoda remained silent, all too willing to wait him out, Qui-Gon found himself struggling not to just turn tail and run. Perhaps push this conversation his Grandmaster had insisted on to another day? Anakin was still waiting for him after all. It's not like he didn't have other more important things to worry about currently. He didn't have to explain himself to----

 

But Master Yoda had always been there for him, hadn't he?

 

'Just like Obi-Wan,' his mind whispered, and he was quick to shove the thought away as soon as it came upon him.

 

Clenching his fists till they dug into skin, Qui-Gon took a deep breath. "What's so wrong about wanting him with me?" He blurted out, breaking the silence and almost surprising himself with the ferocity behind the words. "Why is wanting my Padawan of ten years to stay by my side….. so wrong? You and Mace….. I did the right thing. That doesn't mean--" a stutter, a hitching of the breath. "That doesn’t mean I wanted to give Obi-Wan up. That doesn't mean I want to give him up. How can that be wrong?"

 

"Often assume you do that painful consequences your choices will not result in. Wrong you are. Consequences always follow the hardest choices they do.  Selfish it is, to believe entitled you are to keep young Obi-Wan by your side."

 

"I didn't say that," Qui-Gon shook his head, anger building up before he unclenched his fists and closed his eyes, releasing his destructive emotions into the force. "I never said I wanted to force him to stay with me."

 

Rounding the small floor level table, Master Yoda gave him a resounding wack to the knee. Qui-Gon hissed in pain. "Words do not hide actions. Know that well you do, Jinn. Neve asked young Obi-Wan once what he wished for, have you?"

 

It took a second. A second of looking into those wise old eyes for it to sink in. And when the words finally washed over him it was as if someone had caved his chest in with the full strength of the force.

 

He couldn't….. He couldn't…..

 

Never asked young Obi-Wan once what he wished for, have you?

 

But he had---- He hadn't…..Obi-Wan's best interest, he'd only been looking out for his best interest, right?

 

Right?

 

'If you were,' the traitorous voice in his head whispered. 'You would have listened to him when he asked you to leave. You would have asked for his opinion on your pl----'

 

Had he even asked Obi-Wan what he thought about Anakin?

 

'No.' he shook his head. No. They were all wrong. Of course he hadn't consulted Obi-Wan about the plan. Vokara hadn't let him see him. And Obi-Wan wanting him to leave came from an understandable sense of distress in the moment. A distress that Qui-Gon had been there to fix and make right if he'd only been given the opportunity to do so.

 

If there was one thing he knew about Obi-Wan it was that his boy needed him. He'd always needed him, just like he needed him back. He was practically the closest thing Qui-Gon had to a son, so they were all wrong. His Obi-Wan had right to be upset, but Qui-Gon was here to make it better. To fix the rift between them. Just like he'd always done. Just like they've always managed to do.

 

Their relationship was built on foundations forged through hardship. That's why they were one of the greatest Master, Padawan duo out there. Because nothing had ever come easy to them. Because despite the odds, they still managed to overcome it all. From Bandomeer to Melida/Daan, all the way to Naboo.

 

Everything they'd been through, it couldn't end like this, could it?

 

Suddenly a clawed hand came to rest atop of his own. A gentle squeeze alerting him to the green troll standing in front of him. The wise old eyes now holding nothing but sadness as they looked up at him. "Grow you must," his Grandmaster said. "Learn you must. Luxury to cling to the past you no longer have."

 

Qui-Gon stared at the older Jedi; Master Yoda stared back, and Qui-Gon's found his stubbornness eventually crumbling in the face of such intensity. "I don't want to lose him," he whispered, eyes fastened on his feet.

 

And wasn't that the truest sentiment.

 

Master Yoda sighed deeply, patting his hand twice before letting go and stepping back almost as if he, Qui-Gon had managed to disappoint him once again, and that hurt. That hurt. "Not about you, this is."

 

"I never said it was."

 

Slamming his stick twice on the ground, Yoda shook his head. "Wished for you to put this together yourself I did. But impossible you are, so, tell you this I will." Taking a step closer, the old Master almost grew in size when he said his next words. "Made a mistake I did. Obi-Wan Kenobi your Padawan should have never been. Mistake that was. Wrong I was."

 

"What?"

 

It felt like being slapped.

 

"Mistake I have made."

 

"I….you… you can't---"

 

Sure Master Yoda had shared similar sentiment with him before. In the horrid weeks of Obi-Wan's coma, Master Yoda had told him this exact thing almost word for word, but Qui-Gon had assumed it had come from a place of guilt just like his own. But for his Grandmaster to look him in the eyes and sound so certain now. So sure. "It wasn't a mistake," he hissed, wanting it to come out as angry but only managing a broken whisper. Not able to say anything else as his lips wobbled and his throat clogged up.

 

Master Yoda sighed. "Protect you both a long time ago I should have." His Grandmaster's sadness could practically be tasted through the force. "Too broken you were when insisted I did, for young Obi-Wan to become your Padawan. Wrong that was. Needed help you did." Lowering his head, he sighed again. "Help I should have insisted for you to get. Your excuses I should have ignored. Sorry for that, I am."

 

Qui-Gon bared his teeth. Eyes stinging, fists clenched and heart hurting so so much.

 

How dare he.

 

How dare any of them.

 

This wasn't just Master Yoda bringing the judgment down on him. Every single member of that council was judging him. Acting as if Obi-Wan and him hadn't been the best team this side of the galaxy had ever seen. Sure they'd had their issues, their problems, but they'd worked hard to overcome them. Obi-Wan had pulled him back from the darkness and he'd done the same for his boy so for his Grandmaster to pretend as if it was all a mistake. That Qui-Gon should have never….. That Obi-Wan hadn't been……

 

Yoda forced his hand in his darkest moment and now he was throwing it back in his face.

 

Ten years….. Ten years.

 

"You're punishing me for Anakin, aren't you?" Nails digging into the table, Qui-Gon felt his grip on the living force around him falter like it hadn't done since the days of Xanatos betrayal; Master Yoda must notice for his frown only deepened, agitating Qui-Gon even further. "I took on Anakin against your advice and now you're punishing me by taking Obi-Wan away from me!"

 

When the gimer stick came down on his knee this time, it sent a flair of agony through his muscles more painful than usual. Clearly Master Yoda was angry with him too. Qui-Gon bit his bottom lip in indignation. "Not about you this is," Master Yoda barked, raising a clawed finger when he tried to speak up again.

 

"Acting like an insolent child you are! About time it is you stopped hurting the people around you." Jumping on top of the table, Master Yoda lifted his chin with the gimer stick, glare so pointed Qui-Gon couldn't find the strength to look away. "Defensive you have always gotten when things not your way they went." Putting the stick down, the green troll sighed. "Need you, Obi-Wan does not."

 

"He does." The words are out faster than Qui-Gon could think them through. But they hold so much truth, so much conviction Qui-Gon didn't regret saying them.

 

It was true after all. It had to be. Because….. It couldn't end like this, right? After everything.

 

Just because he had taken on a mission far larger than himself and the entire Jedi order combined, it couldn't mean it would cost him Obi-Wan, right? Not when his boy still had so much growing left to do. Not when they hadn't even talked. Not a proper talk.

 

Not when he hadn't helped the kid pull that horrifying moment in Naboo apart and hugged away all the guilt and pain sure to be lingering in his heart. Not when he hadn't scolded him properly for endangering himself, all the while telling him how proud of him he was. Not when they hadn't gone to The Room of a Thousand Fountains and meditated together since their return. Not when…..not when he hadn't had the chance to explain himself…..

 

Not……

 

"He does need me," he insisted, leaning far enough to bridge the gap between him and the wise Jedi. "He does. I…. He does need me, Master. He does."

 

Shaking his head slowly, Master Yoda closed his eyes and Qui-Gon felt tears brimming at the corners of his own.

 

"Need him you do," his Grandmaster said, softly, gently. "Need you he does not, not any longer. Safe he is, Qui-Gon Jinn. Time to let him go, it is."

 

Stunned Qui-Gon stared at his Grandmaster for what felt like forever. Just staring. Just…..

 

[Need him you do]

 

 

[Need him you do]

 

'But he doesn't need me. Maybe he never has.'

 

It's not like Obi-Wan was even his Padawan anymore and yet…..

 

And yet….. And it's almost as if it hits him all at once. What he'd been trying so desperately to ignore. What he'd been fighting so hard to not notice.

 

Of course he knew Obi-Wan was no longer his Padawan but he'd believed deep down they still had a chance to make something else. That even if his kid was no longer his Padawan by name, he would be in spirit. That their time together, all those years forged through tears and blood and grief and loneliness still meant something. That once again they would withstand another blow. Another crack in the trust between them.

 

But in the end, you could only bend something so far before it broke.

 

And his bond with his Padawan had broken.

 

Obi-Wan could only have so many chances of forgiveness in his heart.

 

Forgiveness….. He had taken it for granted, hadn't he?

 

Gritting his teeth Qui-Gon looked down.

 

Choosing Anakin was still the right thing to do. He knew that. He still believed that. He had to. But maybe doing that….maybe making that choice meant he didn't get to drag Obi-Wan with him this time. Maybe, despite making the right choice, this time the consequences would be moving forward without Obi-Wan by his side. Maybe it meant letting him go.

 

It was so simple, wasn't it?

 

Qui-Gon faltered. "What if I don't know how to…..how to let him go?"

 

"Learn you must."

 

Turning around to take a sip from his now probably lukewarm cup of tea, Master Yoda gave him an imploring look. "Easy it will not be. But nothing important ever is."

 

"But I…. I just need one opportunity---" Qui-Gon said, hating how pleading he sounded, how desperate. As if he was asking for permission to want. To need. "One chance to fix this. I just need him to know I would never choose Anakin over him if I had any other choice. I…. I just need him to know that." He couldn't read anything on Yoda's face and that made it worse.

 

A moment of silence fell between them. Master Yoda content in sipping away from his mug while Qui-Gon sat across from him, pain, grief and longing clawing at his heart. But finally his Grandmaster spoke and when he did, Qui-Gon suddenly wished he'd never said anything at all.

 

"About your needs, this is not Qui-Gon. Prioritize Obi-Wan Kenobi's well being you must, even if hurt you, it will." The scolding behind the words were cutting. "Taught you that I have, many many years ago. Forgotten have you? The importance of selfless love?"

 

Qui-Gon's shoulders tensed then slumped in one single breath. "No," he said, breath coming out in a soft gasp. "No Master,…..of course… not. Of course not."

 

He doesn't quite know when he started crying, when his tears started flowing but when it dawned on him, he couldn't quite seem to make himself stop no matter how hard he tried. So instead he wept. Fingers coming up to dig into his skull and covering his eyes; his shoulders shaking. "Force, what have I done?"

 

He didn't hear Master Yoda getting off the table, but when familiar green fingers curled around one of his hands and brought it down, he gazed wetly at his Grandmaster whose understanding old eyes made him want to cry even harder.

 

Force what a mess he had made of things.

 

Had Xanatos truly damaged him so? Or had he always been this broken?

 

Squeezing his hand twice, Master Yoda's force signature wrapped around him in a hug. "Painful it is---" he said softly, voice rough yet gentle. "to recognize darkness within yourself. But never too late it is to pull yourself back from it before it's too late."

 

"I don't know what to---" Qui-Gon swallowed thickly. "I….don't know…. What do I do Master?"

 

Yoda squeezed his hand again and for a second Qui-Gon felt himself being thrown back in time, to a period where he was still so young, innocent. Running to his Grandmaster for every little problem that scared him. Looking for guidance.

 

He was looking for guidance once more.

 

"Help, you need," Master Yoda answered, breaking him out of his momentary trip down memory lane. "Much fear you hold in your heart Grandpadawan mine. And know you do that fear leads to the darkside. Yet you have, to heal from Xanatos betrayal. Time it is, to start."

 

Qui-Gon laughed wetly, trying his best not to flinch at the name and coming up short. "Mace said something similar."

 

"Wise man, Mace Windu is."

 

Taking a deep breath, Qui-Gon shoved away any resentment that came along with hearing the compliment and gave it to the force.

 

Mace was a wise man, a good man and he would be…. He would be good for Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon knew that much. And now it was time to start making his peace with it.

 

So centering himself the best way he could, Qui-Gon let the living force flow through him and spoke up once more. "Logically," he said, staring at the ground, shame coloring his cheeks. "I know all this. Or at least I think…. No, I know…but emotionally--" patting his heart, he gave Master Yoda a weak, brittle smile. "Emotionally it feels like I'm still sliding Master. I can't see a future for me without Obi-Wan in it."

 

Unexpectedly, that seemed to humour the green troll quite a bit, for he cackled a little laugh. "Here and now, Qui-Gon Jinn," he said, an impish grin stretched across his face. "The future forever changing it is. Stay in the present you must. Or is that not what you used to advice young Obi-Wan Kenobi?"

 

Qui-Gon's lips twitched. Having his words thrown back at him, truly, he'd fallen far, hadn't he? "Thank you Master," he said. Knowing that truly, he meant it.

 

"Thank me, you should not," Master Yoda huffed. "For recommend you to see a mind healer I will---"

 

"Still---"

 

Yoda raised a hand, silencing him. "Finished, I am not." Resting both hands on his stick, Master Yoda frowned. "Serious this is. Help, you must get. If avoid it like last time you do, bench you I will."

 

"What?!"

 

"Wish to bench you I do not. But if force my hand you do, under house arrest indefinitely, place you, I will."

 

Qui-Gon once again opened his mouth to protest, the indignity of it all making his hackles rise, but once again a silent clawed hand made him bite his tongue.

 

"Seen light in young Anakin's future only you have. Important that is. But more important than seeking help it is not."

 

"Of course it is! Anakin can----"

 

"No!" Yoda snapped, slamming his gimer stick on the table and silencing Qui-Gon in shock. "Let me speak you will! Talk far too much you do, with little value to add."

 

It felt like being scolded as a child again. Picked apart like he was some young, dumb, reckless kid who didn't have years of mastery under his belt.

 

Master Yoda always managed to make him feel small.

