#its the confirmation that i am good i am not bad while confronting the object of my desire methinks

[sapphic-woes]

I think if a butch took my face in the palm of her hands and simply said that I was good. And that I was cute, I unironically would have a lot of my issues solved rn.

[purple-obsidian]

pulling my dick out again, but i feel so nervous i gotta scream it into the void. ignore this if you don't wanna hear about relationship drama.

told my bf i needed some space after finding out some awful shit he did, both in his past and continuing up to the present. when i confronted him, he didn't express any remorse until he realized i was going to leave him over it, which only confirms to me that he doesn't really think his behavior is wrong, he's just sorry he got caught. and it was bad, y'all. not cheating but i almost wish it was instead. its embarassing, and i was mortified.

there's been some other underlying issues we've had regarding communication and him being irresponsible. went to couples therapy for 9 months and he showed maybe 5-10% improvement, but like bare minimum. this realization was the final straw for me.

almost 4 year relationship at this point, live together, all the shit that makes things complicated. i want him to grow and change and get better, but he's proven to me time and time again that he cannot (or will not) grow and self-reflect to be a better person.

i told him i need space to think. i've been staying with a friend the past week and a half. minimal communication between us during this time, just a few texts. he scheduled an individual session with our old therapist, which is a huge step for him and something i've been begging for him to do for a while since doing therapy as a couple has yielded minimal results. and tonight after work i'm going to go home to speak with him and let him know i'm going to move out completely. my thought process is, he will either realize how bad he fucked up and it will light a fire under his ass to get his shit together (if not for the sake of our relationship then at least for himself) with the help of his therapist and we can reconnect in a few months to see where we are at. OR. 6 months from now, he'll be in the same place, stuck in his ways, and at that point i need to move on too and stop wasting my time.

but i am so so so so nervous to talk to him, when I tell you my heart yearns for him, i am still so enamored with him and can't stop thinkingabout all of the good parts of our relationship and how much i miss him. i worry that i'll lose my resolve and go running back to him and just excuse his disgusting behavior, which objectively wouldn't be healthy for either of us.

speaking this into the void in the hopes of someone holding me accountable. hopefully i'll reblog this later and say the convo went well and i stood my ground.

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding X

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Part I - - - - - Part II - - - - - Part III - - - - - Part IV - - - - - Part V - - -  - - Part VI - - - - - Part VII - - - - - Part VIII - - - - - Part IX

“I realize this is incredibly difficult,” the Nautolan Soul Healer said calmly. “But in order for us to help Obi-Wan, we need to determine the cause of his current disconnection with reality. Based on the drug panel, and convenient surveillance, we have, to the best of our ability, ruled out temporary psychosis brought on by a drug interaction.”

Cody stiffened further, not sure how to react to anything anymore. When a brother tried to end his own life, it was usually obvious why.

Sife Aerdo continued on. “There have, of course, been cases of Jedi Seers giveing into their fears of the future, or losing their sense of reality, but every case study involving such an extreme reaction was the result a gradual degradation over the course of many years. Nevertheless, it seems clear that Obi-Wan experienced a vision, and it may have impacted his breakdown to some extent. The more we know, the more successful any attempts to convince him of reality will be.”

Bant furrowed her brow in thought, trying to replay three decades of increasingly vague discussions of nightmares.

”Considering the high profile nature of his position, we cannot rule out some kind of psychological attack, perhaps even a darksider incursion.

Anakin leaned forward intently, the inside of his skull buzzing with white noise.

"All that being said, we must be prepared to treat Obi-Wan’s self harm as the  culmination of a long and quiet mental health struggle. He would not be the first in the Order to disguise such a thing with durasteel self-discipline.”

At that, Bant and Mace took a moment to release their feelings to the force, while Anakin raised his shields defensively.

Master Aerdo finally hesitated, before continuing in the same smooth tone. “I would ordinarily prefer to structure this kind of conversation quite differently- allow Obi-Wan time to share his feelings first and invite you each separately to support him in the healing process. But he’s gone from fighting sedatives and force compulsions as though the fate of the galaxy depended on it, to a self-induced coma. All while barely lucid, yet still somehow maintaining Master Class mental shielding. We need to get a better understanding of his mental landscape if we’re going to even begin the process of treatment."

It is necessary to note that everyone in that room had led, in one way or another, a somewhat miserable life. This was the main reason none of them could claim that the next five hours were the worst they had ever experienced. 

“But he’s always had terrible sleeping habits.” Anakin said hoarsely.

“Yes, but I think they got worse after Qui-Gon passed,” Bant argued, not sure what point she was making. 

“When I pointed out he couldn’t be getting more than three hours a night he told me that he could manage on meditation” Cody offered irritably.

“That’s technically true,” Mace confirmed. “If the Master in question is well-balanced otherwise”

“So its like his eating habits, crushing responsibilities, and repeated exposure to violence, then? Completely fine for a Jedi, in less it’s not, in which case it’s a major red flag?” 

“I think it would help to establish a timeline.“

Aerdo actually dredged up old mission reports, leading to the group reluctantly contacting Ashoka for her memories of Mortis.

At her Master’s insistence, she told them everything she remembered, hazy as it was, nervously elaborating on her own memories of falling. To her confusion, Master Windu all but brushed past that, assuring her that the important thing with stepping into darkness was the choice to the return to the light. Anakin bizarrely agreed with Windu. Out loud. Unnerved by the cooperation more than anything, she put her holographic foot down and demanded to know what was going on. 

Anakin took the comm-link into a separate room to speak privately.

Upon return, he informed the group (with a visibly red and puffy face) that Kit would be escorting her back from Mount Cala cleanup early, daring anyone to disagree. Windu nodded and the conversation continued on.

Together they rewatched holo-footage of Obi-Wan laughing amongst Ghost company the night before last, and debated reports from psychometric investigators who had scoured the cantina as well as Obi-Wan’s personal quarters for traces of illicit substances. Between that and another drug panel, they were finally forced to conclude that despite the timing, the alcohol at most confused Obi-Wan’s perception of a vision, or possibly simply loosened his tongue.

Bant prodded Cody to repeat every word from the holocar ride to the temple, taking furious notes. Cody was unable to stop the heat that crawled up his face.

Just when the looming horror of Obi-Wan actually preparing to intentionally die started to break over Anakin, Windu interjected.

“You don’t see what I do,” the Harun Kal said grimly. “Something galaxy-sized shattered around Obi-Wan and he didn’t break from it. The closest comparison I have is Master Yaddle’s presence when she meditated on her confinement. He’s chosen to keep going, even when, quite frankly, death would be a release. We’re missing something fundamental.”

“He said there were ‘other dark forces at work.’ Even if the fight was objectively hopeless... there’s no way he would choose to die because of it!” Anakin agreed vehemently, shaking off morbid fears.

“But he did choose to die.” Cody said quietly. And the wind went out of Anakin’s sails.

“Lets go back.”

Anakin gritted his teeth as they picked apart everything ‘unusual’ Obi-Wan had said and done leading up to his visit with Bant.

“What exactly did he...”

“So Plo Koon was able to get a read through his shields?”

“Did he have anything to eat?”

“How did that compare to...”

“When he's mentioned things in the future...did it seem good or bad to you?” Bant asked.

“Bad.” Cody and Anakin said in unison. Remembering the trip to the temple Cody spoke again, “Definitely bad.”

“Right. When we were talking he sometimes used the wrong tenses for things, people. I confronted him on not knowing ‘when’ he was after Knight Skywalker left. He told me that he knew what was real, but he was “enjoying not fully living in the moment” he also said that he intended to “wake up”

“Enjoying? That’s the exact word he used?” Cody asked incredulous. 

“He did seem...mostly happy yesterday. Giddy, at points.” Anakin said, slumping in on himself.

Bant looked at her notes once more before addressing the group.

“This isn’t vision psychosis in any manner I’ve heard of before...but I think I might have a theory. He used to have intense visions when we were kids; plenty of us did sometimes, but Obi-Wan would be unable to sleep after. What terrified him more than anything was the uncertainty that he might make the wrong choice- even when the vision was about something good, or neutral. His visions gradually stopped coming around puberty. We just had a conversation about this a few months ago- how relieved he was to only have to manage flashes of precognition. If he had a random, horrifying vision of a terrible future...suicide wouldn’t be his reaction. It’s too final.”

“Even if he blamed himself for what he saw coming?” Mace asked.

“Especially if he blamed himself.” Bant said. 

“What’s your theory?” Aerdo prodded.

“What if...what if he was telling the truth when he said he could separate out what was real and what was not? What if there was no distortion or blurring between now and then? What if he was just wrong about which was which?”

“That...would be a very extreme and abnormal manifestation of force-induced psychosis. He has training in distinguishing reality from visions. The continued presence of his mental shielding means that the fabric of his mind can’t be so horrifically collapsed in on itself.” 

“What if the vision was actually that realistic?” Bant said, pushing back against the soul healer. “So detailed and vivid that it effectively was a reality in itself, and everything else, all of us...”

“Were just memories” Anakin finished. “It would...actually explain pretty much everything. You said he wanted to wake up and when...when I found him.” He stopped, swallowing. “When I found him, he argued with me...what if he wasn’t trying to hurt himself? If you’re right...that would mean I found him trying to get back to reality.”

“It could explain his behavior in the halls...his desperation to wake...” Sife mused “But it runs counter to every other experience I’ve had with those managing prophetic visions. Master Windu, could that explain the shatterpoints you saw?”

“I’m not certain. It would have to have been extraordinarily real to create the echos of Shattering I witnessed. I don’t know if that depth of vision has occurred before, but then again, many things are possible in the force.”

“You really think he might have been...trying to wake up from dream? By killing himself?!” Cody asked incredulous.

“If that ends up being what happened I am going to give him such shit. That is the worst way to end a vision.” Anakin replied.

“Yes. It is.” Bant said pointedly. “That’s why it’s a last resort, after every other attempt to wake fails.” 

They all sat in silence, processing various implications. Cody was unnerved by another terrifying insight into force powers, as well as the idea that the General might vividly remember Cody being inexplicably mind-controlled into trying to kill him. Anakin was trying to understand what this would mean for them, and the conversations he had thought they had had. Did...any of it count, if he thought he was offering it to a hallucination?

“Alright, this is a valuable working idea, but let’s make sure to examine everything with an open mind before we draw any more conclusions. Anakin, what happened after you left the healers office?”

Obi-Wan’s critique of the practicalities of visiting a soul healer could be and was interpreted multiple ways. The incongruity of peacekeepers in war sparked a rehash of earlier discussion. More apologies. Self identifying as ‘crazy’ inspired new debate, especially in the context of the new theory. 

“When I saw him enter the fountain room I assumed he had had a brutal run-in with  dark force user.” Windu explained. “Based on everything we’ve gone over, I don’t understand when...but some of the more insidious sith compulsions work by taking whatever small anger or hurt you feel and magnifying them until they consume you. If Obi-Wan was already experiencing self loathing...”

Cody sucked in a breath. “Then a Sith mind suggestion would bring him to commit suicide. It...sounds like something he might do, if he was partially in control. Take the blow rather than let himself be used as a weapon against anyone else, even his worst enemy.”

“Hells, it could have been an even vaguer compulsion, driving him to attack the person he hates the most,” Bant added darkly.

Anakin buried his head in his hands, trying to hold it together. He couldn’t afford to lose control or get angry. Hells, getting angry at Obi-Wan for ‘failing him’ when in pain could be the reason Obi-Wan was currently in the healing halls. The man said he loved him unconditionally, then practically had a breakdown over how much Anakin pushed that unconditional love to the breaking point, then killed himself. How was he supposed to-

“Anakin? Are you alright to continue?” someone said.

“Yes. No. There’s more I have to tell you...I don’t know if it will help but - it was hurting Obi-Wan...I...”

“Let’s just take it one step at a time. What happened after you left Mace?”

Apparently even Cody somehow knew more about Bruck Chun than Anakin. Master Windu and Eerin told different sides of the same sad story, which spiraled back into a conversation about Obi-Wan’s inadequacy issues, which somehow devolved into a long rant about Qui-Gon Jinn that Master Windu had apparently been holding back for years. 

“My apologies.” He said afterwards, clearing his throat as the group stared, taken aback. “Old grievances. Go on Anakin, what did happened after you got to the ‘secret spot.’”

“He...was skirting around whatever was bothering him...I pushed him...told him I wanted to help...he said I couldn’t...because it was me...because of what I...”

Anakin stood up suddenly, feeling the walls of the room closing in.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry I-” 

He ran out.

He turned around almost immediately, pacing in the small corridor, knowing he couldn’t leave, simply needing a minute to catch his breath.

Master Windu followed him out after a moment, not saying anything, just standing there. Watching him.

“What!” Anakin finally snapped. “What do you have to say that I don’t know already!”

“Knight Skywalker-”

“Don’t call me that! I DON’T DESERVE-” 

Anakin let out a frustrated snarl, punching a wall. The crumble of stone beneath this fist briefly made him feel better, but then he remembered Obi-Wan’s heartbroken expression in the light of an underworldly glow, and the tiny, choked sound he heard when the healers moved him and Anakin just...collapsed, falling to his knees.

Master Windu sank down gracefully beside him.

“Anakin. This isn’t about attachment issues, is it.”

“Not really, no. I mean, maybe you’ll blame attachment but it’s more about...”

“Anger.”

Anakin looked up at that, trying to regain the meditative calm he had felt for a glimmering moment yesterday, right in-between making peace in the cave and everything burning to ash. 

“You know that I have had my own struggles with anger. It is how and why I came to develop Vaapad.” 

“Yes, but you’ve Mastered your anger. And you’ve never...never given in to hate.”

A beat passed and Windu watched some of Skywalker’s familiar breaking points flicker into view. 

“You’ve done something. Something you know the Jedi won’t forgive.”

“Obi-Wan forgave me.” Anakin said, whispering. “He said that even though I couldn’t fix what I did he loved me anyway and I just needed to...to honestly regret what I did and not do it again. I told him I’d get rid of my lightsaber and I meant it and...I thought he forgave me. I was ready to go to the Council with him, come clean about everything. And then I left him alone to get dinner and when I came back...he was holding my lightsaber. My lightsaber.” 

Anakin buried his face in his hands, shuddering with creeping cold.

“I’m not going to critique your and Obi-Wan’s attachment to each other right now. I’m well aware that much of the order has turned to personal ties to maintain their stability given the ongoing horrors of war. I am, for many reasons, wary of the risks this brings us, yet it is also true that risks do not automatically mean failure. I myself have mastered my emotions in a different manner than conventional wisdom councils.” 

Windu spoke carefully. For all that he and Anakin had similar relationships with the force, they rarely saw eye to eye on any given subject. At a certain point, Mace had accepted that the volatile young man was determined to find the worst possible interpretation for anything he said. And Mace was not the order’s most patient diplomat.

“As for your crime, whatever it is, l will tell you this: Unless you choose to renounce the code and leave our number, you will be treated as a Jedi Knight, subject to our protections, as well as our judgement. You will receive appropriate mental counseling. If you are judged to be a danger to those around you, your actions will be curtailed and monitored, possibly through temporary confinement.  The Jedi do not believe in punitive measures for their own sake, but you may be required to provide restitution to those you harmed, perhaps indefinitely. 

Silence hung perilously between them. Windu watched a tremor run through the unfathomable kaleidoscopic of shatterpoints that had orbited Skywalker since he was a boy. A small one broke inward, and an attached tangle of larger, darker ones fell away, crumbling to dust. The rest faded from view, invisible for the moment. A choice had been made, some decision that closed off at least one path to the darkside.

“There’s no one to make restitutions to.”

“...You’re going to have to elaborate on that.”

“Let’s go back inside- I don’t want to do this twice.”

They returned to the increasingly hated meeting room.

Anakin spoke in an outpouring of words about love and hate, about misplaced revenge and now uncertain forgiveness. When he finally finished, the room was deathly silent.

The three Jedi sat quietly while Cody pinched the bridge of his nose. “I guess this is why Jedi have the no attachment rule, huh? I admit I never really got it, but I suppose even if I-”

Bant abruptly lunged up, fumbling to bring her lightsaber to Anakin’s neck. Everyone jumped to their feet, except for Anakin, who stared at Bant with a wretched expression.

“MASTER EERIN! This is not-”

“Did you do it?” she asked, ignoring the Master of the Order.

“Bant!”

“It was my first thought after I saw him. We all rushed in expecting a fight, or a bomb, only to find you, insane, and him with a hole next to his heart. I didn’t want to believe it of course, but you’ve always had a violent streak that Obi-Wan, force help him, couldn’t quite soothe away. A fight gone wrong. Master Windu said it was suicide, and I believed him, and I’ve been trying to make sense of that ever since. But Mace found you after, didn’t he? After you felt guilty? Did you think he was going to turn on you?”

“Bant Eerin, you are dangerously-”

“No.” Anakin whispered.

“Obviously I might be why. But I didn’t- I couldn’t. I know I’m not good but I can’t even imagine- holding a saber against him like that. Kriff, do you not get how much I can’t handle losing people I love? I was insane when you saw me because I saw someone trying to kill Obi-Wan and I couldn’t even fight them.”  

Bant held his gaze for several lingering seconds, deactivated her saber and dropping it with a clatter. They stared at each other, breathing heavily and not blinking. She returned to her seat, moving jerkily. “I apologize Knight Skywalker. That was uncalled for.” 

“I wish I could say I wouldn’t have done the same thing in your shoes” he responded lowly. Bant made a tiny, unintelligible noise in reply. 

Cody collapsed back into his chair, holstering his blaster.  “Alright then...so after you finished sitting in the fountain room...what happened next?”

Everyone stared at him.

“What?”

“You’re handling Anakin’s confession somewhat dispassionately. We’re simply surprised.” Mace said slowly, returning to his seat at the same time as Master Aerdo fell into theirs.

