#but i am not going to grasp at straws to justify that move he made at monaco

[silentreigns]

This Esteban discourse has made me realize that I'm not watching the same F1 as other people.

[whatifxwereyou]

The Oncoming Storm Part 17: Blackout

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

Oh no, you made things complicated. Lol. I'm having more fun writing Kung Lao than should be allowed. Hopefully you guys enjoy! And yes, I know this is tropey but I also don't care LOL, it's a fun trope.

Part 16 Part 18 Chapter Index

The hotel was surprisingly crowded. You weren’t sure what you’d expected but you hadn’t expected it to be bustling with tourists. There was a festival happening, you should have expected this. A bit outdated, the hotel was still clean and inviting. A welcome reprieve from the stone walls of Raiden’s Temple. You’d arrived early and still had to wait in line. Raiden had ‘transported’ you there which had been a wild experience in and of itself. You’d walked into a bolt of lightning and had come out in a quiet alley unseen.

It had been so long since you’d walked amongst the average civilian that it felt straight up bizarre to be walking along the streets of the modest city, especially in your hanfu. It was all you’d had, after all. No one looked at you twice other than to greet you politely. Most of the other folks staying at the hotel for the festival were couples on a romantic getaway which had made it instantly weird to be waiting in line with Kung Lao to check into your respective rooms.

Thankfully, the line moved quickly and once you’d checked in, you dropped off the few belongings you’d brought with you. The room was tiny with a single bed, a desk taking up nearly the rest of the room. Atop the desk was a television and beneath that was an old, ancient mini fridge. It would do well enough. This was the most technology you’d seen in weeks. Afterwards, you’d found Kung Lao and told him that you would meet him in an hour. You’d made note of a clothing store down the road and wanted to see if there was anything worth buying.

He, of course, decided to join you. No one trusted you alone anymore. He didn’t say it like that, but you knew that Raiden had told both him and Liu to keep an eye on you. You felt like a ticking time bomb.

Once at the shop you were disappointed to find that it sold mostly yukatas and kimonos. You supposed it was better than the flowy hanfu. At least you could pick out something that would be your own rather than something that had been handed to you.

Boy, you missed the internet.

You picked out a few pieces that you could work with a bit easier. Most of the hanfu were dresses or long flowy robes. Here you’d been able to find a few women’s kimonos that had hakama pants as an option. You had never been so excited to see pants in your life. You didn’t need the whole kimono, just the pants. Some constricted around the ankles while others were left open. You grabbed both and were extremely pleased.

“Sometimes, you’re a very simple woman.” Kung Lao had patted you on the back when you’d showed him the pants in excitement. You had to agree. In that moment you were very simple. Pants had brought you joy. You’d wandered away from him after that to find a few tops, belts, and jackets. Thankfully, you’d had your wallet on you when this had all begun so you had some money on you. In Raiden’s Temple, money hadn’t been necessary, so you were happy to spend it on the few things you did need.

They weren’t jeans and a t-shirt or even cute dresses, but it felt like a step in the right direction toward feeling like yourself again. You hadn’t realized how much it had bothered you until then.

Kung Lao had purchased just enough for the day in flattering red and black. That seemed to be his aesthetic though you could picture him in blues too for some reason. Then you made your way back to the hotel and to your rooms on the top floor. You had gotten rooms next to each other. You went to get changed and were happy with what you saw even in the half mirror on the desk. You stood on the bed to get a better look. Black hakama pants and a grayish-lavender and black top with a white sash tied around your middle. You then pulled your hair back in a ponytail and admired yourself in the mirror. Even though your hair was a mess you looked much more like yourself.

Your white roots had grown out a couple of inches now. It didn’t look bad, but it definitely didn’t look like it was on purpose either.

Oh well! You jumped off the bed and then left the room to find Kung Lao waiting for you, leaned against the wall next to your door. He had one foot propped against the wall, arms folded across his chest, hat obscuring his face as it often did. The clothing he’d bought wasn’t too terribly different from what he usually wore with the notable exception that he had sleeves which was truly a shame. He tilted his head up just enough to greet you before stepping away from the wall. You hadn’t left him waiting that long and yet he acted as though he’d been there for ages.

You noticed the jade ring from his usual outfit was woven into his outfit with the sash around his waist laced through it. It was kind of sweet that he always seemed to have it on him.

“Is that significant in some way? Special?” You asked, gesturing to the ring. He looked down at the ring in surprise and then nodded down the hall. You walked slowly through the hotel toward the stairwell.

“It’s a relic from my ancestor, the Great Kung Lao.”

“Oh, wow. About that, though… I��ve heard people mention him, but I had never heard the name before you. I know that he’s of some importance which has made you important…”

“I am incredibly important, thank you.”

“Yes, very. Keep talking.”

“He was the first champion of Mortal Kombat who had come from the Shaolin Order of Light. He defeated Shang Tsung and won the tournament.” Kung Lao seemed as though he had told this story a hundred times but was still proud to tell it. It was oddly sweet. “He was champion of Earthrealm for fifty years before the tournament was corrupted and he was killed. Even so, he is held in great reverence. He was a remarkable warrior.”

“Is that why you have a dragon mark?”

“Yes, that is why I have the mark. It’s also why I was sent away so young. I’d already been training long before I’d met you. When I left it was because it was time for me to go live at the temple.”

You stopped walking before the stairs and he stopped just in front of you and turned to face you. “Then why were you so bad when we would pretend to fight?”

“I held back. I wanted you to have fun too. Besides, it felt nice to be normal back then.” He laughed and you caught up to him and started down the stairs. “I was thinking that we should come up with a story as to why we’re here.”

“Should we?”

“Obviously. We need a reason to be here.”

“Other than the reason we actually have?”

“And when a bunch of strangers ask you why we’re here, are you going to tell them the real reason we’re here?”

“Point taken.”

“We need a cover.”

“Do we really though? I don’t remember ever having to justify my actions that intensely to strangers before. We can just be visiting.” You jumped down the last two stairs to the landing between flights. Pants felt great. Kung Lao seemed to either be overthinking your trip or grasping at straws to get to some end point. Or he was going to cause trouble. You would never forget the look that both Raiden and Liu had given him on their way out.

“I’ve been asked three times what brings me to Mount Osore during the festival. I came up with a lie on the spot but I’m no terribly proud of it or anything.”

“And what is this lie you came up with?”

“I said I was here on a date. Everyone else seems to be here on a date, so it was the first thing that jumped to mind.”

You rolled your eyes at him and he laughed in surprise, waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs. You caught up to him. “Really, Kung Lao?”

“What? It’s the first thing I could think of! The people asking me were on a date and so I stuttered that I was too.”

“Kung Lao, no.”

“Come on, Y/N.”

“Can’t we just say we’re visiting and that it’s no one’s business?” You walked into the lobby and he hurried in front of you and took your hands, clasping them between his. You sighed. “Would you…” The lobby was very crowded.

“I hate you so much right now.”

“Would you,” he continued, talking over you, “do me the honor of going on a cute little pretend date with me so that we can sneak into an ancient Buddhist Temple built within the caldera of a volcano so that we can uncover an ancient and possibly cursed artifact together?” You stared at him in disbelief, but it was taking every ounce of your energy not to burst into laughter. He was such a dork. “I will get down on my knees and ask you again if you don’t answer me.” He got down on his knees and you broke. Laughing, you pulled your hands free, grabbed his arms and tugged.

“Oh my god, get up, Kung Lao.”

“It’s a great cover, Y/N.”

“It is an exactly okay cover. But fine. I haven’t done something terribly embarrassing in a while, so I guess I’m overdue for this.” You agreed at least. He was right. It was a good cover considering this whole place was filled with couples. Besides, if it got Kung Lao to drop the subject then you would be happy to agree. The whole display had made your cheeks burn.

“Embarrassing, huh? Come on, Y/N. It’s not such a bad thing, is it? Could be worse looking guys to end up with, right?” He walked at your side again, making a teasing kissy face and leaning close to you. You leaned away with an awkward and nervous laugh.

“If you keep doing things like that then you are going to get smacked.”

“Worth it.” He held the door open for you and together you left the hotel. Outside a bus waited to take tourists to the shrine for the festival. People were already loading onto it. Kung Lao offered you his hand and you looked to him skeptically. He grabbed your hand anyway and then you walked onto the bus. “You’re going to have to get better at pretending.” You found seats near the back of the bus and even as you sat, he didn’t let go of your hand. You felt incredibly silly. Yet, it also made your heart flutter. As much as you had given him a hard time, you also happened to think it was an incredibly sweet and kind of wholesome idea.

Funny enough, you had thought of this moment before but in a much different context. Maybe in a life where your childhood together hadn’t ended so traumatically. Where you’d stayed close friends and he’d have asked you out when you were old enough. In a way, you felt like a silly schoolgirl, something you hadn’t felt in years.

If he hadn’t died then this was exactly where you would have wound up. Somehow that made you feel much less silly and you finally relaxed. Kung Lao pointed out several interesting things on the side of the road through the window and you listened to him chatter on until the bus was pulling up to the shrine. You waited for the others to get off the bus and then you walked ahead of Kung Lao and stepped off it.

The shrine was huge and it took your breath away.

So much so that it made you dizzy.

A river flowed before you then beneath a red bridge. To the left of the bridge there was a white beach lining the bluest and most artificial-looking water that you had ever seen in your life. Rocks were piled alongside the shore in strange formations. Beyond the bridge there was a stone path that led to the shrine in the distance, and it was lined with old lanterns. You walked to the edge of the stone path where the bus had dropped you off to try and get a better look at the water.

That was a teal color you had never seen before in nature. In your mind’s eye, you recalled your vision and it made your stomach drop. You took a step further and were suddenly grasped around the waist and pulled away from the edge of the stone. Then Kung Lao looped his arm in yours. “You looking to take a dip?”

You hadn’t realized that you had almost walked right into the river. You hadn’t been thinking. The water had bewitched you, it seemed. You needed to get a closer look at it but now that you’d been turned away from it, the feeling had gone. From there you could smell the acidity in the humid air. That was likely why it was so blue. “Pay more attention, okay?”

You weren’t sure what to say to him. It was surreal being there. This place was exactly the same as it had been in your vision but also years, possibly centuries had passed since then. The shrine buildings themselves were much larger than they had been then. They were even a different color. Your head was spinning as you tried to take in everything at once. It was an overload. You grabbed Kung Lao’s arm to try and ground yourself. You felt as though you were floating and the wind would take you away.

Kung Lao led you onto the bridge and at its apex you sat and watched the water trickle beneath it. He helped you lean your elbows against the railing and then placed a supportive hand on your back.

“It’s okay. Take a second.” He seemed to realize that you were having a difficult time. How could you explain that you were struggling to wrap your mind around being in a place where you’d had such a vivid and violent vision? You were grateful for him. Your heart was racing and you watched the water flowing beneath the bridge, over the rocks. Your stomach had dropped. It felt as though you were intimately familiar with this place, as though you had spent years there, but you had never once seen it before. At the same time, everything felt completely new. Your brain was waging war with itself. “You okay?”

“Yeah, this is just… surreal.” You were finally able to collect your thoughts enough to talk.

“You went a bit gray. Figured you needed a minute.”

“I appreciate it.”

“So, where do we go?”

“There’s a well inside one of those buildings.” You nodded to your right where the shrine was at the end of the stone path.

“Vague, but okay.” He peered to the right and then pointed. “It’s off limits.” From there you could see a series of ropes that blocked off the building from visitors. “Great.”

“It’s crowded enough here. I’m sure we can sneak in just fine.”

“Of course.” He leaned next to you on his forearms, hands clasped together. “This place is a little spooky.”

“It is. I read a brochure from the hotel lobby. The monks here believe that it’s the gateway to hell. The river beneath us is supposed to represent the Sanzu.” You pointed below you. It was a little spooky, you supposed, but it was also incredibly beautiful.

“I read about that. I also read that there are holy water bathhouses and volcanic cauldrons with crazy colored water.”

“Yeah, and a lake of blood.”

“I hate that, Y/N.” He stuck his tongue out at the idea. You laughed. He was too funny. He had this way of making you feel at least even about the big and often uncomfortable things sometimes. Other times he drove your anxiety through the roof. Thankfully, this wasn’t one of those moments. “What do you say that we get to sneaking in and find this thing so that we can have a bit of fun for the rest of the day, huh?”

“That sounds nice.”

He took your hand once again and you walked over the bridge and along the stone path. The lanterns were decorated for the festival along with the rest of the shrine. Monks walked about, greeting visitors and answering questions while explaining various attractions. Most visitors, and there were many, were straying from the temple in favor of the white sands or the volcanic cauldrons. You and Kung Lao walked until you reached the ropes before the shrine. You stood there for a time in the shade, waiting for your moment to sneak in unseen.

“Coast is clear,” you whispered and turned to keep watch while Kung Lao snuck into the shrine. Once inside, you waited for your opportunity and followed him. Inside, the building was ancient but to you it seemed oddly brand new. It wasn’t the same shrine that you remembered from your vision. Much had changed since that wicked man had been there.

No one was waiting for you inside the small entryway or in the room beyond. That seemed like the central room, with space for prayer and a dip in the center for dining. The floor was lined with tatami mats and the ceiling was high, windows on the second floor spattering sunlight throughout the room. Halls branched off in each direction and you suddenly felt overwhelmed with choice. It had seemed so much simpler in your vision.

“Lead the way but be cautious. We’re not alone.” Kung Lao spoke in a hushed tone, staying close to you but alert.

“Yeah.” You started through the room and down the closest hallway, checking to see if it was empty first. Kung Lao took your hand and you urged him along with you. Your stomach was in knots and his hand there continued to keep you grounded. Several times you encountered monks going about their business and you had to duck into other rooms or sneak back around corners. You somehow managed to remain unseen, having to huddle together in strange spaces and hide in enclosed areas. It would have been fun had it not been so damn frustrating.

None of it made sense! As you turned down another hall, you sighed in frustration. You’d wound up there twice already. Your gut kept sending you there and back to the central room but there was no indication that it was the same place that the vision had taken place in. Kung Lao suddenly pulled you back into the side room and held you against the wall near the door. There were footsteps in the hall, and you held your breath until they had passed. You made to go back into the hall, but Kung Lao pinned you in place.

“You’re leading us in circles.”

“I know. It’s hard to explain. It’s like someone’s moving everything around while we’re walking. It doesn’t make any sense. I think I’m going one way and then we’re back to where we started.” It was making you sick to your stomach, as a matter of fact.

“You can do this. Just focus.”

“Kung Lao, you have no idea what’s going on in my head right now. I am focusing.”

“You’re right I don’t. So, tell me.”

“I’m not sure that I have the words to explain that the room we’re looking for should be right around the corner but then it isn’t.” It really was disorienting to expect to be in one place and end up in another. “It shouldn’t have been this far back but also this place is ten times bigger than it had been in my vision.”

“I need you to try still.”

You were mixed up. It was like someone was moving rooms in your head and before you knew it, you had once again led him back into the central room which made both you and Kung Lao groan in annoyance.

“Oh good. We’re back. I was worried.”

“It should be right here, but everything looks so different!”

“It’s okay, Y/N. We’ll figure it out.”

“It’s not okay, Kung Lao. It should be right here. I wish I could just show you.” The frustration was radiating off you, you were sure. “I can’t-”

“Is someone there?” A voice from somewhere down the hall called and footsteps approached from a distance.

“Fu…” Kung Lao whispered and then grabbed you and searched for somewhere to hide. The closest hall was too far. You were caught. “Don’t panic.” He urged you to the wall with surprising care and you made a sound of surprise. What did he mean don’t panic? You were instantly panicking. Don’t panic? What was wrong with him? He leaned against you and tilted your chin up and his head toward you like he was going to kiss you, obscuring you both with his hat. “Act natural, Y/N.” His lips brushed against your cheek, just next to your lips. “I swear, you’re terrible at this.” You were stiff as a board, so he had every right to scold you, but also he was pretending to kiss you so what the hell were you supposed to do with that? What was natural in this case?

You gave him a swift but soft punch in the gut and he laughed against your cheek in return. That made you feel a bit better. He lifted his head just enough and you peered toward the door nearby, waiting for the monk that would inevitably kick you out. You could have had time to hide at this rate. Kung Lao’s lips were pressed against your cheek and they were soft even if it was just in a mock kiss close enough to your lips to look like you were sneaking a private moment.

You peered around the corner, thinking maybe you were in the clear. Kung Lao did the same and when you turned back to tell him that maybe the monk had decided to turn away, you found him extremely close to you. Intimately so. His dark eyes were serious and that always scared you for whatever reason. He tilted your chin toward him and all other thoughts slipped out of your brain.

What were you doing there? Where were you anyway? And why? Did it matter?

Not right now it didn’t.

His hand was on your chin, thumb brushing just below your lip, urging your lips to part just enough. You dared not breathe to break the tension of the moment. The sneaking and searching were gone completely from your thoughts. All that was left was the boy that you’d so admired in your youth grown into a handsome man with his hand against the wall at your side, the other inextricably lost below your lower lip.

His eyes were searching you, but you dared not look back into them for fear of what you might find, for fear of what it might reveal to you. His breath warmed your lips before they were on yours, parting them like a blossom in a soft and singular tender movement. A far superior kiss than the one he’d pretended to give you for the sake of saving your skin.

His lips were sweet. Not like sugar or candy, but sweet like the lingering taste of honey at the bottom of a cup of tea. It was a feeling of sweetness rather than a flavor. The moment was still and soft, his lips treasuring yours as though they were something sacred and special. They pulled back just enough from yours that you could feel your lips resisting to part as if they had minds of their own. His eyes were searching you still for answers and in wonder, but you didn’t dare meet them. Yet, you could feel his gaze and beneath your fingertips, that had betrayed you and now rested on his chest, you could feel his heart beating almost as hard as yours.

His breath graced your lips again, but you dared not breathe. You wanted to say something, even just a whisper of his name, but no words would come and you sat there, lips parted in waiting, avoiding his eyes, hand clutching the cloth at his chest, unsure of where you even were or why. This was Kung Lao.

Your Kung Lao.

A soft sigh escaped his lips as they were on yours again, but the softness was gone, though there was something about them that was still sweet even so. The force of his kiss pressed you against the wall, leaving you no escape- not that you wanted to escape. This was a moment that the ten-year-old inside your head had both longed for and not understood. You would have been a fool not to return his kiss, to taste and experience his lips the way that he was with yours and so you did. You kissed him and it was like a storm inside you beyond your control, building with electricity with every moment that passed.

There was a tender moment of acceptance where it felt as though time stood still. The soft moment faded quickly to frenzied desperation. There was no space left between you. Kung Lao was pressed against you, body warm and strong, hat nearly pushed back off of his head as he favored kisses over his possessions. Your hands moved up his chest, to the sides of his neck, fingertips then tangling in the short, messy tendrils of his hair at the base of his hairline. Your heart was doing flips, brain completely turned off to anything that had happened before this, even if somewhere in the distant reaches of your mind you could hear your instincts telling you that you had to stop. Whatever muting effect had been triggered in your brain had seemed to impact Kung Lao as well.

In one swift motion, fluid and strong, his hands were at your thighs and he had lifted you and pressed you against the wall, urging your legs to wrap around him. Your arms slipped naturally around his shoulders, pulling him closer between hot and increasingly sloppy kisses.

“Excuse me?”

Ah, yes. The monk. That was right.

You stopped kissing him.

Kung Lao’s lips finally pulled from yours and you could feel that your own were left slightly swollen from the desperation and passion of those precious few moments. When had you gotten so tangled up in each other? His chest was rising and falling against yours quickly and even though he’d pulled back his lips lingered close to yours as if to consider defying the monk further.

“My apologies.” The monk sounded embarrassed and bowed multiple times. “This area is closed to the public for the festival.”

You finally managed to regain your thoughts and untangled yourself from Kung Lao. You placed your feet on the ground and cleared your throat though your face was likely as red as his robes. He released you from his grip though he made no effort to step away. You swallowed the lump in the back of your throat and forced your brain to work.

“Is it?” You sounded surprised and were grateful that you had. You hadn’t expected to be a very good actor after all that, but you had been surprised to be interrupted and also confused as to where your mind had gone. It was more feigning innocence than lying. The monk nodded and looked as though he sincerely felt bad for interrupting you. “I’m sorry. We had no idea.”

“It’s no worries. I will happily escort you back to the festivities. Follow me.”

“Sorry about that.” Kung Lao, who you had never seen at a loss for words, seemed to finally regain himself. Just like that, he was back to the goof he’d been when you’d first arrived. “We were just sneaking off to have a private moment. Didn’t realize it was off limits.”

“It happens all the time. You’d be surprised.” The monk led you back through the central room and into the entryway. You elbowed Kung Lao as you followed the monk and he laughed beneath his breath. Once outside the monk bowed to you and then left you alone. You leaned your head back and stared into the sunny blue sky with a sigh. You needed a new plan. That one had gone off the rails in a way you hadn’t expected.

[gwendeeagain]

How I wrote the Demon fic

Don't draw devil's traps in janitors' closets is one of my longest fic series I’ve ever written, the most notable of which would be my Demon Gakushuu fic, if you’ve seen it. 

In partial response to an ask post (link here), I’ve decided to revisit my writing of this fic series! It was quite a long journey for me and I think it might be fun (?) sharing it with everyone. It’s rather long, so I’ll tag it under “keep reading”. 

FYI this thread contains major spoilers for the fic (and would honestly make no sense if you do not have prior knowledge of it).

I'll just refer to the first fic in the series as Books because it has an insanely long title. Subsequent fics are in order Burgundy, Potential, Illuminate, Illuminate rewrite, and Addendum. The main series is linked here.

Addendum is not linked in the main series for reasons I'll explain below. (link here)

Books

I think one of my biggest mistakes writing Books is my lack of plot planning, and subsequently how thematically inconsistent it became. I start off most my fics with a rough idea of how I want the story to end, and a few good themes to carry me through the plot as I write, but for Books I started off with the first chapter and nothing else. If you followed the notes of my fic you'd probably have witnessed my gradual descent into uncertainty and despair as the fic spiralled out of my control due to how wrong I felt it was becoming.