 

"Admitting our mistakes, the Jedi way is. Growing to learn, the Jedi way is. Nine-hundred years old I am, mistakes I still make. Mistakes to answer for I still have.

 

Qui-Gon bit his lip and nodded.

 

He was being scolded, like a child. His fingers tightened around his robes.

 

"Seek help you will. Learn you will. Or train young Skywalker you may not."

 

Qui-Gon flushed. A mixture of anger and resignation coursing through his veins but ultimately he nodded again. Yoda knew him all too well. And dangling Anakin's future in front of him was a sure fire way to make him cooperate.

 

Quickly standing up, hand brushing against his cheeks to wipe away the remaining tear tracks yet to dry, Qui-Gon bowed deeply and hastily made his way to the door. "Thank you Grandmaster," he muttered, refusing to meet the wise old Jedi's eyes. "You have given me much to think about."

 

Yoda snorted. "Yet again running away you are. Your nature it is, but let you I will. This time."

Qui-Gon gritted his teeth but then he took a deep breath, letting it all go. Master Yoda was only trying to help him, even if he didn't fully accept it now, he knew he would someday. So-- "Thank you again Grandmaster," he said, bowing. "May the force be with you, Master."

It's when Master Yoda didn't say it back that he paused; fingers lingering on the door panel, eyebrows crushing up in confusion. He looked backwards, opening his mouth to say something but found himself stopping short.

His Grandmaster looked more grim than Qui-Gon had seen him in a very long time.

"Put this on you now I wish not---" Master Yoda suddenly said, voice sounding regretful as if he'd been debating with himself this entire time whether he would tell him this or not. "But sooner or later find out you will." Appearing to be steeling himself, Master Yoda sighed softly. "On his way back Feemor is. Accomplished his mission he has. Safe he is."

Qui-Gon froze.

"What?"

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

"I feel fine. Can I please just leave this place now?"

Mace snorted, pulling at the half-done braid and giving Obi-Wan a warning look to stop moving. "No," he said. "Unless Master Che signs you out, you're stuck here."

"But---"

Shaking his head, Mace fumbled for another bead inside the box and gently slid it into place. "No buts kid. This is about your health and while I know you don't like the Halls---" Obi-Wan grimaced in agreement, making Mace bite back a grin. "It's for your own good. So you will stay unless Vokara says otherwise. Now stay still so I can braid your hair properly."

Obi-Wan did stay still this time. Despite all his fidgeting, the kid was remarkably compliant. Fiddling with the box in his lap, fingers brushing against the colorful Padawan markers gifted to him, but he didn't move his head too much after the warning and Mace is grateful.

Still, the kid had been feeling down ever since…. Mace scowled internally.

After Jinn, after everything.

To watch the bright young man in front of him slide back into the shell of a person he'd been when Mace had initially broken the news to him all those weeks ago…..

Mace hadn't known this grown up Obi-Wan for very long, but he'd known him as a little kid. A scared little kid who'd felt alone and sad and unable to connect with his fellow crechmates to the point of going all quiet and still, just like he'd done ever since Jinn repudiated him. Just like he was starting to do again every time he got lost in thoughts. Thoughts Mace was quite sure revolved around Jinn.

He sighed softly. "Do you wish to talk about it?" He asked, trying to keep his voice as casual and calming as possible. "About what happened with Master Jinn?"

Fingers digging deeper into the groves of the wooden box, Obi-Wan shook his head once. "No."

Mace nodded.

"That's understandable," he said. "But---" he continued, tying Depa's yellow band half way down the braid, twisting it this way and that to get it to hang on tightly. "If this keeps bothering you, you'll have to talk to someone about it. It doesn't have to be me," he added when Obi-Wan opened his mouth to cut in. "But someone. I don't want you to stew in this. It's not good for you."

When Obi-Wan didn't say anything in response, Mace tugged at his hair gently. "Deal?"

It took a second, but then his new Padawan nodded; even as his lips tilted downward into a frown. "Deal."

"Thank you," Mace said earnestly, and that got him a small smile which Mace was all too happy to return. "Now," he said. "Your Padawan announcement will be held in two days time, so there is no need to rush to get better. I've already filled the proper paperwork so all that's left is the actual announcement but for all intent and purpose, you are my Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Something seemed to let up on the kid's features then and it tugged at his heart. It looked like he'd be telling Obi-Wan this fact; that he was his Padawan and nothing would change that, for a very long time to come until it finally sunk in.

His pain must have shown on his face, because all of a sudden Obi-Wan was nudging his shoulder lightly with his hand.

"Where did you learn how to braid anyways?" he asked. "I mean---" running his fingers through his hair, he smirked. "You know."

Mace blinked, then blinked again…… did the kid just---

But the cheeky little grin was there and Obi-Wan's eyes were dancing with mirth and Mace scowled; flicking his Padawan's forehead.

"Ouch," Obi-Wan winced, but the cheeky grin was still all too present.

"You think I never had any hair before?" Mace grouched, tugging at the unfinished braid. "I'll have you know that throughout my apprenticeship I used to have a full head of hair."

Obi-Wan nodded solemnly. "Then you just lost it all," he snapped his fingers. "Just like that? Must have been some apprenticeship."

"You little brat," Mace huffed, but now Obi-Wan was full on laughing and the Master of the Order couldn't help the grin that took over his face.

It was good to see the kid light up like this again. Even if these moments were few and far between now. 'Still,' he thought watching as Obi-Wan tried and failed to school his features back into a neutral expression. 'It's good to see the little kid I saved from Stewjon all those years ago is still in there somewhere.'

You're only lost until you're found after all. And Mace had found him.

He will always find him.

The End

Chapter: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

[eelsfeelgross]

Conclusions: Trans Activism v. Radical Feminism, a first-hand account

This is current stance after a lot of direct investigation on both radfems online and trans activists online. No group is judged based on the observations, rhetoric, or propaganda of any outside group, but from my own first-hand observations in combination with objective knowable facts such as actions known to be committed in public record by the likes of criminals or celebrities. However, the bulk of this is based on what I have seen, what I know to be true because it’s been done before my own eyes. While my conclusion may lack information on the more nitpicked aspects of things, I believe their overall impressions still hold true with the amount of experience I’ve had. Keep in mind: this is not my only account. I have dipped into the radfem community before, each time from a different perspective, at a different time, and with open eyes ready to receive whatever I was given. The same is true of the trans community.

Trans Activism

I want to make clear that these conclusions were mainly drawn from my direct experience with the trans community from within. I am not relying on critics of the trans ideology to tell me any of this, though they often echo the same concerns and observations.

The trans community has a serious problem with misogyny, homophobia, and sex denial. They employ magical thinking and emotional pleas to justify their conclusions and commit to arguments of definition that are ultimately lacking substance. However, while lacking rational, they are abundant with emotional reasoning and can be incredibly powerful rhetorical tools in convincing others to believe them without the necessary evidence of anything claimed.

This is especially prevalent when discussing sexual biology and sexual orientation. They consider self-harm to be the fault of other people, even in adults, and use this as a manipulation tactic to make it seem as if they’re being killed at higher rates than their general demographics. This plays hand in hand with the appropriation of statistics around things like racial violence or violence against sex workers to make it appear trans people, particularly white heterosexual (attracted to the opposite sex) trans women from the middle class of Amerca who aren’t victims of prostitution, are under much more persecution than their lived experiences actually reflects.

This has grown into a political ideology not dissimilar to a religion, but without the usual trappings we associate with a religious group. It requires blind faith in the concept of gender and the “life saving” virtues of expensive hormone treatments and plastic surgeries without proper regard for the risks and consequences of these procedures. Challenging the dogma or asking critical questions is considered a sin itself, even when done with excessive caution for other’s feelings. Violence towards known dissenting groups is considered not just ok, but admirable. Expressions of this desire for violence against the out-group is seen as virtuous to the point that doing it too much will be taken as virtue signalling rather than a sign of deep-seeded anger issues as it would for any other situation. Self-identity is their belief system, and public shame are their tools of punishment to control those within the belief system. Due to sex denial, females suffer especially in this paradigm no matter how they identify or what presentations they choose.

However,

Radical Feminism

Once again, I want to make clear that these conclusions were mainly drawn from my direct experience with the radfem community from within. I am not relying on critics of the radical feminist ideology to tell me any of this, though they may echo similar observations.

Radical feminism, as it exists today in action and not in theories from the 1990s, has a huge problem with transphobia, homophobia, and racism. The focus has shifted almost entirely from protecting women to attacking trans women, understandable on some level but counter-productive to all but the individual ego. There is a preoccupation with what women are “allowed” to do, rather than whether their actions and the consequences of those actions actually benefit the cause of anti-sexism. People feel entitled to be nasty, hurtful and even downright transphobic and homophobic if it means hurting their “enemies” somehow. I’m not sure if they fail to see the big picture or have just given up on caring, but it makes all their pleas for compassion and an end to the trans community’s homophobia seem pretty disingenuous.

This focus on “women deserve more as reparations”, when self-applied to the individual, does nothing to combat sexism as these self serving actions often do little to stop sexism and everything to benefit the individual currently existing within a sexist system. It totally ignores the vital role women play in perpetrating sexism through the generations, from mother to daughter or sister or sister or peer to peer through an intricate web of social pressures.Its not totally ignored mind you, but it is conveniently unaddressed whenever addressing it would prevent them from acting aggressive and toxic toward someone else. However others in the community who aren’t personally benefitting from this at the time will notice, thus leading to endless pointless arguments as the egos clash.

This hypocrisy undermines all attempts at broadening their reach to a new generation of women. Similarly, this toxic attitude undermines all opportunity for organization and real activism which requires a certain level of tolerance and the ability to give basic respect to those you don’t like or agree with. All those who do not tolerate such behavior will simply assume radical feminism must be a hate movement because all they see is vitriol and toxicity, no matter how justified the perpetrator feels about it or the underlying motivators. They will not take the time to read theory because they’ve already seen the practice and they have the sense to know it’s bad. Then when these newcomers see this bad behavior for what it is, they’re belittled or deprived of their agency for their decision to turn away from your movement, called things like “handmaidens” and accused of being either selfishly misogynistic or plainly brainwashed, driving them ever further away. The refusal to take responsibility for your own image and the consequences of your behavior under some false impression of ideological purity justifying it only further cements this takeaway outsiders have.

The most egregious example that comes to mind is the “queers” issue. Radfems are adamant about queer being slur, and they’re right. I myself grew up having queer flung at me by violent straight men and I’m not even that old. I feel no joy in the sanitation and generalization of the term. That is not reclamation, that is erasure and appropriation of pain. Most radfems agree on this wholeheartedly. That is, until you decide to spell it “kweer” and start flinging it at trans people who fit a particular homophobic stereotype: strange appearances, unorthodox body modifications like piercing and colored hair, unwashed, perverted to the point of being predatory, self important children who are just playing pretend to be different. All these qualities call back to the stereotype of queers, gays, and it is deeply intrenched in homophobia going back generations. And yet, while radfems would condemn the trans community for the appropriation of queer and its homophobic implications, they have no problem employing it as a slur when it suits their own toxic impulses.

Some even seem to believe that misspelling the word or being homosexual themselves absolves this. It does not. Anybody without the blinders of radfem internal rhetoric will quickly see past this nonsense. If the trans community came back and started calling radfems “diques” and associating the term with severely lesbophobic stereotypes like being unwashed or too ugly to get a man or any of the other countless stereotypes around the slur “dyke”, radfems would be rightly livid. Making a point to only target straight radfems with this insult would not make it any different. But addressing these kinds of hypocritical positions has become a taboo within the radfem community, yet another spark to relight the fires of senseless infighting.

This is the worst example I’ve personally seen, but it is not the only one. There’s also the tendency for radfems, desperate for others who are gender critical to connect with, to make alliances with right wing conservatives despite their racism and homophobia simply because they’re also transphobic but for completely different reasons. And also a tendency to be much more forgiving of misogyny coming from these new “allies” that will glady destroy you too once trans people are out of the way. But I will not labor my point any further by bringing up everything all at once. Regardless, for those who harp on and on about getting to the root of the problem, the moment anyone suggests you try getting to the root of your own problems, taking accountability and making changes, all that self-righteous posturing seems to go out the window just like it does in the trans community. You’ve become a reflection of what you hate in an attempt to combat it, and it will be the death of your movement if you don’t make a serious effort to reform these behaviors and distance yourself from those who employ these forms of rhetoric.

It’s a harsh fact, but the world at large does not care what you deserve, just like sexual biology doesn’t care about your personal feelings about your sex. It just doesn’t. That’s why patriarchy exists in the first place. It is your job as a social movement to use your words and actions to convince them to care. That is what the trans community has managed to do successfully, in my opinion often for the wrong reasons but successfully nonetheless, but such things do not stroke the ego of the individual radfem and therefore simply doesn’t happen in an organized, ideology-wide manner. Small islands of rational stand isolated in a sea of this pointless vitriol, and alone they are hopeless against the attacks against radical feminism born from the trans community and their sex denial that leads to egregious misogyny.

Conclusion

When it comes to the underlying theory, the ideological core, I find that radical feminism has the best chance of growing to become a social movement for genuinely good change in the world, particularly for women and women-loving-women specifically. Trans ideology, in my opinion, is inherently flawed as its core tenants require faith in what one cannot prove and a rejection of science that doesn’t support said faith.

Trans ideology as it exists in 2020 is more akin to religion than science, and has proven its capability to do harm through its use of magical thinking and distorted points of view that constantly shift and change to make space for the core trans ideology to be “correct”. Core ideas such as: sex is either fake or less relevant than gender, that gender is an objective fact of the human psyche, that others failing to fix your own poor mental health are responsible for your harm or death, that transition is always a good idea if someone wants it and no gatekeeping should be performed regarding using plastic surgery to treat mental discomforts, and so on. Remove all these ideas, and the whole thing falls apart.