Cody shifted uncomfortably. “The vod were trained in a wide range of enemy suppression tactics. While we’re extremely glad the Jedi have never asked us to employ them, I’m not...unfamiliar with this scale of deliberate slaughter. At least in the hypothetical, sir.”

“I see.” Aerdo said. “That is a valuable insight to have, thank you. Knight Skywalker-”

“Just...call me Anakin. Or Skywalker.”

“Anakin. When did this happen?”

“About two years ago, immediately before the First Battle of Geonosis.”

“And have you had any similar experiences with giving into the darkside since?” they asked placidly.

“I don’t think so but...we went to war the next day and....I don’t know if I’ve stopped fighting since it- since I did what I did.”

“Hmm. Anakin, would you mind stepping outside the room and waiting in the corridor for a moment please?” 

He bit his tongue, tasting blood, and quietly walked out the door while the Masters decided his fate. He leaned back against a wall, desperately wanting to see Padme. 

To his surprise, the door opened barely a few minutes later, and he was politely invited back in.

“Anakin.” Master Windu spoke. “Thank you for telling us this. It’s an important insight into Obi-Wan’s feelings right now, and I recognize that you could have kept it a secret. As Head of the Order, and with the advice of a Senior Soul Healer, I have made a decision. You will be assigned a personal soul healer, who you will start seeing tomorrow. Commander Cody pointed out that over nearly two years of continuous warfare, you have maintained some of the the lowest trooper casualty units of any division, by a significant margin if we evaluate based on mission risk level. Your civilian and enemy casualties will be reviewed, but even considering constant war, since your massacre of the Tuskens, you have clearly managed to at least... direct your violence away from the innocent. We do not consider you a threat to the inhabitants of the world. For the time being, I see no real benefit to limiting or tracking your behavior within the temple or on planet, but you are barred from leaving orbit. I have decided to delay a full reckoning before the council until such time that your former Master is well enough to provide his own opinion. Give me just cause, and I will have you confined to a force-suppressing cell. Do you understand?”

Anakin nodded, bowing in acknowledgment. All things considered, it was...honestly better than he expected.

“Now, as Cody” Windu paused. “My apologies, as the Commander was saying-” 

“Cody’s fine, sir” Cody said, wrung out in a way different from anything Kamino had trained him for.

“...I think we can all consider ourselves on a first name basis at this point.” Bant said with a snort. She paused. “That includes you Anakin. I really don’t know how to handle what you did but kark it, I don’t want to hate you. For myself.”

Everyone nodded.

“As Cody was saying, what happened next?”

Peace. Comfort. Hunger. A warning in the force...

-

“I tried to pull the saber back but his finger was already on the igniter...” 

“You probably saved his life. Even a second later-”

“I know, that’s almost the worst part.”

-

“-his neck”

“Why would he change weapons?”

“What if-”

-

“He said what to you and Healer Che?”

“That has to support the detailed vision idea, think about-”

“I’m sorry, Emperor?”

-

“I think we’re done.”

Anakin stared blankly at Sife. “But we didn’t figure anything out.”

“Not conclusively, but we’re unlikely to make any more progress, you’ve given me enough information to preform a meaningful meditative scan, or guide a conversation, should Obi-Wan wake, or navigate through his mind, should we decide to make a more decisive attempt at his shields.”

“Master Aerdo... I leave the final judgement up to you, but I strongly urge you to make a more decisive attempt. I am more convinced now than I was...” Mace glanced at the chronometer “five hours ago that this was motivated by a specific, external stimuli, likely dark. Do you disagree?”

“No.” they said with a sigh. “But I don’t want to underestimate how much underlying factors might have contributed to his response to stimuli, including underlying factors that none of you were aware of.”

The Nautolan Soul Healer stood up, tucking their hands into their sleeves to address the room with classical Jedi serenity. It was a little irritating.

“In any case, we all need to sleep, eat, and meditate. Master Eerin, you have the rest of the day off, I've cleared it with Master Che already. Master Windu, I leave the final judgement up to you, and I am aware that your duties as Master of the Order are unceasing, but I urge you to take some time to center yourself before returning to the council. Commander Cody, I would be more than willing to arrange soul healing for you or any of the Vod, please let me know. Anakin, you will receive a comm later today with further details on your future healing sessions. 

They bowed low, then glided out the door.

Bant stood next, bowed individually to each soul, and sped walked out.

Commander Cody cleared his throat awkwardly, “Mace- what should I tell the troops? We’re supposed to have command briefings later tonight.”

“If anyone asks about General Kenobi, tell them its classified.” I’ll schedule a briefing on the subject. Now go find Captain Rex and take care of yourself, that’s an order.”

Cody saluted, first to the high General, then to Anakin.

Finally it was just Mace and Anakin.

“Is there anyone who you trust who I can call to stay with you.” Master Windu asked.

“I can manage on my own” Anakin replied, not willing to give the Master of the Order anything else he could use against him, even after everything.

Master Windu held back a sigh.

He continued once more, making a deliberate attempt to soften his tone. “Anakin- I know we’ve had our differences, but this is not a trick, nor a trap. You’ve suffered a series of great shocks in the last 24 hours and handled them with immense maturity. I myself am struggling to deal with the emotional fallout.”

Anakin looked up at that, surprised. He didn’t seem to be struggling, but maybe that was what made him a good Jedi Master...

“As I told you before, I am not going to begrudge you the comfort of attachment. I’m rather convinced it would do you more harm than good at this point. I don’t want you flying right now, and you don’t have to be alone. I hope we have come to a better understanding today, but I doubt my presence is suddenly a comfort, though please correct me if I’m wrong. Now is there someone I can call?”

-

Padme ended her call with Master Windu extremely discomfited. She had barely heard from Anakin since he ran out on her the night before last to take care of an apparently extremely drunk Obi-Wan. He had messaged her a few times that night, promising to make it up to her, but had been comm-silent since. She had been starting to get worried, and now the Master of the Order was asking her to pick him up from the temple. Fortunately, she had already cleared most of her meetings for the week well in advance (Courascant leave usually meant THEM time, not that she was jealous of Obi-Wan, of course).

The speeder ride back from the temple was silent. All Anakin would say was that he would explain everything once they were in ‘a secure location.’ 

The door to the apartment had scarcely closed behind them when Anakin fell into her arms, shaking.

“Anakin, talk to me love, what’s wrong?” She gently guided him to the couch, arranging him so she could hold him protectively.

“Obi-Wan tried to kill himself.”

She let out a harsh gasp, “No! He can’t have, he would never-” 

“I got to him in time, but Padme... he was holding a lightsaber to his heart. It was...really close” He burrowed deeper into the folds of her dress, and she gripped him fiercely.

“Oh gods, is he-”

“He’s physically healing, but he’s still...not all there. I spent all of today locked in a room, trying to figure out if it was a Sith Attack, or an insane vision, or..or me”

“Anakin! What do you mean ‘me’ - Obi-Wan loves you, you-”

“I know.” Anakin interrupted her again, knowing he was being unfair; he was just too exhausted to be patient.

“He told me loved me. He...he...found out about what I did to the Tusken village, You should have seen his face, Padme, he was horrified, but he still told me he loved me, and he was willing to forgive me, even though he shouldn’t”

“Of course he forgave you,” Padme whispered. “You’re not a monster, Anakin, I know you would never do something like that again.”

"And then after we talked, I left him alone and he-” Anakin choked out into her dress.

Tears ran down her face, heart breaking. “That’s- that’s horrible. Anakin...it must have have been a attack, Obi-Wan wouldn’t do that.” she said urgently.

He pulled away, horrified. “I made you cry. I made Obi-Wan cry too. I’m sorry- Padme please, promise me you won’t-”

She grabbed the sides of his head. 

Her nails bit into the soft skin behind his ears as she pulled him down so they were face-to-face, vowing, “Never. I swear by the force itself, I will never choose death over life.”

He let out a relieved sigh, eyes fluttering closed.

“Now you,” she demanded

“As long as I have anyone to live for, I swear by the force, I will never choose death over life.”

She pulled him the rest of the way in for a bruising kiss. He lifted her, and they desperately clung at one another as he carried her to bed. They continued like that, clinging and grasping, until exhaustion carried him to sleep. She pulled the covers over top them both and curled around him defensively as the day slowly faded away.

Part XI

[celestialgaea]

1. I LOVE your writing! You're amazing! 2. If it's not too much trouble, could I request something for brotherhood Ezio - either fluff or smut (maybe a hybrid if such a thing exists?)

These requests really make my heart soft :,) It’s definitly not troublesome at all, darling! a smut/fluff is coming your way :)) enjoy reading! 

btw, I always had the concept in mind of Ezio being a nude model for a painter/paintress so I used it as inspiration for this request, I hope you like it!

Pairings: Brotherhood!Ezio x Reader

warnings: smut, fluff, mature content

summary: Ezio convinces you of using his nude body as reference for your painting and that’s where things start to get heated.

A sound of raging growls left your throat as it was the sixth time you scratched away the slender torso that was sketched upon the parchment. It was slender, too slender for it to be still considered human. Ironic. The Greek gods were inhuman, but you were unable to project the divine muscles that roamed in your thoughts onto the piece of dried lamb skin. You missed Florence, dearly, and since the first week that you had left the vivid city to live in the unknown town of Monteriggioni you thought that the quiet farms, where trees of oranges grew, would help revive the inspiration to paint a Magnum Opus but it only dried the river of colour in your head. You couldn’t compare Florence to a third rate town as Monteriggioni. You could still recall the smell of paint and the dusty marmer that stained the Florentin air of the market, and the sight of novices carrying their painting supplies as they were on their way to class. You missed how you used to visit churches, not to pray, but rather to admire the fresco’s. Now it was all gone. No inspiration and the few churches that existed in this village were sober and only consisted of a giant crucifix and a statue of Madonna holding her child.

bang bang. Someone knocked on the door of your atelier. With a dissatisfied grunt you threw the charcoal pencil on the ground and shoved your seat back with a strong force, causing an abrasive sound to be heard from outside the small building.

‘Who is there?’ You asked sharply as you walked towards the wooden door. You tried to regain your patience and freshened your cheeks, which was red of annoyment, by pressing your abnormally cold palms against them. 

‘It’s me, Ezio.’ His voice was unclear due to the door that seperated you, but it did not spoil the low rumble that was always present in his speech. You pressed your eyelids together rather harshly and groaned in regret. How shameful musn’t it be to shoot invisible daggers towards Ezio as just the thought of his intimidting gaze locked on your face after your scene of lost temper made you wish you hid instead of confronting him. You weren’t scared of him, you were scared of embaressment.

You opened the door to the sight of Ezio leaning against the doorframe, one eyebrow arched in question. 

‘I came to check up on you, ragazza. It sounded as if you were fighting off pirates in there.’ You felt how your face heated up against your will and you tried to laugh it of with a breathless snicker. ‘The only thing I was fighting with were my sketches,’ You stepped aside, exposing a part of your artist studio. It was not big, as it was perfect to fit in a few tables and art easels with canvasses of variating sizes, but it was practical enough to be able to craft in peace. But it seems that the serene peace wasn’t present anymore these past weeks.

‘Where are my manners, come in.’ With a faint smile he swiftly entered and closed the door. 

‘Lack of inspiration?’ He asked. You nodded. ‘Not only that, It is impossible to find any references to bodies as muscled as those of the Greek Gods. Monteriggioni isn’t filled with art as in Firenze, thus making it difficult for me to find those references.’ As you looked at him from the side, you saw how perfect his body posture was to be used as reference; It was flexible and broad, yet it was intimidating and yet not graceful enough to be that of a dancer. 

Ezio hummed in understanding. He was slightly proud that he still had the ability to make you blush, even in his forties, when he caught your eyes wandering through his clothing.  ‘Why don’t you use models like Leonardo does? You could ask him to lend some to you,’ You grinned. ‘Ezio, my dear. The only references to human bodies that Leonardo uses are either dug up from their grave or strangers with the most inhuman facial complexion. Leonardo is fascinated by the misshapen, not the divine.’ 

‘Well, if the ancient Greeks believed that women were the misshapen copies of men, then I confirm myself as being fascinated by the misshapen. My dear.’ He mocked. His lips curled into a sly smirk and he winked at you, but you merely scoffed playfully as you shook your head and walked towards the chaotic scene that played upon your desk; Scattered parchment with incomplete sketches, charcoal pencils and quills thrown all over the table and, at the moment, irrelevant attributes such as a skull and a terracotta bust of Bacchus -A marmer bust was way too expensive for the meager loan you had to live with-

‘Charmed.’ You said, not impressed. Maybe slightly impressed.

‘As I thought you would be,’ 

The open space of the studio behind you felt enclosed as the soft touch of Ezio’s breath caressed the nape of your neck. His eyes roamed over the table, observing every object -he even squatted down and stared into the dead eyes of Bacchus-, and trailed alongside the lines of your sketches with his middle and index finger pressed together, the two fingers levitating above the charcoal lines.

‘Why did you scratch them? It is beautiful. Well, I am not going to lie, it looks a bit...how should I word it?’ He mumbled. ‘Bad?’  ‘A bit out of proportion,’ He trailed alongside the torso with the same two fingers. ‘See,’ Ezio said. ‘The torso is a bit too long, and the muscles are too muscled.’

You scoffed, a small laugh plastered on your face. ‘Too muscly,’ You mumbled to yourself. ‘Ezio, I don’t know if you have noticed but I do not have any male models nor have I seen a man naked before. No, I mean, not that I am a virgin. But I just haven’t seen a naked man with the right size.’ Good Lord. Ezio grinned, not ashamed for the innapropriate phrase that kept resonating in his head, and locked eyes with you as he raised one eyebrow. You shivered. It was that one raised eyebrow that made his face so intimidating, so intense. ‘Not the right size, huh?’

‘You know what I mean, old man.’ He scoffed. His hand covered his breast and he pretended to be in pain. ‘You wound me with your words, bella.’ 

Oh Ezio. He was so entertaining. He was probably one of the very few reasons your stay in Monteriggioni will last for a very long time. Leaving him would make you feel empty. Ezio had a way of pulling women (and also men) towards him, chaining them with such a scorching desire that it would feel injust and even sinful to break the invisible attraction He brought those small moments of thrills and excitement with him whenever he just walked by making you want his attention to be focused on you and solely you.

‘I could send an apprentice of mine to model, but only if you’d like?’ ‘Are they quite muscled? I need a body that represents the gods and not 17 year old boys who are only interested in horses and girls.’ ‘No, judging by the statues I have seen in Florence they wouldn’t be a very great choice. And besides, I don’t think that they can stand still, naked, for a few hours while a beautiful lady has a clear view of their cazzo without, you know, the visuals showing their excitement.’

Your facial expressions showed slight disgust as you were imagining their erect member and face, reddened with shame, while they were posing as one of the Greek deities. Well, to be fair, you couldn’t expect less. They were boys with raging hormones, and you were a young adolescent that was not able to conceil her raging hormones from experienced and charming men. Or shortly said; Ezio. 

Speak of the devil. 

Ezio noticed the disgust on your face and emitted a low and rumbling snicker as he patted your back, the impact of his force causing your shoulder to be shoved forwards. ‘Keep your sneaky little mind away from my apprentices private parts will you?’

‘Ezio!’ You hit his arm, your mouth open and pretending to be shocked by his remark, but you couldn’t help but curl your mouth into a smile. ‘Back to our previous topic,’ You said, recovering from what just had happened. ‘I really need to find a male model for my project, Ezio.’  Ezio happened to show empathy with you as he began taking off his boots. 

‘Ezio, what in heaven are you doing? Put those back on! Ezio what are you thinking?’ Nailed to the floor you looked at ezio who was only wearing his trousers and chemise, its string loosened and showing the flesh upon his chest, and had his hands on the sides of the edge of his pants, ready to take them of and show the world what momma gave him. ‘I am sacrificing my pride for the sake of your painting.’

Your eyes widened. ‘Would you do that for me? Really?’ ‘Bella, what does it look like I am doing?’ He grinned, taking off the rest of his clothing as you had turned around to reorganize your table and prepared the small podium on which Ezio had to model.

‘And besides, what did you mean with Sacrificing your pride?’ You heard Ezio sigh while you sharpened your charcoal pencils. ‘All these men on Classical paintings have a...well, you know, a small penis, so you will have to reduce mine...a lot.’ You laughed, placing the pencils on the table. ‘Oh, Ezio, I don’t really think it will be necessary.’ You said teasingly. You sat down behind the desk when you heard his voice floating around your ears as he walked towards the small podium, every inch of his skin exposed for you and only you. ‘Prego?’ 

It was difficult to keep your gaze off his private part. It was just...hanging there,  minding its bussiness. It was as if your insulting remark about his member just spat back at you with double as much spit. You managed to clear your throat in a subtle way without choking on your saliva. ‘You’ll have to lay down.’ You said. You stood up to grasp a few layers of cloth to cover the small stage to save Ezio’s behind a bit from the harsh ground. It felt weird to be so near him; He was naked and you were clothed. 

You quickly smoothened the cloth onto the stage, fixating your disorientated eyes on it, and walked, almost ran, with rapid speed back to your desk.

It still felt like a fever dream. You were able to get the most skilled murderer fully naked in front of you, without asking once. As it felt surreal, it simutaniously felt forbidden too. He was way older, a teacher of a kind, how many women wouldn’t have killed for this chance. For seeing Ezio naked, almost vulnurable without his armour. Vulnurable for attack as told by the white lining of the remaining scars on his body. 