The fic took a surprisingly hard toll on me. I absolutely hated it. I refused to mark it as complete because I was dissatisfied with how it ended. I thought that everyone was out of character, that I lost the original ending and goal in my head, that it was thematically messy such that I couldn't justify any ending I tried to come up with, and I was just grasping at straws trying to make it work. 

The three things that bothered me were Gakushuu’s wings, Koro-Sensei and the introduction of Aina. When I started this fic I had plans to kill off Koro-Sensei at the end, however as the fic went on it became a celebration of life and learning how to live, and I knew I couldn’t bring myself to have any death in this fic... but at the same time I had Gakushuu find a lot of meaning in Koro-Sensei’s (to-be) death and I didn’t want to undo that. The wings were on a similar note, because Gakushuu spend 50k words finding out who he is and accepting that he was different. Turning that message around and making him go back to being “the same” ate me up inside, but at the same time I set-up the Demon Society in such a way that they would kill Gakushuu if he didn’t have his wings, and it’s supposed to be a happy ending, dammit! Aina was a particularly egregious case because I threw her (and Ikeda) in without any prior warning at the very last minute. I already had a whole world and setting planned for them which I never got to expand on in the previous chapters because I was so anxious about the other two points, and when it came down to the last chapter I realized I had no set-up for these two, who were supposed to be major players in the finale. Basically I was bad at writing.

Even now I cannot fully articulate why it was terrible for me, but compounded with my real-life stressors, I suppose it just became a bit too much to deal with. (This is a piece of fiction that I am creating from scratch. If I can't even get this under control, what hope do I have for everything else?)

((For come disclosure I was never formally diagnosed with any mental illness, but my parents are the sort of people who don’t believe mental illness exists anyways. I would say that I’ve had depressive episodes when I was younger and sometimes even now, but I’ve learnt my ways of dealing with them!))

Burgundy

Four days later I published Burgundy, a short sequel to Books, very shortly after only because I had already finished writing by that time. I actually do still have several half-finished follow ups at that point, but I couldn't bring myself to complete any sequels because I couldn't even come to terms with the ending of the main story. (Those wips are lost to me now.) I think I was hoping that forcing myself to publish the sequel would show me that it was "no big deal" that the main fic didn't end the way I hoped it would, but it succeeded in making me feel worse.

Potential

About one month after that I wrote Potential. It was a three parter, somehow a fifth of the length of the main fic, that followed Gakuhou's perspective prior to the events of Books. It was a prequel which imo made it easier to write, because I still couldn't move on from Books yet. I think writing Potential was me trying to remind myself why I wrote Books in the first place, to perhaps reignite my original passion for the series. It's kind of funny to think about in hindsight, and a little meta, because Potential was a lead up to the events in Books. It worked... a little bit, I think. I still couldn't reconcile my feelings for the whole thing, but through it I got to revisit the original premise that I fell in love with and expand more on worldbuilding it. I could reprise Aina and Ikeda and finally write about the world I planned to introduce them in in the first fic and give more context and insights to how the demon society was supposed to work.

Illuminate

Six months after Potential, I ran into a comment that said, "what would Gakuhou have done if Gakushuu had died?" And for some reason it struck an epiphany in me. After that I wrote Illuminate in one night, cried myself to sleep, waited one more night to proofread it, and then published it. Illuminate was an AU to the first three fics in the series, and it was a fic about grief and mourning. Spoiler alert: I straight up killed Gakushuu in that fic. And somehow that was what I needed.

I quite literally killed my first fic - I upended the terrible ending I hated from Books - everything I had been uncertain about at first? I killed it. Plot points didn't fit my original plans? Killed it. (When I reread the death scene, I... honestly think I was unnecessarily cruel. I must have really been out of my mind when I wrote it, hah!)

And then I wrote myself a love story about missing it, grieving it, and finally letting go of it. It was heart wrenching for me - I made Gakuhou cry about what he lost, what could have been, what he realized he loved, and at the end of it all he could say "I love you and I can move on from you." And I did!

Illuminate (Rewrite)

Illuminate Rewrite, one year later, was me revisiting Illuminate to reflect on myself where I've come with this series. I actually just swapped the places of two paragraphs to change the mood at the end for something more contemplative. I elaborated a bit more on this in my notes for Rewrite, so I won't repeat them here.

Honestly, I still have a hard time coming back to reread Illuminate even after the whole debacle has happened. I attached a lot of emotions through my journey with this, and revisiting it each time takes quite a bit out of me.

Addendum

Addendum was just me having fun! After Illuminate, I managed to reconcile my feelings with the fic series. I was finally able to mark Books as complete and move on from it, and afterwards I wrote a fun little au sequel to Illuminate so that Gakushuu can live again. I could creatively expand on ideas and just do... whatever! It's more of a loose connection of plot points than a real fic, honestly.

Addendum follows Gakushuu in a future hundreds of years later, after every human who he's once known in Books has died. And... he moves on! Gets a job, makes friends, lives his life, and most importantly move on.

I chose to publish in a separate collection, however, because it was an incomplete story and I didn’t want to have a half-complete fic tacked on to what I have settled in my heart as a complete fic collection.

And that’s about it! <3

[gallavictorious]

I really wish people would stop excusing their favorite character's actions with convoluted theories instead of just accepting that their faves aren't perfect. Ian should not be comparing Terry and Frank. Full stop. Especially not to Mickey's face, when Mickey is in the middle of trying to deal with the complicated feelings he has about the father that raped him by proxy and tried to actually murder him. It's ok to say "yeah you're right I don't know what you're going through but I'm here" and not make it into a shitty father competition.

And I really wish people would refrain from making groundless assumptions and recognize that trying to understand a character's motivation for doing something does not equal taking a stance on whether or not the action discussed is morally sound but alas, nonnie, we live in an imperfect world.

For those just turning in, this ask was received in response to my addition to this post.

Now, nonnie, if I understand you correctly, you disapprove of what I wrote because you see it as 1, an attempt to excuse Ian's behavior because 2, he's my favourite character and 3, therefore I can't stand to have him do something wrong. You also think that, no matter his motivations, Ian shouldn't be comparing Frank to Terry. Below, I'll quickly refutate points 2 and 3, as well as detail the difference between explanations and excuses and – hopefully – demonstrate why you can't with any sort of certainty claim that the offending post is an example of the latter. I will not really engage with the question of whether or not Ian was wrong for saying what he did, because (as we shall return to forthwith) that was not the issue originally discussed, it doesn't actually interest me, and as you do not offer any sort of reasoning for your moral judgment there really isn't anything for me to work with there anyway.

Strap in, kids; it's another long one.

Let's start with your claim that Ian is my favourite. I'm not actually going to spell it out there, but instead direct you to paragraphs 3-7 of this post. A little lazy, perhaps, but I'm sure you can appreciate why I have limited time to point out the same basic flaws twice in a fairly short period of time. (Should I pin a pic of me holding up a little sign reading ”Actually, Mickey is my favourite, even though I love Ian too” to the top of my blog? Would that be helpful?)

Moving on to point 3, I do agree with the general notion that it's fine to accept that the characters we love (no matter who that character is) are flawed and make mistakes! If you had taken the time to familiarize yourself with my thoughts on Ian and Mickey – or if you had, you know, just asked – instead of jumping to completely unsubstantiated conclusions based on a single post, you might even have realized that them being fucked up and making fucked up choices from time to time is one of the things I find most compelling about them. They are messy and complicated and human, and I love that. I neither think nor want either of them to perfect, because perfection is unrealistic is static is boring.

With that out of the way, let's get to excuses versus explanations. If one confuses the two, any attempt to discuss or explain a persons behavior will be construed as an attempt to excuse it, but to understand something and to condone it are actually two different things.

For instance, I can explain and understand why Mickey acted the way he did in 3x09, but still think kicking Ian in the face was wrong. I can explain and understand why Ian called Mickey a coward and a pussy in 4x11 but still think he was wrong for doing so. Do you see? Understanding – or trying to understand – why someone did something is not the same as saying that what they did was okay. Understanding the reasons for someone's actions might lessen the severity of our condemnation (for instance, stealing is generally considered wrong, but most of use would agree that stealing bread to feed your kid is less wrong than stealing bread because you're too stingy to pay for it) or might remove condemnation entirely (hitting someone because you are angry with them is wrong, hitting someone as part of consensual BDSM sex is fine), but understanding an action does not automatically lead to declaring said action morally correct. In short, ”why did X do Y” and ”was X right or wrong do to Y” are two different questions, and the fact that our answer to the second question often is at least partly dependent on our understanding of the first does not change that.

So explanations and excuses are not the same. And yet, sometimes the reasons for doing something (or failing to do something) are offered up as an excuse; as a reason why someone should not be held responsible for their actions, or why they were correct in performing/not performing them in the first place. That neatly leads us to the question of whether or not that's what's actually happening in the post you took exception to. And the answer to that is... you can't know. What boys-night and I discuss in the post is what Ian is actually doing (is he trying to compare trauma och convince Mickey he had it worse) and why he is doing it; that is, we are trying to understand and explain his behavior. Neither of us make any sort of statement on whether or not he was right or wrong for saying or doing what he did: that's just not the topic of conversation. Now, maybe I do think his motivations means that he's morally justified in what he said; maybe I don't. My point is that you can't know that just from what you've read in the post. You might draw some tentative conclusions, and they may be correct, but you don't know, and the reasonable and responsible way to go from there is to seek clarification by asking (polite) questions, not aggressively throwing around accusations about others grasping for straws in a despertae attempt to exonerate their favorites from wrongdoing.

(And just to remind you, even if I were making excuses for Ian, it wouldn't be because he's my favourite or becuase I can't bear to have him do wrong.)

You are perfectly free to disagree with any of the points made in the post, by the way, but you need to recognize that what we're disagreeing on then is motivation, not morality.

And, oh, of course it would have been okay to say "yeah you're right I don't know what you're going through but I'm here", but that's not what Ian did. Now, if you are happy to go ”ah, Ian fucked up, he's not perfect” and move on, that's fine. You do you, nonnie, and if analysis and discussion of character motivations isn't your jam then it isn't and I'm sure no one is going to force you to engage in it. (And if they try to, you can simply say ”I don't care” and walk away.) However, to be perfectly honest I am a bit perplexed that you should be so indignant over other fans trying to make sense of his actions. Do you still feel that way now that you – hopefully – understand that trying to explain a characters' behavior doesn't necessarily mean trying to excuse it? I mean, surely you are aware of the fact that people usually have reasons for acting the way they do, even if the way they act is shitty or misguided? (Note that I'm not saying that Ian's actions were shitty and misguided. That is not the discussion we're having.) I am rather curious, actually, as to what you think Ian's motivations were? Do you imagine he was deliberatedly diminishing Mickey's trauma? Why, if so? Do you perhaps think that he is obsessed with being The Most Victim and thus takes every opportunity to list all the ways Frank sucked? Or maybe that his mouth just moves without any thought or reason and the words just randomly happened?

To be fair, it seems that Ian's motivations is not something you consider relevant: you write that ”Ian should not be comparing Terry and Frank. Full stop.” And that's absolutely a moral stance you can take, albeit certainly not the only one. Maybe Ian shouldn't have said what he said Had you given any reasons for this verdict, I might even have agreed with you because I can think of several reasons why it might be better if Ian refrained from comparing Terry and Frank, no matter his motivations. (And I might not, because I can also think of several reasons why such a comparision might be justified, even though Terry is clearly the more evil of the two.) However, we shall never know, because you fail to back up your claim. I guess that's because you deem it self-evident? It is not, and until you provide any sort of reasoning for your grand proclamation, I won't engage with the question. Not going to shadow-box with you, nonnie, or do your work for you; if you want a discussion, make your case properly. Though maybe make it elsewhere – as previously noted, passing judgement on the characters is not my primary interest when discussing them. I am much more intrigued by trying to understand why characters do and say what they do and say.

Phew. Okay, that's me done, I think. I realize that you might not be very impressed with this answer, nonnie, but I hope it may to some degree reassure you that no sneaky attempt to excuse my favourite character's actions with convoluted theories was made by this humble blogger. Not this time, at least.

[worldwidemochiguy]

Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow - Part 2

After being told you’re holding Taehyung back, you lie to him, saying that you don’t love him so that he’ll let you break up with him... 

Part 1 of Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

General Masterlist

Taehyung hadn’t slept. He spent half the night crying, and then the other half simply thinking. It didn’t make sense. Why would you break up with him, and especially like that? It wasn’t like you. His subconscious told him he was grasping at straws but he brushed away that doubt impatiently. There was no time for doubt, he had to go and get the love of his life back.

Obviously, someone must have coerced you into breaking up with him. That was the only answer. You were always so submissive and willing to compromise, and if someone suggested anything to you, you’d inevitably fold and do it. He had always loved that about you. You were also insecure, so if someone told you to do something, you would definitely believe their judgement was stronger than yours. Taehyung was planning to work on that with you once you had stopped this ridiculous tantrum.

He went through his head, cataloguing your day and identifying when you would’ve had contact with other people, one of whom who must have influenced you to make this decision against your will. But it didn’t add up. You would’ve stayed indoors all day, as per your daily schedule Taehyung had set up. You wouldn’t have even interacted with a mailman. For a second, Taehyung doubted himself. Then he remembered. 

Your phone! Of course! Someone must have got a hold of your phone number and manipulated you. He whipped out his laptop and logged into your iCloud. All he had to look for was a call from an unknown number, or even just a text. That was all the proof he needed to justify himself. 

You had no new calls, but Taehyung noticed you had an unread text message. 

As soon as he saw that text, from the number of his detested secretary, he felt understanding, as well as a lot of rage, start to build in him. Of course you had been coerced. He knew it. Suddenly, a text appears from you. You must be texting her right now, Taehyung realised with a jolt. 

Taehyung had never felt so angry in his life. The stupid bitch of a secretary was lying, he had never called her, and he would never refer to you so disrespectfully. He knew that you deserved the best of everything, which was why this cruel treatment of you could not go ignored.