Meanwhile, removing the toxicity of the radfem community as it exists now will not destroy its underlying core beliefs. Its just that the current people who advertise themselves as radfems and take up that mantle do not actually follow the core ideology of their own movement when it doesn’t benefit them. It has been infiltrated and run amok with bad faith actors who abuse the movement for personal gain, whether they are aware of it or not. And with their combination of being excessively vocal and lacking any shame for their misdeeds, more and more are drawn into their toxic games to the point that the ones who actually speak to the spirit of the core theory get drowned out or attacked to the point none will associate with them openly. The ones who actually know the theory and practice it end up effectively shunned from a community that widely hasn’t even read the theory and thinks hating trans people and thinking pussy = superior makes them a radfem. And thus, by allowing this, that is what radical feminism has become in practice. No amount of appealing to that core philosophy will matter if the actual people don’t apply that theory properly.

So my conclusion? Radical feminism has the greatest potential for good, but it is grossly unrealized and will remain that way without radical internal changes. However, if anyone is equipped to get to the root of the problem and make a radical change it should be radfems. Or at least, the good faith radfems who aren’t abusing the movement, of which I’m convinced have become the minority of radfems in the present day. Perhaps it is time for feminism to once again branch off, not to try returning to the 2nd wave but to set the stage for a true 4th wave as many have talked about. A 4th wave that is based on the foundations set by 2nd wave feminist thinkers, but forward thinking, self-critiquing, and not limited by the hangups of the last wave. I guess only time will tell what radfems value more: their egos in attachment to the idea of identifying as a radfem, or the effective dis-empowerment of patriarchy through organized effort at the expense of satisfying your personal vendettas against all men.

[pastellarts]

To the edge of your sky - Chapter 2: Hope is what we need now

Warning: Scenes of violence, death and grief in this chapter.

A big THANK YOU to all my readers! Words fail me to express how happy I am for all those who have taken the time to read Chapter 1, to follow/like my story and of course to leave a comment.

Special thanks to @bustedflipflop​ for her beta reading. I love you lady!

Chapter 2 has 6 scenes separated by ~oOo~ The author recommends listening to the following music tracks for certain scenes:

For scene #3 (Battle), listen to https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=80VIgVJor_4 For scene #4, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3eDTRkCcMmE For the last scene https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8kSOWfFrw_0

“Does it trouble you?”

Cassandra’s question caught him off-guard, but it was enough to break the awkward silence. He might have pissed her off last night in the tavern. He didn’t exactly regret it because he had to make it clear he was a free man now, not a Circle mage.

But his attitude could become more temperate. If he were honest with himself, she had treated him better since the battle with the demon at the big rift, fairly even. His gut told him he was dealing with a decent and honorable woman. He couldn’t recall any negative rumors circulating about Cassandra back in Ostwick so she definitely wasn’t one of the infamous Seekers.

“It’s stopped spreading, and it doesn’t hurt. I just wish I knew what it was. Or how I got it.” Alexander replied with honesty. No point in withholding any information about his mark. It was the most valuable weapon to the Inquisition.

“We will find out.” Cassandra’s voice came with a certainty of conviction. “What’s important is that your mark is now stable, as is the Breach. You’ve given us time, and Solas believes that a second attempt might succeed – provided the mark has more power. The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by.”

“What harm could there be in powering up something we barely understand?” Alexander dared to retort in a sarcastic tone.

“Hold on to that sense of humor.” Cassandra’s lopsided smirk surprised him even more than her concern.

Well. It seemed the Seeker was quick of wit under all this armor. He could work with that.

They entered the War room where Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine were already waiting. After a brief explanation of the roles and responsibilities, Cassandra went straight to business.

“I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the Breach for good.” Cassandra said.

“Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help.” Leliana offered.

“And I still disagree. The templars could serve just as well.” Cullen suggested. A shiver ran through Alexander’s veins.

“We need power, Commander.” Cassandra intervened fast. “Enough magic poured into that mark—”

“Might destroy us all. Templars could suppress the breach, weaken it so—” Cullen pressed on. He couldn’t be suggesting…

“Pure speculation.” Leliana cut Cullen off.

“I was a templar. I know what they’re capable of.”

Alexander bit his tongue. He could not let his nervousness show. Didn’t Cullen know he was talking to a rebel mage?!? How could he ever suggest they should appeal to the templars for help?

Remember, cooperate. Calm yourself.

“Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition – and you, specifically.” Josephine managed to ease the tension and pull him back to the meeting.

Cassandra remained silent. Did she also share Cullen’s opinion?

They continued with their planning for the upcoming trip to the Hinterlands to meet Mother Giselle. Scout Harding’s report was grim and left no doubt about how harsh the situation was. It looked like both apostate mages and templars had become far too aggressive, not giving a care about hurting and killing innocent people as a result from the clashes between them.

If Cullen had read this report, and Alexander was certain he had as soon as Leliana had received it, there was no doubt he proposed to seek the templars for assistance.

Alexander left the room, followed by Cullen and Josephine who went straight to their working posts. He looked back at the war room only to see the darkened silhouettes of Cassandra and Leliana engaged in a deep conversation.  Cassandra listened with her head and shoulders hanging downward. Her right hand kept rubbing the lower part of her face as she nodded once, twice to the what Leliana was telling her. Leliana stopped talking and ran a palm along Cassandra’s arm in a comforting way.

The moment ended when the Spymaster noticed him. She got lost in the shadows and Cassandra straightened herself and exited the war room. There was a somber light in her eyes, and her lips were slightly trembling, but she walked towards him with the determination and the unyielding posture he had come to know of her.

He would not ask if she was ok. He didn’t feel entitled to share her troubles and what led to that moment of weakness. He was an agent of the Inquisition because he could close the Breach.

“Herald, please visit Master Harritt to acquire a pair of gloves. Your hands need protection from weather and other threats. I have already spoken to him.” Cassandra said in a professional tone. A pragmatic suggestion from her side.

“I… thank you Lady Pentaghast.”

He spent the rest of the day preparing for the trip to the Hinterlands, choosing supplies and potions, trying on the gloves from Master Harritt, and getting to know more of the people who had also joined the Inquisition. It was a welcome revelation that most of them were determined to overlook their past prejudices and biases against mages but not to ignore the threat of the Breach and contribute towards their common goal.

Before sunset, he exited the gates of the village to the training grounds where Cullen was still running drills to the recruits. He was not yet ready to talk with him, even though the Commander had shown no signs of animosity against him. He should remember that not all templars were bad people, and Cullen had left his order to be part of the Inquisition. Perhaps another time.

A familiar grunt grabbed his attention and he noticed Cassandra whacking at a training dummy with a sword, displaying what looked like the collective force of ten soldiers. Her moves were most impressive; however, he wouldn’t dare a compliment at her current state.

“I think you need practice dummies made of sturdier stuff.” Alexander commented from a safe distance.

“That would be nice.” Cassandra rolled her shoulders and gave another hit.

“Like maybe iron.”

Cassandra walked to the next dummy. “Did I do the right thing? What I have set in motion here could destroy everything I revered my whole life.” She paused her training and her voice cracked with emotion. “One day, they might write about me as a traitor, a madwoman, a fool. And they may be right.”

“What’s going to happen now?” he asked.

“Now we deal with the Chantry’s panic over you before they do even more harm.” The grit was back in her words, accompanied by a good hit on the dummy. “Then we close the Breach. We are the only ones who can.” Another hit. “After that, we find out who is responsible for this chaos, and we end them. And if there are consequences to be paid for what I have done, I pay them. I only pray the price is not too high.”

Cassandra was willing to sacrifice her entire career and lifepath to the Inquisition. She made him feel like his own level of commitment to the cause was lacking passion and honesty. But her steady and resolute guidance was indispensable. Any doubts from her were a luxury the world could not allow.

“You didn’t have any choice.” Alexander attempted to reassure her.

“Didn’t I?” Cassandra hit the dummy with two precise blows, and it smashed in pieces. She dropped her sword to the ground. “My trainers always said, ‘Cassandra you are too brash. You must think before you act.’ I see what must be done and I do it! I see no point in running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail. But I misjudged you in the beginning, did I not? I thought the answer was before me, clear as day. I cannot afford to be so careless again.”

Her apology and regret were welcome like a deep breath he had forgotten to take, but his gut guided his response to her. Again. “It wasn’t like you had no reason to suspect me.” Alexander couldn’t but acknowledge the fact.

“I was determined to have someone answer for what happened. Anyone.” She started for the gates but paused. “I’m curious… Do you even believe in the Maker?” she asked.

Her question was simple, yet it felt like he was about to give a loaded confession and he could not lie to her. “I think so. I am not certain about many of my beliefs lately.” Alexander replied.

“I suppose it doesn’t really matter now. I have to believe we were put on this path for a reason, even if you do not. Now it simply remains to be seen where it leads us. See you tomorrow at sunrise at the gates, Herald.”

~oOo~

Two and a half days later Alexander, Cassandra, Solas and Varric reached the Hinterlands by horse relay, making use of the staging posts for Leliana’s scouts. They left their mounts at an Inquisition post with some soldiers to avoid attracting any attention from the conflicting parties and headed for the Outskirts Camp on foot.

“It occurs to me that I don’t actually know much about you.” Cassandra was walking by his side and was once more the one breaking the silence between them. Her bluntness should disconcert him, and yet the simplicity of her ways made him less tense.

“What do you want to know?” Alexander said.

“I’m… not sure. Where are you from?” Cassandra asked.

“I thought you knew that.” He was taken aback by her inquiry.

“I suppose I could ask Leliana. She has collected a frightening amount of information on you. But I don’t want to ask her. I want to hear it from you”, insisted Cassandra, kindly. This was not the ‘take-heads-first-questions-later’ Seeker, this was his companion and bodyguard.

“I was born in Ostwick, and that’s where most of my family is.” Alexander said. No point in hiding personal information that she could access elsewhere.

“The Trevelyans, is it not? A large clan with a rather clever coat-of-arms. Tell me, do you consider the Free Marches your home? Are you eager to go back?”

They spent the rest of their trail talking about their families and the places they grew up. He shared some facts about his Circle that he was certain she was aware of already. Nevertheless, she showed genuine interest. She claimed her own story about becoming the Right Hand of the previous Divine Beatrix ‘isn’t as exciting as some drum it up to be’ but he wanted to hear the longer version from her perspective. Perhaps another time, when they would not be rushing to stop the fighting between mages and templars from getting any worse.

The Inquisition banners of the Outskirts Camp became visible and a dwarven woman, apparently Lead Scout Harding, came to greet them. According to Harding, the situation was dire, with templars, apostates and bandits striking anyone, making it impossible for everyone else to travel any distance with safety. Harding’s clear and urgent tone made Alexander extremely nervous about what they could discover.

As they took the path down to the Crossroads, he cast a protective spell on their party and readied himself for upcoming attacks, wishing for enemies that did not bear any familiar faces.

~oOo~

The apostate mages were desperate. They had hired mercenaries for their protection and had setup ice mines everywhere. Despite his calls and Cassandra's pleading to listen to the Inquisition representatives, they seemed to consider any mage who wasn't openly allied with them as their enemy that should be killed. Their party had just located the apostate stronghold in Witchwood and things had gotten very ugly.

Avoiding stepping on an ice mine just in time, Alexander saw a spellbinder preparing to cast a fire mine upon Cassandra who was fighting against two other mages. He took advantage of the cave setting and cast an energy barrage spell to lower his opponent’s resistance. The projectiles bounced across the cave walls, sweeped across like whisps and hit their target. Seeing the barrier down, Varric fired an explosive arrow and finished the job.

"One down!" yelled Alexander and cast a protective barrier on Cassandra before turning his attention to Solas. Trevelyan was running out of mana and there was no time to catch his breath. Perhaps he should join Cullen's recruits for some morning drills to improve his stamina. The explosion and closing the rift had taken a lot from him.

Physical strength had never been his forte. Spells, potions, knowledge, studies, those he could do well in the Circle of Magi in Ostwick. The Circle was no place for restless mages and his conscientious personality and noble birth allowed him to have a relatively uneventful life there. He had grown into a strong and promising scholar senior Enchanter who could still raise a mean spirit blade if he wanted to. But as soon as the mage rebellion started, he turned into a survivor, a protector of the weak in a time of need. A battlemage for the rightful fight against years of oppression.

Until the Conclave.

"I need some help here!" Solas yelled.

The elven mage's call caught Alexander unprepared. The battle was endless. The barriers by Solas were getting shattered by two very formidable spellbinders. Alexander drowned a lyrium potion and cast a dispel and a barrier on Solas. Sweeping his sweat, he turned to Varric who was aiming for a long shot against a mage hidden behind some bushes. Alexander felt the veil changing in a familiar pattern and focused on the hidden figure. The aura and the robes were... No, it couldn't be...

"Varric, no! Stop!"

Too late. Alexander abandoned the battle and ran towards the injured apostate. The arrow was impaled in her stomach. Blood was spurting everywhere.

Shit.

"Olivia! Olivia! It's me, Alexander!"

Cradling her in his arms, he opened a healing potion. The wound was fatal, there was no way to control the blood loss, but Alexander prayed the potion would give her a bit of pain relief and some time to say goodbye.

She coughed weakly, twice.

"Trevelyan... Word spread only you survived the explosion in Haven. I'm glad..." Olivia regarded him with a sad smile.

"You should have come with us Olivia, you would be safer." Alexander stroked the hair out of her face.

"I got to see the world Alexander, the real world. It's beautiful..."

Olivia coughed some blood spots on his sleeve. Not much longer. Not the time for regrets.

"Were you with Rian?" he asked her.

"Templars in red killed him last month..."

"I am sorry."

Olivia took hold of his hand and focused on him. "I am with child... Love is easy, beautiful, lazy, free... We were free Alec... Finally, free…" 

The fighting sounds had stopped. Cassandra seethed her sword and ran to them. She immediately pulled out a handkerchief from a pouch and applied pressure to the wound. Alexander nodded to her to leave it be. Olivia started shaking. Any time now and the pain would be over.

"Tell me about the child. Where would you raise it?" He smiled down to her.

"If it were a girl, we would name it Leanna, after my late sister. If we had a son, Rolf. We wanted to reach Orlais... Alec, you got some strong magic now... Be that Herald if you must, but live my friend, live... and love... You can do so much good..." Olivia uttered between violent coughs.