‘Lay down and lean on your elbows,’ And so he did. ‘Put one knee up. No the other knee, Ezio. Not so high, go a bit lower. Not that low. Yes, stay like that!’ Ezio grinned softly. ‘You are very demanding, aren’t you bella?’ ‘You iniated on being my model, Ezio,  so do as I say.’  Ezio raised an eyebrow as he tilted his head, sucking air through his teeth, sounding similar to scorching metal in cold water. ‘My apologies, maestro.’ 

His body was beautiful. Not too brawny and not fat. Broad muscles showing through his skin and simultaneously a layer of soft fat hugged around his torso, but it didn’t hang nor did it seem loose, It was tight and gave Ezio’s body comfortable for burning cuddles. 

You gave a last look at Ezio’s position, observing it, but something felt wrong. It felt plain, flat. It didn’t have your desired dimentions. 

‘Ezio,’ He turned his head towards you. ‘Could you touch the ground with your left hand and move your torso towards your lifted knee. Let your right arm rest upon that raised knee, yes, just like that.’ It was better. More rounded than flat. And the most beautiful of all was how above his pubic hair, which was trimmed, small layers of skin bundled upon each other, giving more dimention to his body.

You picked up the stylus - a metal pen- with satisfaction and began carving lines onto the parchment. Those lines slowly became basic shapes until more shade and more complexity was added to them. Ezio’s eyes kept sailing from around the room to your concentrated face. It must be intimidating for him whenever it took only fractions of seconds before you raised your eyes to look at him every single time. And every time he wondered how many seconds it would last this time before you watched him again. 

‘Do you do this a lot? Using nude models?’ Ezio asked. You stood halt in your drawing to look up at him. ‘Well, No. Back in Firenze I was too ashamed to ask for one. If the word would spread about a women making a carreer out of brush strokes instead of a man stroking her to let her bear him a son, they’d burn my paintings. And they may burn my paintings, but i’ll still use the ashes to draw a big cazzo on the front door of their homes.’  You said, slightly flinching at the thought of your face being tortured by the sweltering flames that are devouring your art works. Ezio laughed. His wide-opened mouth created deep curving lines next to it, sparkling eyes squinting at you. 

How did he do it? How was he capable of making you desire him with just a smile. A smile of confidence. A smile of which hundreds of women fell for. Let alone how his body would call for company as melancholy and charm hung like a perfume around him. 

‘Eccezionale,’ He grinned in a breath. ‘And in Monteriggioni?’ ‘The average male in this village is almost expired. They’re at least fifthy.’ 

‘You don’t older men?’ He asked teasingly. Yes you did, especially him. ‘There is a difference between older and old. Old men are almost expired. Older men, on the other hand, are more matured and experienced.’ 

With a last look at the sketch you laid down the stylus and motioned for Ezio to move again. You quickly added some shadows around the sillhouette around the body as you felt Ezio stand behind you. 

‘And what is “older” to you?’  ‘You ask a lot of Questions, Ezio. Aren’t you  Il mentore?’ His broad shoulders casted a shadow on your cheek that was turned to his side. ‘I’m curious. Isn’t a man allowed to ask questions? Especially if he’s as expired as me?’ You scoffed.

‘Ezio, you are not expired. You aren’t old.’

‘I’ll be turning fifthy in five years.’

‘That’s still ages away from now.’

‘Time flies, bella.’

‘Well, mentore, I don’t perceive you as old. In fact, you are mature and very sharp.’ You stole a quick glance of his private part before letting your gaze wander towards the floor. How was he able to keep himself so tame when the tension was creating a heated knot in your lower stomach? The knot kept contracting with every breath from Ezio’s soft lips that brushed against your neck and the radiating heat from his naked body caused by the Florentine sun that tortured his skin underneath the layers of his heavy assassin robes. 

You turned around, trapped in between the wooden desk and Ezio’s nudeness, and placed a hand on his bicep. ‘How aren’t you burned yet underneath all those layers of clothing.’ Your eyes locked with his. ‘I have very thick skin,’ He palmed your hand in his and lead it down his muscular arm, rubbing against its hot skin, let it follow the curves of his muscles back up to his chest. You didn’t even need to glance down to see that his good old friend has “awakened”. 

Ezio’s hand caressed your collarbone and slid down, only to stop at the cleavage of your gown. With his index finger he easily pulled the piece of fabric away from your chest, exposing your breasts that were visible through the thin night gown. 

He hummed in satisfaction.

Ezio disposed you of your clothes in a slow and agonizing manner until your naked body was hugged by the warm air that filled the art studio. His eyes, filled with passionate lust, wandered over your whole body, absorbing every inch of naked skin.  Ezio pressed his body close to you and you felt how his manhood, swollen with blood, was pressed against your stomach. Ezio kissed your lips. His lips covering your upper lip as you softly nibbled on his bottom lip. His tongue wetted the entrance of your mouth before the warmth of his saliva got mixed with yours. Ezio’s hands roamed your whole body, he wanted to take all of you, touch all of you, feel every piece of your hot skin lingering against his. His hands trailed back to your upper thighs and rubbed them as his fingers curled to grip the soft flesh of it. His warm hands felt rough and experienced against your inner thighs, it felt like everything that desire is. 

Ezio pulled your legs around his waist and carried you the the small improvised podium of layered blankets as his one hand held the fold at the backside of your knee and the other was pressed against your lower back. 

You couldn’t describe how overwhelmed you where with all these sensory feelings. Your contracting stomach, heating core and tickling neck, caused by Ezio’s lips and teasing nips, made you close your eyes and press your legs tighter around his torso. You pressed yourself against Ezio while you yearned for his body engulfing yours in this passionate warmth as Ezio’s hot breaths left humid spots on your neck. 

His lips kissed your collarbone and so he went down with smouldering and slow kisses down to the curve in between the mounds of your breasts. His hand cupped your breast and massaged your nipple with his thumb as his mouth place kisses on the side of your other breast before tracing to your nipple and holding it between his lips. 

your breathing became irregular, some were sharp and some were pitched. Your hands took a grip on Ezio’s broad back and you couldn’t help but groan in a breath. His body slid down on yours until he stopped above your pubic bone, a trail of saliva covered your torso. Ezio placed your legs on his shoulders, holding onto your thighs, and he breathed so softly against your humid entrance. 

It felt tingly and increased your need for him to touch you. Ezio’s fingers caressed your labia as his hot and humid tongue slid up your crease. Your breath hitched. His lips covered your clit, his beard tickling your inner thighs, kissing it before taking it between his lips and sucking on it. You groaned. Your clit was pusling and you felt how your entrance was filled with so much ecstasy. Ezio kept licking, nibbling and just making you feel on cloud nine until you felt how tension was layering and building up in your core and you felt how it was almost going to explode in bright colours of the sweet relieve. But Ezio stopped before you could taste that pure sweetness and how much you disliked it, the builded up tension slowly died down.

‘Why did you stop?’ You asked defeatedly. Ezio smirked. ‘I want us to finish together,’ You were surprised. ‘Because I can’t wait any longer to be inside of you.’  Ezio slid back up so his lips could reach your mouth again. You enveloped your leg around his waist and Ezio gripped the fold of your knee, slowly pressing your thigh against your chest. 

He groaned as the tip of his manhood entered slowly. He stopped after a few inches of his manhood had entered so you’d adapt to his lenght and width and began pumping slowly before he’d let his whole penis enter inside of you inch by inch. He filled you so good.

Ezio began pumping in and out between your slick walls and went rougher. The sweetness and lust of the moment made both of your groan in synch. But the more he motioned inside of you, the more your groans became heartfelt moans. You grabbed ezio’s back as you bit on his shoulder. With every push and every thrust of his body against yours the sinful sounds of hitting skin was like background music for the hymn of your moans. Ezio grabbed your thigh and pushed himself deeper, which you doubt was still possible, and the poor man was lost in deep groans. He kept you close to him as he filled you until the building up layers made you speed up, shortening the silence between every clap of skin. ‘Ezio,’ You whispered in lost sweetness. The more tension that build up, the more the yearning for that sweet relieve became. ‘(Y/N),’ He groaned in your ear, huskily. 

Only a few strokes and you were there, both of you. Oh, sweet Lord, how you were losing your mind in a blurr of white light. Just those few last strokes and you’d explode. You were almost there...almost...and ‘Ezio!’ The ball of squeezed tension exploded into a firework of sweetness and fire. Ezio came inside of you with squeezed eyes and a groan before he let himself relax onto you. Your chests were elevating in an irregular rythm. 

‘Mio Dio,’ You whispered in amazement. Ezio slid out of you and took the excess length of the cloth to cover both of you.

‘So when are you free to come back? To finish the painting?’ 

‘Very soon, Bella, very soon.’

[thisdreamplace]

ashamed to say the 3D reflects our true inner reality, yes? my ENTIRE family has turned against me, after some atrocious conflicts in which they all ganged up on me nd judged me, name-calling, very hurtful things too, provoked me. i been dealing with some serious mental uh 'issues' on my own nd when this happend i was already on the verge of a breakdown nd the good news is while the conflict happened i kept telling myself theyre only reflecting me u can get thru it etc. Later i looked at the hard facts nd realised some of the hurtful things they said were my deep secret feelings abt myself. BUT my question is why the HELL cant they talk to me like normal people? confronting one person vs whole family, why?! i felt so small nd like an object, nd not a single person defended me. am i not a part of the family?

Part 2 is simply its been a week and theyve still been cold towards me as if I yelled AT THEM ABT THEIR PAINFUL 'tRuThS' in front of EVERYONE LMAOOO. At first if i was around we'd have dinner together while they'd all talk to each other like best friends aka sickeningly overly friendly while completely IGNORING me while i sat there. i could tolerate it. I WAS PISSED AT THEM TOO Now its too painful. They're having dinner without telling me, yesterday didnt leave enough food for me knowing i hadnt eaten, serve tea/snacks without my portion. i honestly feel so unspeakably trigered nd sad. worst is these things r reminding me of deep school memories when id feel excluded like this by other kids at parties or class activities nd its like im back there. anyway im glad i controled myself a bit nd didnt counter with horrid things abt them to THEM yet they think they can say the same to me. im so hurt rn i cant even tell u lol i was okay the whole week but now its too much,, ive been crying the whole day

thing is, ik this seems like 'im a victim oh noooo they ganged up on meee'. Nope its more like how do i change myself to change them?! u could say why not talk to them how they made u feel, except whenever ive defended myself in the past regarding hurtful things they/anyone in family did, the siblings/parents would say irritating things like: "oh so YOU'RE the one hurt? Oh thats right, its because YOU'RE right! yes, yes, you're always right. Forgive me for saying anything against the perfect person u are." Or one of them says: "You?! I hurt YOU? What about me? You don't care about me! So you think what ur doing is okay?" or "no, who do YOU think u are to tell ME what to do?" it just goes in circles like this! i dont deserve to hurt myself or do smth to myself even if they dont give a damn, even if years of silent suffering of the 'mEntAL pRoBlEms' (which my lovely parents have already told me is my fault years ago, hence why I NEVER show it to them, unless im crying too much then lol they just mock me, but idc abt THAT bcoz now ik i hav a right to let out my emotions)). i mean this is worse rjan usual. its kinda insane nd when guests come they start talking to me as if nothing's wrong then when they leave, they ignore me!

this whole twisted dynamics, feelijf left out nd helpless is ig some crazy assumptin from childhood of being alone nd unable to defend myself. plus when they argye with anyone, they become overly self-righteous nd over the years its clear they can only scream, blame the scapegoat and never talk abt serious matter like normal ppl. And yes, in the past when i bring this up, they like to reply with stuff like: "no YOU'RE the one who doesnt talk to US bla bla" like, when i do u just shut me down? have belittled my mental 'issues', mocked me when im at my worst, stabbed me with cruel silent treatments nd thinking its alright "bcoz of self-righteousness blegh". Or maybe i think its okay for them to punish me? or whatev? Like law says u get what u r. if these ~~~ keep doing this to me, im doubly ashamed to say this means im the one at fault?! i let this monster assunptin grow nd now idk what to do. the worst thing imo is how i failed to tell them,even if they ignored me in the past, how i feel when anything like this or a conflict happens nd none of them stand up for me, or at least are neutral to me. bcoz now if i do, they say nope, u dont care what we do, YOUR the shameless one :! so yeah they hav the advantage of 'numbwrs' while im too afraid to stand up for myself lol. btw they never apologize nd i suspect they expect ME to apologize to TYEM bcoz everything's already ruined bcoz of 'me'..... i give up on them, i really do, but my heart hurts. Either i harden my heart, nd save up to move out, OR i try to change my self or whatev assumptins i have. But how do i do that? i try afirming: "my familys so nice to me, im respected by them" but it feels so fake tears literally enter my eyes lol

firstly i want to say, thank you for coming here to vent and being open about your feelings. it’s so important sometimes to just let it all out, without holding back. so that way you can move forward more bravely, to create the life you truly want to experience. that being said, i am going to be completely honest with you here in hopes that perhaps it may inspire you and you will be ready to do what is needed for the life you truly want to experience.

“BUT my question is why the HELL cant they talk to me like normal people?” -> “i felt so small nd like an object, nd not a single person defended me. am i not a part of the family?” here is your question, and here is your answer. i think that being completely honest when venting your feelings can actually be so helpful, because if you read back what you have said, you will be able to clearly find the patterns that are creating your personal hell. FEELING IS THE SECRET. ASSUMPTIONS HARDEN INTO FACT. the true way you feel, becomes your experience. Feelings/assumptions/beliefs come first, and the experiences come second to confirm them. That’s all that’s happening here.

i am glad that you were able to keep your reactions to a minimum! that's wonderful and as many of us know, it can sometimes be hard to do in such hurtful circumstances. but you managed to do it, this shows just a small glimpse of the power you truly hold within. although emotionally you may feel out of control, there is still the choice to choose better for yourself which you demonstrated through your reaction to them. good for you!

the truth is, you acknowledge the victim mindset to seem like you’re not engulfed in it, but no, you’re still very clearly engulfed in it. as i have said before, you can’t be a VICTOR and feel bad about it. feeling bad about taking responsibility, about everyone is you pushed out, about any of these types of concepts automatically shows a victim mindset. talking to them won’t do anything, because there are no second causes. you could talk to them nicely, you could be the nicest person in the world. but you can’t pretend your way out of your inner world. your inner world is the one and only cause of your experiences. until you change the story you tell yourself, they will stay the same. this is a hard pill to swallow sometimes. and it can feel heavily, because it’s ultimately only you’re choice. they can’t change until you do. the heaviness of the situation may make it seem impossible to turn around, but that’s just an illusion. your emotional attachment to the situation makes it seem so real and hard to change, but no. that’s just an illusion too. however, it’s ultimately your choice. Do you want to take responsibility for your life, or do you want to keep being tossed around like your lost at sea, victim to the merciless angry waves? Because we always have a choice. No one chooses your inner world, you do. No one can go into your mind and decide things for you, that’s only your job.

you can harden your heart, but who would be the one who suffers more? It won’t be your family, i can assure you. it’ll only be you. by doing that, you keep that old story alive and therefore you keep experiencing it. you keep those stories alive that are desperately showing themselves to you, saying “LET US GO.” but you remain identified with those painful stories, so you grip onto them tight. you keep on thinking of possible reasons for their behavior, but you could just read your entire ask back to yourself and you’ll see every reason. your reactions, your beliefs about them, your emotional pain. its your refusal to let those things go, and focus on what you truly want that keeps you in this state and keeps them in this state. sure it’s painful to face the responsibility at first, but it’s not a blame game. thinking its about blame is just a misunderstanding of the teachings. it’s not about they’re so perfect and you’re so not, so you have to change your ways. it’s about this is how life works here. this is about... you can ONLY ever experience self. whatever is going on within, will be reflected in your outer world. it’s about how they can’t change, UNTIL YOU DO. so instead of feeling sorry for yourself, you have to decide to give yourself the gift of a wonderful life because you have that power too. you stop deciding they can be in control of your experience, and you decide your experience yourself.

to change your assumptions, stop trying to affirm over them and actually face what’s keeping you from believing in your desires. yeah, it’s going to be painful and uncomfortable. but you need to face the pain that you’re running away from, so that it can finally be released. you have to realize, it only stayed true because you believed it to be true. and if you are to live a life free from that story, and experience a more desirable story, then you must let the pain go. give yourself love and grace as you work through it, and know that there is a more beautiful side of life that awaits for you to accept it in.

No One To Change But Self

There is Nothing to Forgive

How to Sit with Your Triggers

give yourself the time you need, it's not race. the love that you wish to experience exists, allow it in. 💖

[sprawa-przybyszewskiej]

I cannot claim to know about this play more than some others (Ewa Graczyk, Jagoda Hernik-Spalińska, Kazimiera Ingdahl and Maria Janion, in alphabetical order, are the official Horsewomen of the Apocalypse in this topic), with a lot to bring to the table, and so I will sometimes discuss parts of it which are - at the very least at the first glance - absolutely and doubtlessly simple; but  by discussing them I hope to be able to bring into the discussion some new material, new evidence, perhaps - for the contrary of the popular belief.

I remember when I first read the scene between Danton and Robespierre, I was completely mystified, just as Maxime. To somebody who at that point knew nothing about the historical events, the exchange between them was very logical (and everyone knows how hard it is to obtain, especially in a piece of media where the author blatantly favours one of the characters over another). I am very glad then, to be able to say that while Przybyszewska did everything she could to humiliate and belittle Danton in the more visual aspects of the scene - his gestures, movements, actions, mimicry, even the sound of his voice etc.  - she didn't bother making him out to be a complete clown. His arguments are populistic, but that's not necessarily a bad thing when you're n politician aspiring to be even more than that. Perhaps she thought that painting him out to be a weakling would somehow diminish Robespierre's awesomeness, which is a valid concern. For Robepsierre has little left to do in this scene - it is made out to ba a confrontation between them, of sorts, but is it one, really? I don't think so, not for the large part of it. Robespierre comes in, dishes out few sarcastic lines, looks at Danton with disgust and contempt and then crushes him in a yet another sarcastic line and then leaves. There isn't that much he can do not only to participate in the exchange, but to be visually and audially appealing to the audience as a character in a play. And even though we all know staging The Danton Case is a secondary affair, the main thing you can do with it is to read it and ponder over it, when you do stage it, a lot of responsibility rests on the actors recreating the part. Which is why choosing a good actor can, potentially, make all the difference, sometimes going as far as completely changing the way you view the very same scene you read earlier.