Taehyung knew he was too angry to talk to you right now. He didn’t want to scare you, after all. So instead, he got in his car and drove to his office where he knew his secretary would be, imagining the perfect way to end her life as punishment for what she’d done. 

~~~~

After crying for what felt like an eternity, you sat up. Your back hurt from lying on the floor all night, and your head felt muddled from all the crying and lack of sleep. Too tired to tell yourself that you shouldn’t, you took out Taehyung’s shirt and his boxers which he had left at your place and put them on. He had always loved to see you wearing his clothes, and it made you feel so safe and comforted. You were sure if you were physically capable of doing so, you would start crying again. The thought of not seeing his smile again, not being held in his arms as he gently rocked you to sleep, was truly devastating. 

You intended to spend the rest of the day moping in bed, but the doorbell rang, disrupting your hypothetical plans. You trudged over to the door, not even bothering to check who it was before opening it. You just couldn’t bring yourself to care about anything anymore.

But it was Taehyung. 

He stood there in the doorway, eyes wild and hair ruffled and, even though it seemed he hadn’t slept at all, he still managed to look like a Greek God. You were sure you looked the opposite, oversized clothes and a runny nose and red eyes. It was uncomfortably obvious that you had spent the entire night in tears. 

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, trapped in each others’ gaze.

“Taehyung?” You croaked, your voice breaking slightly, and he melted.

“Baby,” he muttered quietly, gathering you in his arms and holding you so tight as if he were afraid you would slip right through his fingers. So used to his comforting presence, you couldn’t help but relax in his arms, letting out a happy sigh. He held you even closer, his large hands spanning the small of your back. He pulled away slightly so he could look you in the eyes, and he finally looked happy. But then you remembered.

“L-let go of me.” You whimpered, far less forcefully than you intended. Taehyung merely cocked an eyebrow at you as if amused, and you winced. You extricated yourself from his arms and took several steps back, not trusting yourself in close quarters with the man you still so fervently loved. However, Taehyung used your conceded steps to follow you into your apartment, shutting the door behind him. 

“Y/n…” Taehyung started slowly, and you shook your head. You knew you had to get him away from you as fast as possible before you broke down.

“Taehyung, I thought I told you. We’re done.” Your voice, by some miracle, managed to remain steady, and you saw him flinch at your harsh words before his face smoothed out again.

“You don’t mean that.” He stated. You let out a fake scoff. Honestly, he was exactly correct but you couldn’t let him know that for his own sake.

“I do. I mean it.”

“Well,” Taehyung replied, starting to take leisurely steps around you, circling you like a shark with its prey. “You don’t sound very convinced. You sound like you’re pretending to be emotionless to drive me away. But you’re wrong.” To punctuate this last statement he stopped in front of you, his circle having turned into an inwards spiral bringing him closer and closer to you. “I’m not going anywhere, Princess. No matter what you say.” 

“You- I- I don’t like you.” You stuttered, sounding as dishonest as you felt. You had never been able to lie. Not to him. Taehyung snorted.

“Baby, don’t you think I can tell when you’re repeating someone else’s words? I know about my secretary texting you, and all she said were lies.”

Your stomach dropped. 

“You- you… what? How did- what?” You could barely believe it. The things you had heard, the words that had shattered your heart… were lies? It was too good to be true. You wouldn’t believe it.

“Baby,” Taehyung pouted comically, as if he was enjoying himself now that he knew he had the upper hand. “Just give in. I know. My secretary has had a crush on me since I hired her. I let it fester, because as a result of her pathetic infatuation, she would work twice as hard for no reward. But, it seems she decided to get it into her head that if she drove you away, she would have a chance of seducing me. See? Even she, in her delusional state, knew that no one else even had a chance with me while you were around. That’s how crazy I am about you, baby. Everyone can see it. Just like how I can see how much you love me, even if you try and hide it.” 

“B-but I… I’m holding you back?” You stuttered, so unsure of yourself that it came out as a question, and Taehyung chuckled.

“How could love ever hold me back? Baby, when I found you I found myself. I was never whole before I met you, and in those brief, torturous hours where I thought you had left me… I was torn apart. My heart had wrenched itself outside of my body and was blindly reaching for you. You complete me. How could I ever not want you?” 

During his speech, Taehyung had moved gradually closer, step by step, until his chest was brushing against yours. By his final word, there was nothing else you could do but sob, and fall into his waiting arms. He scooped you up and carried you into the bed, caressing your back comfortingly through the material of your- his shirt.

He set you down on the bed, bracing himself on his forearms, suspending himself above you. Taehyung looked down at your face — a sleep-crusted mess of snot and tears — and somehow he still wore the most besotted expression you had ever seen. 

Except, you had seen that expression. You had seen it on Taehyung’s face every time he looked at you, from the first day you had met. Your sobbing started again, renewed, and you weren’t sure what you were sobbing for exactly, but Taehyung held you so tightly in his arms that you felt that it might just be okay anyway. 

“I- I don’t deserve you.” You bawled into his neck, and Taehyung stiffened slightly.

“Don’t ever say that.” He said, the quiet volume in no way diminishing the intensity of his tone. “You deserve everything.”

“…I’m still breaking with you.” You protested weakly, and his intensity was shattered with a quiet chuckle.

“Oh really? Why?”

“…I don’t know. I’m too tired to think. I didn’t sleep all night.”

“And why was that, baby?” Taehyung asked, worried.

“I was crying.”

“Because you had broken up with me.” Taehyung surmised, and you nodded against his chest. “And yet, you still want to break up?”

“…Uh huh.”

“Alright then, baby.” Taehyung patted your head, his tone indulgent. “If you want to, you can throw a fit in the morning, but you know it’s no use. Even if you actually wanted to break up with me, I still wouldn’t let you.”

“Really?”

“There’s no way I’m letting you go, baby. Ever.”

You pushed yourself up to look him in the eye, difficult given how secure his embrace was.

“You promise?”

He smiled, and you briefly recalled the desolation of thinking that you would never see that smile again. You felt so thankful that you would never have to feel that way again.

“I promise.”

[a-chrome-disguise]

A long overdue catch up

Once Brett was gone, a silence fell between Cyrus and Kazimir. The younger man was on his feet, arms held behind his back as usual, his eyes examining the photographs that lined the wall. Most of them he found too painful to look at for too long, so his eyes lingered on the candid photo of him in his Team Galactic outfit. He wondered why his grandfather had such a picture in the first place.

‘...I hope you don’t mind that I put that one with the others,’ Kazimir spoke up. ‘...I wanted to see what you looked like as an adult, so when the opportunity arose… Well, I took it.’

‘Ah.’ That explained that. ‘...It’s fine.’

‘I’m sorry, Cyrus… I’m really sorry. I let you down so badly…’

‘You did nothing of the short,’ Cyrus blandly replied.

‘But I could have done so much more, I should have -’

‘- I do not blame you for keeping your distance. I know what Olya and Aleksandr must have threatened you with.’

‘...You do…?’

‘I was not going to take it lying down. I told them that I was going to do whatever I could to maintain contact with you, and then they dropped the bombshell that if I did, I would be “forcing their hand”, and we would emigrate.’

Kazimir sighed heavily.

‘Yes, exactly… I didn’t want to leave you, but I thought it was the lesser of two evils. I didn’t think that you needed to deal with the upheaval of moving to an entirely new region on top of… everything else,’ he nodded. ‘But… with how things turned out, perhaps I made the wrong decision…’

‘I disagree. You are correct, I would not have dealt with emigration well,’ Cyrus replied, without turning his head. Keeping his back to his grandfather. ‘The time for me to leave Sinnoh was as an adult, not as a teenager.’

‘But maybe you would have been able to get help sooner, in a region that’s less… stifling,’ Kazimir murmured, picking his words carefully.

‘With those two breathing down my neck? Unlikely. Psychiatry is “quackery”, and “not something they’ll have in their house”. No, I was going to suffer by myself, whether I wanted to or not,’ Cyrus bitterly replied, and Kazimir shook his head. ‘You tried to keep my environment as stable as possible. I understand that.’

‘...Cyrus, I have to ask…’ Kazimir began, the hesitance clear in his tone. Cyrus swallowed hard, bracing himself. ‘...What happened at Spear Pillar? All I heard was that there was some kind of disaster… And you vanished afterwards.’

‘...So you have no clue.’

‘I thought you were…’ Kazimir’s voice choked up. ‘I thought you’d maybe… r-reconnected with Nazar.’ The euphemism hit Cyrus’ ears, feeling like a somebody had taken a mallet to his stomach. ‘A-And I heard things about… your team blowing up a lake… That’s not true, is it, Cyrus? Tell me it’s not true…’

Cyrus’ jaw was tightly clenched. His eyes were stinging.

What a disgrace he was. What a failure. He raised his head, staring up at the ceiling, to try and keep the tears from seeping down his face. Damn it, he was not going to cry. Not if he could do anything about it.

But the disappointment, the upset in Kazimir’s voice, damn near broke his heart.

‘...I cannot. I cannot do that, because it is true,’ he admitted.

‘Why? I - I can understand your general idea of erasing emotions, I know that was because of what your parents put you through, but… bombing lakes? How does that help anyone?’

‘I justified it as a necessary evil,’ Cyrus replied. ‘I did not want to do it, but it seemed like the only way to progress forward. In order to help save the universe from the burden of our shattered, incomplete emotions, I was going to have to make the sacrifice of one small lake. Yes, I understood the risk. But I was prepared to take it. ...I sent a team out to make sure that there were no innocents nearby that could potentially get hurt.’

‘God, Cyrus…’ Kazimur mumbled.

‘I needed the lake guardians. I needed the gemstones from them, in order to create chains that would wield Dialga and Palkia. That’s why. I would use the red chains to harness their power as my own, and with that, I would recreate the universe.’

Kazimir held a hand to his mouth in horror; the things Cyrus were saying sounded insane. He knew that his grandson had done some bad things, he understood that Cyrus’ ill reputation was for a reason, but… what he was hearing went beyond his expectations.

He knew that grief and abuse had twisted Cyrus’ heart, but it was only now, hearing Team Galactic’s full intentions, that he started to get an idea of just how much damage had been done. To him, as well as to the region.

‘I came so close to succeeding. Oh, the champion tried to stop me, as did her friend. Cynthia and Ksenia, Sinnoh’s heroes. But the biggest obstacle was the gap in my knowledge. I had spent so much time poring over the myths and legends of this Godforsaken hell hole. So much time researching the lake guardians, Dialga and Palkia.’ Sucking in a deep breath, Cyrus closed his welling eyes. Despite his best attempts, a tear trickled down his gaunt cheek. ‘But I had no idea about Giratina’s existence until it was dragging me down to hell.’ ‘“D-Dragged you down to hell”?’ Kazimir repeated, choking on his words.

‘Giratina, the Pokemon banished to the Distortion World for its violence. My actions had upset the balance of the world, and Giratina arose to correct it. By taking me with it. That’s what happened at Spear Pillar. My goal was within my grasp, I was just brushing a perfect new world with my fingertips - and then it was snatched away from me.’

‘Y-Y-You still want to do it? T-To try again?’ Kazimir questioned. Cyrus could not see his grandfather dissolving into tears, but he could certainly hear it.

‘...No. Not for everyone. It took being imprisoned in the Distortion World for me to finally pull my head out of my backside and start to reflect on myself, my actions. Why everyone outside of Team Galactic was so opposed. I accept that I was wrong to override everybody’s bodily autonomy like that, but I genuinely believe that the world would be a much better place without emotions. But I underestimated just how attached people are to these repulsive feelings.’

‘...Cyrus…’

‘...I’m trying to get better. I understand now, I know that I am the outlier. I cannot comprehend why, but I accept it, no matter how reluctantly. And I am trying to improve my mental health. To conquer my demons. ...I am in therapy. I have a therapy Pokemon. I am on medication.’

‘But you still want to remove your own emotions?’ Kazimir wept.

‘If I were to be given a magic pill that would make me permanently emotionally empty, I would take it in a heartbeat.’

‘...God…’ He tried to shake the thought loose, not wanting to commit that one particular detail to memory. ‘H-How did you get out of there…?’

‘...Ksenia came back. God knows how she managed to get in there again, but she came back for me. I was in there for a month, I think. Judging by my estimations once I was out again, because time certainly did not flow the same in there as it does out here. Give or take a week. But that is one reason why I will not try again. I cannot count on Ksenia rescuing me again. I cannot count on surviving a second attempt. Granted, my life does not mean much now, but…’

‘Please don’t say that. W-When I heard you were missing, I - I thought you were dead. I thought - I thought I’d lost my chance to reconnect with you… I couldn’t deal with the thought of having to bury both of my grandsons...’

‘...I am sorry.’ Cyrus bowed his head.

Kazimir wiped his face, drying the tears and trying to pull himself back together. Damn it, he was going to have to work extra hard to make sure his grandson never felt he lacked support ever again. He was going to have to make up for his years of absence.

‘W-What happened after I was warded away?’ he softly asked, afraid of the answer. But he had to know. He needed to know everything that Cyrus had been through while his back was turned. No matter how much it hurt. ‘H-How did they treat you? Did - did they at least improve…?’

Cyrus let out a small scoff of derision.

‘Disowning you was the last straw. That was the push I needed to disavow emotion. If they were going to make it so that I had no support, I was going to make it so that I did not need support. My faith in them was shattered. Rightfully so, because no, they did not improve.’

Cyrus shook his head.

‘The best that I can say about them is that Olya remained stable in her grief, but Aleksandr grew worse. In spite of my attempts at numbing myself, there were still numerous arguments between us. They still brandished Nazar’s name like a weapon, beating me with vitriolic sentiments of failure every time I could not - or did not - become Nazar’s clone.’

‘...I tried calling when you turned eighteen, you know…’ Kazimir quietly told him. ‘Since they couldn’t legally stop us from reconnecting. Aleksandr said you were out.’

‘I probably was. I spent as much time as I could out. Just to be away from them.’ Cyrus hesitated; did he tell Kazimir about the worst of it? The absolute nadir of Aleksandr’s abusive behaviour?

No. Kazimir had been upset enough by the current conversation, there was no way he could make it worse. At least, that was what Cyrus told himself. But part of him had to wonder, was this avoidance really due to not wanting to further distress his grandfather? Or was he just looking at any excuse to not open up?

‘...I had thought about reaching out, when I left their house. And again, after Spear Pillar. And a third time after my hospital release.’

‘Hospital release?’ Kazimir repeated.

‘After Spear Pillar, the moment I left the Distortion World, it did not take long for people to notice, and to call the authorities. I was sectioned, and held in hospital for a few years. But before the authorities caught up with me, I considered contacting you. ...I don’t know why I did not reach out sooner,’ Cyrus explained. ‘Well. I know why I did not after Team Galactic. I thought that you would not want anything to do with me, after everything I had done -’

‘- You will always be my grandson,’ Kazimir firmly told him. ‘I don’t approve of your actions, but I understand the why. I understand that you’ve dealt with an incredible amount of suffering by yourself. I’ll admit, hearing some of these details hurts, but it’s nothing compared to what you must have gone through with nobody to ease your burden. But I won’t turn my back on you. Cyrus, I love you.’

Hearing those words, the sentiment that he had secretly craved for so long, caused Cyrus’ stoic demeanour to further crack. He had his teeth gritted, as he attempted to keep himself together. Kazimir noticed his shoulders hunch as the effort of repressing what was threatening to burst free made him tense even further. Kazimir lightly placed a hand on his grandson’s shoulder, causing him to jump.

‘Come here, Cyrus…’ Kazimir had his other arm extended, to offer a hug.

Cyrus finally turned his head to look at him, but made no move to embrace him. So Kazimir did it, instead. Cyrus was still stiff and unyielding, but Kazimir gently pulled him close. He clasped his hurting grandson to him, and unlike before, Cyrus did not need prompting to return the gesture. Wrapping his arms around Kazimir, and with nobody else to see his face, he finally broke down into a torrent of tears. Kazimir made sure not to do or say anything, not wanting to accidentally spook Cyrus back into closing off.

The pair remained as they were for what felt like an eternity, until Cyrus had cried himself out. Until his head throbbed, his eyes felt exhausted, and he thought there were no more tears left for him to shed.

‘Better?’ Kazimir softly asked. Cyrus pulled himself away, rubbing his forehead. He silently shrugged. Not really. But he allowed Kazimir to steer him back to the sofa, and the pair sat down together.

It seemed that neither of them had any more heavy, upsetting details to bring up, and had cautiously descended into small talk. Properly reconnecting, getting to know one another again. The repressed, depressed adult in front of Kazimir seemed so different from the grandson he remembered, but the more they talked, the more he saw hints of the Cyrus he knew before. Especially when they began discussing astronomy.

Though Cyrus reluctantly changed the subject after a few minutes. As much more comfortable it was to discuss small things, there was still one important thing left unsaid. Something that he vitally needed Kazimir’s approval of, if they were going to continue to stay in touch.

‘Cyrus?’ Kazimir asked, when he fell silent, frowning with concern.

‘...There is one last thing I need you to know,’ Cyrus cautiously began, closely studying Kazimir’s reaction. He swallowed hard. ‘...I… I have a boyfriend.’

‘Oh!’ Kazimir looked surprised, but fortunately, it did not bother him in the least. ‘I’m pleased for you.’

‘...Thank you.’

If Cyrus was entering the emotional minefield that was relationships, then, in Kazimir’s mind, that could only be a good thing. A sign of improvement. Ahh, but poor Cyrus looked so on edge, and Kazimir realised that he must have been anticipating a negative reaction.

‘Does he make you happy?’

Quite a big question. Honestly, the answer was no. But that was not because of Jaideep; Cyrus could not fault him as a partner. He was simply too far gone to experience genuine happiness.

‘...I cannot say that I have been happy since… well.’ Cyrus stopped. No need to go over all of that again. ‘But, he makes me “happy” in that sense that he makes me as close to it as I can possibly be.’

‘Good…’ Kazimir murmured. Not quite the response he had anticipated, but at least this man made Cyrus sort of happy? The clarification that Cyrus lived in misery hurt, though, and he swallowed a sudden spike of anger at his daughter, at his son in law, for being so cruel.

‘What’s his name?’

‘Jaideep Rose.’ Another look of surprise. ‘I live in Galar, these days.’ ‘That name sounds familiar… didn’t he get into a bit of, um, trouble in Galar…?’ Kazimir carefully asked.

‘Yes. It is a long story, and obviously not one he is comfortable discussing -’

‘- Oh goodness, no, that’s very understandable! I wasn’t sure if I was thinking of the right person,’ Kazimir hastily clarified.

‘That is partly how we got to grow so close. Having misguided attempts at improving things blow up in our faces, and living with the consequences. ...He’s a good person. Kind. Considerate. Patient.’

Unbeknownst to Cyrus, there was a slight softening to his tone as he talked about Jaideep, and Kazimir grinned brightly.

‘Could I meet him some time?’

‘I -’ Cyrus began, taken aback. ‘Maybe? Obviously, I will need to ask him first.’ ‘Naturally, naturally. If we’re going to stay in touch, why don’t we exchange phone numbers? Then, if your young man is willing, we could maybe arrange a get together,’ Kazimir suggested. A sense of embarrassment crept over Cyrus - or at least, that was what he thought it was - at the mention of Jaideep being his “young man”, but he ignored it. Kazimir accepted him, and seemed delighted for him. Coming out could not have gone better.

‘That sounds like a good idea.’

[brindlestorm]

Is It Ashfur?

SPOILERS FOR THE SILENT THAW PREVIEW AND SQUIRRELFLIGHT’S HOPE BELOW

Also, it’s hella long. Sorry about that

So, is Ashfur possessing Bramblestar? That’s the most common theory, though a lot of us don’t like it. A new character would be refreshing as the villain if a bit confusing as to why they have a grudge against the clans.

[Again, spoilers for Squirrelflight’s Hope]

Near the end of the book, Squirrelflight and Leafpool arrive in Starclan and are greeted by Larksong, who died of poisoning (a mouse ate a plant that made it poisonous to cats) and his son Flickerkit (who was named in Starclan, Flickerkit’s name was the key to getting Sparkpelt to believe that Squirrelflight was in Starclan for a period of time).

After reuniting with loved ones, Firestar takes Leafpool and Squirrelflight to see Tallstar, Bluestar, Crookedstar, Yellowfang, Littlecloud, and Moth Flight to be judged before Starclan. An important thing to note here is that Squirrelflight and Leafpool are the ONLY CATS known to be able to argue their place in Starclan.

All these cats were ones that the two knew at some point in their lives, and I believe that Moth Flight was there because Leafpool specifically broke her code.

The point here though is that cats like Hollyleaf, Ashfur, Appledusk, Ravenwing, Yellowfang, Bluestar, and others didn’t have to prove their case to be allowed in, despite their crimes.

(Their ‘crimes’ listed here)

Hollyleaf- Broke the code, killed a clanmate, abandoned her clan Ashfur- Attempted to kill his leader and four of his clanmates Appledusk- Took a mate outside of his clan, didn’t help kits cross the river, therefore, letting them drown. Ravenwing- The catalyst to Mapleshade’s breakdown, if he kept quiet the kits would be alive, indirectly broke the code. Yellowfang- Took a mate as a medicine cat, didn’t help her son down the right path which led to more suffering. Bluestar- Took a mate outside her clan, almost ignored one of Starclan’s prophecies for her kits, took her kits to Riverclan in the dead of Leaf-bare which lead to Mosskit’s death, ignored Goosefeather’s warnings about Tigerkit, didn’t acknowledge the signs that he was a traitor, eventually declared war on Starclan (Yes, I know that this was because of her depression and paranoia, I’ll get to it soon).

Obviously, I don’t believe that Blue, Holly, Yellow, or (begrudgingly) Raven deserved the Dark Forest, Hollyleaf was protecting her family, Bluestar was dealt a ROUGH life, Yellowfang more than made up for her crimes, and Ravenwing was doing his job.

But Starclan was hard on Squirrel and Leaf, to the point that I holey agreed with Squirrelflight’s sentiments during that whole segment. 

But where should Starclan be drawing the line?

Blue, Holly, and Yellowfang ALL held remorse for their actions. Ashfur didn’t, and I doubt Appledusk did either. Ashfur knowingly tried to get Firestar killed, we don’t really know if him sending Birchpaw to warn Brambleclaw was an act of cowardice for what he did, or if it was part of the plan to get Brambleclaw to the scene so it could be pinned on him.

Ashfur tried to kill the three, one who was his former apprentice, another a loyal warrior, and a blind MEDICINE CAT APPRENTICE. He knew what he was doing, he had a motive and a clear mind. He let them live because he believed that by revealing this secret, he could uproot Squirrelflight and Brambleclaw’s ENTIRE RELATIONSHIP, therefore causing more damage

(Tbh, I like to think that if the three hadn’t found out about Leafpool’s side and Ashfur went forward with it, Squirrelflight would have admitted to adopting them as kits, but because they needed a mother, which she wanted to be. She then would have told Brambleclaw that she was afraid she may never be able to have kits so she adopted without telling him. THEY WERE STILL THE THREE’S PARENTS DAMMIT)

Appledusk was an asshole, moving on.

I’d like to compare Ashfur and Mapleshade for a moment, their situations seem rather similar.

Both- Fell in love, only for it to end badly

Ashfur was replaced by Brambleclaw (Same clan relationships) Mapleshade was replaced by Reedshine (Different clans)

Both- Felt cheated by the ones they loved Mapleshade- Actually had kits with this mate Ashfur-  Didn’t have any kits

Mapleshade- Wanted to have a life with Appledusk after being banished with her kits Ashfur-  Attempted to make Brambleclaw look bad to win Squirrelflight back

Both- Wanted revenge when they were wronged by their clanmate(s)

Mapleshade followed through Ashfur was not able to (Whether out of cowardice or being thwarted, I am unsure)

Really, the only difference between them was that Mapleshade was able to get her revenge when Ashfur couldn’t.

BUT

Mental Illnesses are canon in warriors

Bluestar- Depression, anxiety, paranoia, dementia Graypool- Dementia Ravenpaw- General anxiety Goosefeather- Delusions Sol- Sociopath (as confirmed by Vicky on her facebook page) Hollyleaf- OCD (Personal opinion, she was obsessed with the warrior code to the point that she actually scared Jaypaw at one point)

And those are just the ones that I know of.

Mapleshade also suffered from delusions after the traumatic death of her kits, she believed that she was actually seeing and hearing her kits telling her to get revenge so that they could be at peace in starclan. And considering that warriors DO believe in ghosts and the afterlife, this is an entirely plausible assumption.

Now, in Starclan we know that cats are judged before they actually wake up in Starclan or the Dark Forest, which means that if we can assume that these cats have human-level intelligence, they also have some sort of trial system. Which also means that they have set-precedents.

Mapleshade going to the Dark Forest should have set the precedent that any cat who breaks the code and takes a mate outside of his or her clan (and kills other cats) should go to the Dark Forest as well.