Gone was the colour on her face, and blood started to flow from her mouth. Alexander kept stroking her hair.

"I would never be alive without you Olivia. Maker bless your soul, old friend."

He didn't cry when her last breath came out of her body. He eased her eyelids down and stayed for a while like this, holding softly her lifeless bloody torso, praying silently for Olivia, for Rian, for their unborn child.

Cassandra was still there, silent and calm, keeping some kind of vigil. Her demeanor offered him a comfortable sense of safety and support. It felt strange but not unwelcome. 

"I would like to bury her before we leave. Properly." Alexander uttered in a wobbly voice.

Cassandra got up and went to meet the others.

"Of course, Herald. You have my support. I will send for a Chantry sister."

"Thank you, Lady Seeker."

Exhaustion overwhelmed him and for the first time since the explosion that ended the Conclave, Alexander wept.

~oOo~

 Cassandra dismounted her horse and after nodding to Master Harritt, she made a break for Leliana's tent outside the Chantry. She glanced back at the Herald who kept mostly silent since the fight in Witchwood. He had turned out to be a fierce mage in action and left a positive impression on her about his skills during their travels. 

The Left Hand of the Divine was talking with two of her agents but dismissed them as soon as she acknowledged Cassandra.

"Welcome back. I take it your trip was successful, based on the reports I have received."

"We made contact with Mother Giselle who should be arriving later or tomorrow and refugees should be safer now. The Herald's actions have been rather effective so far." Cassandra affirmed.

"But?"

Leliana grabbed a paper parchment and a small pouch from a table and motioned towards the Chantry. This was a conversation that had to be done in private. 

"Nothing bad. On the contrary, I am quite pleased so far. We have allied with 3 agents, the fighting between templars and mages is much less and the refugees are no longer in danger, Master Dennet will probably agree to provide us with horses as soon as we build some watchtowers and there is promise for further support." 

But he was close friends with a blood mage. 

They entered the war room and Leliana shut the door behind her. 

"Spill it Cassandra, I don't have all day."

"One of the apostates we fought was a friend of his from the Circle. The Herald called her Olivia and mentioned she had saved his life. Varric shot her and Lord Trevelyan only managed to give her some comfort before she died. I sensed a blood magic spell on the making before she got shot."

"My agents have mentioned nothing of blood magic practices for Trevelyan." Leliana frowned.

"I also don't believe he is one. He didn't even yell at Varric. He said he never believed in this war and Varric couldn't have known."

"Sensible and matter-of-fact. Good." The Spymaster smirked with satisfaction. “Has he mentioned if he belonged to any of the fraternities?”

“He did mention the Aequitarians but he could be a Libertarians sympathizer as well.” Cassandra knit her brows.

“Pure speculation at this point. It will come up sooner or later, especially if he decides to meet with the rebel mages in Redcliffe.” Leliana remarked.

"He brought back with him some of her possessions. He claims them to be notes and books on magic and astronomy. Could you—"

"Of course."

Cassandra breathed a relieved sigh and nodded. How she had wished for Leliana's presence in this trip. Her insight and ability to see though everything and everyone was uncanny and the Seeker needed the reassurance of her old time companion and friend. She turned for the doors.

"Cassandra. A moment."

Leliana's hesitation was very brief but enough for Cassandra to guard herself against the news she was about to hear. The Spymaster left the pouch on the table and unfolded the parchment.

"While you were away, we have managed to identify some more victims of the explosion. I have their names here if you want to take a look."

Cassandra reached for the list. Leliana never took her eyes off her.

"Still no sign of Justinia's body or what is..." Leliana trailed off.

The Seeker felt her legs give away and leaned on the table. Her hands trembled. One drop and then another fell from her eyes and stained the parchment. She pushed it away. Leliana remained by her side.

"We recognised him from the seal and the blade he carried with him. It was as you had described it to me." 

Cassandra let a sob and broke down. She had no idea how long Leliana comforted her but she was grateful for doing this away from everyone. They could not see her as weak, helpless, lost, alone. She was Lady Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, the founder of the Inquisition. There was no time for mourning. There was nobody left to mourn. Every person she had loved was dead.

"I will leave first and keep away anyone that might give you trouble. You‘ve had no time to mourn for Regalyan and Justinia. You have now. Take as much as you want, my friend." The doors closed with a soft click when Leliana left.

Cassandra opened the pouch and took the blade in her hands. It was her last gift to Regalyan, to protect him against any danger whenever they parted ways. It was part of every single staff he had owned since that day. 

But the blade had not saved her former lover from the explosion. Nothing could have saved him from it. 

The Divine, Galyan, her brother, her Order, her purpose. All gone.

For the first time since the Conclave, Cassandra let her tears and her loneliness beat her.

~oOo~

"What about the supply caches?" Alexander pointed at the map where the Crossroads were located.

"We received news yesterday that they were distributed immediately. Again, thank you, Herald for looking into this matter", Cullen nodded at Alexander.

"It was just the right thing to do and I wasn't alone. But before we go," he exhaled heavily and paused before addressing Leliana. "Did you have any luck locating the bodies of my fellow Enchanters?"

Cassandra turned to look at Trevelyan. All these weeks she had been so focused on the Inquisition matters and her own grief that she had forgotten to ask him if he had lost someone close to him in the explosion. He had not been there as a spy or out of curiosity, he had been a member of the delegation from the Circle of Magi of Ostwick. They were working together with a man who had lost people who mattered to him and yet he had not hesitated to cooperate with their cause and do the right thing even if they had treated him as a mass murderer at first. He wanted to be a free mage, but he also wanted the war to end and the Breach to close.

“We have recovered two bodies that bore the seal from the Circle of Ostwick. Sister Jeanette can tell you where they are.” Leliana informed him.

“Lord Trevelyan.” Cassandra ventured to interject. “Some clerics will perform a burial for many of the victims. It can include your friends. Of course, if you wish for a specific ritual, it can be arranged.”

The Herald gripped on the desk with both his hands and let his head hang low for a moment. He then pushed himself off and focused on her. His gaze exposed a conflict of emotions, vulnerable and determined.

“I appreciate that, Lady Seeker. Thank you, thank you all.” Alexander cleared his throat and when he spoke again, his voice was no longer brittle. “I will go see researcher Minaeve.”

The door closed behind Cassandra’s back and Josephine began to speak.

“We have received some letters from the Trevelyan clan about—“

“It is a matter concerning the Herald’s family and it is only fair he should be present as well.” Cassandra interrupted her. She- They had to show him respect.

“I suppose you are right, Lady Cassandra.” Josephine acknowledged her and checked her tablet. “One last thing before we leave. Marquis DuRellion…”

~oOo~

Cassandra held the urn with Regalyan’s ashes as she looked for a place to bury them. Long after his pyre had died out, she simply stood staring at it for a while, tears coursing down her cheeks. She thought of scattering them, but then she recalled how the terrible smell after the explosion in the Temple had burned her nose. She should write to his friends in the White Spire—

If there was anyone left alive. Or had they joined the rebel mages in Redcliffe..? Perhaps they had become apostates. She didn’t know.

‘Cassandra, you are the bravest person I've ever met. And the most beautiful. ’ (*)

Many had called her brave, but nobody had called her the most beautiful person ever again. At least not like him. The young love they had shared for years never ceased to warm her heart and the remembrance of their relationship gave her courage in dark times. They had eventually drifted apart and remained distant friends since Justinia’s appointment as the Divine. Had he survived, she doubted they would ever become lovers again. Nevertheless, when she had learned he would attend the Conclave, she had looked forward to meeting him. It was the best news she had heard for a long time, an opportunity to catch up with each other, listen to his vivid laughter, shove his arm at his insatiable need to flatter her any time anywhere, make fun of the wrinkles around his bright green eyes, hug him...

His loss would ache for the rest of her life.

She spotted a tree that reminded her of the adventure that brought them together, placed the urn on the ground and started to dig with her sword and her hands. Each jab was loaded with anguish and the urge to revenge for his death, for all those deaths. She was so lost in her mourning she never heard Trevelyan approach.

“Need any help?”

She gasped and almost lost her balance. Alexander raised both hands slightly up and made an apologetic grimace.

“I am sorry if I scared you. I was just passing by.”

“It’s alright.” Cassandra gave an indifferent nod with her head and continued with her digging. She was soon joined by the Herald who used a small shovel to help her finish her task.

“Where did you find the shovel?” she asked him.

“Master Harritt gave it to me when I asked if he had any. Apparently, he made a few due to the circumstances.” Alexander replied and stood aside when the hole was large enough.

Cassandra took the urn and placed it in the ground. Trevelyan’s presence had distracted her from her sorrowful thoughts, and she finished covering the urn with soil without shedding any more tears. Not in front of him.

To his credit, the Herald had stepped aside to give her the privacy the moment needed. She used a blade to carve Regalyan’s initials on the tree, taking a silent oath to make a proper grave for him as soon as she found the time. When she finished, she placed her palm on the trunk of the tree and whispered her parting words and a quick prayer. And just like that, it was done.

She met the Herald and they started walking back to the village.

“Have they found the Divine’s body?” It was Alexander who broke the silence this time.

“No and I don’t think we will find anything. If your memories from the rift were right, she was at the center of the explosion.” Cassandra replied.

“Have you lost many people at the Conclave?” She appreciated his tactful inquiry; she could not handle talking about Galyan now. And Trevelyan wasn’t her friend to share more.

“People who I knew from the Chantry, as well as templars and some Enchanters.” Cassandra gave a vague response. “And you, Herald?”

He looked at the shovel and sighed. “Derrin and Amethyne, both Senior Enchanters, both good mages. I was friends with Derrin, not so much with Amethyne.” Alexander paused and his face broke into repressed laughter. “The irony is that those two hated each other’s guts so much, they couldn’t stand being in the same room for more than what was necessary. And now they lie next to each other in ashes inside their urns in the ground, forced to coexist in peace, both in the Maker’s side.”

His words brought a small smile to her face and she began to snicker. “I am sorry, I should not be laughing, it is not the right time or place.” Cassandra attempted to restrain herself.

Alexander wore a wide grin and amusement danced on his eyes as he watched her fighting her own smile. “I am sure our friends would laugh with us too, if they were here.”

Galyan would. And he would coax her to relish the moment, in his unique dashing way.

Cassandra followed Alexander in the tavern, hoping to wash away the sorrow of the day with some rye. When Flissa came to take their orders, Cassandra asked her to leave the bottle.

“Was Olivia a good friend of yours?” Cassandra let out the question that had been troubling her the past days. The mist that covered his eyes could have been from the large gulp of rye, but she suspected that was not the case.

“She was like a sister to me in the Circle. She saved my life when I got there. There was— I would never pass my Harrowing without her. I owe her my life, literally. The war broke us apart, I remained with the rebellion and she and Rian joined the apostates, eager to fight in the Mage-Templar war.” The Herald kept his gaze fixed on his drink and didn’t look up. It was noticeably difficult for him to speak about her so the issue of blood magic would have to wait. She would get her answers some other time.

“What about the rest of the Enchanters from your Circle?” Cassandra changed the subject. What roused him in lowering his guard only appealed to her curiosity. She did not want to let his mood for sharing go to waste.

“All Senior Enchanters are dead. Two of them were killed when the rebellion started, along with First Enchanter Lydia. The other three you already know. I assume some mages have joined the other rebels in Redcliffe.” Alexander professed with a grim expression.

“I wish the Seekers and the Chantry had done more for the mages.” Cassandra admitted.

“What will happen to the Chantry now?” Alexander asked her.

“It is difficult to say. They have no templars, no leadership, and no one left who is worthy of succeeding the Divine.” Cassandra finished her glass with one gulp and served herself a refill. “It has fallen apart when everyone needs it the most. I ache to think what this will mean in the days to come.”

“I’m surprised you rebelled against the Chantry.” Alexander was now leaning on his left arm, his eyebrows pulled slightly together.

“I left my own Order when they took the wrong path. It is no different. But in neither case did I stop caring. Indeed, I care so much that I feel drastic action is necessary. I suppose history shall one day judge my actions.” Cassandra hoped she didn’t sound like a zealot.

“Would you serve a new Divine?”

“That depends on whether she would have me. I’m a rebel now, remember? And even if she would, I… do not know.” Cassandra stared at the rye as she swirled it in the cup. She started to contemplate her life so far. Would she remain the Right Hand to a new Divine? Would she return to the Seekers? For all she knew, it could be time for a new direction in her life.

“I first met Divine Justinia two years ago when I was presented to her as a newly appointed Senior Enchanter in a ceremony in the Grand Cathedral. She left a positive impression to me, aside from her speech. It was a bit boring.” Alexander interrupted her musings and she took a peek at him. He was still leaning on his arm, looking to his left as if reminiscing.

“She was never a big fan of speeches.” Cassandra assented with a half chuckle. “I think I was absent from that ceremony…”

“You weren’t there.” Trevelyan said quickly and leaned towards her. “If you were, I would definitely remember you.”

Cassandra stared at him with mouth slightly open. Did he just..?

“You flatter me.”

“I’m trying.” Trevelyan shrugged with a pleased expression and leaned back on his chair.

Cassandra let a disgusted noise and took a large sip. He had done it again, set her off-course and let her trip on incredulous notions that she had absolutely no need of right now.

“Lady Pentaghast.” The Herald dispersed her confusing thoughts, his voice fearless and crisp, his gaze clear and hopeful like a fresh breeze. He straightened his pose and raised his glass. “A toast to all the rebels who never stopped caring and will always care to do the right thing, who defy chaos and hope to make the future a possibility.”

She should be more wary of that silver tongue of his. Yet, at that moment, she couldn’t help it. Cassandra’s face lit up with a small smile that he returned in full. “To allies that join causes with honorable goals.” She raised her own glass and they both savored their drinks without breaking eye contact.

He was not her friend, no. But he was earning her respect with each passing day and she dared to have faith that he would be a kindred spirit in the struggle against these troubled times.

His fetching smile made it also not so terrible.

_________

Note: I always wondered what happened to other people that were along with the Inquisitor in the Conclave, no matter the race. There was no cut scene or mention of any loss, so I decided to give Alexander some backstory with friends from his Circle that died in the explosion or in the Mage – Templar War.