I have always assumed by "the same man" they meant Robespierre. It makes some sense in the light of the conversation, altough I have to admit it makes little sense in the light of Robespierre's reaction. The question thus presented to us is: do we go by what is written, do we percieve a play as a piece of fiction in a real world, OR do we immerse ourselves in the fictional world, suspend our disbelief and for a moment treat it as an alternate reality of sorts?

Polish director Jan Klata has managed to put on stage a compelling retelling of The Danton Case and I would like to present to you a scene from his version, which we're lucky enough to have on YT, with translation courtesy of @that-one-revolutionary​. I've seen the play in its entirety: some metaphors were heavy-handed to say the least, some aspects I wish he'd done differently, but all in all, when choosing the main protagonist, the director casted in the role a truly splendid actor (please note that Marcin Czarnik was young. Young! It made all of the difference and it's worth watching if only for that), who brought home some of the points of character of Robespierre's which could have easily been brushed aside in order to highlight some other aspects of the conversation (the most famous example of this would be the very same scene from Wajda's movie, where the appealing and in all aspects imposing Gerard Depardieu dominantes the scene, thus presentign it in a very different ligt). While it can be read as a political statement, or a match of two great personalities, or a display of cunning on either part, Klata (or Czarnik; it's hard for me to say what the director tried to do with it, a lot of Robespierre's quirks, mimicry, gestures etc. seemed to come directly from the actor, which I can only say because I've seen him in other things and that's sort of his style of acting; all in all, I'll try to treat this not as a discussion over this particular staging, because for that I lack needed data, but it's unavoidable in the long run at least at some points, so please bear that in mind) treats the conversation itself as a minor thing in comparision to what is going on in Maxime's mind at the moment.  Just look at this: there is no significance brought into their meeting, no change of the scenery, nothing indicates this meeting is special in any way. The logical conclusion is, then:  it's not special. Both Danton and Robespierre seem to treat this as a step which cannot be avoided, but which bears no great weight either. The only reason they agreed to make this step altogether is - for "the same man". For Camille.

I do think Przybyszewska's intention was actually to disguise Maxime under this vague title. If this is a play about love - as I will always state it is - she wanted to underline the fact some people will be hatefully loved by those who are beneath them, who have nothing whatsoever in common with the object of their affection simply because the loved one is so great, so genius, so shining and bright it is impossible not to love them. I think this is the relationship between Danton and Robespierre (that is, on Danton's part) up until this point in the play. Danton idolizes Robespierre against his will (against both of their wills, really), because Robespierre is truly made out to be a demi-god at the very least. If you could team up with a hero like this, you should. So Danton goes through a humiliating process of trying to reconcile with Maxime, because humiliation, if everything paid off in the end, would be worth it. That Robespierre doesn't reciprocate the affection is simply a further proof that he is above Danton in every way.

Klata-Czarnik duo seems to have gone into another, subtler direction though. The man that both politicians make an exception for seems to be Camille, moreso because Robespierre loves him than because Danton has any special feelings for him. What is his relationship with Camille, anyway? They are cordial enough, but always a bit on the edge, and we know that Danton doesn't know everything that Camille thinks and feels in regards to Robespierre, mostly because he doesn't care that much, but also because he is characterised as a brute, and this simply goes above his head, it's too subtle, too delicate of a feeling for him to know it. It is also clear he knows Camille pretty well, but he doesn't know his soul, so to say. Therefore, he cannot actually love him, not to the point to make him the one and only excpetion from his otherwise coldly and precisley calculated plans.

Is there, however, a scenario in which Camille could be Danton's exception? Yes, when it becomes more about Robepierre than about Camille. When Camille is sort of offered as a mean to lure Robepierre in. Danton could make this exception only if it meant getting what he wanted (which is later mirrored by his blatant admission that the only reason he lets Camille take the fall with him is to deny Robespierre any joy in life after this point).

Robespierre, however, doesn't see it this way. He actually makes the exception for Camille and I think Danton's words – whatever he means by them, whichever interpretation we think is correct – put him on alert, for the fear of having his secret discovered. In the video linked above it is even more than that – once Robespierre hears Danton indirectly name "the same man", he gets aggressively defensive. For him to have someone like Danton talk almost openly about what he treats as his personal secret (a secret that Danton, being in great familiarity with Camille, could potentially know for certain) is equal with defiling it. I have violated your secret. Do you know what he says in the original? I have raped your secret. It really brings into the focus how much “the secret” needs to be protected, and how much it will hurt Maxime once it’s uncovered and destroyed.This is what he fears pretty much for the entirety of the conversation, his suspiscion somewhat confirmed when Danton says: No catchphrases, Robespierre. I know you.

As I mentioned earlier, the shift in my reading of the scene was prompted by the video. It is worth observing what exactly does Robespierre do when mentioing Camille by surname – he gets visibly more upset, he ponders for a split second for the best way to talk about him. His choice of words is interesting as well:

Both translations here are poor and I quite like what that-one-revolutionary did with it. "Katarynka" is a music-box, so "an instrument" fits much better (not to mention the obvious English connection to the phrase "play like a fiddle", which is adequate here). A parrots is after all a living being, something with a will of its own, if steered by more powerful handlers. But admitting that Camille, from his own free will decided to go against Maxime and everything that Maxime believes in is much harder for Robespierre than calling him an inanimate object, which can be unwittingly used by people with their own agenda. That leaves Camille almost blameless, perhaps careless and foolish, but not responsible fo anything that has transpired.Calling him names serves another purpose as well, which is to steer away the suspiscion that Robespierre protects Camille becuase he cares about him in a special way. He knows there are Danton's accomplices turning ears by the door, so he doesn't want to give himself away with his care and concern.

Ultimately, what do you believe, whom do you think they were referring to I think says a lot about what you think about Maxime's state of mind at the time. Danton's too, though, it can be used as a litmus test whater or not you believe he was honest in idolising Robespierre and offering him his adoration and obedience. In some stagings it will be presented as true, in some as a lie, and that's the beauty of adapting a piece of literature, there are so many options, all blooming from the same roots.

[orangerosebush]

On minds and matters

It was a bit disheartening to spend years working towards an MA in psychology, only to then use it on hour-long glorified eye-staring contests with the moody adolescents of the UK’s Vieux riches. His job paid well, though, and as such Dr. Po was willing to grit his teeth and soldier on through each meeting on his list.

He’d had plenty of patients who came to him determined not to progress. These were the boys who had a few too many write-ups on their files; the ones whose families were tired of their son being too 'emotionally high-maintenance'; the students who had consigned themselves to being one of the ‘troubled’ boys. The problem with elite boarding schools was that they sometimes served as the dumping grounds for wealthy families who would prefer to not be reminded of their screw-up children — as such, Dr. Po’s target demographic was made up of boys determined to ‘win’ therapy by going home just as bitter and in pain as they were when they started sessions with him.

He didn’t always make a breakthrough. Sometimes, he had patients who showed up to a session with a note from Dean Guiney excusing them from further meetings, and that was that. Dr. Po firmly believed that every single student he’d met with was capable of finding some coping mechanism or outlet that would help them — and he hoped that the students whose sessions stopped before any progress had been made found happiness in the future. Or, at the very least, that they found something that would bring them peace.

There were certain patients he’d had that stood out from the others, both for good reasons and bad. Artemis Fowl II was one of those patients — and standing out for reasons ‘both good and bad’ described Artemis perfectly. 

Following a series of disastrous sessions when the boy was thirteen, Dr. Po had simply stopped seeing Artemis. The boy hadn’t even shown up with a note terminating their sessions. One day, a new boy had shown up in the time slot usually reserved for Artemis, and that had been that. Dr. Po hadn’t seen Artemis since. He vaguely remembered hearing the news that the Fowl patriarch had been found — alive — and not been sure whether to expect Artemis to get better or worse. 

Would the return of his father foster the growth of the nascent emotional maturity that Artemis had exhibited in their final sessions? Or would Artemis’ worst traits — his tendency towards arrogance, his dismissal of others, his budding narcissism — firmly take root, defining Artemis’ personality for good? These questions nagged at Dr. Po, and truthfully, he was too cowardly to ask around the staff to confirm just what sort of person Artemis had become.

Thus, Artemis remained an enigma.

An enigma that just so happened to be sitting in the armchair across from Dr. Po, boring a hole through the doctor with his unflinching gaze.

In true Artemis Fowl fashion, the boy had shown up for a session that had been reserved without a name. Dr. Po had nearly dropped his clipboard when he’d opened the door to usher in his new patient and been greeted with a now fifteen years of age Artemis Fowl standing before him, looking simultaneously defiant and sheepish.

They’d both walked into the room wordlessly, waiting in silence as Dr. Po awkwardly rummaged around in his desk for his old notes on Artemis while the young teen sat gingerly in the patient seat in the middle of the room.

“You’ve not switched to a digital filing system?”

Dr. Po started, looking up at Artemis.

“No psychiatrist or counselor uses iPads or digital notetakers,” Dr. Po explained hesitantly, brow furrowing.

Artemis wasn’t one for small talk, usually.

Shaking his head slightly as if to right himself, Dr. Po continued. “It’d be convenient, but there are concerns about the patient being recorded."

Artemis seemed satisfied with that answer.

Flipping his notes closed, Dr. Po studied Artemis, who raised a single brow.

“I’ve never forgotten our session that you left in the middle of,” Dr. Po remarked, and the frown lines on Artemis’ face deepened. “You were such a smarmy child. But you… made this joke.”

Artemis leaned back in his chair, tapping a foot in annoyance. “What a wonderful memory you have.”

“Not really. But it’s hard to forget a patient like you, Artemis,” Dr. Po sighed. “I tried to ask you about your feelings — you responded by telling me a family heirloom was a blatant forgery.”

The memory caused Artemis to smile genuinely for the first time since he’d stepped into the office. “The fake Victorian?”

The doctor grimaced. “Yes.”

“Despite its lack of authenticity, it was a perfectly nice armchair,” Artemis assured, a gently teasing note worming its way into his voice.

Edged on by Artemis' demeanor softening, Dr. Po pushed on. “But back to the joke. I remarked on the loss of your father — insensitively, I now realize — and you shut down. You started jerking me in this way and that in order to prevent me from getting a real reading on you. You said something along the lines of, ‘I’m depressed that I’m going to therapy,’ I believe. Quite a bon mot.”

“I was impudent as a young boy, I’m afraid,” Artemis said breezily, sounding more amused by the tale than remorseful. “I hope you’ll forgive me for a poor first impression.”

“Artemis, why are you back in my office?”

Artemis didn’t even blink, taking the challenge in stride. “My mother believes it will be beneficial.”

“Your mother? Not you?”

“Correct.”

“And… beneficial? To what end? Elaborate on her reasoning, perhaps,” Dr. Po asked, trying to keep his tone light.

“She believes I am emotionally maladjusted,” Artemis said, giving a small shrug.

“Are you?”

Artemis blinked owlishly, the question not quite computing. “Am I what, doctor?”

Dr. Po clicked his pen idly. “Unhappy.”

“Well, of course.”

Dr. Po was unable to keep his face neutral, and Artemis chuckled slightly at the doctor’s wide-eyed gaping.

“Dr. Po,” Artemis sighed, sobering as if he were explaining something evident to a child. “Of course I am unhappy occasionally. I’m a very busy man. My intellect has made it so I’ve moved beyond the carefree days of adolescence — I’ve matured past an age where my mother could treat me as a child, and although I don’t mourn the loss of simpler times, I suppose she does.”

Dr. Po forced himself not to ask if Artemis had ever truly been treated as a child, deciding to steer clear of the topic of family based on how unproductively the discussion had gone years ago. Instead, he elected to place his clipboard on the floor, looking at Artemis bluntly.

“Artemis, I’m not diagnosing you with anything,” he began, holding up a hand when Artemis opened his mouth to say something. “What I want to discuss today, however, is that right now I see the same pain in you today as I did when you were thirteen — and since I’m no longer getting complaints from department heads, that means you’ve taken that frustration and turned it somewhere else.”

Artemis’ lips quirked upwards, but his eyes were mirthless. “You share my mother's theory that I am some variation of the tortured genius stereotype.”

“How about this — I think that you believe that there isn’t a person alive smart enough to help you. Because to 'fix' you, someone would have to look inside you, and you think you’re the only person that’s able to understand how you work.”

“How narcissistic of me.”

“I’ve met with a lot of people since our last session when you were thirteen,” Dr. Po stressed. “I’ve not met anyone quite as clever as you, but I’ve met people who fit the same profile. You’re well versed in my profession, so you’re able to view your pain as both a participant and as an outsider — and that strangely voyeuristic relationship to your mind makes it so you and all these other folks think that you’re objective. Logical, even, in your analysis of your mind. You understand every tick, every tiny mechanism, every structure of your psyche. And if you understand it all and you still can’t will yourself to be happy, then why the hell should I be able to do anything for you? After all, I’m just some idiot who decorates his office with forged antique furniture his grandfather was gullible enough to purchase. Why should I know better than you do?”

Artemis was silent at that.

“If someone can, say, convince themselves that all their peers are 2D caricatures of people, they’ll never have to think about why they struggle to feel any pleasure from social interaction. If they can look around and see how far their family has come, then they can force themselves to box up and discard the baggage of the past. If they can convince themselves that pain and genius are twins, that the torment is part of the gift by which they define themselves, then the fear they have that maybe they’re destined for a life marked by paranoia and apathy no longer has to be confronted,” Dr. Po tried, searching for some way to express his thoughts before Artemis decided to snap at him. “Maybe you’re the only one who sees the world as it really is. But maybe your mother is right to be concerned. I get why… that’s an unattractive possibility to you. It would mean your analysis of yourself was incorrect. And if you were wrong, if your mind has tricked you into running away from the change that you need to feel happier, then you’re just as human as the rest of us. Pain tricked you into believing its integral to your ‘youness’. You’re... just human. And let me tell you, Artemis, that feeling ineffectual, and frustrated, and sad is... so very painfully human.”

By the time he’d finished his spiel, Dr. Po’s voice was soft. Pursing his lips, he tried to see if he’d garnered any sort of reaction from Artemis. The teen remained stony-faced.

“I can recommend a therapist from outside Saint Bartleby’s,” Dr. Po finally said. “If you don’t want to work with me, then I don’t want to waste either of our time.”

Artemis seemed to be broiling with unreadable intensity, and for a moment Dr. Po worried that he’d start going on a diatribe.

His fears soon were proven unfounded when all of the sudden, Artemis seemed to deflate.

“I do not choose sadness for myself, Dr. Po. I can assure you that,” Artemis remarked, sounding weary in the way men twice his age did when confronted by the prospect of the world having moved on past their prime.

“I would never imply something so insensitive,” Dr. Po insisted. “But there is a difference between me saying something of that sort and me asking you to believe that I could help you. Or if not me, then someone better suited to working with you.”

Artemis ruminated on the statement, his tapered fingers tapping out an unfamiliar rhythm on the arms of the ornate chair he was sitting in.

“I will come to my session next week,” he finally decided, and Dr. Po almost sagged with relief.

Carefully, the two of them continued on with the session. Although it felt as though they were both walking on eggshells around one another, the hour-long session ultimately ended in a place where Dr. Po felt like they could work with. He walked Artemis to the door, and after awkwardly bidding him goodbye, Dr. Po retreated back into his office.

For a while, he simply sat at his desk, thinking.

It wasn’t as though he’d made groundbreaking headway with Artemis today. Frankly, they’d been only nominally productive following Artemis’ promise to give therapy a genuine attempt.

The day stretched on, and Dr. Po was no closer to making sense of the ever-present Artemis conundrum.

After all, how does one describe Artemis Fowl?

Various psychiatrists have tried and failed. The problem is Artemis’ own intelligence. He bamboozles every test thrown at him. He has puzzled the greatest medical minds, and sent many of them gibbering back to their own hospitals.

Dr. Po paused, reaching back for the clipboard he’d discarded at the beginning of the session.

Artemis Fowl II was fifteen. He had various, tremendously important responsibilities, the details of which he refused to elaborate on. His best friend, to Dr. Po’s knowledge, was his paid bodyguard. Frankly, Dr. Po didn’t think they’d talk about Artemis’ family for a long, long time.

Dr. Po couldn’t really describe Artemis Fowl, because he didn’t know him. He didn’t think many people knew the boy, not really.

All the same, Dr. Po wanted to try. He wanted to try to understand Artemis Fowl a bit better. Not because Dr. Po wanted to a hero, but because he wanted Artemis Fowl to just get to be a boy instead of whatever impossible, confusing role Artemis seemed to be trying to fill.

Artemis Fowl was fifteen. Dr. Po hoped that he’d hold onto boyhood a little while longer.

[secretgamergirl]

How not to Write a Campaign

I have been playing RPGs for a very long time. Back in the day, I avoided any and all pre-written adventures of any sort because my limited experience with them was... just frankly terrible. Weird inconsistencies in tone, unfair encounter setups, too many assumptions about PCs’ motives and actions, etc. Then much later I discovered a group of writers who actually got it, wrote things perfectly in line with how my friends like a game to go, and we’ve been all in on those for a decade and change. But I just finished running a ROUGH one, and I want something good to come of it.