Bluestar went to Starclan, despite taking Oakheart as a mate and indirectly killing her own kit by taking her into unsafe conditions during Leafbare.

Silverstream went to Starclan, despite taking Graystripe as her mate and died in the process. Her death doesn’t necessarily absolve her of her ‘crime’, but she went to Starclan anyway.

It probably looks like I’m grasping at straws here, but that’s the point I’m trying to make. Starclan drew the line too soon, and as such became more understanding when warriors sought mates outside of their clans.

Mapleshade was Starclan’s first mistake, though she did kill three cats (A medicine cat, a clanmate, and her former mate), she was not sound of mind when she did so. She believed she was acting on the whims of her dead kits so that they could rest in peace.

She may not have deserved Starclan, but she didn’t deserve the Dark Forest either. I remember seeing an AU where Mapleshade recovered her sanity after she died and was told that the only way she could join Starclan was to help a living cat find their way. She tries to do this in the AU but Appledusk undermines her, and she eventually considers embracing the Dark Forest’s values.

The only thing I would change about that AU is that I would make Mapleshade a ghost, stuck on the living plane until she completed her duty (and maybe she’s even granted access to the living plane whenever she wants so that she can keep helping her clanmates).

Ashfur was Starclan’s second mistake. He knew exactly what he was doing when he helped Hawkfrost lay the trap for Firestar, blocking the three from crossing the burning branch was a CHOICE, even fighting Lionpaw/blaze like an enemy warrior with the intent to HARM was a choice. Being blinded by rage is not the same as having delusions. 

Maybe Starclan allowed him to join their ranks was because they were afraid that he’d be another Mapleshade, that he’d help recruit for the Dark Forest. But Ashfur’s sentence would have been justified, more so than Mapleshade (in my opinion).

We know that Jayfeather disapproves of Ashfur in Starclan, but what about Hollyleaf? Well apparently, she doesn’t care.

Squirrelfight’s reaction to seeing Ashfur was immediate hostility, though Ashfur didn’t speak to her, merely dipped his head and looked at Hollyleaf. Hollyleaf simply blinks at him, and Squirrelflight nods curtly.

When Squirrelflight comments on Ashfur being in Starclan rather than the Dark Forest, Hollyleaf says “I guess, but he’s apologized. I think he’s changed.”

Direct quote from page 339 of Squirrelflight’s Hope

Squirrelflight nodded curtly at Ashfur. She wasn’t sure she could be as forgiving as Hollyleaf. After all, Ashfur had threatened to destroy the happiness she’d found with Bramblestar and almost succeeded.

Another thing that’s interesting about Starclan is that things seem to matter less, the problems a cat had with others in the living world are trivial when they’re dead, Hollyleaf states when asked again about if living with Ashfur is strange “Not really, after a while, things that happened in the forest seems less important.”

So that’s how Hollyleaf feels, at peace with everything. Even Sandstorm says that there’s less to fight over, but is that how everyone feels in Starclan?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just to be clear, I am neither for nor against Ashfur Being Good. I hated how his character seemed to flip around just for the sake of romance drama between Squirrel and Bramble. I wish he had a better character arc, I wish that certain things from previous books had actually affected him continued into future books rather than being forgotten.

That being said, everything I have pulled up on him has been based on what he HAS done and what the Erin’s turned him into.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So, my theory here is that Ashfur is kind of at peace in Starclan. He doesn’t react badly to seeing Squirrelflight and Leafpool because he’s dead, they’re probably dying, and the Dark Forest battle isn’t something he wants to repeat.

But then Squirrelflight was able to return to the lake as a ghost by submerging herself in Starclan’s Moonpool.

How do we know that Ashfur wasn’t watching her? What if this gave him the idea to return to the lake? He could have initially gone just to see his clanmates, but seeing Bramblestar and Squirrelflight reconcile may have returned his anger, enough to make him want revenge. 

Another thing to add here is what do we know about ghosts? Needletail and the others weren’t able to move on to starclan without help, they were trapped in the living plane as ghosts. We don’t know if Starclan cats CAN return to the living plane at will, or if the Dark Forest battle was the exception.

The timeline that we have puts Tigerheartstar’s kits as still apprentices, who we know were made warriors prior to Bristlepaw and her siblings, and it’s not yet Leafbare in Squirrelflight’s Hope. This gives us a window of time that Ashfur may have used to return to the lake as a ghost. 

Ashfur has the motive and the means, his spirit likes on so there’s no confusing explanation for a supposedly double dead cat possessing Bramblestar.

And most importantly? Squirrelflight’s Hope tells us that even though many cats were forgiven for breaking the code, part of Starclan doesn’t accept that. They ARE angry that the code is being disregarded, Littlecloud even says, “What’s the point in having rules if cats can break them whenever they like?”

Squirrelflight notices how Moth Flight seems to be determined to keep Leafpool out of Starclan.

I can’t think of anything else to add, so here’s the summary of this theory

Ashfur has the means and the motives, Starclan is angered by all of the code breakers, and Ashfur has is known for taking advantage of situations for his own gain.

It could still be an ancient Starclan cat, fed up with the codebreakers, maybe even Moth Flight herself.

(Lost Stars, Bramblestar says to Squirrelflight, “You would make excuses for them, you’ve always had a soft spot for weak cats.” This could be Ashfur, or Moth Flight who was her judge in Starclan.)

Anywho, that’s all I’ve got. Lemme know what you guys think!

[lovegackt]

“Dinner Party” ( A Mystic Messenger Fanfic )

bat-yo-us: Can I request a scenario where mc and Jumin attend a large dinner held by a prestigious company . All of the executive of companies has to attend. One of Jumin's rivals intends to kill him with poison in his food. Mc overhead the plan and at the last minute she switch the poisoned food with hers. I'll leave it to you to decide whether mc survive or not. Angst is life ♥♥

I know this is very, very late, but I finally completed your request. I know I usually write a lot of angst, but for some reason I couldn’t do it this time. This is how the whole scenario played out in my head, and all of these ideas are on the spot. Nonetheless, I hope it meets your expectations, and you will enjoy it ^_^

-        Mm, what do you think, my love?

MC showed off her new dress to Jumin, spinning around so he can take a good look.

-        You look like a real princess, my dear.

He took another look, and smiled.

-        Actually, even better than a princess. I am certain you will be the most beautiful woman at the party.

-        Oh, Jumin, you’re flattering me.

-        Not at all, my love, I am simply stating the truth.

MC snuggled in her husband’s arms.  

-        I have to be honest with you. I wasn’t looking forward to this dinner party, but I’m probably just nervous. I am sure everything will be alright.

-        I thought you’d be used to such events, since you’ve been our party coordinator. – Jumin answered her, while running his fingers through her soft hair.

-        That’s true, but this is a different kind of party. I mean, I know how silly I sound right now, but I can’t help it…

Jumin grabbed MC’s face gently and gave her a deep kiss, which immediately melted all of her worries away.  After a bit he released her lips, and smiled at her blushing face. Jumin simply loved the cute reactions he was able to elicit from his dear wife. It took MC a bit to calm her heart, and finally speak up.

-        What bold behavior, Mr. Han – she teased – Don’t start such a dangerous game. What will everyone say if we arrive late because of your actions?

-        I wouldn’t mind it even one bit.

Jumin smirked, and gave MC’s neck a few wet kisses, which made her shiver.

-        H-hey, Jumin, I’m serious! We don’t have time for this!

Jumin considered her words for a second, and decided to hold himself back…for now.

-        Alright, MC, you win, I will be good, but just until the end of the party.

-        I wouldn’t want it any other way, my love. – MC answered and checked herself out in the mirror one last time.

-        I think we’re all ready to go!  

 Jumin and MC arrived at the dinner party on time. They were greeted and shown to their seats. The place was quite large, and MC could see a few familiar faces. Some of them she knew from TV, others she knew personally. Some of the businessmen came alone, others such as Jumin attended with their wives. All of them had made a big effort to look as pristine as possible. After all, this was quite an important event. MC felt the nervousness rise within her once more, but almost as if he was able to sense it, Jumin grabbed her hand reassuringly and sent a warm smile her away.  

“Yes, that’s right, everything will be perfectly fine”.  While MC kept repeating those words in her mind, she heard a familiar sound. Her phone was ringing. She promised Jumin she’ll be right back, and excused herself.  She walked out of the restaurant, and answered the call. It was Jaehee.

-        Hey, Jaehee. Is everything alright?

-        Hello, MC. Excuse me for calling you at such a time, but I must discuss something important with you. It’s about our next RFA party.

-        That’s alright, I can talk. What seems to be the issue?

While Jaehee thoroughly explained everything to MC, her mind suddenly caught whispers in the distance. Something inside of her willed her to move closer, so she did.

-        I’m sorry, Jaehee, I will have to call you back.

She ended the call, before her friend had any chance to protest. MC walked towards the sound of voices, until she was close enough to make out the words.

-        That’s right. It won’t be long before he’s dead. That Jumin Han, he doesn’t suspect a thing. – MC heard a loud laughter, followed by another man’s voice.

-        But, are you sure the poison is strong enough? The Chef I bribed seemed competent enough for the job, but you can never be too sure.

-        Don’t worry about a thing. Once Jumin Han is out of the picture, we can finally make our move, and take C & R for ourselves.

MC’s heart was hammering in her chest. Who were these men? And they were planning to kill Jumin? By poisoning him…Poison…

“THE DINNER PARTY!”

MC hurried back, praying with all of her heart to make it in time. She ran inside the restaurant, not paying any attention to the staff which tried to talk to her. She finally made it to the table, where her husband was deep in conversation, and was just about to take a bite from his steak. Almost out of breath and on the verge of a panic attack, MC slammed her hands loudly on the table, everyone’s attention turning to her.

-        C-can I get a waiter over here?!

She didn’t realize how loud her voice was, as the adrenaline kept rushing through her body. Jumin looked at her with a completely baffled expression. The other guests had all gotten quiet, and were observing the situation with utmost interest. A waiter quickly made his way next to her.

-        Yes, Madam. What can I do for you?

MC slowly turned to the man, her whole body was trembling and her heart felt like it would explode.

-        T-this steak…h-how can you even serve such a steak?? The meat looks horrible, and it’s definitely not fit for my husband’s taste!

MC was just blurting out everything that came to her mind.

-        I apologize, Madam! I will take care of it right away! Excuse me, Sir.

He took Jumin’s plate, and made his way to the kitchen. MC followed close behind him.

-        MC, wait!

Jumin tried to stop her, but to no avail. He felt everyone’s gazes fall on him, so he turned to face them and cleared his throat.

-        Would you excuse me for a moment, gentlemen, and ladies? I will be back shortly.

MC had already made her way to the kitchen, and asked to speak with the Head Chef. She wasn’t even sure that was the right person, at this moment she was simply grasping at straws. MC was mostly calm, now that the crisis was averted; but seeing the person, who was probably responsible for her worries, made her blood boil.

-        What seems to be the issue, Madam?

His perfectly calm expression was getting on MC’s nerves.

-        The issue? I will tell you what my issue is! You tried to poison my husband, and don’t you dare deny it!

The Head Chef’s face turned as white as a sheet, but he quickly regained his composure.

-        I assure you, things like that do not happen in our kitch…

-        And I assure you I will press charges against you, so you better tell me the truth!

-        MC, what the hell is going on here? – Jumin spoke up from behind her back.

At this point MC’s head was starting to feel heavy, thanks to a throbbing headache. She turned to her husband, and spoke slowly, in a calm manner.

-        These people…they were trying to poison you!

-        Poison me? MC, do you have any proof for these assumptions?

-        I… - MC bit her lip – While I was talking on the phone outside, I heard two people, who were discussing a plan to kill you by poisoning your food, in order to get their hands on the company. I have no idea who they were, since I couldn’t see them. One of them mentioned bribing the Chef, so I hurried inside…and you know the rest of the story.

Jumin took a deep breath, ran his fingers through his hair, and turned to the Head Chef.

-        Is all of this true? And think twice before responding with anything but the complete truth. If I hear even a single lie, I will make sure you never work in a restaurant again for the rest of your life.

-        T-the one who offered me money – the Head Chef’s voice cracked a bit as he began to speak – assured me that the person who would get poisoned is bad, one who cheats his way through life, and has underground connections with the Mafia. He assured me I would be doing everyone a favor…I had no clue who that person was, since he didn’t mention any names…I didn’t like the idea, but I thought my actions would be justified…I deeply apologize for what I did!

The Head Chef bowed down to Jumin. The latter’s expression remained calm.

-        I will call for my lawyer to come and speak with you, so you can tell him exactly what you told me. Oh, and one more thing. Who was the person, who hired you?

-        His name is Mr. Park, Sir. Park Jung-min. He didn’t tell me his full name, but I’ve seen him before on the news.

-        Mr. Park…I see. Thank you for the information.

Jumin turned his attention to MC, and took her hand in his.

-        Let’s get some fresh air, darling.

He didn’t wait for her response, but quickly took her outside of the restaurant. When they closed the door behind them, MC’s body began to feel weak and she almost fell on the ground, but Jumin quickly captured her in a gentle embrace. She was sobbing quietly; all the stress she had experienced started leaving her body along with the tears. Jumin comforted her as best as he could.

-        It’s all over, my dear. Everything is alright.

MC looked up at Jumin, her face wet from the tears.

-        I was so afraid I might lose you…If that had happened…I…I don’t know…

But before she could say anything else, MC felt her husband’s warm lips on her own. She experienced a strong sense of déjà-vu, but quickly chased that thought away, and instead closed her eyes and let her body enjoy the familiar sensation, which she loved oh, so much. This time MC was the first one to break the kiss.

-        I am starting to enjoy being silenced with kisses.

Jumin smirked at his wife’s remark, and caught her lips in another kiss, which wasn’t as innocent as the first one. At one point they both had to break the kiss, in order to catch their breaths.

-        I can’t wait until we’re back home, my love. After all, I need to thank you properly for saving my life.

The smile that played out on Jumin’s lips was anything but innocent.

-        I will hold you responsible for your words, Mr. Han. – MC answered him playfully, and fished a napkin out of her handbag.

-        Allow me.

Jumin took the napkin from her hand, and gently wiped the tears that had escaped her eyes. He smiled at her, and took her hand.

-        Let’s go back inside, my dear.

-        Oh, but Jumin, what will we tell everyone? – The realization finally hit her – Won’t my strange behavior affect you in any way? I mean…

-        Please, relax, my love. I already have an idea. You don’t need to worry about a thing.  

-        Oh, alright then – MC took a deep breath – I trust you.

 P.S. Jumin’s expression of gratitude that night was something MC would never forget. Along with the next morning, when she couldn’t walk properly and he insisted on carrying her everywhere she needed to go.

The story is now also on AO3, in case you liked it and want to give it some love ^_^

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18537448

[beinglibertarian]

My Argument With The Marxist Intellectuals (Part 1)

This article was spurred by a video I watched promoting the ideas of Karl Marx. The YouTube channel, The School of Life, had a video that shifted the conversation of Marx’s ideas. This prompted me to counter this portrayal of Marx.

I am not speaking to those who think that in practice Karl Marx’s ideas will work. We all know that they have been utterly disastrous. Instead, I am speaking to those who see him as a guide that helps point out the faults in capitalism.

Marx wrote more against capitalism then he wrote in favor of communism, which is the political affiliation that he had as a young man. Marx was not popular in his day and the people of his time were intelligent enough to realize that his ideas did not work.

Today, some believe that his work was the foundation for some of the most important movements in recent history. Unfortunately the movements, Cuba, China, USSR, Venezuela, etc. are all shams. Capitalism, at the time of Marx, was a very young idea. Nevertheless, he identified a number of problems with capitalism, which I am here to analyze.

Workers in a Capitalist Economy Feel Alienated

One of Marx’s gripes with capitalism was the assumption that the modern worker felt alienated. Marx argued that the worker wanted to see themselves in their work and that capitalism made that impossible. However, this is a narrow-minded scope of the economy. For example, I drive a truck and I may see my job as meaningless, but without me making deliveries companies cannot get sugar, pallets, labels, beer, candy, and more. I help provide southern Idaho, northern Utah, and many more places with food, drink, supplies and more. Marx also noted that this alienation made the worker hate their job. For this, I will discuss something that my dad has always told me, “I hate my job. I have hated every job I have had because that’s what it is: a job. However, I love the stuff I get to do because of my job.” My dad hunts, fishes, travels, owns snowmachines (that is a snowmobile for all you non-Alaskans), a house in Mexico, and more. A Job is a means to an end.

The problem is that communists think that everyone has a special place and that no one should be cast out. This basically means that everyone has a right to your property if they need it no matter the reason for them needing it, including any self-inflicted reason. I would argue that everyone’s special place is a term that makes a commie’s skin crawl; specialization. The fact that we are able to specialize in a specific product allows us to generate far more products quicker and at a cheaper price. The real sense of contribution is being proud of what you do, taking pride in your work, and being educated in your field to the point that you become indispensable to the company.

Capitalists Get Richer, While the Workers Gets Poorer

Next big issue that Marx had with capitalism was the fact that workers get paid little and “capitalists” get rich. One thing to note first is that we are all “capitalists.” The idea that Marx was trying to get across was that these business owners shrink wages in order to increase their profits. This is a very basic and childish view of an economy. Owners also have an incentive to increase benefits to workers. As I am typing this, I am sitting in the waiting room of a company who just sent their staff, and families, to Disney Land as a gift to their workers. Still, If this was an issue then the mistreated worker has the availability to go work for someone else. If for whatever reason, they can not find a job that pays them what they want, then the harsh reality is that they simply cannot produce enough to justify that wage. So many want to yell about the minimum wage and how these people cannot support themselves, but only 3.3% of the workforce makes minimum wage.

Owners take on so much risk, and therefore they reap the largest reward. The owners have start-up costs, operational costs, along with other costs, such as hiring specialists to help them decide where the best direction for the company to go. Some commies want to shout about shareholders having influence over a company, and that may sound reasonable on the surface. However, if you invest in a company and finance the debt of a business, then yes, you should have a say in the direction of the company.

Nevertheless, I am sure that some of the Marxists are still yelling that the capitalist’s profit is theft from the workers. Somehow the owners of businesses are stealing the labor from the workers, but this is just crazy. This would constitute force and slavery, but this is certainly not the case. Think about the hiring process for a job. The worker files an application, then they sit through a few interviews. During these interviews the worker’s experience and education are reviewed, the job duties are discussed, the wage is discussed, and the benefits are discussed. What many do not realize is that this is the area for bargaining. Plus there is another quick highlight in there; wage. That means that the worker is being compensated for their time. They are trading hours for dollars at that point, and therefore no force has been enacted. People typically increase their age by moving from company to company after seemingly reaching the ceiling at one company.

At this point, the Marxist has probably shifted the argument to the idea that the theft comes from the capitalist paying the worker one price for his labor, then selling it to another person for a higher price. So the issue here is that under a contractual agreement the owner offered a worker to perform a task for a specified compensation. At that point, the owner has paid the worker for what they have done. This means that the owner owns the result of the worker’s labor because he paid the worker for it. If I hire you to build me a dresser, and then I pay you for it, if I turn around a sell it for a higher price do I owe you money? No. It is basic property rights.

I urge you Marxists to get together and create a completely worker-owned company and carry out your ideas. I mean I am sure that at least thirty of you could pull it off. That is the great thing about living in a capitalist economy, you can freely choose to collectively assemble and do just that.

Still, the argument might continue to profit equals exploitation, but this is ridiculous. Rather, it’s now come to grasping at straws. Profit equals capital, which is the element of an economy that helps create a booming business. For all of you thirty or so Marxists that are going to open a collectively assembled business, you are going to need capital. That capital may come from saving or from borrowing – but you will need capital – which can only morally be collected through a capitalistic, free-market system.

Join me for the next article where we will dismantle more of the points laid out in this video.

The post My Argument With The Marxist Intellectuals (Part 1) appeared first on Being Libertarian.

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[thesoftdumbass]

Hold My Hand

Montgomery “Scotty” Scott X Reader

Requested by Anon: May I request a Scotty fic where he really loves holding the reader’s hand and finds any excuse to do so?

Word Count: 3.5K

Characters: Scotty, Leonard McCoy, Nyota Uhura, Jim Kirk. Mentioned: Keenser, Pavel Chekov, Hikaru Sulu, Ben Sulu, Spock

A/N: Just a warning, I know absolutely nothing about engineering, so any time it is mentioned in one of my fics it is basically just the same thing. 

I love this request so much, thank you Anon who sent it to me, and also I’m sorry that it took so long! I am working on other ones, I just want them to be good for you guys, and I have real-world problems and such, bleh. I really hope you like it!

masterlist 

“Make sure you’re more careful next time, Ensign Y/L/N. I don’t wanna have to patch you up again,” Bones says with a cheeky smile as you walk out of an exam room, having just repaired the hand that you managed to burn in engineering. Shorting circuits can really smart.

“Don’t worry Doc, I don’t feel like dealing with your grumpy self. Have fun with those Andorian measles, though,” you snark back at him, winking as you walk backward out of medbay. You and Leonard see a lot of each other, you being a red shirt and all. Engineers tend to get a lot of injuries, and you decided long ago to make your time around the doctor at least mildly entertaining.

As you make your way back to the control room that you were working in before your unplanned break, you run into your supervising officer and friend, Montgomery Scott. He stops you when you move to pass him in the corridor.

“Y/N, I thought I told you to take the rest of the day off. You just burned your hand, you need to let it heal!”

“It is healed, Scotty, thank Heavens for dermal regenerators. The burn is gone and I have new skin to scar up however I please,” you smirk.

“Dinnae joke, Lassie. Injuries are no laughing matter,” Scotty reached for your hand anyways, gently cradling it in his own calloused one, fingers running along the patch of pink skin, causing a small wince to cross your features. You quickly school your face back to normal but Scotty doesn’t miss the movement, giving you a pointed look.

“I’m fine Scotty, I promise, I just need to finish stripping the wires on panel B and replace the fuses,” you insist and go to pull your hand back to your side and Scotty just lets you, a tight smile pulling on his features.

“Keenser will finish it, now go get some rest. Ye’ve got a full day of irritating your coworkers tomorrow.”

You look into Scotty’s eyes and find determination there, knowing that you won’t win a stand-off with the stubborn Scot. “Alright then. I’ll be back in the morning to get on your nerves,” you say with a smirk as you walk away, heading to your quarterdeck to change into some pajamas and watch old holos.

“Well this is just spectacular,” you mutter to yourself as you traipse through the streets of the planet you’re on. The ground mission that you were a part of ran into some trouble. The planet was inhabited by natives, but you didn’t know until too late that Klingons also took up residence there.

Your landing party had to break up and find your way back to the beam-down point in pairs, as a group of six would be too conspicuous. The disguise you are currently wearing is itchy, making you fidget, and your companion just chuckles as you scratch at your shoulder once again.

“What are you laughing at, Scotty?”

“Quit squirmin’, lass. You’re acting suspicious, you could get us caught.”

“I can’t help it, I’m nervous and this stupid dress is so itchy. What is it, made of straw?” you ask rhetorically, reaching up once again to relieve the discomfort.