(*) It bugged me that they didn’t mention anything about Regalyan’s death and how it affected Cassandra. It was not only Justinia that she lost. If you don’t know who Regalyan is, “Dawn of the Seeker” is an anime movie and I love the penultimate scene where Regalyan and Cassandra look at each other with those dreamy eyes of young love. This quote is from that scene.

[the-wolfs-raven]

Layers:  Tarvasha

LAYER ONE : THE OUTSIDE

Name: Tarvasha Winterscale Eye Color: Violet-Blue Hair Style/Color: Past her shoulders, burgundy/crimson Height: 6′0″ Clothing Style: Casual - Light colors, flowing garments, skirts and dresses with halter or low-cut tops and occasionally a shawl or cardigan.  Tavernwear - Vivid colors, bodices and off the shoulder garments, layered or short skirts.  Dancewear - Darker colors, blacks, tight-fitting and revealing, leather or silks.  Formal - Floral or dark colors, grand ball gowns, jewelry of precious gems, sweetheart or off the shoulder necklines, metallic accents

LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE

Your Fears:

The half-elf chewed her lip and glanced off to the side, pondering such things.  “I fear...I dread...harm befalling those I love.  And the idea that it is unavoidable, inevitable, keeps me awake at night.”  After a moment, she added, “Not to say that I expect the earth itself to open up and swallow them, but the thought of them suffering in any manner, great or small, upsets me quite a bit.”  Another minute passed and she glanced back to her tea cup.  “Selfishly, I’ll admit to fearing being forgotten.  Being important to someone one moment and being wiped from their mind the next...”  She took a sip.  “I suppose we’re all entitled to a few selfish fears.”

Your Guilty Pleasure:

Her tongue swept across her lip as it curled into a smirk.  “I love to let go, to give into this animalistic level of celebration, dancing wildly and drinking the whole night through.  Standing in the middle of a mosh pit and coming out frazzled and grinning.  It takes a certain people to make me give up that much control, but it is always so worth it when I do.”

Your Biggest Pet Peeve:

She pursed her lips and let out a soft sigh.  “The type of people who hold onto ignorance.  Who will begrudge an entire race or culture, despite never having taken the time to understand it.  Who refuse to acknowledge that individuals exist in every society.”  She took a rather deep sip, setting the cup down with a soft ‘clink’.  “I have seen the worst of many cultures.”  Her eyes glided back and forth for a moment, as though she were remembering something specific, and after a moment, she spoke again.  “But I have also seen the best.  And, in my experience, there are far more admirable and exemplary folks in the world than there are drudges and ne’er-do-wells.”

Your Ambition for the Future: 

A single, wispy chuckle slipped past her lips.  “You know...I used to think that all I wanted was a family.  A husband, some children...The whole package.”  She closed her eyes for a moment, her smile never faltering.  “But I have come to realize something over the years...It seems that no matter where my life has taken me, I have created my own little families.  Wherever I go.  Some people are already together, and they welcome me in.  Other times, it seems that folks are drawn together for a purpose.”  Her smile deepened as her face softened.  “Family are the ones you love, and who often love you in return.  I have no shortage of that in my life.  If I had to decide on a single goal for the future, it would be to protect them.  And to make myself better so that I never take for granted the love I’m given.”

LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS

Your First Thoughts Waking Up:

She chuckled.  “I believe there is less thought and more a disgruntled mess of limbs shifting out from beneath the sheets and pondering why, after all this time, she still occupies a room with sheer curtains.”  A sigh and a smile.  “All joking aside, I often have a routine or a schedule, I most often think about its completion or events of the previous days.”

What You Think About the Most: 

The burgundy-haired woman sat back, bringing her hand to her chin.  “I think about so many different things during the day.  Where I’m supposed to be, who I’m supposed to be meeting with.  Did shipments make it through, are quarreling merchants getting along.”  She chuckled quietly.  “I think of my family as well.  Those closest to me.  I wonder about them everyday.  Has Taria gotten into any trouble?  How are things going in Lakeshire?  Is Susan feeling alright?  How are things in Mistfall?  Halfhill?  Ratchet?”  She smiled.  “Those are the more important things that I think about.”

What You Think About Before Bed: 

A soft laugh.  “So much.  There are a thousand things on my mind, and they all seem to rise to the surface when I am trying to sleep.”  She smiled.  “A good day leaves me with warm thoughts.  Thoughts of family and friends and future happiness.”  Her smile faded somewhat.  “Bad days...Well...those do bring out the worst in us.”

You Think Your Best Quality Is:

She clicked her tongue.  “You know...I’m not really certain how I feel about that.  I suppose from a simplistic perspective, I enjoy listening to people’s stories.  Giving comfort where its needed.  But different people need different things.  My best quality, I think, is whatever I can give to someone who needs it when they need it.  Doing what I can to brighten someone's day or ease a harsh blow is something I strive for and cherish.”

LAYER FOUR: WHAT’S BETTER?

Single or Group Dates: 

”Hm...Well, its all situational, isn't it?  Private dates tend to be far more romantic and meaningful.  A chance to spend time with your partner or partners and bond together over dinner or a stroll or some such thing.”  She grinned.  “But group dates can be quite fun.  And practical, for that matter.  But being able to enjoy the company of a friendly couple while enjoying your own partner is a treat in and of itself.”

To be Loved or Respected: 

”This is difficult...The two can go hand-in-hand, and yet they can be so far separated...”  She thought for a moment. “Personally, though, I can say I prefer to be loved.  To have some emotional investment with the people I know.  That’s not always great for business, but I have found that, sometimes, it is simply easier to gain love than respect.  And, if I’m honest, to truly love someone, there is always a certain amount of respect that comes along with it.”

Beauty or Brains: 

She laughed.  “Is it shallow of me to answer ‘both’?”  A smile crept over her lips.  “I suppose I find myself in the fortunate position of recognizing beauty in individual features.  Some of the most haggard and torn-up orcs have the most intense, beautiful eyes.  They practically shine in the light, echoes of their trials and everything that made them who they are.  Elves might often pride themselves on vanity, but even the most disfigured of them have a certain grace to their movements that is simply intoxicating.  I love people, and I love to look at people.  All people.  To hear their stories and watch the way their eyes light up or their mannerisms shift.  It is hard to see one without the other.  Everyone has positive traits, brains and beauty, and I am blessed to find it in nearly everyone I meet.”

Dogs or Cats: 

“I should not own pets.  I have a horrible track record.”  She chuckled.  “I love the independence of cats.  Their sleek, sneaky appearance and soft, fluffy fur.”  Her smile deepened into a smirk.  “But one Miss Clover has given me a personal love of big, wrinkly, drooling dogs.”  She laughed, fond memories of the canine flowing through her mind.

LAYER FIVE: DO YOU?

Lie:

She bit into her lip.  “As little as possible.  I try to be honest with most people, but there are a few things I prefer to keep to myself.  I do not often lie without a very good reason.”

Believe in Yourself:  

”I think...I am starting to.  I never put much thought into it, if I’m honest.  I was always so focused on the people around me to worry about whether I could or couldn’t do something. It came down to need.  And the ability to get something done despite the consequence.  But from a personal perspective?  I believe that I am beginning to see exactly who I am and figuring out what I can do.”

Believe in Love:  

A bright smile spread over her face.  “Of course I do.  There is so much love in this world.  All different kinds.  And it is all beautiful.  The bond between partners, between parents and their children, even the simple love of enjoying the company of a companion.  It is one of the most wondrous things this world can offer.”

Want Someone:

“Of course I do.  I love building new friendships, the wild trysts with strangers or the passionate embrace of a dear friend.  The platonic cuddling that comes with spending time together to the rough, fiery sex that builds an intense evening.”  She smirked.  “There is always someone to want, for so many different reasons.”

LAYER SIX: EVER?

Been on Stage:

She chuckled.  “Often, though many times my stage has been a table or a tavern floor.  I love to perform.  To dance or sing to entertain those around me and bring a little ray of light into their lives.  The feeling of livening up an entire room is indescribable, and an experience I cherish.”

Done Drugs:  

A slight nod came from the half-elf.  “I have.  Many times.  Sometimes to lift up an otherwise dreary evening, but often to cope with life’s hardships.  I believe them to be a necessary evil at times, and an enjoyable addition to a pleasant night at others.  Responsibility and proper indulgence is key.  Overdoing something like that...it simply makes life disappear.  Life cannot be only positive experiences or a grey mass of neutrality.  Life’s ups and downs is what shapes us.”  She paused for a moment to think.  “I do understand, though, those who prefer an intoxicated existence to facing reality.  Sometimes the negatives are just too much.”

Changed Who You Were to Fit In:

A finger idly traced the scarred curve of her ear as she tucked a strand of hair behind it.  “You could say that.  I’m not particularly proud of some of my past actions, but I think there is a certain something to be said for changing your behavior to offer comfort or to suit your work.  You can often find miserable people putting on smiles for customers or friends pulling each other away to distract from something that might otherwise be on their mind.  I wouldn’t say I change myself to fit in.  That is...very much the wrong wording, especially these days.  However, I do find myself adapting mannerisms and conversation to suit the people around me.  I don’t see it as changing who I am, simply how I am perceived.”

LAYER SEVEN: FAVORITES

Favorite Color: 

”Hm...I enjoy floral colors.  Natural colors.  For myself, at least.  They’re calming and beautiful and I love to surround myself with them.  Particularly th colors of lavender and pale roses.”

Favorite Animal: 

A laugh slipped out.  “Well, I do seem to have a certain affinity for wolves.”  She leaned back, crossing her legs.  “I would have to say that I love birds, however.  Such beautiful feathers, and so free.  As a child, I made friends with a little raven that lived within our settlement.  I used to leave her little piles of seeds and such.  She had no fear around me.  One day, after some time had passed, she landed on my shoulder.  I was terrified.”  She chuckled.  “We had some very unfriendly creatures around.  But she just looked at me with those round little eyes.  We stood in silence for a long time before she took off.  From then on, we shared a close bond.  I named her Apple.  I haven’t the foggiest idea why.”  She laughed.

Favorite Food: 

”I love salads.  Anything with a lot of fresh fruits or vegetables.  While I do not mind meat dishes, I certainly prefer a vegetarian meal.  I can’t say I’m very fond of sweets, either, but truthfully, I’ve simply learned not to be picky over the years.”  She chuckled.

Favorite Game: 

“I’ve always liked cards and dice.  I’ve never been very good at most of the games, but I find there to be a sort of rush in it that’s unique to them.  A few years ago, I was introduced to a Pandaren game, Jihui.  A game in which the goal is for both players to win?  It was fate.”  She smiled.

LAYER EIGHT: AGE

Day Your Next Birthday Will Be: September 29th How Old Will You Be: 31 Age You Lost Your Virginity:  15 Does Age Matter:

She glanced up for a moment.  “In the matter of morality involving underage couplings with of-age and older people, I believe it does.”  Her gaze softened as she set back.  “As far as say, should someone in their twenties be able to love someone in their fifties, I believe that age does not matter in that situation.  In-between two consenting adults, age is just a number.”

LAYER NINE: IN A BOY OR GIRL

Best Personality:  

A soft laugh came with a shake of her head.  “I enjoy a man who can make me laugh.  Who is powerful and confident, but not overbearing.  Someone accepting who cares about others and it shows.”  She smirked.  “I also seem to have a weakness for loud-mouthed men, but I like to think that those wonderful things lay beneath the surface.”  Another small chuckle.  “In all, though, I like an open-mind.  Someone who is willing to hear out other viewpoints, even if they do not agree with them.  Someone who does not hate for the sake of hate, nor love for the sake of love.  A genuine person.”

Best Eye Color:  

Her eyes closed for a moment, and she sighed happily.  “They say the eyes are the window to the soul.  If that’s the case, I must have a particular love for architecture.  There are so many fascinating eyes in the world.  In particular, I find myself drawn to those light-colored and intense.  Blues and greys and greens.  There is something to be said for the glow of elven eyes as well.  Almost a shade.  A mystery.  Until you are so close that you can see the deep, jeweled detail and it sets your heart fluttering.”

Best Hair Color:  

“I’m afraid I do not have much of a conscious preference, though I do find myself attracted to darker-haired men.  Of course, I do have a love of color, and the sheer variety of colors and styles on so many different people makes this little inter part of me just squeal with delight.”  She chuckled.

Best thing to do with a Partner:

“My favorite moments...”  She began a bit breathlessly, as though thinking back.  “Are the quiet ones.  The spontaneous picnics or dinners at home.  I love those moments.  There’s no distraction, no great focus to draw you from a nice conversation or laugh about the day’s experiences.”  She breathed a happy little sigh as her body relaxed.  “And then there are the passionate nights.  Quiet or rowdy, it doesn’t really matter.  That moment at the very end, after you’re worn to your core and the passion is fleeting and all you want to do is rest.  And the arms that wrap around you or the body that you hold close is so in tune with you and you with them.”  She brushed a tear from her eye, a smile still softly lingering.  “Those deep conversations that are entirely silent...Those are the best things.”

LAYER TEN: FINISH THE SENTENCE

I love: deeply. I feel: calm. I hide: too much. I miss: many people. I wish: for happiness and health.

Tagged by: @murkeyglglgl

Tagging:  @jakefletcher @susan-gampre @high-inquisitor @demetrius-devereaux @emilia-duskfeather @eilitheduskbringer @thesilentnikkithorpe @one-traveling-panda @downghostsbarrel @detective-alban-lou-hinford @lumenwolf @miss-breakfast @percy-von-gacy and anyone else who might like to do this!  <3

[chrisbransdon]

When my husband and I got married, we chose Revelation 21:1-7 as the passage to be preached. For those who are familiar with it, to stop at verse 7 is to make a glaring omission. For after describing the glorious vision of the new heavens and the new earth, verse 8 issues a stark warning: 

“But as for the cowardly, the faithless, the detestable, as for murderers, the sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars, their portion will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death.”

We made this omission because we were thinking about who would be in the crowd. We were thinking about our non-Christian friends and family. We were thinking about how to preach the gospel in terms accessible and loving to them. But in the past few weeks I have come to the shameful realisation that we made the omission because we were cowards.