I don’t want to make this a specific review, because... I’m in the industry, I know the people who wrote this campaign, I can guess at some of the problems involved, and I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings or reputation, so let me just refer to the offending prewritten campaign here as the Amnesia Campaign. It’s for a big fantasy RPG, it riffs of a particular author’s work, you can probably guess what it is from that, but, I’m trying.

The first problem I need to bring up with the Amnesia Campaign is that it just commits the cardinal sin of long term RPG campaign writing- The mustache-twirling villain who always manages to escape from the PCs at the last minute. I cannot convey just how important it is that you never, ever do this. The worst sort of example is when you plan around the PCs actually confronting your villain multiple times, and failing to kill them, which is a terrible idea because there really is no way to ever stack the deck and account for every contingency to make an unwinnable fight, or even one where escape is always possible, and especially if you’re publishing adventures, some number of groups will kill the villain too early, either shorting things out or forcing a handwave to keep an ineffectual villain in play and pretend they’re still a threat.

The Amnesia Campaign doesn’t quite go there. Having an actual chance to go toe to toe with the villain is reserved for the very end, but it does use another variant, where no matter what happens, the PCs arrive just after the villain they’re chasing has left. Now... there’s a way you can make that work. If you have a villain who cannot be reached in practical fashion, and can launch attacks anywhere within a huge region, you can build a whole campaign out of characters reacting to the aftermath of evil actions they could not be expected to even learn about until the villain has left the scene. Here, meanwhile, we have a villain with a big elaborate plot that requires traveling all over the world gathering things, based on research he does at the very start which the PCs can, and indeed are expected to do, quickly pick up on these research notes, and basically know everything the villain plans to do from nearly the start of a very long campaign. And... frankly, the villain has no real edge to keep him believably one step ahead. He is a mildly wealthy man hiring goons, mundane forms of transportation, and having to negotiate and fight his way through to various sub-objectives needed for his plan, and it is at least strongly implied that he doesn’t have a lot of lead time. When presented with a scenario about someone needing to be chased down and stopped, PCs can pretty reliably be counted on to constantly be rushing forward, coming up with clever ways to accomplish what they need to in less time, and cut down if not completely nullify their travel time. But, like with battles the villain somehow keeps escaping from, I am forced to continuously state to my players in running this that no, somehow even after avoiding this whole side quest by reading the mind of the person with important information, and directly teleporting to where the villain left for by riverboat, he somehow beat them there, and once again, just left. It’s frustrating, and implausible. We end up with a villain who seems overwhelmingly outmatched, but keeps succeeding because... well, he has plot armor so we’re railroading this.

Admittedly, having a good villain when writing a full campaign in advance can be tricky. The safe and tested formula is generally to start off with minions of your main villain, starting with some who don’t even know who they’re ultimately working for, gradually build up to who’s calling the shots and to what end, have a big side trip to prepare for the final confrontation not directly involving the villains, than cap it with a big showdown. If the PCs know who the main villain is from the very start and where to find them, it becomes hard to rationalize anything between. Sometimes you can pull it off if they’re leading an army or ruling a country, but even then, you want to work up a food chain to them.

A similar problem, which crops up a bit towards the end of the Amnesia Campaign, is making too many assumptions about how the PCs react, and who they befriend. In RPG writing, you need to make as few assumptions as possible about the specifics of what the PCs will do in any situation. You can count on the real broad strokes. The party will investigate the situation described in the adventure, they’ll explore the area, find the villains, fight them, win, learn something to keep the larger plot growing, but that’s it. You can’t assume they’re going to team up with this NPC, enter this room from that direction, or otherwise reenact what you’d imagine you’d do in their place, or what happened in your test play of your adventure. This is particularly important when you include a little sidequest unconnected to their primary goal, or you’re presenting an open-ended investigation.

Ideally, you just have a sensible location, have some villains in it with clear goals and personalities laid out, and you scatter around some things to enable various clever tricks if players think to try them, without mandating any of them. Mention where windows are, and chandeliers, and holes just too small for the average human to fit through, but don’t, as part of the Amnesia Campaign does, invest heavily in the assumption that the PCs will start investigating a sewer system when investigating how a cult gets around a city and go sparse on other possible clues. Also don’t waste adventure background note space on thousands of years of history at the expense of what the actual current problem in the area is and who or what is behind it.

The next problem is one that, were I the average consumer just buying this book would bother me a hell of a lot more than it does as someone who knows how the sausage gets made. Put mildly... you do not want to play a rogue in the Amnesia Campaign. Nor do you want to play a swashbuckler, a critical-hit focused character of any stripe, really any class out of the... roughly 25% of all classes who rely on knowledge of where to make a hit count the most to do the full amount of damage with their attacks, because practically everything is immune.

Now, again. I partly understand how this happens. We have several different authors writing different chapters of the campaign, simultaneously, in pretty unforgiving crunchy conditions, with just a rough outline to go off. Nobody really has a chance to confirm notes and say “hey, did your chapter totally invalidate one of the foundational character archetypes, because I was thinking of doing that and having two of those back to back would be a bit much.” And while the publisher of the Amnesia Campaign does throw out little booklets of tips for players on what sort of character concepts will/won’t work, they’re not written last, so this sort of tip is missing there too. On the other hand, it’s a huge problem within nearly any given chapter just on its own. If you’re making the call on what all monsters to include in a multi-level stretch of a campaign, you should generally avoid choosing nothing but monsters immune to one of the most common bread and butter class features. And honestly, given how the subject matter naturally lends to the deployment of a particular monster type, erring on the side of assuming everyone else is heavily deploying them wouldn’t be a bad assumption for any author to make.

This though, unlike the rest of my gripes, is ultimately a high level problem that needs a high level solution. When you’re publishing a whole campaign, and you’re doing it in a game where several foundational character concepts kinda live or die based on things like whether things are properly harmed by particular flavors of damage, or whether a decent percentage of enemies fall under a certain classification, that really shouldn’t be a double-blind. Coordinating to get all authors to use a decent spread, or include outline notes like “it’d make sense for about half the enemies in this chapter to be fire elemental themed in various ways, but keep a good variety otherwise,” and/or trying to get a rough handle on emergent themes to adjust for/warn about in player-facing pitch material. Even the best-written campaigns are prone to rude awakenings or hilarious reductions in challenge as turns out, say, going all in on cold damage does indeed pay off for the one with Fire in the title.

Meanwhile, on the other side of that coin, more or less, huge swaths of the Amnesia Campaign really just completely break down by failing to account for some basic standard issue capabilities of a typical party. Particularly the fact that past a certain point, you need to account for the fact that the PCs are almost certainly capable of flight. It’s a thing that happens. If you are really keen on writing adventures where local warlords are chilling out on the open-air rooftop patios of their otherwise heavily fortified fortresses, or melee-oriented monsters plan an ambush in a canyon in a vast wasteland, or a dangerous leapfrog between a series of elevated platforms over something dangerous, you want to make those low-level adventures, or else a typical party, possibly even accidentally, will just completely circumvent the whole thing. There is a whole lot of that in the back of the Amnesia Campaign. My group... literally skipped giant swaths. Heck, there was a whole side quest in the last book where the PCs are rewarded with the location of a giant obelisk which I had to cut because... it was in the middle of a big open outdoor space, and they flew over the city on the way in. They definitely had a view over those hedges.

This sort of dovetails into the next issue, consistently escalating threats. The whole fantasy RPG gimmick is that at level 1, you’re a helpless peasant barely capable of doing anything remarkable, and by level 20 you’re literally punching gods in the face and have more money in your pocket than everyone else in your home country combined (with the obvious exception of the other people in your party). Now, mechanically, balancing around that is a very easy math problem. Characters of level X are meant to deal with threats of level Y, either pull a Y level monster out of the book, or slap levels on something lower to bring it to that point, or spread that out over more enemies, then they drop Z amount of fancy loot. Easiest thing in the world. But you also need things to fit together thematically. You can absolutely throw fighter levels onto the local chicken-stealing goblins to make them mechanically as threatening as a demigod bursting through from another plane of reality, but when a group of characters is at a level where they can be expected to handle the former, it’s just plain weird for them to end up dealing with the latter. Like, yes, these particular goblins have 200 HP instead of the usual 4, so the local town guard can’t handle them, but that should never be true of chicken-stealing goblins. You don’t get that tough stealing chickens, and once you’ve gotten that tough, you should have your sights set a good deal higher than that. At least be stealing rocs or something.

The 4th chapter of the Amnesia Campaign is a particularly blatant example of not getting this, featuring a large number of “please be aware the party can fly at this level” moments mentioned above, and also just demanding the PCs deal with problems that really are beneath them at that point. Seeking out local guides, impressing petty local warlords, getting challenged by giants they must impress to rest safely when crossing a huge desert. These are... not appropriate speed bumps at a point in the narrative where the party is traveling to a location where they are going to literally fight a god, weakened or otherwise. The whole setup would be wonderful as the first chapter of a campaign, but that far in, it just doesn’t work. Particularly when the actual opening of the Amnesia Campaign sets the tension very high right off the bat, with extradimensional threats, shapeshifters, an evil cult, things that typically come later as things start to escalate.

This isn’t to say you can’t mix things up a little. Dealing with threats well below a party’s capabilities can be really nice as a chance to just sort of flex, and get some perspective on how much more capable they’ve grown over time, but you have to do it in a low-tension point of the narrative, and a little self-awareness about it doesn’t hurt.

Finally, while I really kinda hate modern wealth-by-level assumptions, they are baked into the design of the game, so if you’re running with it, you really need to make sure you’re really giving the players something they can use. The Amnesia Campaign really leans heavy on treasure being weird oddities that may be of value to a collector... while also being set, generally, in places so totally removed from civilization that shopping trips aren’t really practical. Much less those needing the party to really find the right sort of buyer.

Really, you want to give out entirely practical loot (really hard to do without knowing the party makeup, but variety can work), big piles of cash/sellables along with sufficiently large cities along the way for viable shopping, or raw materials suitable for crafting plus ample time to really do something with them.

Anyway, hopefully this has come across more as practical constructive advice for anyone writing a campaign, either as a printed product or just for your home game, not just me tearing into the Amnesia Campaign at length.

[firebirdsdaughter]

What’s hilarious [read: ridiculous] to me…

… Is that Horobi and Yua actually follow a fairly parallel path in their responses to their situations (I had a whole realisation about how Horobi-Fuwa-Naki-Yua are a four way parallel today; Horobi-Fuwa are parallels and Naki-Yua are parallels, but then their actions crisscross parallel). But there’s a massive double standard in how the two characters are reacted to… Despite the fact that Yua is a fully mentally matured and developed human adult and Horobi is an AI that has been hacked and brainwashed for the past decade in a way that forcibly stunted his development.

Yua was in a horrid and toxic work environment w/ an abusive boss. Now, admittedly, Gai kept a large amount of his worse deeds from her and to a point one could justify it as her thinking she’s acting for the greater good… Until we get to the part where it becomes abundantly clear she knows very well that what they’re doing is at the least morally questionable… But doesn’t try to defect at all, even to the point of insisting it’s of her own free will. Yes, she had a chip in her head, too, but given her reactions to him torturing Fuwa, she doesn’t seem to have known he could do that, and she didn’t know about Naki, nor did she have an AI drone in her mind. Now this is not to blame Yua—in fact, the point is that she was a victim in a bad situation. Her struggle to get out of there was fairly realistic given her situation. But she had the experience to know that what they were doing was wrong. That makes it tragic in it’s own way, yes, that she was under extreme stress and very conflicted, but she was aware of that. She was a fully developed adult. She deliberately pursued Izu w/ the intention of destroying her, and would have had Gai not said the wrong thing and set Fuwa off. And Izu was frightened and trying to run away. She resists Fuwa’s repeated attempts to snap her out of it.

Rightly so, people noted Yua’s situation, were upset for her and felt bad for her. When there were jackasses saying she should die, people called it out as bad. People were cheering for her to get away from Gai. People were happy when she did. And this includes me. I blocked people I saw shitting on Yua and saying she should die bc what the fuck, guys, she was in a seriously messed up situation.

Once free of Gai, Yua is uncertain what to do and decides to try and ‘make up’ for something she feels responsible for in a rather questionable way. She ends up helping the Ark rise and wreak havoc. Still people recognise that she couldn’t have known that would happen. Poor Yua’s been through a lot.

Meanwhile, Horobi is hacked and brainwashed by the Ark twelve years ago. She uses him to cause Daybreak. He is an AI being controlled by a larger AI designed to control HumaGear like him. Unlike and adult human being pressured and manipulated, he is literally incapable of thinking outside the Ark’s will. The Ark has complete control. Even if he did have any experience to compare w/ before, the Ark erases it. He has no frame of reference besides the Ark, no development of any kind to evaluate his situation w/. Even when Jin becomes important to him, everything is through the lens of the Ark, the Ark is more than a god to him. The brainwashing is so deep that even when disconnected for a bit, he can’t be anything besides blindly devoted. Talks about how the Ark is absolute. When confronted w/ something that causes uncertainty, he goes into a full on mental breakdown—literally, should have been a first clue that emotions were never going to come easy for him.

Eventually, he does end up w/ enough experience to just start to begin to break free. Manages to act completely on his own for the first time in his life—not an instinct that the Ark swooped in to take advantage of, he gets to go through w/ it on his own. And he’s floored. He literally cannot fathom why his body moved on its own, as far as he can tell. Can’t understand the fact that he wanted to do something. This is recognised as a big deal (one of the only times anyone tries to actually talk him out of things, in fact, unlike Yua, where there was a lot of effort). Horobi begins to wonder about things outside the Ark’s will, about himself, which he’s never considered before… Only to have it turn out his son was plotting to have the Ark possess him and then kill him to kill her. This completely upends any development he had. He’s re-hacked and rendered as largely a drone when not being possessed.

Finally, someone decides to put effort into him (kinda…) again. And, in a situation that heavily parallels Yua, he ends up finding it in him to break free of the Ark. Only… Again, a lot like Yua, it’s not a clean break. He’s still stuck w/ the past, the conditioning, and the effects of what happened. Additionally, as later becomes clear, his struggling w/ feeling emotions, which he has been carefully conditioned to reject and have no experience w/, for the first time. He’s mentally unstable and volatile. Now, in the show, what happens is the result of Azu/the Ark’s manipulations and people making poor decisions (and I do think you can make an argument for the fact that the Ark was intentionally keeping Horobi from feeling/having any experience w/ emotions to make him even more of a wreck later on), and poking a very volatile bear (well, a highly traumatised child soldier AI who has no fucking clue what emotions are to the point it feels like an outside being controlling him somehow), he lashes out, and Izu calmly stands there and deliberately takes a hit she very clearly sees coming. General chaos ensues. From Horobi’s perspective, the thing he’s been trained to think will get rid of the uncertainty and emotions etc. not only doesn’t work, but it makes him feel worse, and bc he has no other way he knows how to respond, he becomes more aggressive in rejecting those feelings. And then Jin dies, and he completely breaks down.

The reaction he gets? People calling him evil and horrible and saying he should die. That e’s choosing to do these things. People who talk about how Yua can’t really be held accountable, how she was coerced, look at a literal brainwash victim and say he choose to do those things.

Now, obviously, there are differences, which resulted in the different out comes—obviously the whole, one is a fully developed human adult and the other one is an AI. One was externally conditioned, the other, again, literally brainwashed. One had someone fighting to convince them to break free of their situation on a regular basis, repeatedly, constantly, the other didn’t. Yua was always going to have an easier break than Horobi, bc she had more mental and emotional maturity, but bc of that, esp in regards to actions done whilst under the ‘control’ of others, she has more responsibility for her actions bc she was capable of identifying them as wrong.

Now, of course, both situations are bad for the people involved. Both of them are victims.

But the issue is that people seem to be all over how Yua was a victim, Yua was mistreated… While attacking Horobi (and being upset about Izu dying is one thing, although, again, the person really responsible for that was Azu/th ark(well, Gai for creating her), Horobi was pretty much used as a weapon there, but this is for stuff he did while mind controlled).

And I used Yua just bc she and Horobi had the most parallel responses to their situations. The same goes for being able to see Fuwa as a victim, or Naki (so if Naki is the one who gave Horobi the ZetsumeRise Keys, does that make them responsible for Operation MaGear, or bc they gave Horobi the ForceRiser and said to use it on Jin, are they responsible for that? Bc that’s the logic of blaming Horobi for Daybreak), or Raiden, or even Aruto for that time he got hijacked via MCH. Any of the hacked HumaGear who were turned into MaGear.

Just… The concept of seeing how all of those people are victims in the situation… But blaming Horobi? Like… Not being interested in Horobi is one thing. Obviously, no on is going to be as madly in love w/ him as I am. It’s the act of not recognising him as being a victim while recognising everyone in similar situations as victims. It’s saying he was responsible for Daybreak, treating him like the Ark’s will was his (I’m literally having flashbacks to comments calling Horobi’s whole death ‘Horobi’s plan,’ even though by that point we literally knew the Ark was an entity that existed). Like… They literally confirmed it in show as not being that. Horobi is a mind control victim. What someone’s personal opinion of the character outside of that is another matter. But the fact is that he was mind controlled by the Ark and that the things he did under her control cannot be objectively called things he chose to do. Whether someone thinks he would have chosen them if he weren’t mind controlled… Esp given how all his actions of own choice were about protecting Jin, I personally disagree. But the show has been very explicit that he was mind controlled, and that he had no clue how to handle emotions (to the point he didn’t even seem to know what they are), so being able to understand that all those other people, esp the ones who went through similar things, are victims… But Horobi’s to blame for what he did? That’s just ridiculous.

And don’t even get me started on how anyone could ever see Gai as being a bigger victim than Horobi.