“Here, give me,” Scotty grasps your wrist mid-air, moving his hand down to intertwine your fingers. “Maybe we’ll be more low-profile if we just walk slowly, look like a couple browsing the stalls.”

You nod your head, a thoughtful look crossing your face. “I think that’ll work.”

And so you make your way through the market, holding hands and talking normally the whole time, making sure you don’t draw attention to yourselves. You finally reach the edge of the city and continue on, reaching the rendezvous point within minutes of clearing the populous area.

Relieved smiles greet you as you rejoin the group, it seems you were the last two to arrive. “Oh good, you guys are back! We were afraid you’d been caught and we would have to send a team to scout,” Uhura rushed up to you, reaching for your arm only to find it still tucked into Scotty’s side. Her eyebrow raises and she gets a mischievous look in her eyes, pointedly looking down at your joined hands. You clear your throat and let go, not having noticed that you were still holding his hand.

“Yeah, we’re fine. We were trying not to draw attention to ourselves, so we just walked slowly.” Uhura accepts your answer.

“So everyone else made it back safely?” Scotty speaks up, making sure to check everybody for any apparent damage, and seeming satisfied at not finding anything wrong.

“Let’s get back to the ship, then.” Nyota pulls out her comm, calling up the Enterprise for a beam out.

Once you are safely back onboard and in your room you pull off the itchy disguise and let it fall to the floor, not wanting it to ever touch your skin again. Getting comfortable in lounge clothes, you replicate yourself a cup of tea to get settled and while you’re waiting for your drink to get done you start to wonder. Is there a reason that you kept your hand in Scotty’s once you were safe? I mean, sure, it’s nice to have that reassurance when you’re in a dangerous situation, but you can’t help but think that it’s more than that. Abandoning your train of thought for now, you grab your mug from the replicator and sit yourself down on your couch, resolving to figure it out on another day.

You dance along to the music, only swaying a little bit in your inebriated state. It’s a celebration night, Chekov’s birthday, and you feel justified in letting loose after dealing with the stresses of working for Starfleet. The song ends and you stop, becoming aware of how dry your throat is.

You make your way through the crowd to the bar, stumbling a little bit in your heeled ankle boots that certainly are not regulation issue. Ordering a cocktail for yourself, you look around and let out a loud squeal when you spot some friends. Scotty and Uhura are standing a few feet away, watching as Keenser and Pavel are having a drinking competition, it’s unclear who’s winning. You walk over to the group, joining in and cheering for whoever drank a shot quicker that round.

The little group is broken up when Keenser pounds his fist on the table twice, signaling his surrender. Everybody around you cheers and you laugh as Chekov stands up in his seat, raising his hands in victory and stumbling, almost hitting the floor. Chekov will have a killer hangover in the morning, but for now, he is happy to have won.

The group around you disperse, and you’re left standing with Montgomery, a large smile on his face and a tumbler of scotch in his hand. The two of you are talking about everything and nothing when your favorite song come over the speakers. Gasping and putting your drink down on a nearby table, you grab Scotty’s hand in yours.

“Dance with me?” you ask excitedly and Scotty can’t resist, the twinkle in your eye too bright for him to disappoint you.

“Aye, of course, Y/N. I have te warn ya though, I can’t dance worth a lick,” Scotty says and you just laugh.

“Come on,” you giggle, grabbing one of his hands in yours. You make your way to the crowd at the edge of the dance floor, but that’s not enough for you. Pushing your way through the throng of people and pulling Scotty along with you, you make it to the center of the dance floor excitedly.

By now your favorite song is almost over but you don’t let that bother you, dancing to it as well as a few songs that come on after it. You’re not exactly a skillful dancer, but you don’t let that stop you from having fun, doing whatever moves pop into your head. Scotty watches with a grin on his face, copying your moves as best he can and spinning you around a couple times.

When the heat from being surrounded by dancing bodies starts to get to you, you pull Scotty close to you, having to yell to be heard over the speakers. “Can we take a break?”

The two of you start to make your way back to the bar, finally getting a chance to cool down. It’s not a surprise that you almost fall, your feet tired from dancing and the alcohol still running through your system, though not as strongly now. Scotty catches you before you can hit the ground, holding you steady by the arms and bringing you closer to his body so he can support you.

“Are you alright? I can find you a seat if you’d like to sit down,” he offers.

“I’m good, I think I’m just gonna go to bed. I didn’t realize how tired I am.”

“I’ll walk you then.” With a smile, Monty puts his arm through yours and leads you out the doors of the recreation deck and you make your way to the turbo lift together. You walk in comfortable silence, leaning your head against his shoulder while waiting for the turbo lift to make its way to your floor.

You reach your quarters after a few minutes and just stand outside for a moment, enjoying Scotty’s presence. Eventually, though, you feel the long day and even longer night hitting you and you have to go in.

“Thank you for walking me back to my quarters, Scotty, and for putting up with my drunk self.” He chuckles, the sound warm and inviting.

“It’s no’ a problem, lass. Get some sleep, and drink plenty of water. I’ll see you on shift tomorrow?”

You just nod, your brain too tired and aching to form words. You smile when Scotty places a kiss on your hairline and make your way inside your room, taking off your dress and laying down, but not before drinking a glass of water and setting another on your bedside table along with a couple aspirin. And even though the after-effects of drinking are hitting you already, you are looking forward to work tomorrow.

You reach out a hand to steady yourself on the nearest object, leaning heavily on the rail of the walkway you are currently on. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter.

Your day had started out normally. That is until a Cardassian warship started following the Enterprise closely. Captain Kirk tried hailing them, but they jammed the signals before firing disruptor blasts, barely making a dent in the shields.

The ship shudders once again as you make your way through engineering, your destination the torpedo bay with a malfunctioning trigger mechanism. Everybody else was busy with other tasks, keeping the warp core functioning properly and making sure that the fires started from erupting sparks are extinguished quickly.

Almost to the torpedo bay, you stumble when the ship lurches. You’re getting tired of these Cardassians attacking you out of nowhere, just wanting to fix the torpedo so you can get out of this star system. Right as you’re about to open up the panel to fix the problem, you are interrupted by the door swishing open.

“Lassie, what are you still doin’ here?” Scotty asks, breathing hard from exertion and face red.

“I’m doing my job, Scotty, what’s the problem,” you ask, almost nonchalantly.

“There are Cardassians on the ship, Y/N! You cannae stay down here. You need to get to a safe location.”

“Well they’re not in here, I can still do my job,” you say flatly.

“But your job isn’t security officer, so we’re going to my office. You will be safe in there,” he pressed.

But Monty, what about the proton torpedo? We need it to disable their ship.”

“Please, Y/N. Come with me.”

You finally comply with his pleas, and after letting out a relieved sigh Scotty grabs your hand. Leading you out of the torpedo bay, you take a left turn out the door and head toward his office.

Scotty notices the Cardassians before you do. As soon as he sees the man and woman with light grey skin, the ridges on their faces standing out, he pulls you into an alcove and makes sure that you are both hidden from their wolf-like eyes. Pulling you into his side he brings his arm up to his chest, your hand still in his, resting just over his heart.

You revel in his embrace, his warmth keeping you grounded. Not that you feel like a damsel in need of rescuing, but you feel better knowing that Scotty is here with you. After a few minutes, you leave Scotty’s side to peer out of the small alcove you are in, finding the way clear to seek shelter.

Silently moving through the bowels of the ship, you make it to Scotty’s office without further incident and collapse onto the small couch in the room as Scotty locks the door behind you. He sinks into the seat right beside you and pulls you into his chest, content to sit with his chin resting comfortably on your head, waiting for the security officers to deal with the ship’s invaders.

It’s not until the alarms stop sounding and the red lights stop flashing that you remove yourself from his arms, thanking him for keeping you safe from the Cardassians and excusing yourself to check the ship for damages.

As you’re walking through the corridors after leaving his office, you can’t help but think about how willing you were to just sit and let Scotty hold you. Oh my God... you think to yourself. I have feelings for Scotty!

It’s finally Saturday and you have a night off after so long of trying to keep up with your crazy work schedule. So after a long day in engineering, your only plans are to eat a homey meal and curl up with a good book for a few hours before going to bed early. You’re already longing for the fuzzy blanket currently laying across your bed, the warm fabric-

“Y/N, do you want to come to movie night with me?”

You hear Scotty’s voice behind you and spin around, coming face to face with the man, the corners of his mouth turned up.

“Huh?” You ask, your head tilted in confusion.

“The bridge crew is gathering to watch old holos in the Captain’s quarters tonight. I thought you might want to join me,” he shrugs, looking around the hallway.

“That sounds fun,” you answer enthusiastically. After all, plans could be changed.

“Excellent!” Scotty exclaims but then lowers his voice to normal levels. “I’ll, uh, I’ll let you get changed out of your uniform and meet you on the senior officer’s deck at 20:00.”

“Later,” you say as you continue on your way to your quarters. You’re not sure what to wear, so you change into a pair of leggings and a cozy sweater with sleeves too long for your hands, a bralette underneath and a pair of converse on your feet. When in doubt, wear what’s comfortable.

You just leave your hair natural and head out, making it to where you’re supposed to meet Scotty just in time, him arriving just a moment after you. Scotty is also dressed down, a long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants in place of his uniform. He greets you and then you’re off, walking to Jim’s quarters and making small talk. You stand in front of the door just a few moments later, and suddenly your nerves flare up.

You’ve heard about these movie nights but you’ve never been before and you don’t know what to expect. You fidget with your hands trying not to freak out, before Scotty reaches over, grasping your hand assuredly before pressing the button to open the door and walking in with you following reluctantly behind him. Several voices greet you once you’ve fully entered the room and the door closes behind you and you wave shyly.

“Y/N! I’m glad you could come.” Jim comes over to give you a friendly hug. “The movie starts in a few minutes and there’s food and drinks in the kitchen, make yourself at home.”

You nod your head in thanks and make your way to the kitchen with Scotty, making a plate of food before walking over to the drinks table. Leonard is there with a glass of bourbon in his hand, and he smirks when you walk over to him. “Hot date?” with a quirk of an eyebrow.

You roll your eyes at his good-natured teasing, looking back at Scotty who is a few feet away talking with Nyota. “Aww, I guess someone’s jealous,” you rib back, poking him in the cheek. Len swats your hand away and laughs, his dimples showing up. You chuckle along and continue to talk and soon you’re joined by Uhura, who jokes about when Leonard and Jim will get together and get married.

By the time everybody is finished with their food and getting a refill on drinks, it’s time for the movie to start and Jim is turning out the lights and asking the computer to play the holo, a classic called “Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark”. Scotty settles in the corner of the couch and you sit next to him, perfectly contented to be pulled into his side as the music starts.

About halfway through the holo, you stretch your back which has gotten stiff from sitting for so long, looking around at the gathered company. On the other end of the large couch is Leonard and Jim, you’re not surprised to find them cuddled close together. Next to them is Pavel, who has fallen asleep, drooling on Hikaru’s shoulder, who is messaging Ben on his PADD. Spock and Uhura are sitting next to each other on the floor in front of the couch, watching the film with mild interest.

As you’re observing the others, you feel a hand fall over your own laying on your leg and turn to your side, seeing Scotty looking back at you. There’s a softness in his eyes that you’ve grown used to from him and it warms your heart to see it now. You smile at Scotty, but then there’s a slight frown on his face but before you can ask him about it he’s speaking.

“Your hands are cold,” he says quietly, trying not to distract the others from the movie.

“They just get a little chilly sometimes,” you shrug. When you say this Scotty takes both of your hands in his, holding them and rubbing circles over the backs with his thumbs. You lean into the warmth he is providing, laying your head on Scotty’s shoulder and going back to watching the movie.

You don’t notice when you’re falling asleep, you just wake up later to the feeling of a chaste kiss being placed on your forehead. You open your eyes slowly to find yourself in Jim’s quarters still, the room dark except for the holo-screen, which is rolling the credits. Scotty is looking over at you, an amused look in his eyes.

“What time is it,” you ask groggily.

“About time for you to go to bed. Come on, I’ll help you back to your room.”

You nod and stand to your feet with Scotty’s help, stretching your arms above your head. You say goodnight to everyone, hugging Uhura before walking out the door, headed to your own quarters. You trail a finger along the titanium wall of the corridor as you walk and your shoulder bumps with Monty’s with every other step you take.

“Lass,” Scotty says softly to get your attention, gently grabbing the hand closest to him to pause your movement. You look to him, eyebrows quirked in interest. He reaches a hand up, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear, you lean into his touch and he lingers, a warm hand on your cheek. “I’d really like to kiss you now, if you’ll let me.”

Instead of responding, you reach up on your tiptoes, feeling Scotty’s breath on your face. You press your lips against his in a tender kiss, pulling back after a moment to see his reaction. Scotty’s eyes are closed, a slight blush on his cheeks as he smiles softly. You take that as a good sign, leaning back in for more.

You and Scotty stand in the middle of the hallway kissing like that for a few minutes and you know that somebody could walk by at any time and see, but you can’t find it in you to care. Eventually, you have to pull away to breathe, resting your forehead against Scotty’s and taking a few gulps of air.

“Would you go to dinner with me, Y/N?”

You giggle as if the answer should be obvious, reaching up and pecking Scotty’s lips once again. “I would love to, Scotty.”

You touch a hand to his cheek reverently before pulling away, reaching out a hand for him to take. And as he continues to walk you to your quarters, kissing you goodnight at the door, you wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else.

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[sisterhood-sanity]

The Christmas I went bat shit crazy!

If you have already read the purpose and the genesis for this blog you know quite a bit about why and how Sisterhood Sanity exists, but I merely skimmed the surface of the final catalyst for my leaving my profession of 25 years and starting over.  The final proverbial straw was the Christmas I went bat shit crazy!

It should’ve been the happiest, most special Christmas of my life; I was finally with the man of my dreams, my soulmate (as cheesy as that sounds), but this year I was riddled with debilitating anxiety and depression.  I had a job that I should’ve loved; I worked with people that I should’ve cared about; I had students I should’ve adored, but instead I found myself in a constant state of panic.  I could’ve sworn my MS was chewing up my brain. When I went in for a three hour MRI, I expected my brain to light up like a Christmas tree.  When I went into the neuropsychologist, I expected him to say I have the memory of a two-year-old.  Instead, I received the greatest and simultaneously most disturbing reports: no new lesions.  My MS was not only stable, but one of my lesions was shrinking; how is that even possible. My MS is getting better? Maybe the neuropsychologist would be able to shed light on why couldn’t I work, why couldn’t I think and comprehend and create at a higher level like I had been doing for so long. Why was it that had to spend 10 hours every weekend in the basement trying desperately to create curriculum and feeling the panic rise with the tick of each minute on the clock? For the first time, I was seeing less of the man I loved than I did in the four years we dated long-distance.  How could I tell him my job was killing me? How could I tell him I felt that I was going crazy? I felt that I was constantly jousting at windmills getting nowhere, always testy, always disappointed, always slightly angry, but mostly upset. I found I cried at the drop of a hat, me this tough chick (as my best friend says), couldn’t keep her shit together, choking back tears during class.  That should’ve been the happiest Christmas of my life.  And in hindsight...it was...ok the Christmas wasn’t happy, it was scary and unnerving...but that Christmas kicked me in the ass so hard that I turned around to face myself and take my own advice.  

Last June I was chosen to address the Plymouth High School graduating class one last time.  It was serendipitous because as they were starting a new adventure, so was I (ironically I didn’t start my adventure until I hit rock bottom).  I was leaving my job of 19 years to move an hour away and marry the man of my dreams.  I wrote a speech that talked about hope, joy, and adventure, and I forgot to take my own advice.  While grasping at life preservers during Christmas, I happened to re-read the speech and realized these were the words I needed to hear.  These are the words that helped me have the courage to begin again.  I am pasting much of the speech here because I feel the advice I gave the kids and took for myself sets the tone for Sisterhood Sanity.  (I took out the personal remarks meant for the kids, but it is, for the most part, the whole of the message.)  You may recognize some of the phrases, there are very few original thoughts, we are always influenced by the outside, but I have put them together in what I hope is an original way.

We are standing at the precipice of our next adventure...We are both ending and beginning today! It’s a marvelous opportunity to able to begin again…I never thought at the age of 50 I would get a do-over, but I do

and I am going to take advantage of all that I have learned to ensure the next 50 years are the most colorful yet.  A do-over is an amazing gift from the universe.  It’s extremely serendipitous that I stand here today.  While you the class of 2018 are completing your PHS journey, I am also completing my 19-year journey of teaching at PHS. So Instead of being old like me and finding yourself saying “If only I knew then what I know now!”  I want to tell you what I know...and I strongly urge you to use it Now...Don’t wait for a do-over...

My TOP TEN LIFE LESSONS

Number 10

Respect your fears…

acknowledge your fears...but don’t let the fear of failing or disappointing others stop you…fear, as Adam Smith (a graduating student) so wisely discusses in his nature of man essay is simply a catalyst for growth and change

Number 9:

Don’t try to be clever when you should be wise: If you are wise you will know when it’s appropriate to be clever and when it’s not...

Number 8:

Don’t make excuses…no one cares why you didn’t; they only care when you do, so show up...that’s what family and friends do...they just show up

Number 7:

Be silly, be kind, be honest...Don’t be afraid to be silly..silliness brings laughter and laughter is a barometer of happiness...laugh a lot…be kind to yourself...haters are going to hate no matter what...so don’t let them suck potential joy from your life...most importantly, always be honest with yourself...if you’re not...WHO else will be

Number 6:

Learn from your mistakes...You are what you make yourself. So learn lessons from your mistakes...the first being to not make the same mistake twice...that’s stupidity…

Number 5:

Don’t settle for almost right…You only cheat yourself when you justify that which isn’t totally right for you...you know when you are cheating yourself when you can’t look yourself in the mirror...and If you can’t look yourself in the eye....no one else will be able to either...

Number 4:

Wake up every morning as if something wonderful is going to happen: While unfortunately, you won’t get to spend part of your day in my classroom any more... there is still a world of wonderful out there for you...so look for it...to grab...enjoy it...savor it

Number 3:

All the universe conspires to help you achieve your goal

But you have to listen to the messages along the way…go through life confidently knowing the universe wants you to win...wants you to achieve...and you will...if you trust your instincts and listen to the messages....if you trust that You are where you are meant to be

Number 2:

Enjoy the journey…Short cuts may get you to your destination faster...but you’ve missed the adventure...you can’t take short cuts through difficulties...you learn from the adventure of them

And my Number 1 life lesson:

Make your life Colorful: draw your world

Dr. Seuss used a  rainbow of hues that tickled the imagination but even he had to start with the three primary colors...he had to open his mind to all the possibilities...to all of the thinks he could think

Life is not a box of chocolates...it is box with 64 crayons with a sharpener in the back.  Use them as a child does...with a glazed look of wonder when they are new, but not afraid to break a tip or tear back the paper to sharpen one.

Pour the crayons out and look at them...it’s ok if they aren’t in perfect rainbow symmetry…they were made to be used, so use them...share them...create with them…color your world with them…don’t settle for an “invisible” boat...and if you insist on only using black and white then at least use some shading…

We love children’s drawings with shimmering green clouds and rainbow striped beasts...we crave Dr. Suessian drawings...not because of their stylistic genius...but because of their honesty and openness...because of their ability to see what isn’t there...their ability to tangibly reflect the vastness of imagination and wonder.   

Don’t leave an inch on the page of your life colorless...don’t let fear stop you from coloring outside the lines…

I am in no way suggesting that you cut off your nose to spite your face..but think the deep thoughts...imagine the impossible...soar for your personal goal….don’t restrict your life to someone else’s defined red rose…Take what you have learned and use it, change it, embellish on it…don’t be satisfied with a red rose any more…make a purple poke a dotted wiggley giggle that sways under a fluorescent orange sky and when someone looks at your paper and says that’s not what it’s supposed to look like….ask the Nosey Nancy...why not?  

Always ask why….suck the marrow of life….just don’t choke on the bone.

Albert Einstein said “Imagination is more important than information,” Live with this truth so that when the drawing of your life is finished…

Your crayons are broken and sharpened down to nubs, with frayed paper wrappings, and the cover of the box is hanging precariously by one corner and the sharpener is a kaleidoscope of crayon shavings.  

Let’s color our world together as we celebrate being us. As we celebrate our sisterhood.  And hopefully, retain our sanity along the way.

If we all colored our world with joy and wonder and imagination...what a world it would be…

How are you going to color your world today?

[michellerps]

“I’m gonna fucking kill you!”/[text]: I’m not talking about this with you anymore I am so mad/[text]: You're just a slut/“Get the hell away from me.”/“I trusted you.”//Saffron/Sabrina

[text]: I’m not talking about this with you anymore I am so mad 

Sabrina→Saffron: Saf, please. You haven’t listened to me at all. There’s been no ‘talking’ just you yelling. And hitting. Sabrina→Saffron: Please hear me out. I can explain everything if you just listen. 

[text]: You’re just a slut 

Sabrina→Saffron: That’s not true. We haven’t done anything. Sabrina→Saffron: I haven’t done anything, Saf. Sabrina→Saffron: I’m sorry, please just talk to me. 

“I’m gonna fucking kill you!” 

Sabrina knew this was a risk. Considering she wasn't even supposed to be speaking to Adam, meeting up alone with him in a hallway at Full Sail was a chance neither of them should have taken. But he'd wanted to talk. And honestly, she did, too. It had been less than a week since he broke up with Saffron, and things were still tense. The guilt was eating away at Sabrina as she comforted her emotional sister while knowing that she was the reason her boyfriend had ended their relationship. Knowing that they wanted to be together, and likely would be. Because as awful as she felt, her feelings for Adam were still there. She still wanted him. That was the one thing that hadn't changed. That didn't mean she felt good about it though. So she'd debated sneaking away from her sister's side to go see him for a few minutes, almost didn't, already feeling bad about potentially just saying hello to him. But she did. She needed to see him. Just to talk.

And talking was all they did. At first. She told him about how things were with her sister. He explained how things had happened from his view. Neither of them felt good about things, but they knew it was right for him to break up with her. It wouldn't have been right for him to stay with her if his heart wasn't there. Which it wasn't. It was with someone else... That was when things went from talking to touching, his hand on her face, his thumb rubbing her cheek. Her hand on his chest, being brave, finally getting to be this close with the guy she'd thought about for months. They kept inching closer, and Adam was just leaning down towards her, both of them grinning at the other, when Sabrina heard footsteps rounding the corner and stepping into the hallway. 

“What the fuck...” 

It was Saffron’s voice.

Sabrina’s stomach dropped. No. This couldn’t be happening. For a second, she refused to even move. Maybe if she stayed frozen, Saffron wouldn’t be able to see her. She knew that was pointless. She saw. She knew. 