I have not re-visited that decision because until now, I have been able to safely rationalise verse 8 away under the guise of ‘loving accessibility’. Perhaps you are unsettled that a good Moore College graduate could ever have been party to such a decision (to be fair, this was pre-Moore, lest I bring the evangelical fervour of my chosen theological institution into disrepute). If so, you are more faithful men and women than we proved ourselves to be.  But at the time, we honestly believed that it was the most loving way to preach the gospel. Or at least, that’s what we told ourselves.

What does it mean to love? What does it mean to hate? These words, love and hate, have come to mean such different things to the people who use them. At least, I know that when I speak of love and hate, my theology shapes my use of them. To this end, when I speak of ‘love’, it is often heard by my secular friends as a form of ‘hate’. If this doesn’t signal a breakdown in language, I don’t know what does.

There is a certain complexity to the nature of Christian love that our society no longer has the moral imagination to grasp. Although, at one level, it has been understood. I have seen the exasperated articles and comments that point out that it is a paradoxical move to condemn to hell those you purport to love. But rather than questioning how or why this could be possible, Christians are dismissed as though we have simply passed over the question for two thousand years.

Society’s moral imagination fails to grasp the paradoxical nature of Christianity for many and varied reasons, not the least of which is because, well, God intended it. But on my little piece of the Internet with proper recognition of my finitude, I will humbly offer the commentary that the pleasure/pain paradigm which dominates our society’s worldvew is too simplistic to comprehend it.

In his Essay Concerning Human Understanding, John Locke defined good and evil with reference to pleasure and pain. This is a rational move for it is demonstrably true that harm causes me displeasure and pain, which is evil. Therefore ‘the thought of pain, which any thing present or absent is apt to produce in us, is what we call hatred.’ In the same vein, I love that which increases my delight, which increases my pleasure, therefore ‘anyone reflecting upon the thought he has of delight, which any present or absent thing is apt to produce in him, has the idea we call love.’ Therein we also find that which is good.

For all of our movements and post movements since the Enlightenment, I don’t think we have evolved much beyond Locke’s definitions. For if the cross of Christ does not determine the nature of good and evil, and love and hate, then they can only be decided with reference self. Although this has been revealed to us definitively, Christians continue to analyse our secular culture with the fervour of doomsday preppers, as if the sinful human heart of our cultural zeitgeist is fundamentally different to that of any other.

If we follow Locke, as I believe secularism has, then what constitutes love and hate are self-determined. The emotional response that we so often criticise has been rationally justified. From this vantage point, it is little wonder that Israel Folau’s recent post could be conceived of as hate speech by the LGBT community. After all, this same community was recently fighting against the denial of a pleasure-inducing good, namely, marriage. The fact that it has now been won doesn’t mean that this same community will come quietly. Homosexuality was not fully decriminalised in Australia until 1997 when Tasmania finally followed suit. While there have been many gains for the LGBT movement in recent years, there has also been a lot of historical pain. It won’t easily be forgotten. As such, the LGBT community couldn’t help but read Folau’s post through that lens. On this point, Locke has some insight: “we extend our hatred usually to the subject which has produced pain in us, because the fear it leaves is a constant pain… we do not so constantly love what has done us good, because pleasure operates not so strongly on us as pain.”

The problem is this.

I do not believe that Israel Folau hates the LGBT community. Admittedly, I do not know him personally so I could be wrong about this. However, I can speak for myself. As a committed Evangelical Christian, I say in all honesty that I do not hate the LGBT community. Yet, I believe what Folau posted.

The stunning irony is that I have used the biblical teaching with regards to hell to challenge people on their homophobia. I have also seen Christian ministers do the same. I remember on one occasion seeing a congregation member stand up at the end of a sermon on Christian sexuality to challenge the Minister because they felt that he ought to have been more condemning of the LGBT community. To this end, the person demanded that the Minister read out Romans 1 (another passage that one would rather not have read out at their wedding). In response to this public challenge the Minister only said in return: “this passage, my friend, is about you.”

That Christian love should be exemplified by a tortured, beaten, and bloodied body nailed to a cross in order to save sinners from hell is an impossible contradiction. And that is exactly the point. Christian love must preach both sides of the coin. The message utterly degenerates without it, as one writer recently observed. But society is no longer familiar with the kind of dutiful sacrifice that signifies genuine love. We are comfortable, we are entitled, and we will not have our lives encroached upon by anything so unpalatable as hell. Our values do not extend beyond buzz words like ‘representation’, or ‘diversity’ and we have so debased the language of human rights that it’s hard to feel as though anything is really sacred. So much for human understanding.

And yet, we still bear the marks of the divine, even now. The sleepless nights of a new mother, the careful discipline of a father, the forgiveness borne by a friend – these things testify to us that what is truly good in fact involves some element of self-denial, even pain. It is undoubtedly painful to hear that one is going to hell. The night I realised the extent of my own sin I fell to my knees and cried for a long time. I cried openly because of the weight of my guilt. But more than that I cried because I understood what I was saved from and by whom. I cannot adequately describe it, but if I had to put a word on exquisite pain mixed with deep gratitude I suppose it would be joy.  

Again, I say to my own shame that it has taken me almost 6 years to return to my wedding day to reflect on the passage that we chose. That such a sentiment has been provoked in me by a football player with whom I have fundamental theological disagreements, actually brings me some delight. When I left Moore College, I left with some degree of pride, even though I am a third rate theologian and about as effective as an evangelist. I have had three years of theological training but it took one Instagram post from a man of simple faith to give me a much needed boost of courage in order to preach it. There are all sorts of conversations that could be had about whether Folau expressed himself adequately (can I just say that if you’re going to take him to task for this, I’d like to see you do the same with Jonathan Edwards), or whether he is genuinely Christian given his heretical views on the Trinity. And yet, while we theorise amongst ourselves, who, I ask, is preaching the gospel? Little wonder God has sought to use a football player with no knowledge of Greek or Hebrew to put hell on society’s agenda.

As for me, I can only extend an apology to my non-Christian friends and family that on my wedding day, I did not see fit to warn them about hell. I can only hope that in future I have the courage to love people better.

[kicksparkleaxe-blog]

From the beginning of February to April 4th, I was in intensive, in-patient treatment in acute psychiatric care at Mission Hospital Laguna Beach in the latter phrase’s domain, and Palomar Medical Center Escondido. I do not know if I have mentioned yet on this forum, but I have severe bipolar I disorder with psychotic features (though I prefer the term “manic-depression”), and complex PTSD from a near lifetime experience of emotional, physical, and sexual violence perpetrated by everyone from three childhood neighbors of relatively close age, my first serious boyfriend Jack raping me on November 10th, 2010, and numerous strangers raping me on August 23rd, 2013, (which is known colloquially as gang-rape, and in medical and psychological literature as multiple perpetrator rape or assault; also, I find “shell shock” or “rape trauma syndrome” to be more accurate). 

I suppose there are some dates we unfortunately never forget. Though I’m grateful to remember dates like my April 24th, 2016 wedding anniversary perfectly, there are less savory dates where my mind grinds to a halt, and I can still feel this chill and violation in my body; (my partner JP and I eloped in a humble courthouse in Laguna Niguel or Hills that aspirational and awesome April, I can’t remember precisely, because the suburbs roll into one sometimes sullen spread).

I’ve also weathered other attempted assaults. While we were visiting for what we assumed was a business dinner, our former friend Brandon and his coworker Daryl derailed and exploited our out-of-sorts and vulnerable situation, from a dank and dreary, paradise-paltry, backroom bar adjacent to San Francisco, to a nearby Outback Steakhouse. A computer programmer named Jonathan also tried to assault me one night, when I was stone-cold sober and he was drunk at a USC student-organized, lukewarm artistic function, where he pinned me down in an interactive, poorly safety-informed, and dark exhibit room. 

I also dealt with an extremely abusive relationship, psychologically and physically, with my ex-boyfriend Wade Kubat, who I was romantically entangled with for more than 2 years, beginning in early 2013 when I attended Saddleback College, a community college in Mission Viejo, California, for a year before transferring to the University of Southern California in Los Angeles. He is currently in a band called The Catamites, which has played a couple of times at most, and which is named in an inherently misogynistic way, as catamites are the young boy lovers that Greek philosophers kept due to abhorrence of females. Our relationship was plagued by his drug addictions primarily to heroin, but he also abused substances from meth to codeine, and imbibed hallucinogens, which I realize are not addictive inherently, but which provided sensations I believe he sought compulsively. He also cheated not only on Riley Johnson with me, (or me with Riley Johnson, as she was in San Francisco for university and I was with him the majority of the days of the week most of the time), with multiple women from Emmy Ricciardi to more. He also once feigned punching my face in front of his brother when we were in a tiff about the ownership of a guitar I had purchased for him for almost $1,000 when we were together, (we broke up and mended mediocre all the time), and I was scared he would bodily harm me, and also that he sets negative precedents for his innocent sibling. He also would tell me cutting nonsense constantly, like that my life was meaningless, and all of my suffering was instead just worthless and manipulative histrionics. I believe he projected many of his own issues onto me due to a profound paucity of self-awareness.

Wade is languishing in poverty and basically always has with a mother suffering from early-onset Alzheimer’s, and a father who I believe has a drinking problem, and issues with rage and sexual inappropriateness towards myself and Wade’s “official girlfriend”, Riley Johnson, such as jokes as to whether he could “have” one of us; I do realize that this may have been a method of ethically questioning Wade’s decision to be unfaithful and inauthentic to essentially everyone he’s ever met, including himself. I feel this economic condition is the only reason Wade has never sought or received mental health treatment, as it seems clear to me based on our relatively lengthy period of time together, that he has some severe type of mental illness, and personality disorder. I offered to try to cover therapy for him when we were together, and he declined, and he also declined my offer to drive him to therapeutic appointments he was entitled to as a rape survivor; he was actually raped as a teenager, perhaps 16 or 17, by... Guess who? Riley Johnson, his “official girlfriend” depicted here, likely spending a substantial portion of her income on increasingly ridiculous and cheap-looking ensembles that betray an unfortunate allegiance to fast fashion companies that destroy the environment and workers’ lives, from illness to disasters which snuff out those flames completely.

Riley graduated in a timely manner from San Francisco State likely due to its ease as an unimpressive campus and the lack of rigor in her fashion merchandising major, and has no presence online insofar as career trajectory; based on her LinkedIn, she is still a waitress at a seafood restaurant called Pacific Catch where she met her boyfriend Zac Hannah, who goes by Premature Zaculation on Instagram, which I find a sad and precise username. Riley used to work as a salesperson in an Ugg shoe store, which is a position I guess she’s lost. Zac studied creative writing at the same school according to Facebook, which is astounding to me as an author, as I believe writing is about insight, and certainly, that is polymathic, passionate, and basically unteachable insofar as the academic environment.

Anyways, I remember that once I told Wade, and he responded positively, to my assertion “You have a pathological sense of destiny”, which I explained to him when we were at the Getty Museum in the ancient-inspired and meditative outdoor garden, after looking at the painting that reminded me most of our relationship, the Italian Renaissance-era “An Allegory of Fortune” by Dosso Dossi. The painting depicts a female Fortune resting without rest, fleet-footed and poised to possibly leave a lightly rendered bubble that reminds me of economic fiascos, and a masculine Chance with lottery tickets clutched above a golden cup, and in this mental configuration, I would be Fortune, and Wade would be Chance. My family has an abundance, and his family is abject, and one would think we’d compliment each other perfectly, but perhaps he didn’t think he deserved me at the time, or we were both too unstable, or he’s in love with himself to the point that he continually dates women who are basically his doppelgängers in a very disturbing pattern of self-melded matches from Shannon Soufflay to Julianne Glass. 

I am not a clinician, but I have much experience with psychiatric/psychological diagnoses, and I believe Wade could also have bipolar I disorder or potentially schizoaffective disorder, and I am almost certain he also suffers from complex PTSD, and additionally has issues with narcissistic personality disorder. He has severe boundary issues, as evinced by one night when I was sleeping under a bedside light, and he tried to sexually assault me in my slumber, his bizarre level of benevolence when I was living in Paris as opposed to in physical proximity, (he seems to idealize the unavailable, as he was constantly confronting me about Riley’s non-existent superiority to me as a partner when it was obvious she was egocentric, damaging, and intellectually feeble), and his unwelcome liaisons with plenty of women, yet anger at me when I was dating during my summer abroad.

Anyways, that is all for now, but I included photos of my first meals prepared at home, since hospitalization and likely forever, to demonstrate that I’m majorly self-sufficient when given adequate space. My family has issues trusting me to basically care for myself, which is logical due to the severity of my disorders and how they have prevented me from self-care in the past, but I’m a very economical and efficient person, and given the wealth my family is blessed to have, I have very few constraints when it comes to expressing myself in any medium, including cooking, baking, and upkeep of the house. 

I’m following a ketogenic diet to aid in my recovery, and my first night feeding myself, I oven-roasted a steak to medium-rare, and ate Brussels sprouts caramelized with balsamic vinegar and coconut oil, with Trader Joe’s mushroom medley and crushed walnuts, and had extra leftover for today. The steak was marinaded with a rub of black, garlic and Himalayan salt, and butter with thyme, rosemary, and lemon and onion spice with most ingredients sourced at Costco. For my partner’s dinner, I used the same butter to prepare pan-seared chicken thigh, more Brussel sprouts on the stove, and rainbow cauliflower mashed with miniature avocado dices. For my partners’ breakfast today, I made chicken breakfast sausage, and hash browns with the remaining butter and coconut oil, and made an omelette with 3 eggs, an avocado, red bell peppers, onions, spinach, and mushrooms. I put the leftover hash brown and sausage concoction in the refrigerator, and ate the remains of the omelette today for lunch. Also, before I cooked for my partner, I had whole fat yogurt with two tablespoons of almond butter, hemp seed helpings, muesli, and fresh raspberries for breakfast. I’ve also been partaking in decaffeinated green tea and seaweed-infused kombucha throughout the day, and will be continuing to remain well-hydrated. My partner JP is currently on Wellbutrin and is under-weight, so providing them with more highly-caloric sustenance is essential to ensure they maintain their strength.