[tawakkull]

Spirituality in islam : Tawadu (Humility)

Tawadu (modesty and humility) is the opposite of arrogance, pride, and haughtiness. It can also be interpreted as one’s awareness of one’s real position before God, and as letting that realization guide one’s conduct toward God and with people. 

If one sees oneself as an ordinary, individual part of creation, a threshold of a door, a mat spread on a floor or a pavement stone, a pebble in a stream or chaff in a field, and if one can sincerely confess, as did Muhammad Lutfi Effendi: 

Everybody else is good but I am bad; everybody else is wheat but I am chaff, the inhabitants of the heavens will kiss him or her on the head.

In a narration attributed to the truthful, confirmed one, upon him be peace and blessings, it is said: 

Whoever is humble, God exalts him; whoever is haughty, God humiliates him. 

Thus, one’s true greatness is inversely proportional to behaving as if one were great, just as one’s true smallness is inversely proportional to behaving as if one were small.

Humility has been defined in many ways: seeing oneself as devoid of all virtues essentially originating in oneself, treating others humbly and respectfully, seeing oneself as the worst of humanity (unless being honored by a special Divine treatment), and being alert to any stirring of the ego and immediately suppressing it. Each definition expresses a dimension of humility. However, the last definition relates to those made sincere by God Himself and who are near to Him.

A Companion saw Caliph ‘Umar, may God be pleased with him, carrying water in a pitcher on his shoulder. He asked him: What are you doing, O Caliph of God’s Messenger? ’Umar, one of the foremost in nearness to God, answered: Some envoys have come from other countries. I felt some conceit in my heart and wanted to suppress it. 'Umar used to carry flour on his back. Once he accused himself while giving a sermon from the pulpit, and kept silent when people questioned and criticized his action.

Abu Hurayra carried wood while he was the deputy governor of Madina. When he was the chief judge in Madina, Zayd ibn Thabit kissed Ibn 'Abbas’ hand, and Ibn 'Abbas, known as the Interpreter of the Qur'an and the Scholar of the Umma, helped Zayd get on his horse. Hasan, the grandson of the Prophet, upon him be peace and blessings, sat with some children who were eating bread crumbs and ate with them. Once Abu Dharr offended Bilal al-Habashi and, to obtain his forgiveness, put his head on the ground and declared: If the blessed feet of Bilal do not tread on this sinful head, it will not rise from the ground. All of these events and many similar ones are instances of humility.

Both God Almighty and His Messenger emphasized humility so much that one who knows of it does not doubt that servanthood consists of humility. The Qur'anic verse: 

The servants of the All-Merciful are those who walk on the earth in modesty, and if the impudent offend them, they continue their way saying: “Peace” (25:63) 

praises humility, and the Divine statements extremely humble toward believers (5:54) 

and merciful among themselves; you find them bowing down and falling prostrate (48:29) 

are expressions of praise for the ingrained humility reflected in their conduct.

Concerning humility, the glory of humanity, upon him be peace and blessings, declared: God has told me that you must be humble, and that no one must boast to another; Shall I inform you of one whom Hellfire will not touch? Hellfire will not touch one who is near to God and amiable with people, and mild and easy to get along with; God exalts one who is humble. That one sees himself as small while he is truly great in the sight of people; and O God, make me see myself as small.

The glory of humanity, upon him be peace and blessings, lived as the most humble of people. He stopped at the places where children were gathered and played with and greeted them. If someone held him by the hand and wanted to lead him somewhere, he never objected. He helped his wives with the housework. When people were working, he worked with them. He mended his shoes and clothes, milked sheep, and fed animals. He sat at the table with his servant. He always welcomed the poor warmly, looked after widows and orphans, visited the ill, followed funeral processions, and answered the call of slaves in his community.

The beloved servants of God, from God’s Messenger, upon him be peace and blessings, to Caliph 'Umar and the Umayyad Caliph 'Umar ibn 'Abd al-'Aziz and from him to numerous saints, purified and perfected scholars, and those honored with nearness to God, have held that the signs of greatness in the great are humility and modesty, while the signs of smallness in the small are arrogance and vanity. Based on this understanding, they sought to show men and women how to become perfect.

True humility means that people must know the full extent of their worth before God’s infinite Grandeur, and then make this fully realized potential an ingrained, essential part of their nature. Those who have done this are humble and balanced in their relations with others. Those who have realized their nothingness before God Almighty are balanced in both their religious lives and their relations with people. They obey the commandments of religion, for they have no objection to the revealed truths of religion, nor do they criticize its method of addressing or relating to human reason. They are convinced that what is contained in the Qur'an and the authentic Traditions of the Prophet, upon him be peace and blessings, is true.

If there is an apparent contradiction between these two sources and human reason or established rational or scientific facts, such people seek to learn the truth of the matter. Therefore, it is nonsense for those without humility and modesty to assert, when confronted with an apparent contradiction between reason or rational premises and the revealed and narrated principles of religion, that reason or what is rational must be preferred. Their further assertion that judgments based on reasoning and analogy must be given priority over revealed principles is also mistaken. The wonders worked and spiritual pleasures felt by following ways not followed by the Prophet, upon him be peace and blessings, is God’s way of leading people to perdition, for “success” in such endeavors leads to sin.

Those who have achieved humility are completely convinced of the truth of whatever the Prophet said or did. They never doubt it, and seek to practice it in their lives. If something else, such as a wise saying or a great accomplishment, appears to them as more beautiful or acceptable, they accuse themselves of being unable to discern the incomparable superiority of the revealed truths and expressions, saying:

There are many people who find fault with the words having no defects.

However, the fault lies in their defective understanding.

They are certain that one cannot prosper in the Hereafter by following ways opposed to the Qur'an and the Sunna. They find the greatest source of power in servanthood to God. In reality, one who worships God never adores anyone else, and one who serves others cannot be a true servant of God. 

Do not see anything or anybody else other than God as so much greater than you as to deserve adoration or servanthood. Do not boast of yourself in a way to see yourself as greater than others. As creatures are equal in being distant from being worshipped, so also are they equal in that they are all created.

Those who are truly humble do not attribute the fruits of their work and efforts to themselves, nor do they regard their successes or efforts in the way of God as making them superior to others. They do not care how other people regard them, and do not demand a return for their services in the way of God. They regard their being loved by others as a test of their sincerity, and do not exploit God’s favors to them by boasting to others about them.

In short, just as humility is the portal to good conduct or being characterized with the qualities of God (such as generosity, merciful, helpful, forgiving, and so on), it is also the first and foremost means of being near to both the created and the Creator. Roses grow on the earth, and humanity was created on the earth and not in the heavens. A believer is nearest to God when prostrating before Him. While recounting the Prophet’s Ascension (to the heavens), the Qur'an refers to him as God’s servant, as a sign of his humility and utmost modesty.

[tragedybunny]

The Blade’s Edge - A League of Legends Fanfiction - Chapter 13

They had a simple arrangement. She was the weapon to be used on his enemies. Things get more complicated when emotions bleed into what should simple. Now the two of them find themselves on the precipice of something that was entirely unexpected.

He’s already gone when I awake, of course, the sun indicating that it’s already near mid-day. How do I still feel tired? I roll over and stare at the canopy above me, reliving the feeling of him undressing me last night and pulling me into his arms before sleep overtook me. It’s maddening. No, I’ll continue in my resolve to see nothing in it, to not give meaning where there is none. I suppress the memory and pull myself from bed, heading to my room to dress for the day. A note waits for me on my dressing table, written in his measured script, exacting and precise, as would be expected from him. 

“I trust tonight the Guild will be meeting and you will take control of it with little resistance. Once you have that firmly in hand I require a task of you. Augustus Montrose must be eliminated tonight, he’s begun to realize the alliance between his sister and myself. As always, take care of yourself.  - J”

“PS. I was informed that you were almost out of that violet perfume you always wear.”  

  I finally notice the ornate glass bottle to the left of where the note was, full of the aforementioned scent. My reward for being a good little pet. I wonder what Augustus’s death will earn me. That poor little idiot, he tried so desperately to be important and powerful, he’s earned a death sentence instead. I’d almost feel bad for him, but getting in that deep with any faction in Noxian politics is basically asking to be struck down at any moment. 

After I’m dressed I ring for Gwen and she appears in short order, always eager to be of use. “Yes Madame.” She has a sober look to her face, as if she already has sensed why she’s here. 

I sit at the dressing table and examine the wide bruise that has bloomed on the right side of my face.  “I’ll need your kitchen boy to come through, I need to know where Montrose intends to be tonight.” 

In the mirror, I see her expression change to one of smug self-satisfaction. “As it turns out, I took the initiative to inquire after him this morning. He complained that tonight another elaborate dinner party has been planned, even after all the Solstice revels. Montrose is celebrating some new, powerful friends he’s made.”

I stop and turn towards her. “Did he mention a woman at all, unusually pale?” How deep is he in, what are we about to stir up?

She bites her lip and shakes her head. “No, just some of the usual nobility who rankle at the loss of privilege they’ve experienced. He’ll stay in the kitchens after dinner and the other servants have been dismissed. Knock if you see no movement inside.” 

Well, we won’t be taking a piece off the board that she’ll desperately miss. “Perfect, thank you, Gwen, that will be all.” I dismiss her with a gesture and turn my attention to readying myself for the Guild tonight. Augustus will be easy to find when I’m ready for him. 

Weapons sharpened and muscles stretched in case of confrontation, Inara, Lark, and I gather early in the Guild’s headquarters, finding it empty thanks to a generous bribe I supplied via Lark.  The unassuming building sits amidst a group of others housing various government functions. While most of High Command still functions from within the Immortal Bastion itself, bureaucracy has spread like a fungus to the area around it. It’s a reflection of the temple district in that way, both of them evolving over the years with Noxus itself, Old Town pressing up against them both and the Bastion as the nobility grappled for power.  In times past, the Grand General dwelt in the Immortal Bastion, making it the ultimate seat of power. Jericho is different, preferring the control he has over his own family home to the mysteries and hidden spaces where a plot could come to fruition at any time. Of course, he still has unfettered access to it anytime he wishes. The Guild’s place here would shock outsiders who don’t understand it’s place within Noxus. Assassination has never been a method that our government or military has considered off-limits. The position in Intelligence of a Guild Officer enables the government to make use of its services at will, effectively making the it an unofficial branch of High Command. 

I spent countless hours here as a child before our move to Shurima, and many more once we returned. I know all its twists and turns and nooks and crannies as well as that of my own family’s home. I even pass a small alcove I remember as a favorite of mine for spying, shrinking into the shadows as a child to listen to the adults around me. We clear the rambling structure room by room, including any hidden ones and secret passages that I know of, ensuring no one is lying in wait. Next, all secondary exits are secured, leaving only the main door as the way in or out. When I’m satisfied that everything is in place, Inara and I retreat to a side room off the main hall, to await or moment. 

They trickle in through the next couple of hours, Inara and I taking shifts pressed up against the door to listen, some voices we recognize, some are unknown. Someone opens a stored cask of ale, they drink and converse, some begin to openly mourn the fallen. There’s a rising tide among them, confirmed dead members, Marius among them, who is targeting them? For what reason? Suspicions are aimed everywhere, including the Grand General. When the time is right, Lark raps on the wall next our hiding space, three sharp knocks, it’s time. 

We emerge and push through the crowd to the very center, gasps and whispers following in our wake as recognition dawns on them. Time seems slow, this is it, the moment there’s no going back from. Now that I’ve come to it though, I know that every step I’ve taken has lead me here. Perhaps there is such a thing as destiny, and this is mine. Destiny or not, I am no longer General Du Couteau’s shamed daughter, and no longer the Grand General’s pet, I am Commander of the Assasin’s Guild, a force and entity in my own right. 

“Brothers and sisters, your leaders are dead. They were weak and have paid the price for that. I stand before you now to take my rightful place in their stead, as your Commander.” Raucous noise breaks out among them, the three we recruited before this passionately on my side in the debate. 

The din reaches its crescendo and a woman steps to the forefront. “You would deliver us into the hands of the Usurper, to be used as his weapon.” 

I snort, someone was bound to put this forth. “The Grand General is the rightful ruler of Noxus, along with the others of the Trifarix. The Guild will support High Command as it always has, nothing more, nothing less.”

“So says the Grand Whore. Do you believe you can deceive…” She’s cut off by the dagger that flies from my hand and buries in her chest. I’m weary of the same nonsense being spewed over and over again.

No other moves to challenge me, they’re undecided, for the moment. “As I was saying.” Inara covers the fallen in a cloak and moves her discreetly out of the crowd. “Our numbers have dwindled, our coffers are depleted, and those arrogant bastard ‘guilds’ take our potential recruits. Let us rectify this, and find our strength once again. We’ll scour the lessor guilds from Noxus, once and for all, and become the power we were meant to be.” 

Father made a grave error in his leadership, he finally succumbed to the Black Rose. His single-minded pursuit of their objectives took a toll on the Guild. I can see it in their faces, they hunger for a return to glory. The murmuring returns, this time it begins to swing in my favor. She took down Marius, we would have the Grand General’s support, she’s here and Marcus is not. Lark joins in, adding to the momentum, a vote is called for. I take note and the slim few who still dissent, they’ll have to be watched. When it finally ends, I’m officially Guild Commander Katarina Du Couteau, with Lark and Inara acting as seneschals. 

My first order of business is just as I promised, both the Guild and Jericho, I assign a few of our members to begin tracking our competition. My second act is far less exciting, Inara and I head to the archives to understand the degree of disorder things have fallen to, leaving Lark to monitor for any fresh discord. I have some time before it will be clear to go after Augustus. I had briefly considered assigning someone else to the task, but I’m familiar with the Montrose estate. I suppose it’s fitting, he once said I stole his heart, now I’ll steal his life. 

The Guild records are a shambles that reflect the last few years of leadership. I thumb through the latest records, noting the brazen embezzlement, and stare longingly at the fire. Inara laughs at me from behind a stack of loose papers belonging to gods know where. “Didn’t think this would be the hard part?” 

I lay my head down on the desk. “How did it get this bad? Is this a Guild of idiots?” 

“This is what happens when we rely on anyone who volunteers to do this. We only get thieves and idiots.” She sighs as she tosses the stack back down in front of her. 

“Nevermind, I resign my position.” That gets a small laugh from her and her eyes brighten a bit. I stand and stretch, time to get the blood flowing back into my limbs. “I’m done, I’ve got some other business to handle.” 

“Happy hunting, Commander.” For all that we have a mess ahead of us to deal with, there’s satisfaction about her. It makes me even more proud of what we’ve accomplished here tonight. 

The city is quiet, still wrapped in a snowy mantle from the other night. I move through the streets in welcome solitude, reaching the Montrose estate with ease. With my cloak tucked around me, I watch the kitchen from the garden, someone has left a lamp burning so I can see the vague shapes within. When I’m finally satisfied that no unwanted company is around, I approach, keeping my cloak tight, and tap lightly. It only takes a second before a scrawny young man with dirty blonde hair cracks the door, the corners of his mouth up turning into a vicious smile the second he sees me. “He’s saying a drunken farewell to his guests, a girl awaits him in the blue parlor upstairs.” With that he vanishes up the servant stairs, leaving me with free reign. 

With the other servants all withdrawn to their quarters the halls of the manor are as silent as the grave. I cautiously stalk through them, not making a sound, nearing the blue parlor.  My plan is to take the girl first and wait for him. Quick and clean, he won’t even know what happened. Then I hear it, from a room back near the main staircase, that ancient snarling voice. “Augustus, you spoiled little hedonist, where are you?” 

“Coming Grandmother!” His impatient reply comes from the bottom of the stairs. Life is good sometimes. 

The old woman is ensconced in an over-decorated bedroom that’s rotten with faded glory. I slip in and silently shut the door behind me. She scrambles to prop herself up in bed, she knows I’m not her grandson. Her eyes have begun to fail though, so that’s all she can make out. “Wh-who’s there?” She summons some power to her voice, she’s so used to being obeyed. She and many others are relics of old Noxus, a time when the nobility were parasites, feeding off the strength of the Empire. They are a vain, petty, self-absorbed, lot whose time has passed. 

I steal to her side and she makes a quiet gasp as her eyes finally reveal me. “Death Lady Montrose, death is among you tonight.” She makes to cry out but my hand slams down over her mouth. “This will be the fate of all who refuse to bend to the Empire’s new order.” I slide my blade between her ribs and down into her heart, a task made easy since she has no strength to struggle against me with. She slumps forward, her lifeblood draining into her fine bed covers. 

There are footsteps in the hall, Augustus finally decided to answer his grandmother’s summons, and I slip behind the door to await him. It's only a moment before he throws it open snarling. “What do you want, you old bat?”

Three steps in and he finally takes in the scene before him, coming to a dead stop. I softly shut the door once again. He sucks in a breath as if he wants to scream and then I’m right behind him, breathing down his neck quite literally. He laughs, a mirthless sound. “Two nights. I was allowed to live two nights after getting too close to you. He’s certainly possessive.” 

  “Don’t be dramatic. This is about something entirely beyond you and me.” He’s unnervingly pliant as I put the dagger to his throat. Poor, weak Augustus, he doesn’t even know how to resist me. He sniffles when he feels it against his skin, all his bravado evaporated. He’s not the first I’ve seen to shed tears at their end and I’m not inclined to be moved by it. 

“I would’ve done great things, you could have joined me at my side, Kat.” The words are marred by a strangled sobbing that he fights to keep from overtaking him. Back firm, but shoulders quaking, he struggles to meet his end with dignity. 

“I’m already doing great things.” I dig the edge of the blade into his flesh and a whimper escapes him. His knees buckle immediately and I step back from him as his life flows into the plush carpet. It’s not long before a shudder marks his last breath. 