Adam had stepped away from her, but she didn’t even look up at him to see if his reaction was as horrified as hers. “Saf-” she heard Adam start to say, but she couldn’t let him be the first one to say something. At this point, Saffron probably didn’t want to hear anything from him. Nor would she care. It had to come from Sabrina. 

“Saf,” she said, cutting Adam off and finally turning her body slightly to face her sister. “It’s not what you think it is.” 

"What is it then?" Saffron asked, but she didn't give either of them a chance to respond. Not that they could have. "Because it looked an awful lot like my twin was about to kiss my ex." Sabrina winced. "Two people who shouldn't even be in the same fucking room."

She knew she was right. When Adam broke up with her, Saffron had been so heart broken. It had been unspoken, but obviously, her friendship with Adam was supposed to have ended then. It was girl code. They were sisters, Sabrina should have cut off contact with her ex. But it was so much more complicated than that. Saffron could see that now.

"I know," she said. She had no room to argue, or try to defend herself. Saffron was right. Everything she was saying was right. "I'm sorry, Saffron. But it's really not... It's not what you think, this isn't... This hasn't been happening..." She fumbled over her words, trying to think of the easiest way explain this to her. She'd thought about how to tell her all this before, how she'd explain that she had liked Adam this entire time and feelings had just grown, and they'd become mutual. She'd wanted to break it to her gently, after some time had passed. Give her time to get over Adam at least. She hadn't been granted the time she'd wanted.  

"'This?'" Sabrina could hear the tears in her sister's voice and her heart shattered. No. This wasn't what she wanted. Maybe it had been inevitable, but she'd never ever wanted it. "So there's a this? Tell me the fucking truth!" 

She shook her head, lying, because it felt like the best way to stop her sister from crying, and that was all she wanted to do right then. "No. No, Saf." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Adam turn his head to look at her. Despite knowing she shouldn't, she looked up at him. 

Fuck. It seemed like either answer would hurt someone. If she told the truth, Saffron would be even more hurt. If she lied, said that she had no feelings for Adam and there was nothing between them, she'd hurt him. There was no easy way out of this mess they had caused with their stupid feelings. 

"We didn't - I never meant for it to happen," she blurted out. "It's just the way I feel and I tried to ignore it but I think I love him and I know that's awful and I'm sorry, but I didn't mean to. I liked him before you dated him!" It was wrong for her to justify what was happening by bringing up a small crush she'd had before her sister and Adam got together, one Saffron didn't even know about. But she was looking for anything, really grasping at straws to try and make this at all okay. Judging by the look on Saffron's face, she wasn't doing a good job. 

"You fucking bitch." Before Sabrina even saw it coming, Saffron was launching herself at her. "I'm gonna fucking kill you!" 

Sabrina gasped in shock, then in pain, feeling Saffron grab a fist full of her hair, yanking her head to the side. A pain shot through her neck from the angle it was pulled in. Fuck, she hadn't wrestled against her sister in so long, she had forgotten how strong she was when she wanted to be rough. She tried to push her off, but Adam got to her first. Grabbing the sore spot on her head where the hair had been tugged, she opened her eyes to see Adam sitting Saffron down. He got a loud slap to the face for his efforts. 

Sabrina rushed forward, not wanting him to get hurt either. But it seemed Saffron had done all the damage she wanted for the time being. Or all the damage she was going to allow herself to do. 

"You fucking bitch," she repeated, snarling at Sabrina now as she stepped backwards. "I don't want to speak to you ever. Fuck you." 

Everything was setting in for Sabrina as she watched her sister storm off. She disappeared around the corner - and maybe out of Sabrina's life. She stood frozen, not knowing what to do, or what to say to the boy next to her. She did love him, or was on her way to loving him, but maybe they weren't good people. If someone like Saffron got fucked over this way, it didn't seem fair that Sabrina got her happy ending with the boy she wanted. Without saying a word to Adam, she shook her head at herself, and walked down the hall in the opposite way Saffron had taken. 

“Get the hell away from me.”

"Saffron," Sabrina pleaded, walking quickly to try and keep up with her twin who was desperately trying to shake Sabrina off. But she wasn't going away easily. "I just want to talk to you. You won't answer my calls, you stopped answering my texts, you've avoided me." 

All true. She didn't even think Saffron was reading her texts anymore. And she hadn't even seen her sister more than once since she caught her and Adam together. But she couldn't no-show a TV taping. And maybe it was unprofessional to chase her sister around during this, but Sabrina had to take the only chance she had. Professionalism be damned. 

"You know I never wanted to hurt you. You have to know that. You're my sister, I love you!" Her voice cracked despite herself. She hadn't wanted to break down, but it was hard not to. "I know I shouldn't have let things with Adam get to this point, but Saf." 

Saffron wouldn't stop trying to escape this conversation, so Sabrina resorted to grabbing her wrist and holding it tight, forcing her to face her for just a moment. "Talk to me, please. Say something. You have every right to be mad, but I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. I never meant for this all to happen." 

As expected, Saffron tugged her arm away and out of Sabrina's grasp. The look on her face made Sabrina's stomach turn. Her sister had never looked at her like that before. So hurt, and betrayed. So disgusted. But then again, she'd never done anything to deserve that look before. 

“I trusted you," Saffron spit the words at her before stomping off. 

This time, Sabrina didn't chase after her. Trusted. Past tense. It had really gotten to this point, where the one person who she used to trust with her life no longer felt the same. She deserved it, and she knew she did. Knowing that didn't make it hurt any less.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

A Hundred Lesser Faces: Fifteen

Section One {A Hundred Lesser Faces} what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh? :  [(One) (Two) (Three) (Four) (Five) (Six) (Seven)

Section Two {A Hundred More}, the aftermath of Claire and Jamie’s reunion, following their journey as they work to build a new life together [(Eight) (Nine) (Ten) (Eleven) (Twelve) (Thirteen) (Fourteen)]

Start of Section 3: {Begin and Tell} 

Several days later 

“Will you PLEASE be so kind as to explain,” I called as I let my skirts fall and tiptoed carefully back through the brush to where Jamie was holding the horses, “why it is we never have to stop for YOU to take a piss?”

“I’ve a twelve-gallon bladder,” he called back without missing a beat. “Had it made special for long rides.”

“HA bloody HA.” I drew up level with him, fumbling in my pocket for a bit of bread as he bent to tighten my horse’s girth strap. “Admit it: you’re an actual sorcerer.”

“Well, and If I were, I would hope I could magick wi’ more profitable stuff than piss.” He grinned at me over his shoulder, hair escaping his queue and hanging in his face. “I’ve been able to make water off the side of a horse since I was a boy, Sassenach.”

“What?” I sputtered, laughing through a mouthful of crumbs. “While still riding?”

“Tis a bit more difficult in breeks, ken, but wi’ a bit of careful wrangling, aye, it’s quite manageable.”

“Wrangling, mm?” I hummed, imagining John Wayne, lasso in hand, facing off with a ferocious horned beast intent on wreaking havoc.  “How do you keep the wind from—” 

“A man must choose his timing wisely, to be sure,” Mr. Wayne himself said as he straightened. “Do ye no’ recall all the times I’ve let ye ride ahead this past week?” 

“So THAT’s what you’re doing! I always thought you were just after a pleasing view of my rear aspect,” I said, in mock-affront, giggling as I brushed off my hands and prepared to remount.

“Tis a most agreeable added benefit.” He touched my arm and placed a sweet, warm kiss in the tender spot where jaw met ear, sending warmth all the way down to my toes. 

“Here, lass, wait a moment,” he added abruptly a minute later, preventing me from stepping back up into the stirrup. He was fishing about in his sporran and came out with a handful of coins, which he pressed into my hand. 

I stared at it. “What’s this?”

“Money,” he called carelessly, walking around to his own horse.

I rolled my eyes at him over the saddle. “I can see that, darling, but why do I need it?” 

“For the inn. The turning for Broch Morda is just ahead.”

“Inn?” I repeated, dumbly. “....Aren’t we going straight to Lallybroch?”  

“No, we’re not.” 

“But—Hold the bloody phone,” I said, moving around my horses’s head to stand in front of him. “Ever since Inverness, haven’t we been talking about ‘leaving for Lallybroch,’ ‘getting close to Lallybroch’ and all that?”

“A generalization, on my part,” he shrugged, making ready to mount up, “I’m sorry if ye were misled.”

“Apparently I WAS,” I said pointedly, alarm bells starting to ring. Jamie was not a man to make careless omissions. I caught his sleeve as he made to swing up. “Jamie, wait—” 

“We’re not going to Lallybroch.” The finality in his tone said what the words did not.  

“You mean not at all?” My mouth had actually fallen open. “Why ever—oh.....Oh, for heaven’s sake.”

Jenny. 

His face was rigid with controlled feeling. “I’m no’ prepared to go knocking on the door and pretend as though all is well between us, Sassenach.”

“Well of course not!” I said, throwing up my free hand and letting my own tempests fly free, control be damned. “It isn’t all well, after what she did! But surely it’s better to go confront her and get it all out in the open! You’re not planning to shun her for the rest of your lives, after all.” 

“Am I not?” 

I was so stunned, I couldn’t immediately think of anything to say, and so just stood there, dismayed to see the mask of steel and spikes that had so suddenly hidden my playful Jamie of moments ago completely from view. 

He had been very quiet on the topic of Jenny in Inverness and on our ride, only getting a sad, almost confused look about him in the few times her name was spoken. We’d not talked about any specifics pertaining to Jenny, either of feeling or plan for the future, but from that mournful look—so utterly foreign to me, on Jamie’s features— I’d presumed that it was primarily hurt and betrayal with which he had been wrestling in his heart. The expression on his face now, though, told me that even if that had been the case, hot fury had since claimed dominance within him, bordering on sheer vengeance.

“Jamie, come now,” I said soothingly, deciding to try and bring things back into a rational sphere. “She’s your sister, whatever else she may be, and I know how much you love h—”

“She’s a woman,” he corrected slowly, his consonants sharp and fearsome as his gaze, “who had enough hate in her heart to willfully see you and me consigned to misery apart for the rest of our days. I’ll no’ seek out reconciliation wi’ such a person.” 

“But—” 

“I’ll be on my way,” he said over me, “and you’ll stay at Broch Morda until I return.”

I nearly snarled ‘Oh, I WILL, will I?’ but settled for a, “Did it not cross your mind that I might want to mend things with Jenny?”

I honestly wasn’t sure that I had, before that moment. In fact, the entire way from Inverness, I’d used the long stretches of quiet to rehearse many a biting jab and condemnation to throw at the wicked woman’s feet when I saw her. That hot coal of anger had kept me warm and satisfied, justified in the knowledge that there would soon be reckoning, or so I’d assumed. There was nothing like a truly terrifying rage, though, in someone as large and dangerous as Jamie, to make one try to put aside their own vindictive glee and transmute calls for blood toward forgiveness.

From the look on his face, I honestly didn’t know what Jamie would do or say when next he saw his sister (surely he wouldn’t actually do her harm, but—), and that fact frightened me enough to have me grasping at any straws within reach. “I never thought of you as a petty person, Jamie,” I tried, “but this is—” 

“’Petty’?” His nostrils flared dangerously. “Are ye truly telling me, Sassenach,” he snarled, “that if things had been reversed—if one of your own family had tried to keep us from—”

“I don’t have any family apart from yours,” I snapped, but then quickly groaned and rubbed my temple, seeing that line of argument going nowhere. “It’s the here and now that we have to contend with, Jamie! Surely you know there’s wisdom in that.”

“I may ken it,” he admitted tightly, “but my mind’s made up.”

We were both standing tight-strung between the horses, holding onto our respective reins as though they could anchor us from further outbursts. 

Not a foolproof plan, evidently. 

“So where the hell are you supposedly running off to while I hide at the inn?” I blurted, that ‘until I return’ finally clicking into place.

He spoke tersely but at once. “To speak wi’ Laoghaire. Break the news and hammer out an understanding wi’ her until Ned can arrive to settle things before the law.”

Well...Yes, that made good sense, I supposed. 

Still, I was vexed enough to keep on the offensive, though I hated hearing the petulance in my voice. “All this time, you’ve been planning to just go off and leave me alone? Without even bothering to talk to me about it?”

“I am sorry for no’ being more clear about my intentions, but—” He was blinking hard and gritting his teeth. “Jesus, Claire, surely ye can understand that we canna be seen together in town, let alone let it be known that we’re sharing a room,” he hissed, telling me that he was just about as near the end of his rope as I was. “Risk the gossip getting back to Balriggan before I myself do?” He shook his head mightily. “You’ll go to the inn and wait there until I’ve gotten things in hand, and ye can greet Ned when he arrives, forbye. I’m sorry, but there’s no other way to see it all safely sett—”

“Of course there is, you brute of a man! Going to LALLYBROCH! Surely your family wouldn’t ever allow the gossip to—”

“CLAIRE!”

I fell silent, and could have cursed him for it. 

He let go the reins and slowly stepped forward, cupping one hand to my face. The touch itself was gentle, but his eyes were deadly serious, in no way threatening, but no less terrifying for it.  “I love you. With all my life and heart, I love you. Ye ken it to be so. But this is my sister; my marriage needing to be dissolved. I need ye to let me do things in the way I see fit, this time.”

Well, fuck you, too, I wanted to spit, but I gritted my teeth. “Fine.”

I realized too late that there had been a moment of soft pleading in his eyes as he spoke the last words. I watched in dismay as it vanished, leaving only hard coldness. Then his touch, too, was gone, and a minute later we were mounted, riding toward the crossroads in complete silence.

Damn you, Jamie Fraser, AND your wretched sister. And Damn you too, Laoghaire notFraser, while we’re at it. TWICE.  

I’d known moments like this would come creeping in between us, sooner or later—the perfectly natural clashes and disagreements of married people, those moments of misunderstanding from poor assumptions and hasty conclusions; of wholeheartedly wanting to chuck the other person into a ravine for being a stubborn arse. Of course, those moments were inevitable ; I’d known that from the beginning. I had just hoped they wouldn’t come so soon. 

Easy, though, Beauchamp. Take a breath. 

I obeyed, letting the sharp snap of the mid-morning wind brace my churning temper. 

This was a very unusual set of circumstances, I forced myself to keep remembering, with pressures of all kinds falling squarely on Jamie’s shoulders. I had, of course, had the advantage of months and months in which to prepare for our reunion, to set my affairs in order and rearrange my life with all loose ends tied. Jamie, though, had been taken completely and utterly unawares. It should be no surprise that it would be a bumpy journey, on his side, both logistically and emotionally. 

I took another deep breath, feeling some of the ire evaporating. While I still thought (knew!) going to Lallybroch first to face the 60-inch beast head-on was the best course of action, I supposed I could find it in my heart to support his choice and afford him some control over how to approach his own tangled web, the one he was unraveling for my sake.

I was opening my mouth to say something, a gentle word or reassurance, if not apology (I wasn’t prepared to be that magnanimous yet), but before I could, we were at the juncture, and Jamie was turning his horse toward the left fork, toward the unseen Balriggan. He jerked his head toward the right. “It’s no’ far to the inn, a half-hour at most. Introduce yourself to the keeper as Malcolm, if they ask for a name. “

I nodded.

“I’ll come as soon as I can, or else send word.”

He opened his mouth to say more, closed it, inclined his head, and was off.

I exhaled in a great whoosh as I watched him ride off with speed, frustrated beyond measure both at him and myself. Don’t let the sun go down on your anger, mm? We would have at least one sunset, likely many more, before this mess was settled between us, not to mention the great behemoth of Laoghaire’s shock and reaction to weather, and a widespread scandal to mitigate once the word good and truly spread. Yes, it would be a long many sunsets, together or apart. 

The impulse to go after him pulled tight and anxious in my belly—Go tell him you love him, you fool; wish him good luck in the dealings with Laoghaire; let him know you’re on his side—but fear and hurt won out, and I kicked up the horse toward the right, picking carefully over the rocks on the steeply-graded path.

We hadn’t climbed more than fifty yards when, without warning, an almighty screech rent the air. The horse was rearing beneath me practically before I could register the sound, let alone look to discover its source. I might have managed to keep my seat, but the horse was new, neither of us used to one another, and when she bucked, I went launching off over her right shoulder. 

It was only by providence that the trajectory landed me in the bracken and not against the boulder two feet away at the edge of the path, else I would have dislocated my shoulder or broken my collarbone for certain. It was my army training, though—twenty-five-or-more-years aged, but still apparently sharp—that made sure I tucked the shoulder and rolled rather than throwing out my arm.  Still, even without broken bones, the pain and impact of the landing was unbelievable. As I sat up, groaning, teeth-rattling shocks of pain were coursing up my spine and down to my stunned fingers and back. I curled the limp arm tight to my chest, trying to catch my breath, trying not to vomit from the pulsing lightning storm happening in my line of sight.

I heard a strangled sound, whipped my head around, and saw Jenny bloody Murray standing on the loop of the road above me, where I had been about to turn the horse before being thrown. 

She was wrapped in a traveling cloak, the mule she’d been riding completely forgotten behind her, as was the basket that lay on the road, contents scattered. She was staring down at me as though at a ghost, but one that she meant to do battle with to her own death. “Is it you, Claire?” she demanded, voice high and deadly-fierce as her brother’s with shaking energy; a blazing valkyrie ready to attack. “Tell me this moment, are ye real?” 

"Real enough for you to have gotten me chucked off a real horse, if you hadn’t fucking noticed!” I snarled, cradling my arm.

But damn her, the woman’s face completely fell and she burst into tears as she ran for me, sobbing, “Oh, Thank God, Claire!” 

[redthreadtugs-blog]

Understandable? Or not?

K: Was it a wrong thing? Yes. Everyone would say so. Was it understandable? I think at least some would say so. Given the way we had gone round and round I have little to no insight into T and L. I have no idea how they work. What she knew or knows.

J: What does that mean.... understandable? Like it’s ok sorta to do?

K: No. Not okay.

J: Then why understandable?

K: That the path I took, as not okay as it was....it was understandable how I could have made those choices.  I was lost. I made mistakes. This does not justify it. I am never gonna forgive myself for lying to you. For hiding from you. But i was lost.

J: Sigh (((((((Kezziah)))))))

K: And I was afraid. And I did not know how to find myself or talk to you about my lost voice. I only knew i did not want to make you mad. I could not face it. It terrified me on a visceral level.

J: And so the way you chose, was that I would just be clueless about stuff instead.

K: And so i did something that made sense to me... That was wrong. That I thought would be harmless... it was wrong on so many levels. But i had become so unsure of myself with you.  I was lost. It was not about you per se. You feel that it was. But it was not. It was never meant to hurt you or make you the fool.

J: When you did that, and others know but I do not, it is inherent there is going to be a loss of respect

K: It was just so i could find my voice somehow.. ... i can never explain this to you. Cause you could never feel what i was feeling

J: there is in fact a loss of respect

K: Crying*

J: That is what you gave me.

K: There had been so many times the bar had been moved.... I was boxed in. No longer me

J: Unfortunately, I earned it. Sorry I sucked so bad.

K: I never wanted to lose you. I only wanted to keep your love. We were not communicating when we thought we were.

J: Clearly.

K: I did not know how to cope with your jealousy. I could not abide your unfounded accusations. And yet I felt guilty. Like I must have done something wrong. I was sure that if you were that mad at me, I needed to fix it. I must have done something wrong to earn your wrath. It was a terrible cognitive dissonance for me.  And I started to distrust myself. Every instinct. Every word I typed. 

J: So what does that say about anything we spoke of any of those times? Like apologies, forgiveness, and me saying I am going to adjust this or that about my behavior how I was going to try something different and how proud we were for our talks through it and your takes on the situations and any of that stuff....was it all just so much words and we really didn’t fix anything?

K: I believed all that. I did.

J: But how then?

K: But the fact is....you kept doing it. Again and again.

J: We tried so much to believe in each other, we each conceded stuff

K: I kept limiting my behavior more and more.

J: You weren’t alone in that.

K: And yet you kept getting triggered. And then I was in trouble with you again. And you were threatening to leave me. And i could not take that I was willing to do anything to stop that. It cut me to little pieces

J: I should have left. I kept triggering, it wasn’t right to keep doing that

K: I didn’t want you to leave *sobbing....fuck....

J: I know. And I didn't wanna either. Entirely selfish of me. You don't need that crap from anyone.

K: Every time...we had that fight...and we made up...and you said you would never do it again....I believed you.

J: It’s not a worthy trade off. I know I broke that.

K: Until the last time when we fought and C was in the middle I thought.....it’s never gonna end. He’s trying but he can’t help it.   But he can’t stop. I felt so defeated. I felt so broken. When you accused me of taking up with C... When you thought I was chatting with him when I was picking up after the dog... missed your chime and you were furious with me... Omg.

J: Sigh

K: Jameson... These things. You have no idea the effect they had on me. The power you had over me. How much your anger destroyed me. How your accusations of unfaithfulness cut me. I was never unfaithful to you for one minute. Sobbing* I know you are never gonna believe me. I deserve that. But...your accusations...they almost drove me to create the reality you envisioned.... I don’t know.  Kills me.

J: Nothing to hide now, hun. I am so sorry.

K: I only ever wanted you. I am not saying what I did was okay. It was not. But...I was damaged.  And broken. In ways I am only now understanding.  You didn't mean to. And I contributed... Someday I hope you can forgive me and let go of it. Stop throwing it in my face. I want to put it behind us. I had thought it was behind us months ago. I know it can’t be behind us yet because I didn't tell you and was hiding the whole damn thing

J: I am not throwing it in your face. Uggh.

K: It feels like it. Every time... Like a weapon. I could not feel worse about it than i do. I don't know how to apologize more than I have. I know I disrespected you and us. And lied and omitted and dissembled

J: Then stop.

K: I won’t ever do that again.

J: Like I said I don't know what else to say any more. All it does....is this all this crap above.... I can't resolve anything within myself because no one will talk to me about it, so I’ll figger it out on my own and I'm still the asshole. So meh.

K: I don't know what to say when you ask me things i don't know

J: Nothing more to say then.

K: When you seem to have heard things I didn't say

J: I asked a question.  I asked for clarity. Who got bowed up? 

K: I did. I am sorry. I am so sorry.

J: My fault for asking

K: I don't know what you expect me to say. I don't really know T. How should I know what was said between T and L?

J: I expect an answer, anything else looks like methinks she doth protest too much

K: I feel like everything I ever say is wrong. It’s reflexive. It’s habit with you. That what I say is wrong. Not enough. So I keep saying more things. Getting more defensive. Even when there is no reason on gods green earth for me to actually BE defensive.

J: And that is why we can’t do this stuff anymore. It seem like I should not ask questions that no one can answer and you get freaked out when I ask

K: And your hair stands on end. And you hear guilt. And then I can’t stop crying.

J: My hair does not. I hear inconsistencies.

K: Male brain: female brain. I am not lying. I am not.

J: And there are and have been tons of that throughout all of this and, you know, that stuff just doesn’t rest. And why would it? Because my gf chose to hide, lie about it and send her secret friend out to attack me to keep it under wraps. So yea. It bothers me.

K: I never wanted him to say any of that to you. I hate that he did that. I hate it.

J: Just ....what... “oh Jameson...it’s a big nothing, forget about it pretty please?”

K: I know you are not gonna forget about it. Just as I can't forget about your false accusations that terrified me.

J: Your messages have him attacking me passively and indirectly and you let him there too. It’s not so easy to reconcile, Kezziah

K: I AM NOT responsible for his actions and words.

J: I am a butthurt motherfucker.

K: Clearly, I was a fucking mess.

J: You always let your friends talk crap about your bf?

K: Jameson....do you have any idea the state I was in? And I think you can see how I DID disagree with him. Maybe not as much as I could have. But...I was a mess. And you were not talking to me at all. And I thought you might never again.

J: Well he is good guy, well worth all this trouble.

K: I refuse to defend him… He is not. You are everything to me.

J: I never wanted to be your everything.

K: I thought he was a good person. Maybe he is not. The contrast between you and him is stark

J: A big thing mebbe, definitely not everything.

K: Okay, you are my BIG thing Jameson... I cannot fight like this. I am too upset to work right now.

J: I can’t either.

K: This is the same ground we keep going over. I don't know how to help you.