I’ll also make a list of the vitamins and supplements I’m taking for later posting. I also purchased some organic essential oils: eucalyptus, lavender, and cypress, for use in massage, and could also use coconut oil to administer to myself and my partner, since it is anti-bacterial, so does not clog pores and is an amazingly effective moisturizer. I specifically picked eucalyptus, because I joke always that my frequently marijuana-high partner looks like a red-eyed koala when they’re all haze and daze, and they’re from Cypress in Orange County. I also bought an amber candle from Voluspa, since my preference is for warm scents. I’m currently reading “Healing Depression and Bipolar Disorder Without Drugs”. I also tagged “eating disorder”, as I suffered from binge-eating disorder as a child after my neighbors molested me, and dealt with anorexia athletica/orthorexia as a teenager, and focusing on mindfulness in food preparation and enjoyment has allowed me to deal with the truly insane fluctuations I have experienced in my weight as I’ve attempted, often futilely until now, to control my disorders.

[citizentruth-blog]

We Don’t Need You Back, Kevin Spaceys of the World

Kevin Spacey may be a fine actor, but we don't need his ilk in Hollywood. Rather than accepting admitted abusers back into the limelight, we should strive to find new talent, especially as it concerns women, people of color, and other underrepresented groups. (Photo Credit: Richard Cooper/CC-BY-SA-3.0) In advance of Christmas, Kevin Spacey released a video entitled "Let Me Be Frank" on his YouTube channel. Beyond it being strange enough news that Kevin Spacey has a YouTube channel in the first place, the three-minute clip was deeply weird. In the video, Spacey, speaking in the manner of his persona Frank Underwood from House of Cards, directly addresses the viewer, as he did in character within the context of the show. His remarks are as follows: I know what you want. Oh, sure, they may have tried to separate us, but what he have is too strong, it's too powerful. I mean, after all, we shared everything, you and I. I told you my deepest, darkest secrets. I showed you exactly what people are capable of. I shocked you with my honesty, but mostly I challenged you and made you think. And you trusted me—even though you knew you shouldn't. So we're not done no matter what anyone says. And besides, I know what you want: you want me back. Of course, some believed everything and have just been waiting with bated breath to hear me confess it—they're just dying to have me declare that everything said is true, that I got what I deserved. Wouldn't that be easy—if it was all so simple? Only you and I both know it's never that simple—not in politics and not in life. But you wouldn't believe the worst without evidence, would you? You wouldn't rush to judgment without facts, would you? Did you? No, not you. You're smarter than that. Anyway, all this presumption made for such an unsatisfying ending, and to think it could've been such a memorable send-off. I mean, if you and I have learned nothing else these past years, it's that in life and art, nothing should be off the table. We weren't afraid—not of what we said, not of what we did, and we're still not afraid. Because I can promise you this: if I didn't pay the price for the things we both know I did do, I'm certainly not going to pay the price for the things I didn't do. Oh, of course, they're going to say I'm being disrespectful, not playing by the rules—like I ever played by anyone's rules before. I never did—and you loved it. Anyhow, despite all the poppycock, the animosity, the headlines, the impeachment without a trial, despite everything—despite even my own death—I feel surprisingly good. And my confidence grows each day that, soon enough, you will know the full truth. Oh, wait a minute. Now that I think of it, you never actually saw me die, did you? Conclusions can be so deceiving. Miss me? In his indirectness, his comments are questionable in their true application. Is Spacey talking about another season of House of Cards involving him despite the apparent end of the series without him? Or, more probably, is he speaking through Underwood in a thinly-veiled set of allusions to his accused sexual misconduct, taking a shot at the producers of the show and its perceived dip in quality in its final eight episodes? Whatever Spacey's motivations, the conflation of his character's darkness with his own seeming defense of his real-life behavior is an odd one. It's like Ted Cruz making jokes about himself being the Zodiac Killer as if to make him more likable. Who associates himself with a soulless politician who will stop at nothing in his bid for power so as to make his suspected sexual misconduct and pedophilia more palatable? Who does that? Apparently, Kevin Spacey does, and what's more, he may be partially right about people wanting him back. Back in November, Sophie Gilbert, staff writer at The Atlantic, penned an article about the notion that, for all the attention of #MeToo and Time's Up to holding men in power accountable for their actions, not only has the comeuppance for many offenders been short-lived, but a disparity in on-screen and off-screen representation for women remains. In the case of Kevin Spacey, mentioned specifically in Gilbert's piece, the weight of his legal troubles may be enough to deep-six his career as we have known it. But for others? Charlie Rose? James Franco? Louis C.K.? Matt Lauer? Despite admissions of guilt or multiple accusations of wrongdoing, these men are either working on comebacks or continue to find work. Hell, even Roman Polanski keeps directing films. As for women being creators, directors, and the like as well as garnering screen time, Gilbert notes that these opportunities declined in the year preceding her column's publication, citing statistics from Women and Hollywood, an advocacy group. And this is on top of the belief held by some that, owing to how pervasive sexual harassment and other forms of misconduct are alleged to be in Hollywood (and other industries), if the punishments were truly indicative of the crimes, so to speak, a lot more dudes would be losing their jobs. Gilbert closes her piece on a bit of a sobering note detailing the "paradox" of the #MeToo/Time's Up movements: Since the Weinstein allegations were first published, the entertainment industry has taken measurable steps to help fight instances of abuse, harassment, and predatory behavior. It’s committed time and money to helping women and men who’ve been harassed receive the emotional and legal support they need. A handful of high-level executives accused of harassment and abuse (Amazon Studios’s Roy Price, CBS’s Les Moonves) have been replaced. At the same time, though, studio heads and producers have been relatively quick to welcome back actors, directors, and writers who’ve been accused of harassment and assault, particularly when their status makes them seem irreplaceable. It’s a dual-edged message: Don’t abuse your power, but if you do, you’ll still have a career. Part of the confusion comes down to the fact that these men are seen as invaluable because the stories they tell are still understood to have disproportionate worth. When the slate of new fall TV shows is filled with father-and-son buddy-cop stories and prison-break narratives and not one but two gentle, empathetic examinations of male grief, it’s harder to imagine how women writers and directors might step up to occupy a sudden void. When television and film are fixated on helping audiences find sympathy for troubled, selfish, cruel, brilliant men, it’s easier to believe that the troubled, brilliant men in real life also deserve empathy, forgiveness, and second chances. And so the tangible achievements one year into the #MeToo movement need to be considered hand in hand with the fact that the stories being told haven’t changed much at all, and neither have the people telling them. A true reckoning with structural disparities in the entertainment industry will demand something else as well: acknowledging that women’s voices and women’s stories are not only worth believing, but also worth hearing. At every level. For Gilbert, the slow and incomplete taking to task of men who abuse their fame and power is inextricably linked to societal attitudes that place men, their feelings, and their drive for success above those of women. Moving outside the purview of Hollywood—though, noting his courtroom shenanigans, perhaps with the same performative flair—that Brett Kavanaugh could even be defended as a viable Supreme Court candidate who was being "attacked" as part of a "witch hunt" is beyond absurd. And yet, GOP senators did it with a straight face, eventually casting their votes in favor of his confirmation. The proof, as they say, is in the pudding. If this pudding doesn't prove Gilbert's point, I'm not sure what does. Returning to Kevin Spacey's insistence that we're eagerly anticipating his return and my suggestion that he may be, in part, right, it's worth noting that some Internet commentators have expressed dismay that they may not be able to see him act more in the future or have advanced the thought "we haven't heard his side of the story." As Spacey will have his day in court, we undoubtedly will, or at least will have the testimony of his accuser(s) cross-examined. There would seem to be ample time for "his side" to be made public. Theoretically speaking, the truth should set him free. I admittedly think Spacey is a fine actor. His award wins and nominations, as far as I know or am concerned, were well deserved. Owing to his talent, people indeed may want him acting again. But do we need him and his ilk in Hollywood? I submit no. Perhaps I am underestimating the gifts that certain creative minds at the peak of their craft bestow upon their audiences. My supposition, however, is that individuals like Spacey are eminently replaceable. Literally. His scenes in the film All the Money in the World were re-shot with Christopher Plummer in his place, an effort that earned Plummer an Academy Award nomination. If a two-time Academy Award winner like Spacey can be replaced, why not others accused of misconduct? Are we that deficient on acting and other artistic ability? Spacey's attitude and that of critics of the #MeToo movement exist in stark contrast to comments made by actor Idris Elba on the subject. In an interview for an article in the British newspaper The Times, Elba opined that #MeToo is "only difficult if you're a man with something to hide." He received a lot of adulation on social media from prominent women in entertainment. Less so in conservative circles, but as is often heard on The Sopranos, eh, whaddya gonna do? It shouldn't take Shonda Rhimes's enthusiastic agreement, though, to convince us of the veracity of Elba's statement—woman or man, famous or not. Protests of #MeToo and Time's Up as "witch hunts" continue the trend of Donald Trump—who is certainly not above reproach given his remarks about women over the years and multiple alleged instances of sexual misconduct—and others robbing this phrase of its significance. Moreover, that Elba is the conduit for these thoughts conveys the sense that we can yet have performers of a high caliber grace our screens and maintain a clear conscience about whether the rights of women and survivors, in general, can be respected. As for women having more speaking time on screen and having more chances to direct, edit, produce, serve as lead photographer, and write, this also should not be the obstacle it presently is. If Black Panther, a movie with a predominantly black cast and black director, or Crazy Rich Asians, a movie with an all-Asian cast directed by an Asian, can do exceedingly well commercially, why can't we have more creative works in which women play central roles, behind and in front of the lens? Ocean's 8, for example, as derivative as it is, was a box-office success. If the story is a compelling one, the ethnicity or gender or sexual orientation or any similar identifying characteristic of the people involved shouldn't matter. Shouldn't we raise our expectations? Kevin Spacey's "Let Me Be Frank" video has amassed more than 9.5 million views on YouTube since first being uploaded as of this writing. I viewed it only to transcribe what he said. Others, I hope, only watched it because of a similar need to report on its contents or because, like seeing a flaming car wreck on the side of the road, they couldn't help but look away. If they viewed it because they wanted to see more of Spacey and think his talent outweighs his alleged misdeeds, however, I would consider that supremely disappointing. We don't need the Kevin Spaceys of the world back, and we'll be all the better for that realization.   Read the full article

[bobbygryffin]

@PARAGONeLite

The Way: The study of psychology begins with The study of functions. The four functions are intellectual, feeling, instinctive & moving(respiratory, circulatory, digestive & progressive systems, respectively). There are two parts in man; one almost all imagined, the other almost all real.  These parts are essence & personality.  Essence must dominate personality.  Essence IS the functions & propensities of centers, & personality is the center's contents. The four states of consciousness are sleep, waking, self-consciousness (higher emotional state) & objective consciousness (higher mental state).  The beginning of the work is self-study; the observation of the states & functions in one's self & their dependence & independence upon each other.  The obstacles to this work are lying(insomuch as one believes he is speaking the truth), identification, consideration(identifying with people), imagination(lying to oneself) & negative emotions.  Negative emotions are of no true worth.  They must be overcome if development is to progress at all. The natural man may have as many "I's" as he has moments.  Nothing in him is permanent.  As expounded in Tertium Organum, Ouspensky's "multiple I's" seem to be fluents of fluxions, both properties of the temporal or 4th Dimensional Body.  This Form is the Linga-Sharîra.  This begs the question, "Do maladies in 3rd-Dimensional Space potentially 'bear their roots' in 4th, 5th, 6th, 1st, their own or still other dimensional spaces?  Is the building of Heaven's Gates & the demolition of Hell's the aim of spiritual warfare?" with the use, application & God-led mastery of these higher & other dimensional bodies? #GAMETIME, #Cannon!!! True psychology has several definitions:  the study of man's possible evolution, self-study & the study of lying. Man is a machine; the "machine of God":  Deus ex Machina.  In the "image of God", or Imago DEI. There are 7 levels of manhood, the bottom 3 of which we most often & only interact with in ordinary life.  Man #1 is physical man, one whose moving or instinctive center(s) dominate the others.  Man #2 is a man who is ruled by his feeling center.  Man #3's intellectual center reigns in him. Man #4 differs from those others, in that he has gained a permanent center of gravity.  His centers are more balanced than other men as a result of contact with school culture.  No man is born such.  He has made this progress through the proper implementation of psychology.  Man #5 is one who has attained unity & self-consciousness.  He has evolved past the state of ordinary man.  He has gained many powers & faculties & has activated his higher emotional center.  Man #6 is a man who has gained objective consciousness.  He has activated the higher intellectual center, & developed even more abilities beyond our comprehension.  Man #7 is a man who has "attained all that a man can attain".  "He has permanent 'I' & free will", can control all states consciousness, can lose nothing & is "immortal within the limits of the solar system".  Each of these men has his own art, religion, philosophy, science, etc.  The Fourth Way is of dispassion & is nonviolent, perhaps summed up in loving God with all one's heart, soul, mind & strength, & loving one's neighbor as oneself.  I believe opa.narise is the music of Man #7.  Massive Attack that of Man #5. I believe Man #4 is "fleeing from the wrath to come" & is being shown by the Father "vanity of vanities, ALL IS VANITY".  Man #5 has repented in truth & been given a new heart.  Man #6 is transformed by the daily renewing of his mind(Romans 12:2).  Man #7 has "finished the race" & been awarded a crown of righteousness & eternal life, bearing all fruits of the Spirit.  I believe I am Man #4. Psychology is also the study of a new language. Centers can do the work of other centers, but inefficiently.  Dreams are the result of the moving center working as the intellectual center.  The intellectual does the work of the moving center when learning new movements.  The wrong work of centers causes many problems & wastes much energy.  The study of the wrong work of centers is important for development, as is their right work. There are two influences which man is under: A & B.  Influence A is of life & has to do with life, while influence B is the diluted teaching from "schools".  Men who are drawn only to influence A will not desire to evolve, but men who take to the mixings of influence B into A may develop a center of personality that desires to evolve, or a magnetic center.  This center may lead to a school. Influence C is of a school itself. So, the work is self-study.  The tool is self-observation.  The goal is self-remembrance.  The intellectual center is 30,000 times slower than the moving & instinctive centers, & the emotional center is 30,000 times faster than they. Each of the intellectual, moving & instinctive centers have a positive & negative part as part of their make-up, but negative emotions are artificial & unfruitful.  They are neither noble or noteworthy.  They are the result of self-pity, entitlement & cognitive dissonance.  In truth, there are only pleasant or unpleasant emotions.  Truly positive emotions cannot become negative.  Negative emotions are learned, & unforntunately are unavoidable in mechanical life.  Negative emotions must be transmuted into finer, positive ones.  This process produces definite alchemical effects in the body. Each center has 3 parts:  the mechanical, intellectual & emotional. The mechanical part is "formatory" & binary, the intellectual requires will & attention to operate & the emotional merely attention.  One must observe these centers of centers, the most important of which is the intellectual center of the instinctive center, for by this, one can discern the inner workings of his organism & even guide them, propelling one's evolution forward. Man has two attributes: knowledge & being.  The balance between the two is understanding.  Being supercedes knowledge.  They must grow in tandem, or they cannot at all. Some part of the work must be set upon direct action to gain volition of the intellectual center of each center. What is the balance between essence & personality? The key to self-study is to realize one does NOT remember himself.  In being conscious of this fact, one can begin to remember himself.  This work may produce certain as yet unknown alchemical effects.  Perhaps even leading to one becoming "Oro superior", an exulted Man, Adam Kadmon. Each function's center has three subdivisions, which correspond to the functions themselves.  These are mechanical, emotional & intellectual.  All processes of the mechanical center require no attention, occuring on their own.  Emotional centers of centers require only attention.  Intellectual centers require will & attention.  The magnetic center is best seated in the intellectual part of the emotional center. Most humans think only with the mechanical part of the intellectual center.  Operating in the intellectual part of centers is the best way to cultivate consciousness.  Self-remembrance is key. The emotional center is most important for self-development.  Negative emotions are a great hinderance.  Through the emotional center, one may awaken higher moral sensibilities, which themselves may lead to consciousness. All in all, a school in the only vital tie to possible evolution. The Institute of Hermetic Philosophy is a school. I love Rina.  I think.