Surveying the carnage around me I realize I may have gone a bit far with the old woman’s death. If Coraline faces repercussions from it Jericho will be furious. But then again, I smile to myself, it had been deeply satisfying putting an end to that bulwark of old Noxus. Either way, it is done and can’t be changed. I’ll need to slip out before that girl gets impatient and comes looking for Augustus. 

I find the kitchen door left slightly ajar after heading back down the servant stairs. I shut it fast behind me and return to the waiting darkness of the night. It’s been a long night and I feel it in the stitched wound in my leg and the aching bruise on my face, and it feels wondrous. Tonight I am triumphant. I finally have what my father once promised to me. I took it with strength and cunning, as a Noxian should. Would father be proud? Perhaps I should go ask mother, a cruel, petty voice inside whispers. No, forget it. I’m beyond her, she’s nothing, a ghost haunting the ruin of her own life. The rage I have toward her will not be so easily extinguished though.

I focus myself back on the Guild, that thundering sensation as the crowd declared for me. I feel pride welling up in me, my confidence soaring. I’m damned self-satisfied and achingly confident as I approach the house. I wonder if Jericho is awake. He shouldn’t be but he rarely sleeps as much as he ought to. If he is, we should celebrate tonight’s success. The thought of him whispering in my ear about how pleased he is with me sends a shiver through me. 

I’m broken out of my reverie by the sight of Dras shutting the gate. Odd that it’s open at this hour. He looks up at me and quickly looks away, but movement on the stairs has already drawn my attention. Jericho, he stops at the door when he hears me on the walk behind him. Breathing becomes difficult as I ascend the stairs to where he’s paused. I’ve always known I wasn’t the only one, I’ve just never had to viscerally confront it until this moment. 

“Kat.” He already sounds like he’s going to attempt some insincere apology. I brush past him, an ache spreading through my chest. Then it hits me, the cloying smell of decaying roses, the scent that always marks her presence. Her, why her?  Of course, it’s all another little power game to him. He puts a hand on my shoulder.

I shake it off with a violent shrug. “Don’t touch me.” I need to get away from him. I feel my eyes start to sting. No, I can’t do this in front of him. 

He cuts in front of me, blocking my way to the stairs. “Don’t be like this.” He’s so irritatingly calm compared to the storm exploding inside me. 

I put my hand up to ward him off. “It’s fine.” My voice somehow remains steady. ��Exclusivity wasn’t part of our arrangement. I just want to be alone.” 

He steps forward, stubbornly ignoring everything I said, and reaches out to put his hand on my cheek. Gods, that normally has the power to melt me. “If it is fine, why are you being dramatic?” How typical of him.

“Fuck you.” I shove his hand away from me. “You always have to have the last word. You could’ve just let me walk away.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes shut for a second, as though I’m the one who’s offended him. “Fine go. I’d rather not put up with a childish tantrum.”

Childish, it stings in ways I can’t define. The pain of it all twists and transforms, becoming fury. I close the distance between us, tilting my head to glare up at him. “Maybe you’d prefer to not put up with me at all? I can arrange that.”

“Try it. What have you ever accomplished in your life without me.” He snaps back at me. 

Black washes over my vision, my thoughts vanishing into rage, and I lash out, striking him across the face. He catches my wrist with his left hand as I pull back. That roiling anger too quickly vanishes, replaced by a sudden dread as his eyes begin to smolder an unnatural crimson. I’ve never born witness to the demon truly unleashed. An aura of terrible power blazes around him, filling the hall with a haunting flickering red light. I quake slightly as I feel those unliving fingers dig into my wrist. “You ungrateful little bitch.” Another voice speaks along with his. Is it him or the demon in control now? 

Instead of the unnatural warmth of his touch that I know so well, a burning begins to singe my skin. “Let go!” I try to pull away and I flashback to that night that started all of this, a similar altercation between us,  how frighteningly strong he actually was. “Jericho, you’re hurting me.” In fear and desperation, I step forward and slam my shoulder into his chest.

He inhales sharply, backing up, and let’s go. His eyes close and that terrible power dissipates, coiling itself back inside him. I turn and flee, scared, humiliated, heartbroken. “Kat wait. I’m so sorry.” He calls after me, but I can’t even turn to face him. 

I slam the door to my room behind me and collapse into the window seat. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I try and steady my rapidly beating heart and panting breath. I should leave, just forget whatever this absurd arrangement has become and go. I look down at my wrist, a scarlet, irritated handprint wraps around it. I shift and a sheath digs into my back, causing me to recoil as though someone was behind me.  “Godsdamn it.” I pull out the dagger and send it across the room to embed in the wall. “Damn it all.” I rip the other blade from my back and toss it to the ground with a snarl before pulling my legs back up to my chest. Why can’t I find it in me to leave?

I stare apathetically out at the dark city until there’s a soft knock at the door. I’ll have to face him sooner or later anyway. “You wouldn’t go away if I told you to, so you might as well come in.” 

He doesn’t meet my eyes as he enters, genuine guilt for once written on his features. “I wanted to apologize. You told me that I should not wait to do so. So I am here. Peace offering?” He holds out a bottle of wine, Shuriman, dark and bitter, very fitting. 

Perhaps I am mad, but now that he’s here I don’t want him to leave me alone. I take the bottle and gesture to the seat next to me. As he sits I take a long pull from it. “Well, I’m listening.” 

He fixes his gaze on the floor. “That was...not entirely me. However, losing control, that was my fault. And I do beg your forgiveness. I will understand if you do not wish to give it.” 

After everything tonight I’ve grown numb and his words leave me oddly empty. But that lack of feeling brings some clarity, he’s not the only one who bears responsibility for what happened. “I shouldn’t have hit you. I’m sorry about that.” I take another pull off the bottle. “Interesting choice for an apology, what should I make of it?”

He shrugs. “I was sure you would be gone. I actually planned to drink myself to sleep.” 

I hand him back the bottle. “Would you really allow that?”

At last, he turns to look up at me, our eyes locking.  “I would not stop you if that is what you really wanted.” He passes the bottle back to me. 

I take another long pull. “And where would I go? What would I do?” Our fingers touch as he takes the bottle back from my hand and he brushes his thumb along mine.

“You would work something out. You don’t really need me. That’s the truth, despite what I said earlier. ” Is it? I stretch my legs out into his lap and hiss as pain shoots through my leg.  He looks at the floor again. “I forgot about your leg.” He sets the bottle to the side and takes my hand, looking pointedly at my wrist. “Should I go? Am I only making things worse?” 

I don’t think I could bear it if he did. “No, it’s fine, stay.” I leave my hand in his. He squeezes it ever so slightly as if he’s worried I’ll make him let go. 

Suddenly he leans over, arms around my waist and leaning his head against my chest. “I would prefer it if you didn’t leave though. I would miss you.” 

Why is it that the only mercy that exists in my soul is for him? I wrap my arms around his shoulders and return his embrace. “I’m not going to leave.” 

“Swear it?” he asks softly. 

“I swear I’m not leaving.” I kiss the top of his head and lean my cheek against it. 

He sighs as though he’s been relieved of a great burden. “And I swear to take more care from now on.” He pulls himself even tighter against me. “My Kitten.”  Does he really not know that oath or not, I can be nowhere but by his side?

[meandmyechoes]

I'm SO Angry about Joran's finale

Look, I knew where I was heading, and I'm not even upset I invested a month's time to what any seasoned viewer can sniff a "14 and edgy" show. But boy, am I so ANGRY over something I haven't in a while (Giselle face)

Tell me why a show starts with four women in the cast somehow lets the only male character steals the spotlight in its own finale?

Who even is the fucking main character at this point. I'm so sorry Yuki and Rinko, they did you so dirty. The cool sword fight isn't even cooler than episode one. With a little thought, I do understand the narrative weight of Yuki confronting her family's killer(s), (and I think her explanation about closing the book is sound in her defense, albeit my disagreement), but the duel does not convey emotional weight. You either talk it out or fight it out and what we see, is someone who was fighting Wolverine bare-fisted last week, lost, in her transformed state. And these people essentially just, die?, to avoid therapy. I can excuse Sawa reserving fighting Jin since she still wants answers from him and she's been shown having a soft heart, but how do you explain her ebbing power level? Can't she beat Jin, talked it out, and agreed to let him go/him slipping away after an emotional revelation? AGENCY.

Kuzuhara Jin. I don't mind his story. But um… he's also the only character that had an entire episode of backstory, hmmm wonder why that is. I obviously do not pity him, or hold particular high praise for his tragic backstory. It was alright, it was believable, for his later actions as well. And I know I see relationships not default as romance unlike most outside people, but i'm not the only one a little lost on what he feels for Sawa. To me it's very simple, he sees Sawa as a vessel for his guilt and redemption. After the backstory, we have confirmation he does care for her as to repay her mother's kindness. And I think that would've been enough. Showing Jin more fatherly with Sawa would've been a nice echo with Sawa and Asahi, and clear up the confusion caused by ep9 where some sre led to believe he has romantic feelings for her. Therefore, I def. think his confession about Sawa's mother is an overkill. Like, we get that from the flashbacks, but it's still pretty iffy to hear it.

I'm already think of rewrites before I can even finish shouting about what's bad. I think in the original timeline where Sawa's brought to the Palace, had a brief alliance with Jim to take down Yoshinobu, then duels Jin for the truth and dies im her arms would've made me less angry, even though that's the most "traditional" route you can think of. In every arc she fights a big bad and in the last, cumulative masterpiece of a finale she just… dies? And Boy, there's isn't even a close-up of her beautiful face while the hopeful dialogue tortures the audience.

It doesn't make no fucking sense that Sawa died. And it doesn't make no fucking sense Rinko literally backstabbed her. It wasn't even a heroic departure. Rinko doesn't have enough personal beef to kill her which just make her seem petty and insensible. They wasted Rinko as a villain and tgey wadted a friends-to-enemies arc for her.

First off, Sawa didn't get the big hero vs boss fight; then she dies without a close-up for cinematics and— after all these hardships she still didn't get to live?? Also like, didn't you show her supernatrural healing abilities in ep 1??? She knows that right? Why doesn't she run straight to a doctor? (okay the stab would was probably more gruesome than shown given it's Rinko and she knew her time is running out so she'd rather stay with Asahi—) Even Jin, your big male saviour, asked her to live, and the show decides to kill her off?? What kind of lesson is it supposed to deliver? "Life is unpredictable" or "Finish the job or they'll finish you"? Do you just like negating your own characters??

I think it'd be better if Arc 2 and 3 switch places if they are to stay within a similar amount of plot. They could've introduced Rinko earlier and really give her the narrative foil antagonist (and duel) she deserves as man-made/orders/past vs Sawa's nature/choice/future. Heck might as well push back the Janome plot by two episodes, show more Nue's Angels bonding to warrant why Tsuki earns a namesake in Hana's daughter. (And please dwell into his/her queerness, and make his fall more convincing)

I wishfully wished Hana would fight but I know it's a long shot. At least she didn't die. Or so I thought. I can't help but read the reason her daughter is travelling with Asahi is because she and his cheerful editor husband are both murdered - while Sawatsuki is so young that their death doesn't seem to bother her? I fucking hate that implication, but I wouldn't be surprised if THIS show pulled this on us.

Are they suggesting Asahi is gonna become the new executioner or at least, seek revenge for her sister? Let's put aside if and how she finds out who murders her. But Why. Not why would Asahi want to avenge her sister, but why would you take a character established by hope and second chance, to take on an old path? To be haunted by the same ghost her sister suffered for a decade?

Why does the show decides "history repeats itself" is a good message to send? That one should always be confined by the past and revenge is the only way to seek solace? That a cycle of violence is "cooler" than recovery and honouring a loved one's legacy positively?

I called Asahi obtaining blue blood weeks ago, because they have to show her inheriting Sawa's legacy one way or another, and this is the simplest way. But like you could have the blue blood doing positive change?! Like rebuilding the Karasumori village to take in orphans?? The blue blood helping "find dragon veins" to sustain their own economy if we so follow thy own setting? I'm just, at a loss by the end of an episode. Granted, the epilogue is pretty open-ended to me, and it's obvious teasing the stage play. Objectively its sale and popularity in no way gurantees a second season, and I'm not sure what story they can tell either.

This show, is beautifully drawn, and beautifully orchestrated, yet it fell short in throwing in every wow factor a teenager's "edgy" debut story would have to pass for hooking the audience interest. They need to learn how to edit. I'd like it better if the scale just draws in a little and flesh out a personal story. In the end, I'm more disappointed in its lost potential if only it was handled more sophisticatedly than I can be bothered by how they did the characters dirty.

[babymakingnojutsu]

CHAPTER 27 - Team 2

 Uchiha Sasuke was officially assigned as Jounin Teacher for genin Team 2.

He didn’t miss the irony.

His team was made up of a relatively high-scoring kunoichi named Miyamoto Ayaka, an underachieving boy named Kawaguchi Hiroto, and a disturbingly quiet kid by the name of Mori Yori, which was a terrible name and Sasuke hoped his parents felt ashamed of themselves. Thanks to Naruto’s genin-training bet (why did kages think that was something to bet on?), Team 2 was stuck waiting around for their official teacher assignment (which was Uchiha Sasuke) an extra two weeks, which Sasuke had spent making Hyuuga Himawari.

And this time, this time, Sasuke was going to get this teacher thing right. He was prepared this time, rather than beheading his way into getting an obsessive surprise trio of genin. He knew how things were supposed to go, he’d planned, and he still wasn’t allowed on school grounds so his team was officially called to meet at Training Ground #5 at sunrise.

They showed up right on time, as a group.

Ayaka, leading the trio up the path, took one look at Sasuke and said, “We wait all this time and get a guy with one arm?”

“Hit the bottom of the barrel, I suppose,” Hiroto said with a shrug, not terribly upset, and then ran back a ways to drag the third member of their group up towards Sasuke – Yori was slouching his way along, yawning and halfheartedly batting at Hiroto’s hand as he was towed forward. In the meantime, Hiroto frowned at Sasuke. “Do you have any kind of…I don’t know, credentials?”

“Credentials,” Sasuke repeated, deadpan.

Hiroto nodded. “Yeah. We’ve been getting along just fine without a teacher so far, I mean, with training and everything while we waited around for…you.”

Yori yawned, shoving Hiroto away, and mumbled, “That’s Uchiha Sasuke.”

“The next Hokage’s traitor boyfriend?” Ayaka asked, looking Sasuke up and down again. It was interesting that that was his reputation. Then again, there were worse ways he could go down in history. Her opinion didn’t appear to have changed much. “Really?”

“Really,” Sasuke confirmed, and considered his options – the intended bell test obviously wouldn’t work, since they were already ganging up on him together, so what else could he do? All of his pseudo-lesson plans were out the window. “So. You don’t think you need a teacher?”

“We’re doing fine,” Ayaka said firmly, and crossed her arms over her chest, giving Sasuke what was probably supposed to be a cold hard stare but mostly looked like a child’s frowny face. “Why did it take you so long to get here?”

Sasuke shrugged, and leaned against a nearby tree. “If you don’t need me, why does it matter?”

“We haven’t been on any missions, is why,” Ayaka said. “We’re supposed to be active duty shinobi, but we haven’t had a single mission or order until now! And it’s to meet you! We’re genin now! That’s not right!”

Considering his options, Sasuke thought for a moment. “That’s because your jounin teacher is also there to ensure that if anyone attacks you, you’ll have protection,” he said.

Sasuke decided to make a bad decision.

Teamwork wasn’t an issue, and he was more than happy to encourage Team 2 to not get attached to him, particularly after last time. That didn’t even start on how what Sasuke usually thought were good decisions ended up making everything worse.  Yes, this was the way he’d go with Team 2.

So, Sasuke sat down. “And if you think you don’t need me, protecting you on missions is all I’ll do. If you want help, I’ll help. If you want training, I’ll train you. But you seem connected and independent enough that just standing by and watching your backs on missions works fine for me.”

“Well.” Ayaka faltered for a moment, and then glanced back at the boys, returning her eyes to Sasuke’s half-visible face with that same attempt at a ferocious expression. “Well good! That’s all we need!”

“This is probably a trap,” Yori said.

“Why would I bother trapping you?” Sasuke asked.

Yori slumped even more, and nodded, shuffling towards Ayaka with a hand outstretched. Hiroto was a quick couple of steps behind, also with an outstretched hand, each of which received a kunai out of Ayaka’s side holster that had a long ribbon attached to the hilt. They then proceeded to go swinging the things around like some kind of morning star. It was almost painful to sit there and keep his mouth shut, but he’d made his terrible decision and the last thing he wanted to do was break any sort of promise or agreement within 24 hours of meeting Team 2.

So, he thought about how he got his kids to do things (or, specifically, eat things), and stood up. He’d barely made it a few paces away from his previous seat before Hiroto called out, “Where are you going?”

“I’m just going for a quick walk for training, you’re not really ready for it,” Sasuke said, which was true, and kept on walking.

“What do you mean, not ready for it yet?” Ayaka demanded.

Sasuke shrugged. “I mean you’re not equipped for my level of training yet. Remember? That’s the whole point of me being here.”

“You’ve got one arm, it can’t be that hard,” Ayaka said.

At that comment, Sasuke turned back around, eyebrows rising. “You think having one arm makes me weak?”

Ayaka backpedaled a little bit, like any child confronted with the fact they’d said something wrong. “I wasn’t – I mean, you have to be! You can’t do hand seals with one arm, can you?”

Sasuke raised his hand, wordlessly going through a few quick seals until, at the very last one, a cage of lightning burst out of a nearby tree, igniting the leaves and scorching the bark with one great flash and a roar of power.

Team 2 stared at the huge and very destroyed in a millisecond tree.