J: I don't need any help.

K: I don’t know how to help us move forward.

J: I'll sort it out on my own.

K: I hate that I have hurt you so much. And that someone i called a friend was such an asshole to you. Totally unacceptable. I'm utterly confused by his behavior. I don’t know what it is you want when you ask me the kinds of things you asked me today that got me so upset I just don’t know what you want. I can’t answer them. I just don't know.

J: I can’t ask if you are gonna get bowed up. So no worries. I won’t anymore. I figured stuff out so far. I can sort out the rest. Thank you, for your time on it. My sincerest apologies for upsetting you. I suck at this stuff.

K: I don’t know about that. Mebbe we both suck. Somehow we are gonna get better at this.

J: Doesn’t seem like it. Mebbe we better to be just friends and not touch this ever again or anything like it.

K: Your hurt over this is deep. I acknowledge it. You have nursed it for half a year until it has grown larger than us. It is gonna take time. Two steps forward.  One step back. It is not linear. I am not gonna quit on you. We made this mess together. Some we gotta handle alone. Some we can do together. I don’t think it is possible to not touch on this stuff again. That's not honest either. If we are gonna be friends. Or whatever... we are gonna be dealing with it.

J: All’s I have are straws to grasp at here. No one wants to speak with me directly about these things. All I get are ‘yea yea I understand’ and ‘it sucks’ ‘I am sorry.' There is no manual for this kind of stuff. I have been crappy, and now you are because of it, so now what? Just run around and be all dysfunctional together? I don't know how to release this stuff. I don't know how to reconcile this all in my mind. I don't know how either of us saves face with it either. Just what, say 'yea, you are right I was a butthead', and this and all its discrepancies is ok now and back to business as usual?

When I went through conflicts before with people, either my own or sorting through someone else's, we would find a place to where it came down to finding what it was one needed to finally lay it to rest. That is going to be difficult if we can't even talk about this stuff without getting bowed up. I know you keep offering things, and please don't think I don't appreciate it.

I want this to be done with too. I am also uncertain and afraid that getting it sorted out may be more damaging to our relationship than it being worthwhile to do. We are are already so messed up. How much more can you endure? Can I? Before all is lost.

K: I am doing the best I can to speak directly to you. I am sorry if i get upset. Sometimes it surprises me. All of a sudden we are in the middle of stuff I was not ready for. I keep trying. I feel like I keep failing. I can't stand to try so hard and feel that you still think I am lying. I do not believe that our attempts at this make things worse. It’s cyclical. Not linear. Two steps forward.  One back.

©redthreads

陪同

[goodguyjean]

What's up! Both Armin and Jean are my favorite characters, they were since I first got into the manga and I loved each of their character developments and overall growth. I loved seeing Armin and Jean's friendship grow through out the story, and considering the "separation" between the main trio, which I think will be due to a difference in ideals. Being Armin and Jean think alike and work well together, do you think Jean will side with Armin and get his back during the trio split? Thanks!

Hi there! Sorry, it’s been kind of a busy weekend for me and mysemester is just starting up so I’m a bit behind on my inbox ^^’ Thanks foryour patience! 

I’ve thought about this question quite a bit, and I think itwill come down to what exactly is going to be the basis of the “separation” of the members of theShiganshina Trio. Personally, I think it’s going to come down to how much each member of the trio is willing to sacrifice in order to achieve their goal–and, according to the newest guidebook, they’re starting to realize just how much their goals currently differ. As Isayama discusses in a recent interview in said guidebook, Armin wanted to see the sea for its own sake, because it was a wonder of nature, but Eren wanted to see it as an act of defiance, because he felt indignation that he was held back from seeing it by the Walls and the titans. Mikasa’s goal has always been protecting her family, but that goal has started shift as she’s dedicated herself to the Survey Corps and given herself to the military discipline that comes with being part of such a group. Eren’s view of the world is actually quite uncompromising, and realizing that he can’t have the absolute freedom he once dreamed of has led him to despair. In the face of such insurmountable odds and the revelation that the Walldians’ enemies have been other humans all along–technically other Eldians, who have been enslaved and forced to act as living weapons because of their unique ability to transform into titans–Eren clings to his comrades and refuses to sacrifice them for a cause so hopeless (to Eren’s mind post-Uprising/Shiganshina) as defeating Marley, and thus it is actually Eren who is now most closely aligned with Jean ideologically. I am not sure if Jean will be forced to “side” with any particular member of the trio, but I imagine that if it comes to that he will feel torn between his close friendship with Armin and his ideals. 

And, quite frankly, I would like Jean to stick to his ideals if they ever come into conflict with his feelings for Armin, as much as it pains my inner-Jearmin shipper to say this. Armin and Jean have always disagreed about the ends justifying the means, and I can actually envision an ending where Armin and Mikasa end up on one side of this debate and Eren and Jean end up on the other. Which, considering how ideologically opposed Eren and Jean are at the beginning of the series, would be kind of poetic. However, I can equally see Jean prioritizing his connection with Armin in spite of any ideological divide between the two of them–and there is, based the events surrounding Reiner’s capture in chapter 83, the potential that Jean is shifting into a more tactical mindset such as Armin has.

I’m sorry, this probably wasn’t the answer you (or any of my fellow Jearmin fans) were looking for, but if you want a full explanation for my thinking I’ve typed it all out under the cut. :( As always, feel free to discuss, raise counterpoints, and offer alternative readings!

When we last saw ourWalldian heroes, Eren, Mikasa, and Armin were already starting to disconnect on the question of sacrifice. Armin was able to sacrifice himselfand his personal dream of seeing the ocean in order to defeat Bertolt, andMikasa was eventually able to accept Armin’s sacrifice when Hange and Levidiscussed reviving Erwin instead, but Eren absolutely could not let Armin go.Ultimately, the decision to save Armin instead of Erwin fell entirely toLevi, but we see a lack of alignment in ideology between the three friendshappening on that rooftop that haunts their confrontation with Floch in chapter 90.

Floch praising Mikasa for having let Armin go, chapter 90.

Additionally, Eren has theorized that he can activate the Coordinate that currently lies dormant within him if he touches someone of royal blood while they are a titan (the published edition says “consumes,” but Isayama has apparently corrected this mistake, which also exists in the Japanese version of the chapter). Just as he was unable to give up on Armin while he lay dying on the rooftop, Eren resolves that he simply cannot sacrifice Historia, even if doing so would give him the Coordinate’s full powers.

Chapter 89. Eren tries to tell himself he’s not 100% sure that titanizing Historia would actually allow him to use the Coordinate anyway. Armin looks at him suspiciously. Eren decides to keep his new theory a secret from everyone, including Armin.

Chapter 90. “But I’m not prepared to sacrifice Historia.”

Now it’s not clear to me that Armin and Mikasa necessarilywould be willing to sacrifice Historia, only that Eren must suspect them of being able to do so, or else he wouldn’t keep his theory such a secret. He feels he cannot tell anyone without risking Historia’s life. What is very interesting to me is that Eren is specifically suspicious of what the Corps will do to Historia, and that his decision not to reveal his idea to Armin and Mikasa means that he sees them as completely aligned with their chosen military branch. They proved their loyalty through their sacrifice: Eren, who was unable to give up Armin for Erwin, suddenly feels distanced from the very group he spent the first half of the series lionizing as the paragons of freedom. Whether or not Mikasa and Armin would actually be willing to go to such extremes to win the war against Marley, Eren has seen them sacrifice so much and feels disconnected with them on this specific issue, creating a frisson which, quite frankly, we can already feel.

Which brings us to Jean, Attack on Titan’s harshest critic of sacrificing others for a cause and compromising on one’s moral convictions, and the person who has been the most vocal about his doubts concerning the Survey Corps’ methodology over the course of the series. Ifdisagreement over the value of sacrifice is to be the primary source of tension amongthe Shiganshina Trio, I am not entirely sure that Jean will “side” with Armin, at least ideologically–it will depend on which way his arc of development is leaning. Jean’s guidebook entry speculates that he is still struggling with killing other people, even enemy combatants such as a Reiner. Of course, Reiner is a particularly complicated case because he was once Jean’s comrade, but Jean has always had the hardest time harming other people, and I never thought his qualms were “settled” by killing someone in the Reiss Family Chapel in order to rescue Eren. 

Jean kills someone for the first time, chapter 64. 

Jean is incredibly upset when he thinks he’s killed Reiner, chapter 77.

Jean stops Hange from killing Reiner, chapter 83. 

This last scene with Reiner presents some problems of interpretation for me, because even though Jean saves Reiner’s life, it’s framed as a temporary reprieve. He asks Hange to wait so that the Survey Corps can administer the Titan Serum to someone and have them eat Reiner in order to gain his shifter abilities. It is Hange who hesitates, Hange who would rather kill Reiner than force another person to take on the burden of being a titan (and at this point, the Survey Corps don’t even know about the Curse of Ymir!), although Hange is also weighing the pros and cons of just removing Reiner from the field completely by killing him. When Hange expresses doubt that the conditions for using the Titan Serum have not been met, Jean suggests that the Walled World is losing because they’re not willing to play by their enemies’ rules.

Chapter 83.

Here, as I’ve suggested in previous metas, Jean seems to be moving closer to Armin’s way of thinking, at least on the surface. Armin is not ruthless, but he has suggested that in order to “win” the war with the titans, some people are going to have to dirty their hands. In this moment, Jean makes a very Armin-like suggestion, and even chides Hange for not being willing to take a risk to acquire another shifter–a huge asset for the now decimated Survey Corps.

Chapter 83.

Of course, which way Jean is leaning ideologically depends on what exactly his motivations were for stepping in and preventing Hange from killing Reiner. Is he primarily motivated by a desire to gain another shifter, or is he grasping at straws because he’s not ready to see Reiner die? I think it could be a bit of both, and not much clarity is offered as the scene progresses.

Chapter 83. 

Is Jean questioning why he would argue for Reiner’s strategic value, or questioning why he would step in to help Reiner? Personally, I’m currently leaning a little bit towards the latter reading of these panels, because of the way Jean berates himself after Reiner is rescued by Zeke. He clearly blames himself for preventing Hange from killing Reiner, even if he did have a rationale.

Chapter 84.

Evidently, the value of sacrifice is still an open question for Jean, even though he certainly admires Armin’s resolve and understands that Armin has made sacrifices primarily for the good of the group. This scene in Shiganshina echoes Jean’s guilt over forcing Armin’s hand when he himself is unable to kill an MP, even at the potential cost of his own life.  He feels like he has failed his friends and failed the team in his commitment to a very rigid system of ethics. However, while Levi agrees that Jean’s hesitation put the whole squad at risk, he doesn’t pronounce that Jean’s values are therefore incorrect, leaving Jean room to continue questioning what he should do in any given situation.

Chapter 59. 

Given events in recent chapters, Jean has clearly not put his doubts to rest, and Levi implies that there may even be value in allowing them to continue existing even if that ultimately puts Jean at odds with the Survey Corps and even society writ large. To echo Armin’s words to Annie before the Battle of Stohess, Jean’s inability to sacrifice people and fully incorporate into the Survey Corps may make him a “bad soldier” for the Corps, but a “good person” in other situations. Jean can choose with whom he wants to ally himself; for the remainder of the Uprising it is with the Survey Corps, but he could change his position. And if Eren is also beginning to doubt, to resist sacrificing everything in order to fully commit to the cause, I can see a situation where Jean and Eren are ultimately allies. 

None of this is to say, of course, that Armin doesn’t struggle with these questions himself, or that Jean doesn’t potentially have Armin’s back irregardless of their differing view points. Jean clearly loves Armin (however you want to interpret that love: platonic, romantic, whatever) and feels incredibly guilty when Armin stains his hands with the blood Jean could not bring himself to draw, even at risk to his own life.

Chapter 59. 

Jean does not turn away from Armin or judge him at this moment; he primarily feels guilt (although, Jean was under attack, so I hesitate that the fault entirely lies with him) that he has caused Armin this intense emotional pain. Also Armin wrestles with the reality of having killed someone, someone who was herself a human, who also hesitated to shoot her enemy. Eren may, in fact, be overestimating Armin’s ability to sacrifice, and Armin and Jean may actually never fall out, particularly if Jean is sliding into a more nuanced vision of the world which can accommodate some sacrifice even if it rejects total commitment to a cause.

Ultimately, I think, Jean, Armin, Eren, and Mikasa are all going to be faced with the question of how far they’re willing to go in the service of the Survey Corps and in the service of the Walldians more generally. How they respond to this pressure will likely determine their future alliances, but I will say that I do not think they are set in stone. Although Eren and Jean disagree a lot at the beginning of the story, they come to meet in the middle, with Jean seeing some value in fighting for a cause while Eren has tried to be more responsible to his comrades and to think before he acts. They both struggle with compromising their ethics, and I think there’s a way in which they may ultimately be the most closely aligned of the remaining characters in the upcoming arc. Although I think both of them care for Armin a great deal, one can see the potential cracks in their friendship. What Isayama will actually decide to do, however … I can’t really say. 

Thanks for the note, anon. Sorry it kinda turned into me chewing over this issue; I’ve been doing a great deal of thinking on this matter, and I can’t come to any easy answers about what is going to happen; all I can say is that I don’t think Eren and Armin growing apart automatically means Jean will step up to fill Eren’s place at Armin’s side. It all depends on what exactly is at stake in their disagreement. 

[fapangel]

Left-Wing Violence and False Equivalencies

After the attempted murder of several Republican Congressmen last month, I skipped any big blogpost on it because I'd already posted it months before - a simple "I told you so" sufficed. The bloodletting was everything I - and countless others - had said would be the inevitable consequence of the tide of pathological hatred and thuggery currently ruling the left wing. The shock of the event should have spoken for itself.

Imagine my surprise, then, to hear people I respect glibly equating the unceasing, obsessive hatred and calls for violence from the left wing to "right-wing rhetoric," implicitly suggesting some sort of parity. Apparently, this needs saying: left-wing violence, and calls for violence, are qualitatively and quantitatively far more evident, excessive, effective and dangerous on the left. This owes to three main reasons:

Left-wing violence and violent rhetoric is openly promoted and legitimized by people in positions to influence the ideology of the masses, especially Hollywood stars, university professors and famous national “comedians.”

Left-wing violence and violent rhetoric is organized, political, and international in scope.

Left-wing violence and violent rhetoric is unashamed, unapologetic, and accepted in their own cultural circles.

These are not opinions, or arguments. As I will document, these are facts. Let's start with the first point.

Grasping for Straws - Media Accusations

Let's compare some reactions - reactions - to the Scalise shooting, after conservatives dire predictions of bloodshed had been borne out. Trinity College professor Johnny Eric Williams published an article on Medium.com charmingly titled "Let Them Fucking Die," openly wishing that the attempted murderer had been successful. It opened with this disclaimer:

[NOTE: This essay is in the context of bigotry and is speaking about bigots. If you aren’t a bigot, then it doesn’t apply to you. But, if you happen to feel hit, then holler, dog.]

One rubber-stamp label later, and murder - outright murder - is justified. Then there was Chelsey Gentry-Tipton, a Nebraska Democratic Party official and chairwoman of Nebraska's Black Caucus openly mocked the shock of the shooting victims on social media. She also posted “The very people that push pro NRA legislation in efforts to pad their pockets with complete disregard for human life. Yeah, having a hard time feeling bad for them.”

But even that pales in comparison to Phil Montag, another Nebraskan Democratic Party official, who came to Gentry-Tipton's defense and was caught on tape saying that he was glad Scalise got shot and that he wished Scalise was dead. Click that link - it must be heard to be believed, especially Montag combatively arguing with his fellow Party officials who released the tape.

And let's not forget James Devine, a New Jersey Democratic campaign strategist for 35 years who tweeted “We are in a war with selfish, foolish & narcissistic rich people. Why is it a shock when things turn violent?#HuntRepublicanCongressmen.” (The original tweet is still up. Look for yourself.)

Again, this is after theory has become fact, after blood has been spilled, and after people have been gravely wounded and almost killed. The reaction of tenured professors Democratic Party officials and career Democratic campaign staffers wasn't just approval, but combative, nasty, in-your-face avowal; the conviction of people convinced they're right and not afraid to say so.

Now turn the tables and time-warp to 2011, after Gabrielle Giffords was shot and the left-wing media overwhelmingly and immediately blamed it on "right-wing rhetoric" - such as a campaign map with "cross-hair graphics" placed over crucial districts - to explain the actions of an insane man. Initial diagnosis of mental illness mean little, since these perpetrators are unstable and violence-prone by definition - defining it as root cause or aggravating factor requires investigation. I was going to say that no such ambiguity existed in the Giffords shooting, trusting to Fig. A., the shooter's mugshot, to carry the argument -

- but the media happily spared me the trouble when the New York Times, the pinnacle of journalistic standards and so-called "newspaper of record", repeated the election-map claim six years after Loughner's gibbering insanity had been firmly established. The editorial board of the New York Times missed this, which implies something about their remembered narratives. Incidentally, that editorial was itself a reaction to the Scalise shooting, and claimed that there was "no sign of incitement as direct as in the Giffords attack." With the blood of Scalise and two police officers still soaking the ground, the Times rushed to defend the left and blame the right with an outright lie.

This was going to be my key example, but once again the media preempted me. It's been drowned out by the overwhelming backlash against CNN's thuggish threatening and intimidation of some random Reddit user, but the media's desperately been arguing that Trump re-tweeting a meme gif of him fake-wrestling a CNN logo to the mat is promoting violence against the media. CNN, of course, is in the throes of high dudgeon. This is what the major mainstream media outlets - with their massive, unquestionably powerful platforms and reporter/researcher apparatus - find and hold up as examples of violent right-wing rhetoric: crosshairs on campaign maps and fake wrestling meme .gifs from reddit. Given the power, influence, and dominant platform of these organizations, it strains credulity to claim that there's significant instances of right-wing violence promotion that they somehow haven't made headline news.

A Non-Stop Litany of Hatred

Barely two weeks after the mass shooting at the Republican baseball practice, Johnny Depp, famous Hollywood actor, stood up in front of a crowd in England and “joked” about assassinating President Trump. “When was the last time an actor assassinated a president? I want to clarify, I am not an actor. I lie for a living. However, it has been a while and maybe it is time.” Back in May, Professor John Griffin, of the Art Institute of Washington, called for GOP Representatives to be “lined up and shot.”

Then there's the Otto Warmbier tale. Soon after the 22 year old was sentenced to 15 years of hard labor for “stealing a political poster,” the Huffington Post was openly gloating about how that filthy white male had it coming for thinking his white privilege would let him get away with his “crime,” apparently happy to take North Korea's word on the young man's “guilt.”And they weren't the only ones, with comedians, Salon.com and Affinity magazine piling on also. After Otto Warmbier was murdered by the North Koreans, Fox News wondered if those leftists were still laughing. Turns out they were - or at least Kathy Dettwyler, professor of anthropology at the University of Delaware, said he got “exactly what he deserved” because of - again - his white privilege. Tom Curry, associate professor at Texas A&M, gave an interview about “killing white people in context,” in which he said that “some white people might have to die,” because, of course, black people are dying. A Fresno State University professor, Lars Maischak, went on a twitter rant calling for Trump to be hung, “the higher the better,” and for Republicans to be executed. One particularly saucy tweet: “Has anyone started soliciting money and design drafts for a monument honoring the Trump assassin, yet?”

Back to Hollywood with Madonna, who talked about thinking of “blowing up the white house.” When Palin's campaign puts cross-hairs on crucial electoral districts it's an “incitement to violence,” but when Madonna says “blow up the White House” she's just speaking in metaphor, apparently. When Michelle Bachmann says “slit our wrists and become blood brothers” she's using “violent rhetoric,” according to Montel Williams, but when he says “slit your wrist, do us all a better thing, move that knife up two feet and start at the collarbone,” he must be speaking metaphorically. At least there's no ambiguity with Joss Whedon, who wants Speaker Paul Ryan to be raped to death by a rhino with its horn “because it's funny, not becuase he's a #GOPmurderbro.” Director David Simon tweeted that if Mueller (who's busily hiring Clinton campaign donors for his “investigation” team,) is fired, you should “pick up a goddamn brick.” Unlike Trump's WWE meme tweet, which was clearly an incitement to violence, he was just “speaking in metaphor” too. Lea DeLaria threatened to “pick up a baseball bat and take out every fucking republican and independent I see.” Rappers “YG” and “Nipsey Hustle” wrote an entire rap packed with death threats towards Trump. Marilyn Manson made a music video showing him violently decapitating Trump, reminiscent of Snoop Dogg's music video showing him shooting Trump. (These are the latest in a longer trend of vivid left-wing murder/assassination fantasies - they made an entire docudrama fantisizing about murdering George Bush.) Sarah Silverman, a “comedian,” tweeted her call for a military coup to depose the “mad king and his handlers.” It's unclear if her call for military violence against our democratically elected government - to remove fascists - was intended to be ironic. Perhaps it was a metaphor?

Artists are an arcane and subtle lot, so let's see if the straightforward, all-facts style of journalists is more clear-cut. Here's Bill Maher prodding people to assassinate the vice president on national television: “I have zero doubt that if Dick Cheney was not in power, people wouldn't be dying needlessly tomorrow... I'm just saying if he did die, other people, more people would live. That's a fact.” Here's Courtland Milloy, Washington Post (WaPo) columnist, expressing his deep desire to “knock every racist and homophobic tooth out of their Cro-Magnon heads” because “they” disagreed with him on health care policy. Here's Linda Stasi of the New York Daily News comparing the Boston Marathon Bombers to one of their murder victims becuaes he was a filthy Republican bigot.

But the media talks a good game. What about actual politicians? You know, the people actually leading the Democratic Party? Rep. Paul Kanjorski, D-PA called for then-new Republican governor of Florida Rick Scott to be put up against a wall and shot. He clarified that Scott was a “millionaire and a billionaire,” a “damn crook,” which leads me to believe he was not speaking in metaphor when calling for his murder. A few months later he'd also react to the Giffords shooting with a New York Times op-ed calling for “an atmosphere of civility and respect.” State Rep. Chuck Kruger (a Democrat) tweeted that Cheney deserved the “same fate as Saddam.” Just a joke, bro, just a joke! Allen Brauer, communications chair of the Democratic Party of Sacramento County, wished death on the children of one of Ted Cruz's speechwriters: “May your children all die from debilitating, painful and incurable diseases.” Of course, this was justified because those evil Republicans started it.

I could - actually, it's 6AM, I have gone on all night documenting this, and I could go on another few. But if anyone else points this out - say, the NRA, in an ad saying “they use their movie stars and singers and comedy shows and award shows to repeat their narrative over and over again,” then the Washington Post (WaPo) whines that conservatives are “inciting violence.” As was detailed in the running debate with an antifa (anarcho-communist revolutionary) supporter on this very blog, the left is currently justifying violence via the dire need to “stop the Nazis who want us dead,” but when the NRA points out that the left is calling to “kill them [conservatives] first," it “sounds like an excerpt from North Korean state television,” a “stark picture” that's “designed to provoke fear, if not incite violence.”

A Qualitative Discrepancy