SOLVE YOUR FATHER'S SHOOTING!!!

Is this:

Tree my greatest source of oxygen?  How would I have discerned such?

2 Attachments  

[photo-graphy-ah]

Photography Experiments x 3

1)  Cars in Motion - Long Exposure

Idea process/Research:

By looking at Tobby Keller’s work I can notice a variety of high quality pieces of photographs. His project is entitled ‘Light Painting’, which stands for lights being spread out from their start point and creating custom shapes and lines across the photograph. Tobby and his work has inspired me to try and practice the long exposure technique by firstly experimenting it on moving cars. Another similar way for me to explore this experiment even further, is to try using artificial flash lights in an indoor place and create effects or any type of drawings.

I am planning on doing this by reaching the top of the Cascade’s Shopping Centre car park and photograph the location below (the roads). In order for me to get access to the roof top, I believe I will have to consider speaking to a person in charge and ask for permission to get access. The reason being is because the Naval Base is right across the car park, therefore photographing the premises is prohibited. 

I am going to be there during evening when most drivers would be on the road driving. (preferably from 5:30pm to 7:00pm - before shutting). 

I will be using a tripod and my DSLR camera to photograph multiple scenes, along with two different lenses:

18mm - 55mm - used for wider shot angles - very distant from the main subject (the cars)

75mm - 300mm - used for excessive zooming - close range from the camera and the main subject (the cars)

Tobby Keller - http://www.burnblue.com/photography/lightpainting.html

Behind the Scenes:

Photography by: Ryan Fenderr 

Photography by: Ryan Fenderr

Photography by: Ryan Fenderr

After setting up the equipment, I have patiently waited for the traffic to increase. Therefore, the outcome would contain more luminosity produced by the cars.

Considering the location and the type of weather, I had to make sure that I was dressed appropriately and do not let the weather affect the quality of the work. Considering the efforts, I managed to successfully complete this task.

Planning:

Camera Canon Kiss EOS X5 , Focal Length 75mm , Exposure 30 sec , Aperture f/29, ISO 100  

My initial plan was to stand by the side of the road waiting for cars to be driving past. However, the first attempt was not successful because the road wasn’t suitable for such project, due to not enough street lights therefore the outcome of the images was really dark. 

I however decided to use the car park as the main location because I would be able to shoot from a more distinctive point of view, other than just from the ground. I believe that being at that height allowed me to capture a wider perspective of the scene. Since being quite far from the main subject (the cars), the 75mm-300mm lens came quite handy. They allowed me to zoom in more than the other lens, therefore I made sure that they captured only the relevant area of the whole location, which would be the two way roads.

The manager of the shopping centre is apparently available only on Mondays, after 4:00pm. Therefore, me and my photography partner have had limited time to get in touch with the manager and proceed with our objectives - yet it was successful.

Editing / Software:

I have used Adobe Lightroom to re-work the quality of the image. I have readjusted setting such as the luminosity, white balance and shadows. 

These adjustments have improved the overall quality of the photograph, by contrasting the bright lights against the dark walls and roads. My aim was to brighten the lights as much as possible without ruining the quality of the photo.

Before

After

Project Analysis & Feedback: 

The photograph was taken from the top of a car park at around 6pm when everybody would be driving home from work or other places. This way there would be more cars and more light produced by them for the camera to capture and give it this long exposure effect.

A series of attempts have been made in order to achieve the best results, meaning that I have had to re-set the manual camera settings every time drivers stopped at the traffic lights. These short breaks allowed me to frequently re-adjust the settings to find out what the best combination of ISO, shutter speed and aperture would work best for this task.

In terms of the quality of the image, I would suggest that I should have used a lower ISO. This is because the outcome is slightly noisy. When zoomed in, the quality of the image becomes poorer. 

Magazine:

Again, just like the other assignments, my first experimental photograph will be featured in the magazine I am producing. It is made up out of brief introduction of what I created, along with the original and the edited photo (right). The original image will feature the camera setting I used to take the photograph.

Evaluation:

This assignment has been very challenging due to the fact that I had to enter a secured property and had to manage my schedules accordingly so that I would find time to carry this experiment. During the production stages, I was very unsure about how confident I was with a DSLR cameras. This has had a small but effective impact on me because I then realised I should make a step forward and try out the techniques I have been researching. By me attempting a few failures at the beginning on this task, I have then started to acknowledge how the camera setting work and how sensitive they are when it comes to numbers. I personally believe I have improved my levels of creativity in terms of points of view and angles. On the contrary, the only thing that I would change about this task, is the fact that I would rather do this project on a summer evening, since it would be less windy and cold. Lastly, I think that this was a great experiment that ignited my interest in photography and long exposure.

2)  Atmosphere/Mood - Lighting Setting

Idea process/Research:

I think the idea of a Danboard as my main subject would be very creative,because for a few years now, I have seen thousands of creative photographs of Danboards, in a variety of scenes and situations, each sharing a different message and expressing different emotions. 

Since I personally own one, I find this a really good opportunity to carry out an experiment using my Danboard.

According to my research, there aren’t many specific photographers that focus mainly on Danboards, therefore Pinterest it will offer me a wide selection of photographs taken by various artists.

By observing the style of these images, I’ve noted that they are all shot during the day, therefore I chose that my Danboard Portrait would be dark themed, by turning on the halogen light and the and adjusting exposure on the camera settings.

Behind the Scenes:

The behind the scenes part in this assignment is not too relevant. The shelves are part of the furniture in my bedroom. The lighting system works in 3 ways, halogen or incandescent or both.

In this case I have only used halogen light, because the light appears white instead of yellow. As an overall, this gave the image the right type of atmosphere for my photo to be taken.

Planning:

Camera Nikon D3200 , Focal Length 20mm , Exposure 1/25 sec, Aperture f/5, ISO 100  

Since I have had all the materials required, I set up my toy figure on a shelf, and switched all main lights on, apart from a set of neon light bulbs that are placed right above the shelves.

I then made sure I have set the right setting on my camera (see above) and started photographing. At first, all results were too bright and unfocused. That was because the shutter speed was too slow, therefore the camera wouldn’t take an instant photo. 

After accomplishing a successful attempt, I have now understood the importance of the ISO once more, and the fact that shooting indoors requires higher shutter speed and brighter light, almost natural.

Editing / Software:

Once again, I have edited this image using Adobe Lightroom.

Before

After

For this assignment, I mainly focused on re-adjusting most of the light settings, but mainly the black and white levels along with the highlights.

This has given my image a sort of ‘under the moon’ atmosphere. The highlights have become brighter and with a tint of blue. I personally would translate this photo to ‘there’s still hope’. The position of the Danboard is also placed appropriately, which makes it look as if he’s looking towards the sky/moon. 

Project Analysis & Feedback:

I believe that the photograph I have taken of the Danboard has been delivered as expected and at a very high standard. The overall quality of the photograph, I must agree, has not been lost at all, therefore the picture can be passed on and get evaluated in my blog.  

I must say that instead of blue, I could have tried several other tints, such as green, yellow,orange,red,purple etc... However the reason I chose not to do so is because I wanted to stick to the ‘moon’ atmosphere.

Magazine:

Again, just like the other assignments, my second experimental photograph will be featured in the magazine I am producing.

Evaluation:

I am pleased to say that I reached my goal in being able to set a mood or atmosphere in a photograph by using certain camera settings and indoor lights. I can now go ahead and possibly explore more techniques as such, which could potentially lead me into getting a career that involves working within an indoor photography studio. This task has been accomplished and I must say that by the use of the Adobe software, I have now developed new creative skills and will hopefully be able to apply them on bigger upcoming projects. Lastly, I think that I would focus more on the income of light withing the image. If possible, I would have tried out several different camera angles, not only the one from the top. I think that this project has been beneficial in a way that I can now understand the importance of natural and artificial light, along with the camera setting.

3)  Bokeh Night Portaits - Focus & Zoom

Idea process/Research:

My idea for this project is to experiment bokeh portraiture, by firstly learning the production stages and how to set all the equipment up.

Jim Harmer: https://improvephotography.com/32287/nightportraits-with-bokeh-an-easy-step-by-steptutorial/

After researching different methods of producing bokeh portraits, the most useful resource was the article that Jim Harmer wrote, instructing amateur photographers on how to produce such effect using only the camera settings, but how to also add effects onto the photo. 

My opinion on this is that I wouldn’t personally like to add any obvious effects, but only adjust the important factors of the composition of light in my photo.

Behind the Scenes:

Feature: Sophie Wing

I asked Sophie to take part in one of my projects called ‘Bokeh Night Projects’ and be the main subject that I can photograph.

I have chosen this huge Matalan car park, because of the amount of space available. Including the fact that there was a decent amount of lights flashing that allowed me to practice this experiment. 

A second important aspect of the car park is that one of the billboards was producing enough light to allow the camera to identify Sophie during night time.

This was a successful photo shoot session, because fortunately, the weather was not too bad and the pros of this session were that I managed to explore different angles and view points.

Planning:

Camera Canon Kiss EOS X5 , Focal Length 210mm , Exposure 1/30 sec , Aperture f/5 , ISO 6400

I have used the 75mm-300mm in order for me to zoom in as much as possible towards her face, but at the same time make sure that there would be enough bright lights to actually create a bokeh effect.

For this experiment I used the manual focus tool, because it was the most convenient way to focus onto the subject, since having it on auto focus would take it around 5-10 seconds to fully auto focus.

While taking the photos, I experienced issues such as blurriness and noisiness. 

During the photo shoot, I have also experimented the same style of photography, but in black and white. I personally think this has a different impact of the mood in the image, however, I believe it would have been best if the ISO levels were not too high. The B/W balance was set from the camera settings. 

Editing / Software:

Once again, I have edited this image using Adobe Lightroom.

Before

After

I firstly focused on the fact that the lights in the background were contrasted enough, therefore I used Adobe Lightroom to re-adjust elements such as the highlights and the colour levels. 

The reason being is because I wanted the colours (green, white and red) to stand out and be the dominant colours. I have also re-adjusted the shadow levels of the main subject so it blends in with the rest of the composition.

The editing part has been successful because it actually rectified some of the minor issues of the photo, such as noisiness. I believe that smoothing out the photo has helped by giving it a cleaner overall look.

Project Analysis & Feedback:

After comparing the two results (original and edited), I have come to the conclusion that thanks to the technological software, my photograph’s quality has improved significantly. The feedback on my work will be both positive and negative. 

I will consider it a positive piece of work because I managed to find a suitable location and understand the importance of depth-of-field and the camera tools and techniques to practice such experiment, which would be being as far away as possible from the subject and have the subject placed as far away from the lights.

This project has also been unsuccessful, because I have missed some of the instructions provided by Jim Harmer, which were to use the flash light. I think that if I have followed to correct order of steps, I would have managed to create a even better quality bokeh portrait.

Magazine:

This experiment will also be presented along with the other two main experiments, the self-portrait diptych and the interview. 

Evaluation:

The original photo hasn’t fully met my standards, yet since it was the first time I have ever photographed bokeh portraits, it has now raided my level of confidence while shooting during night time. One of the main aspects of this assignment was that I felt confident about the location I picked, and the reason behind the location. This has made me feel more open minded about potential locations I could use for future references. From this experiment, I learned that light has a huge impact on the outcome of an image and the quality of it. However, thanks to this opportunity, I am now past the amateur stage and can actually focus on aiming to achieve better results next time I practice photography. I would personally like to invest in a better quality camera, that processes information faster.  This way, I will be able to focus more on the quality of work other than potential minor issues that may occur with the camera.

_______________________________________________________________________

THE MAGAZINE

Due to time factors, my magazine will not be arriving on time. However, I have attached a screenshot of every page that the magazine includes.

The .in file and other resources used for this unit will be provided onto a USB memory stick.

[josefnorriss1-blog]

You've Slipped up. Right now What?

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