Some of you are already bristling, I'm sure, reaching out for tumblr and twitter links of conservatives advocating violence, or any of the left-wing politicians or groups who have received “hundreds” of death threats (usually anonymously, on the internet.) I'd link some myself, but aside from one WaPo story, every combination of search terms just turned up story after story detailing threats going the other way. Ho hum. It doesn't matter, because the quantitative argument, “look at all those redneck goons on twitter!” misses the point: you don't see right-wing public figures, media personalities and politicians issuing stark, unapologetic calls for violence. There's a vast discrepancy in who is making the threats between left and right - and why.

As illustrated by the above anecdotes, left-wing personalities are open, unabashed, and unapologetic about calling for Republicans to be murdered, in as many words. They don't bother walking their statements back even after someone acts on them. Even Phil Montag, who says “I won't say this publicly,” is still incensed enough to be shouting down his own Party colleagues in defense of someone who did publically chortle at attempted political assassination. Even if you live in 'Darkest Appalachia' where you can jaw about them damn 'coloreds' between bites of chaw, you don't dare get publicly identified saying it, because it'll cost you your job - and you sure as hell don't post it online yourself anywhere it's connected to your name. Liberals whinge about “microaggressions” and “subtle racism” because overt racism has been rejected by our culture for decades now. Many liberals hold conservatives to all be secret racists, harboring their despicable ideologies close to their vest, prevented from open expression only by the punitive power of larger culture - but even they agree that the left wing has all the cultural power. There is nobody they cannot destroy, and nobody too small to feel their wrath, as CNN's doxxing crusade against some random Redditor demonstrates. Leftists claim the violent Antifa riot staged to shut down Milo Yiannopoulos's Berkeley speech was justified, because he “used his platform to bully a transgender girl”(49:52) who was then harassed by internet trolls due to the publicity. I wonder how they feel about CNN - which has much more money, power, connections and influence than a single gay conservative writer - using their platform to target some random Redditor (who had an expectation of anonymity the transgender student did not) because Trump thought their meme was the dankest? Exposing his identity would assuredly wreck his life - SJWs take such glee in harassing employers to get people fired for voicing crimethink that they've got an entire tumblr dedicated to gloating about it.

The left wing has the power, and they know it. When a left-winger says “murder the President,” they're in the company of famous Hollywood actors, respected intellectuals and University professors, and even Democratic Party officials, both on and off the record. With leftists so geographically concentrated in major cities and in full control of every establishment capable of shaping opinion and ideology - the universities, the arts, even the media - they've no reason to feel afraid about being open with their crude, violent intolerance. Some of those professors in the above anecdotes paid with their jobs - (which doesn't mean they won't find another at a more “understanding” institution,) but some didn't - and only a few apologized. Almost all of them haven't deleted their tweets (hence the direct links to them), few apologized (often defensively and begrudgingly,) and a few, like that asshole Devine, actually doubled down. A conservative can't make a dank meme gif without CNN hunting them down and threatening to destroy them, but leftists can issue blatant terroristic threats under their own name and get away without any consequences whatsoever.

The Moral Disconnect

This is why left-wing violent rhetoric is far more dangerous and influential: the respectable authority of the establishments, institutions and public figures echoing it lends far greater weight to the arguments - effectively normalizing it as acceptable. They're also everywhere and repeated incessantly, because every traditional establishment of communication and education, from cradle to grave, is controlled by the left. This normalizes the narrative, which provides the moral justification for moral disengagement with the act of political violence itself. As Albert Bandura said, “Moral justification is a powerful disengagement mechanism. Destructive conduct is made personally and socially acceptable by portraying it in the service of moral ends. This is why most appeals against violent means usually fall on deaf ears.”

In many of the earlier anecdotes - including Montag saying that he wished Scalise had been killed - they immediately justify it by citing some Crime of The Right (healthcare policy is popular currently, and the grievance Montag himself used.) You hear it all the time from antifa supporters and anyone else calling Republicans “Nazis,” painting them as jackbooted thugs forming death squads even as they speak. Just consider select quotes from this HuffPo article calling for violent revolution:

"The rise of Donald Trump has exposed the frightening underbelly of America’s foulest tendencies. Our racism, nativism, xenophobia, misogyny, Islamophobia, ableism, and propensity toward authoritarianism have been laid bare... There’s been an upswing in anti-Muslim hate crimes that correlates with his candidacy—including several offenders who cite him as their inspiration. Another of his supporters beat an unhoused Latino man. Yet another sucker punched a demonstrator at a rally and then, more alarmingly, went on to say, “The next time we see him, we might have to kill him.” Treating this like politics as usual allows it to become politics as usual, and those who do so risk complicity ushering in a new era of fascist politics in the United States.”

It's often phrased as “turnabout is fair play,” justifying violence, coercion, harassment and other kind of thuggery and hatred on the grounds that “conservatives did it first.” These are the people who decry capital punishment as barbaric and cruel one moment, then wholeheartedly embrace Old Testament “eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth” rhetoric in the next. It's doublethink by definition, and as Orwell observed, the crucial prerequisite for enabling political violence. And like Orwell's doublethink, it's reliant on an overarching support structure of propaganda, cultural control and incitement to thrive. Unlike prejudice or bigotry, which is resentful, reactionary and bred by ignorance, moral disengagement needs an active social movement to incubate and reinforce the message, as a high school history teacher discovered when his social experiment (The Wave) to demonstrate the allure of fascism to his students took on a life of its own in just three short days. (And you thought fidget spinners were bad!) Violence incited, encouraged and enabled by an overarching social structure will of course mirror that structure in its aims, methods, and level of organization - and indeed, when you look at left-wing violence as it's currently conducted, that's exactly what you see.

Deliberate Strategy versus Provincial Bigotry

Republicans have their problems - if you're Republican and doubt that, you're either a moron, or one of the Presidential primary candidates that got their asses kicked square by a reality TV show star with a bad spray-tan. (But I repeat myself.) And those problems are largely provincial. Stereotypes come from somewhere, and for Republicans the image of the cloistered “flyover-country” hick stems directly from the “good ol' boys club” problem of provincial, smoking-room corruption.

We've a ready example in the Kansas budget crisis. One of my educated, intelligent liberal friends declared it the evil fruits of Reaganomics, the inevitable consequences of backwards conservative economic theory. After establishing that Gov. Sam Brownback tried to apply Federal-level tax cut strategy to a state, my diagnosis differed - I suspected Brownback of being a blithering moron acting with perceived immunity to public opinion only the Good Ol' Boys coven can offer. Five seconds on Google later, and I found a newly-elected moderate Republican legislator saying exactly that:

“What we’re having is a standoff with the governor holding on to the old days where he had all these people elected,” said Senator Barbara Bollier, a moderate Republican who voters promoted from the state House last year. “They aren’t there anymore, and he can’t let go and follow the will of the people.”

Plenty of people pointed out how Brownback's policies weren't True Conservatism and thus shouldn't tarnish it, but when people vote in a conservative governor who destroys the economy and state budget, you might say it reflects on conservatives, eh? The provincial attitudes of rural red-state Republicans do have problems, as the author of Hillbilly Elegy himself stated;

"Nearly everyone in my family who has achieved some financial success for themselves, from Mamaw to me, has been told that they’ve become “too big for their britches.” I don’t think this value is all bad. It forces us to stay grounded, reminds us that money and education are no substitute for common sense and humility. But, it does create a lot of pressure not to make a better life for yourself, and let’s face it: when you grow up in a dying steel town with very few middle class job prospects, making a better life for yourself is often a binary proposition: if you don’t get a good job, you may be stuck on welfare for the rest of your life.”

He also observes that it's at least in part a reaction to the sneering disdain from the coastal elites (which, post-Trump election, has become outright hatred,) but as Joshua Rothman points out, that logic only goes so far:

“It’s one thing to criticize a culture. It’s another to see that the culture being criticized is formed partly in response to other cultures, and that those cultures are, in turn, worth criticizing. This is why explaining human behavior is so difficult: the buck never stops. The explanations don’t come to an obvious, final resting place.”

This is the truth the “they started it” justifications of the left utterly miss and the one I try to remember. So I don't pretend that conservatives don't commit violence - they do. The leftists attempting enumeration of it demonstrate the usual stupidity, such as calling a lunatic that was literally eating a man's face off a “Trump supporter” because he was wearing a MAGA hat while chowing down, or the Uber Killer who claimed to be under the “control of the Uber app” when picking victims. You don't have to be a clinical psychologist to diagnose apeshit crazy as the primary factor in those. But just because internet leftists are lazy doesn't mean violent rednecks don't exist, and some of these people aren't just violent, but willing to ambush and kill cops. And some of them even form little terror cells and plot terrorist bombings. Oh yes - conservative violence exists.

The scale, however, is entirely different. Deliberate ambush murders of police is at a ten year high - and and it sure as hell isn't white conservatives defining the epidemic of murders, is it? It's minorities who - by their own admission - are putting into practice the violent rhetoric of Black Lives Matter, who openly celebrate cop killers as “black revolutionaries.” The right wing simply doesn't have a parallel to this - even when the gibbering lunatics called “sovereign citizens” manage to ooze out of their mother's basement long enough to commit violence, they don't come anywhere near the virulence of Black Lives Matter: “sovereign citizens” have killed six police officers since 2000, but twenty officers were ambushed and murdered in 2016 alone. Maybe - just maybe - it's got something to do with Black Lives Matter having slightly better PR than rambling lunatics on youtube.

Nor can three rednecks compare to Antifa and the anarcho-communist black block in general, who are a domestic terrorist organization who openly advocate (and carry out) sabotage of public infrastructure, have staged multiple violent riots across the country in just the last year to suppress their political opponents and have international reach, as they demonstrated in the massive riots in Hamburg just days ago. Three rednecks being led on by an FBI agent eagerly providing them with automatic rifles to entrap them, they ain't. It's not even unusual - right wing “militia” groups tend to be some middle-aged rednecks talking tough in a bar within earshot of an FBI informant hoping to justify his paycheck, like the “Hutaree” clowns whom turned out to be guilty of nothing but losing the genetic lottery. Even the Oklahoma City Bomber's closest encounter with the Michigan Militia was attending a few of their meetings (sitting quietly in his reeking trench-coat in the corner, presumably,) and considering that 80% of the Militia scattered to the winds once the tenuous connection was revealed by the media, it's hard to credit them as a serious threat. McVeigh's act of violence was so devastating to the militia movement's credibility that the militia considers him a CIA stooge in a plot to discredit them. Contrast to Black Lives Matter, which weathered the Dallas shooting without a hitch and is still going strong, if not stronger.

The most telling comparison by far, however, is the least spectacular - in contrast to the oft-cited racist or bigoted crimes against minorities, immigrants, homosexuals, etc., leftist violence targets Trump supporters. With conservatives, the politically motivated ones (i.e. anti-government militias) are all bark and no bite, unlike the racists and bigots. Leftists display the exact opposite behavior; their violence is overwhelmingly political, mirroring the nature of the social-political movements that provide them with legitimacy, support and a public platform. This helps explain why left-wing politicians are so comfortable with endorsing it, like Texas state Rep. Ramon Romero, who physically assaulted Rep. Matt Rinaldi before threatening to wait in the parking lot and ambush him on his way to his car. On the floor of the Texas state legislature, no less. Left-wing violence isn't just outlash - it's revolution. It's violence with goals defined by ideology. If you doubt, just consider who is committing the violence.

College Professors and Students versus Middle-Aged Trailer Trash

One of the black-masked Antifa members who has been arrested for his crimes is Eric Clanton, former adjunct professor at Diablo Valley College, who was videotaped fracturing some Trump supporter's skulls with a u-lock during the Berkeley riots. The masked Clanton was identified by the "weaponized autism" of 4chan (compare to CNN, which can hunt down and coerce one random redditor, but found Eric Clanton to be unworthy of coverage.) “Conservative” violence invariably comes from middle-aged  welfare-roll racists or flat-out skinheads, not otherwise-upstanding members of society - and certainly not the youth.

Nowhere is this more evident than the recent (and ongoing) insanity at Evergreen State College in California, where radicalized students have piled excess upon excess. What's most striking about the whole affair is how little I've heard of it - every time I hear more about it, new details are revealed that've seen scant to no national coverage. The latest information comes from a HuffPo article published by one of Evergreen University's own provosts, who just left the University this month. To summarize, students on this campus have:

Set upon a professor in an unruly mob to threaten, harass and intimidate, ultimately resulting in the University police telling him to avoid campus for his own safety,

Taken University administrators, including the President, hostage, complete with guards to escort them to and from the bathroom, all to coerce compliance with their list of demands - while the police milled around outside due to President Bridges cowardly order to stand down,

Until the President, who'd repeatedly ordered campus police to stand down, had to call in the State troopers for help after things got even worse despite his appeasement (they can be seen in the HuffPo article patrolling campus in full riot gear,)

And finally, the students forced a “community patrol” armed with baseball bats not just for “protection” from outside threats, but to intimidate other students who disagreed (there was a “scuffle” between students because some were chalking up messages to “get back to teaching.”)

But the cherry atop this turd tartufo is the lone death threat phoned in by someone promising to take down all those “communist scumbags” with a “.44 magnum,” who turned out to be - you guessed it - a 53 year old unmarried sad-sack racist with hints of mental health issues.

The conceit of leftists is telling us the last bullet point is at least equal to the preceding four, if not outright justifying the thuggery, violence, and coercion by dint of the grave and dire threat posed by some daffy trailer trash.

To reiterate, at Evergreen University, we've seen a student body, acting in the name of social justice and countering vile racists, go from mob justice to revolution to forming their own Gestapo in the space of a few months. A few months. This alone should give anyone pause, but it's not alone - it's just one more drop in the damn bucket of violence, hate and revolutionary rhetoric.

And that deep well of dangerous people has an unparalleled ability to recruit, organize, and mobilize.

Organized, Mobilized, and Well-Led

Left-wing violence has always been organized, or quickly self-organized; from the French Revolution, to the overthrow of the Czar in Russia, till the spate of 19th-century Communist uprisings that created terrifying totalitarian dictatorships that last today (including Cuba and North Korea.) Revolutionaries are violent by definition, since rejecting the legitimacy of a ruling state's laws entire leaves only one recourse for deposing it. To defeat a state's army, you need an army yourself.

Here is the left wing's army in action.

It's impossible to understate the severity or scale of what happened at the G20. The largest black bloc protest in history - enough to overwhelm the 20,000 police officers present - showed up and basically ran the show. They were even using social media to hunt down reporters that didn't agree with them - aided by establishment journalists. Click that link - the journalist describes how people were hunted down and beaten half to death because they were standing near her in the photo a journalist from a major German newspaper tweeted.

This is the power of the black bloc. They are an army, by definition. Consider, for a moment, what an army needs:

Young people, because soldiering is a young man's job - whether you're throwing hand grenates or molotov cocktails, you need to be fit and reckless

Leadership, because even a mob needs some inspiration, some demagogue - a Robespierre - to push them into acting together at the right time.

Ideology, because you need a reason to fight, a reason a lot of people can agree on strongly enough to unite, even if it's just a mob.

As I've established above, the violence-inciters and violence-doers on the left wing meet all these criteria. They're invariably young, they're educated in extremist ideology by extremist college professors (who set the example themselves, as Eric Clanton shows,) and they have a smorgasbord of left-wing voices to serve as demagogues, people who's latest utterances are on everyone's lips and Twitter feed by the next morning. But above all, the ideology - the political nature of the beast - is the most essential. Ideology unites, motivates and inspires in a way reactionary racism, resentment or bigotry simply cannot. Jews had been brutalized and persecuted for centuries before Hitler rose to power - anti-semetism was just one pre-existing prejudice he levered (along with nationalist resentment, poverty-born desperation and a rudderless young generation.) Racism alone isn't enough to drive wars and mass atrocities like ethnic cleansing and genocide. Consider the Kosovo War; the parties weren't just ethnic groups, but nations; a complete identity formed by culture, religion and inter-group loyalty - summed up, this forms a complete and distinct ideology. For racism to drive organized, effective and widespread right-wing violence, it must be part of a national identity - which is precisely why the Ku Klux Klan proliferated in the South, which was such a culturally, religiously, economically and thus ideologically distinct nation that it eventually formed a nation-state and started a Civil War. Racism and bigotry can prod bitter people (and the older they are, the more bitterness they've had in life) to murder people in ones and twos, but only ideology can motivate the young masses into an army capable of great crimes.

The left understands this - which is precisely why they're suddenly screaming “white supremacist” every chance they get. Racism isn't an ideology, but “white supremacy” is. It's essential to establish the existence of a sincere, widespread “white supremacy” movement in the right wing for their caterwauling of Naziiiiiiiii to be taken seriously.

It doesn't exist, of course. And if you look at the right-wing militias themselves, you start seeing why - they're a bunch of old farts, bored and bitter, fantasizing about how they'd blow away those government goons if they came to their house to confiscate all their guns. Not how they'd lead the Glorious Revolution - not how they'd stride into the Federal Reserve and upend the money-changer's tables before casting them from the temple - no, just how they'd defend Their Own Castle (Doctrine.) This is get off my lawn cranked to eleven, Ultra-Reee: Knee Deep in the Dad.

Young people don't find this exciting, sexy, or inspiring. And that's why these people show up at City Hall to scream NOT ON MY FRONT LAWN, but rarely, if ever, do anything violent. They never walk the walk. They're LARPing attention whores. Antifa puts on masks to fracture people's skulls, loot stores, torch cars and throw bricks at cops. Militia members put on masks and walk into police stations with assault rifles... so they can lie on the floor and shout AM I BEING DETAINED? (That link must be seen to be believed.)

The Bundy clowns are perhaps the perfect case-study - a bunch of ranchers with purely local range-related resentments that'd simmered for years before they occupied a government office, armed to the teeth - only to give up without firing a shot, the only casualty being a militiaman shot dead in circumstances shady enough that the Fed responsible was prosecuted for lying about the circumstances.

Compare that sorry dumpster fire to what Antifa's managed in the last twelve months alone - not only have they staged multiple violent riots in cities across America, not only have they achieved their goals (wider publicity and the silencing of speakers they hate,) but they're also forming their own militias now. Sure, they're just a different flavor of obsese LARPer at present - but that puts them equal to where the right-wing militias have been at for decades. This is where the right-wing peaks - and the left wing starts.

If you want to see where the left-wing ends, look at Hamburg, where the fires are still smouldering...

...and the left wing apologists are already downplaying and justifying it.

Clear and Present Danger

Now that I've documented the nonstop litany of outright, unabashed left-wing hatred being repeated by actors, Democratic party operatives and establishment journalists - echoing the open calls for violence and murder of conservatives - and observed both how quickly and naturally the left wing translates its ideology to organized oppression (Evergreen College), how that organized violence is already underway in the United States (Antifa's multiple riots across the country) and what these people are capable of, given time (the literal takeover of the entire city of Hamburg,) I want you to imagine how conservatives feel when CNN screams about a meme wrestling gif.

Or the New York Times screeching over cross-hair graphics on a map.

Or being told that those racist birther guys harassed Obama, so it's all a wash.

We've all been frustrated to have our friends rebuff arguments we thought were incontrovertibly true - it's only the normal friction between people. There's some things even close friends will never see eye-to-eye on. But conservatives can't shrug this topic off as mere disagreement, anymore. Using the tu quoque fallacy (right out of the Soviet playbook) to avoid admitting the problem of left-wing violence is bad enough, but now the left wing is using the purported existence of organized, militant right wing violence (“Nazis”) to justify violence against us. When you deflect or dismiss the existence of left-wing violence - or assert a parity with right-wing violence - you're dismissing a grave threat not only to us personally, but to the stability and continued existence of our democratic government as a whole. Everything I've detailed above isn't happening in a vacuum - also remember that California's begun forming its own foreign policy (in direct violation of the United States Constitution,) and the left actively encouraged deposing the rightful winner of the Presidential election by encouraging electors to break the law. The laws of civil society, the rules we all agree to follow, the underpinning of the social contract itself, is starting to unravel. The left wing is starting to look a lot like their own nation - with all that implies. And when we point to the sharp end of the spear; the Antifa rioter with a club, being pushed forward and supported by the entire left wing - we're scoffed at.

And that pisses us off.

Ere The Conservative Began To Hate

Conservatives have felt marginalized for a long time, because the left dominates so many of the important public spaces. It's not just the presence, but the vitriolic, savage hatred displayed against people who dare to speak up against leftist orthodoxy (and I do mean leftist, not liberal.) I've personally been threatened by a professor and had an African-American classmate stand up and scream me down. The tenured professor who threatened me has survived multiple complaints (much worse than mine) and my journalism professor not only took my screaming classmates side, but gently asked, in roundabout fashion, if I'd inherited my prejudices from my parents (all because I called Kwame Kilpatrick a crook - at least the courts agree with me.) Conservatives are used to being censored and cowed everywhere that really matters - in school, at work, you name it. And over the years, it's only gotten worse. We've tried to talk, and tried to talk, and tried to talk, and all that's gotten us is backed against a wall begging for “dialectic” while a screaming lynch mob closes in.

We're mad as hell, and we're not going to take it anymore. Moderate conservatives are about to give up on “talking” permanently, because it's clearly not working. You can't talk to masked thugs with clubs. Our concerns aren't imaginary, and they can't be brushed off - and this is the last chance for the liberals to engage with us and at least consider why we're scared stiff. If moderate liberals don't do this, and continue making excuses for the violent leftists in their own party, then the bloodshed that started on that baseball field will continue. The militant left will not stop, not as long as people who damn well know better are making excuses for them. And while our majority might be Silent, it's anything but cowardly. The militant, violent left is going to get more than they're bargaining for. And our last opportunity to halt this madness is slipping by because of people willfully denying reality. If liberals continue to ignore the problem, refuse to confront the true nature of the leftists sheltering behind them and allow them to keep pushing their agenda of violence, the blood will continue to flow.