“Hand seals aren’t what create chakra, they’re simply an easier and more concrete method to channel power,” Sasuke said, and dropped his hand. “Losing the other hand did make me slower, yes. But it also made me realize you don’t even need hand seals if you know a jutsu well enough.” He couldn’t help the smirk that came across his lips. “And my hand seals were fast enough that slower still means better than your average jounin. Next objection to having a one-armed teacher?”

Yet again exhibiting teamwork, Hiroto stepped forward to stand with Ayaka, even when she was wrong. “Well I object to your hair, it looks stupid,” Hiroto said. “How can you even see?”

“I can see with a weird-looking eye that’s behind the stupid hair so people don’t get scared or stare at me,” Sasuke said, nice and blunt, and brushed the hair back so Team 2 could see the rinnegan eye in all its glory.

“What happened to you?” Yori asked. He stared hard enough for all three of them.

“A shinobi’s life isn’t always fun,” Sasuke decided was an adequate answer, delivered dryly and accompanied by letting his hair drop back in front of the eye as he turned towards Yori. “It’s your turn to find a reason I’m not worthy.”

Yori looked like he was about to shrink into the ground, but instead he clenched his hands into fists and said, “Because you’re a traitor.”

Sasuke found himself nodding in approval. “If you’re going to question someone’s ability, or wonder about anything when it comes to humanity, don’t think about what you see. Look underneath. And you’re right, I was a traitor. But you already said it, I’m the future Hokage’s ex-traitor boyfriend. I have fought for Naruto and Konoha, and I will continue to fight for them, without hesitation. I betrayed Konoha for a very specific reason. I did everything for one specific reason, one that’s gone now. I’m loyal, and those I am loyal to have told me this is my job, so I’m not going anywhere. My traitorous past has nothing to do with my ability to serve as your jounin teacher.”

“What was the specific reason?” Ayaka asked.

Sasuke didn’t really want to get into it, but this was about establishing trust, he supposed, so he sighed, and answered, “Vengeance. I was obsessed with killing the man who murdered my family. By the time I was 17, he was dead and I’d ruined my life by becoming a missing-nin. I came back to Konoha, and that leads us to now, when I’m going to go for a walk.”

He turned and started walking before they could start asking questions again, Team 2 trailing tight behind him, right up until the moment he walked up a tree.

Ayaka immediately asked, “Did you learn to do that because you can’t climb normally with one arm-”

Sasuke dropped back down, right in front of her, and gave her a hard look. “Ayaka, the only thing I can’t do is clap. If you keep thinking I can’t do things because I have one arm, I’m going to tie yours behind your back for a week. Do you understand?”

With wide eyes, Ayaka nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.”

“One of the reasons that I can do everything but clap is precise chakra control. That’s how I’m going to go walking around Konoha’s walls – I concentrate my chakra in my feet, think about sticking, and move forward,” Sasuke said, and stood back up. “None of you know how to do that yet, so you’re welcome to try and keep up with me on the ground, but-”

“We can figure it out,” Ayaka said, hands planted hard on her hips. “Go get your exercise, old man!”

Being 28 years old did not qualify him to be an old man in any corner of the world, but Sasuke ignored it and went off to do his wall-walking laps as promised. It ended up more like interval training, after Team 2 followed to the wall. Sasuke would stroll along the high white stonework, casually offering Team 2 helpful suggestions until he was out of sight, and then he ran the other 85% of the wall until he was back to strolling that same 15%. Both portions of the circuit took about the same amount of time.

When lunchtime rolled around, Sasuke’s team was already at least capable of solidly sticking to the wall for a few minutes, even if they fell off after a couple steps. Overall, it was a sign that maybe, possibly, Sasuke’s decision wasn’t too terrible.

[aldefi1]

undefined

Exiting home, 1142 am, spy taxi at the hydrant, spy white vehicle in coordination with a an, of course, unloading truck at the supermarket, creating a dangerous situation for me, very CIA NYPD 7592 standing by in case an “accident” would have occurred with the white vehicle. Not in the video, when I passed this NYPD I noticed the cop covering his face with his left hand, FDNY SUV 1, at 7th St and Avenue A, CIA NYPD 6388, and NYPD 6593, at 8th St and Avenue A, very CIA NYPD 3530 at Avenue A and 12th  St, CIA Mount Sinai 1726 at Avenue A and 13th St.

Sneakers at 2B. I’d not mention this detail at all, but it is important, because it shows, again, the spies mindset, and what they are willing to do, no matter how small it is. Sneakers at 2B for the, at least, last three weeks, 2B used to leave large objects for very long periods in the common area, they would reduce my bike’s room for maneuvers at my exit and return from my apartment, it doesn’t happen anymore, although it might come back any day. The placement of a small object, sneakers, doesn’t cause me any problem, except, I have to be careful of not touching them as I move my bike, otherwise I might get push into a confrontation, such as “don’t’ you have eyes?, don’t you see the sneakers?” General statement: I say, the spy network, based on my experience, involve percentages of the population, impossible you say, that means millions. In WW II, five million were involved in the Manhattan project, in absolute secrecy, President Truman didn’t know until he was told about it, therefore, do not tell me, it is impossible. You reach secrecy with large number of spies, because they know very little, just enough for a specific task and swore to absolute secrecy, and heavy penalties in case their open their mouths, some legal and others not so much.

As always, most details in my videos are relevant, I can’t describe everything, it would take me much longer that is taking me now to describe all spies attempt to cause an incident or setup a frame. Reviewing the stores’ surveillance video recordings at least ten minutes prior to my arrival and after my departure, should help to understand the way the spies operate, also helps to put in context my videos. Ninety five percent of the time I visit a business, no matter the time of my arrival, there are individuals who start or are, unloading merchandise at that instant, the underlying idea is to cram my space. It appears, some of the stores’ surveillance videos are being collected, I’ve noticed, occasionally, a decrease in the number of spies either standing by in the stores, preceding me or exiting as I arrive, entering as I exit, following me, and gathering at the registers at the time of paying.

The videos and photos I am posting in the net, should be downloaded by the authorities, the spies could delete all my uploaded files with just one click, they know all my passwords. In fact, I do not know how many of my videos and photos are actually reaching others unaltered, or reaching the net at all. I video record as much as I can, because I feel I am alone on this, I cannot trust witnesses, they can easily be intimidated or worst, considering the size of the spy network. I do not understand why the anti-terror laws are not being applied to the spies stalking me. It is obvious, that a network of this size, acting in such illegal manner, can do anything it wants, against any person, institution or company, perhaps Guantanamo can be a destination for the members of this domestic spy network.

Exiting home has always been one the most dangerous instances when I go out, the spies prepare the ground by saturating my apartment with toxins from the moment I state I will be exiting. I’ve been assaulted at the exit, threatened, situations that can quickly escalate are regularly set up. It is not a coincidence that 95% of the time there is no one reliable present when I exit and return home. Objects are regularly left near my apartment’s door, as a way to make a bit more difficult to move my bike around, the spy who normally does it, is 2B, but can be 2C or any other spy from this building.

The authorities should be questioning the employees at the stores I have visited, by asking simple questions, such as: “if they work for any entity, public or private dealing with matters of intelligence or national security”, also, “if they have been instructed about my persona”. All individuals at the building where I live, specially at units: 1B, 2B, 4B, 5B, should be questioned along the same lines, I have the strong impression that no one is being questioned at all. At the building where I have to live, one person was murder at 1A, another one died in very suspicious circumstances at 1B, another one at 4C, a person at 3C, became insane and disappeared from here, two more, I’ve been told and I’ve observed, suffer of some serious mental illness, 2B and 5A. These are the things I know, there could be many more suspicious situations I simply do not know about it.

I avoid having a routine, that is the reason I go to as many stores as is feasible, in that way the spies are forced to spread across a larger area, otherwise, it would be easier for them to concentrate their forces. I keep my bike with me at all times, without chaining it outside, no only because it would be cumbersome to remove and replace my cameras, but because when I have done it, it has been vandalized, sabotage, break cable cut clean, or stolen. The bikes also provide a platform for the cameras, consequently the images are clearer, stable, I believe. I have a camera facing back, this camera dissuade, to a point, the spies, bikes and vehicles, from following me too closely. Before I setup this camera, spy bikers would followed me one feet or two feet away from my bike’s rear wheel.

The presence of ambulances, wherever I go, isn’t just about harassing me with their sirens, it is also about to be the first to pick me up in case of an “accident”, during my month trip trough Canada, in 2009, I could see, practically always, an ambulance behind me, at a subtle distance.

I think CitiBike rentals go up, at least one hour before I leave home and it decreases after I’ve returned home, the few honest authorities left, by checking if I am right, would have another evidence to realize how big is the hunting of my persona. Many of the spy bikers in order to cause an incident, ride in a collision course toward my persona. Also, I strongly believe, street lights, traffic ones, the famous red, yellow and green, are being manipulated, to get me into an accident, specially with pedestrians. Many spies of all ages and look place themselves at many, many corners trough Manhattan while I’m out.

These photos and videos shouldn’t be ignored; these individuals and vehicles are involved in dozens of, mostly, illegal activities. These activities are designed to manipulate the political development of the country, its direction, at a local, national and international level. You might be tempted to think how some of them can be spies at all, to build a credible scenario to put their victims out of circulation, specially trough frames, this diversity is crucial to the spy agencies. It will confirm my assertion when you check the background of these individuals, you will see, the majority of them are already either “victims” or “witnesses” of incidents, the spies always work in very well coordinated packs, these packs always include first respondents. I calculate that around twenty percent of the police force and other first respondents, trough out the country, works for the CIA, they are chosen with only one consideration, their loyalty to the CIA. Most of them, if not all of them, lack of the actual skills to be a good policeman, therefore, incidents, were people get arrested or shot, in many situations where a good policeman would have never arrested the person or diffused the situation without having to shoot, will keep happening.

The majority of the spies start their training very young, in fact, in their early years they are prepared by being subjects of abuses, of all sorts, then, they train by bullying, framing and conning other kids, gang rapes are standard to destroy psychologically their victims. In sum, spies are being manufactured. I believe three percent of the country is involved in domestic espionage activities, although, due that around me they concentrate, the numbers wherever I go, in the streets, might reach up to twenty five percent or more of those individuals you see in my videos, no matter how casual they might appear. In the stores themselves, the spies numbers can easily be one hundred percent.

As far as I can tell, everyone in my family is part of this spy network, I believe, they were incorporated as adults, therefore, their participation, I assume, is forced, trough blackmailing and fear, than professional training. When I discovered that, a very close surveillance was around me, back at the end of 2005, and I told my family about it, their answer was “do not tell anyone because people will think you are crazy” this attitude has not changed. It is very possible, they are telling others, specially authorities, that I am someone with mental troubles, in spite of all my recordings and other evidence. I believe, this spy network has been around me, since I was at least a teenager, therefore, many comments coming from “friends” might also align with the same line my relatives might be stating.

The use of, mainly, minorities, including LGBTQ people, old people, disabled, females, pregnant women, couples, minors, to harass me, is no casual. The idea is, in case I loose my patience, I fall into a trap, I could make comments that the spies would greatly exploit, at a subsequent trial, hence, I would look as bad as is possible. The CIA normally employs this scheme against its many targets. Before I started to upload videos to the net, spy couples, many of them kissing as I bike, would be used in large numbers at any day or hour when I was out, no matter the weather. Since I started to post these videos, the spies have been using them in large numbers and more subdue, mostly on weekends, to make it look more “natural”

Although, I start video recording as I exit from home, and I do not stop recording until I am safely back, I do not post every video in the net, as a way of keeping under my sleeves a few aces. Many spy vehicles keep their headlights on, regardless of time and weather, on most occasions when I go out. License plates from Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, and DC, appear often when I am riding.

Corners where the spies normally set up frames when I go out: Every corner at 4th street from Broadway to my home; Houston and Avenue B; Houston and Broadway; 10, 11th streets and Avenue A; Avenue C, from 2nd Street to 11th St; Avenue B and 6 and 7 Streets; 6th St and 1st Avenue; Bowery and 3rd St; 23rd St 23rd and Third Avenue.

From March to September 2008, PS15 went trough renovations, with all the loudness made by the tools employed, many times you could see the workers playing with those tools just to make loud noises. From that period to now, the spies have used all sort of excuses to bring large loud machinery to the street where I live, many times next to my apartment. The spies have extended this excuse to do all kind of work, construction or maintenance, utilities, at buildings and streets, in the area that goes from 14th St, Houston, Broadway and Avenue D, to create situations were I can potentially be put out of circulation due to an “accident”.

[srichardart]

Fourth sketch. First. Previous. Next.

Weeks had passed and Imri’s carefully crafted reputation had begun to crumble. The older folks were the first to see through his charm, when they realized he had no intention of doing anything more than managing the finances of the farm. Maybe he had lead them to believe otherwise when he asked for advice, but Imri for his own part couldn’t see why that bothered them so much. It wasn’t as if he was doing absolutely nothing, like Ava and Gawain, who spent every day gallivanting about the town and pestering people. He ensured they kept to a budget and earned enough from the crops to continue planting throughout the seasons, while having enough left over to support themselves. And they had a lot left over, thanks to the price increases and the mythical stories he weaved around the farm. Most of their income didn’t even come from the villagers themselves- who Imri ordinarily offered discounts to ensure they would tolerate him- but by exporting to neighboring towns and villages.

He suspected his success, despite the lack of hard labor, was what made the villagers annoyed with them. Every now and again he’d hear a couple of middle aged farmers muttering about ‘city boys’ when he walked past. It’d be a lie to say he didn’t enjoy the infamy to some degree, especially when the daughters of those same farmers still appreciated Imri as much as they had when he first arrived. Granted, nearly every young man in town now seemed to hate him. Now and again one of them would puff their chests out, as if they were ready to fight him over the attentions of a girl. Imri was a slight man and the only time he had held a sword was moments before he refused to ever learn how to fight. If one of them ever did hit him, he would be in trouble. He wasn’t stupid and he knew damned well any one of these country boys could lay him out flat if they wanted to. Thankfully, they in turn knew he could do much worse than merely punch back. Most times it never came to that. The girls in question usually stopped the fights themselves, as they smacked the youths and told them to knock it off. He could never resist shooting a smile back at the boys as he left with the girl.

The only locals he still had favor with were the girls. Some simply enjoyed having fun with him, while others thought they could make him settle down in spite of his every effort to tell them otherwise. Regardless of the girls’ intentions, he stole away with them into haylofts, fields and, on one daring occasion, snuck through a window into a bedroom. That time he had been caught. He’d barely started kissing Celine when her father come roaring into the room to chase him out. It might have scared a farm boy out in heartbeats, but Imri wasn’t the type to flee. He stood up, apologized for trespassing and tried to explain that Celine had invited him in. It was only when her father wouldn’t stop cursing him that Imri warned him what might happen if he continued to cross him.

He might have gone too far.

After that he heard fewer whispers and the farm boys didn’t dare confront him. So, Imri thought it wasn’t all bad, even if he felt bad for scaring the old man. Maybe he’d write him an apology. Send him a fruit basket, something.

Unfortunately, after all that, he managed to tear the sleeve of his favorite shirt. Probably while he was climbing in through Celine’s window. He paid a visit to the tailor that week, after figuring that such a small repair would take little time. The shop was small, featuring only a small range of clothes to buy. Likely the only time the villagers bought new clothes was for festivals and their idea of ‘nice clothes’ was ‘barely acceptable’ by his standards. Most of the shop’s revenue probably came from repairing work clothes throughout the year. It was when he realized one of the tailor’s apprentices was manning the shop that Imri wanted to groan.

Adalena was organizing the shop’s fabrics when the bell caught her attention. “One moment,” she started until she saw Imri. Her familiar scowl returned.

“Look, let’s just make this painless, alright?” Imri said, unable to stop himself from sighing. “I just want my shirt fixed.”

She put her hands on her hips as she turned fully to face him. “What, are you going to tell your father if I don’t?”

Alright, maybe he did deserve that one. He pressed his lips together and considered what to say to put her at ease. “…That wasn’t exactly what happened.”

“Oh? So… you didn’t break into Celine’s room and when her father was rightfully angry, you didn’t threaten to have your father’s guards haul him away if he didn’t show the respect that you, a prince, deserve?” She raised an eyebrow at him, looking at him expectantly. “Did I get that right, your highness, or would you care to show a shred of honesty? If it pleases you, of course.”

Imri cleared his throat and crossed his arms behind his back. Although he was aware that Adalena didn’t like him, he hadn’t seen her angry at him. “Okay, so that was what happened,” he admitted, grimacing as he shrugged a shoulder in guilt. “I went too far- I admit it. I mean, I wouldn’t actually have him hauled off, I… uh, I don’t think my father would even allow that if I’m being perfectly honest.”

She stood entirely still, scowling at him.

Imri looked away, feeling his ears get hot. “Though I know he doesn’t know that and I, uh, I plan to apologize to him. Today, in fact.” He wasn’t aware that was the truth until he said it to her scrutinizing face. Even if he considered not doing so, he knew Adalena wouldn’t be one to let him off the hook. He stepped toward the counter and gingerly placed the ripped shirt on the counter. “I just came to have this fixed first, that’s all.”

She rolled her eyes, fluttering her eyelids as if she couldn’t cope with his presence any longer. “Fine. Pick it up at noon. Payment will be due then.”

“I’ll pay you now and more if you fix it now.” He’d said it without thinking, but decided he wouldn’t take it back when one corner of her mouth twitched in irritation. He slipped a few gold coins from his sleeve and held them out to her, knowing that it would be uncommon for an apprentice to get this much money, especially for a simple repair job.

“Do you really think you can just throw money at people until they do what you want?” she asked.

“Do you really not want it?”

She snatched the gold, biting one of the coins to test its authenticity. Of course she knew he was good for the coin and he knew it was meant to insult him. He decided not to take it at face value as she brought out some thread from under the counter and got to work.

“So…” He leaned one arm on the counter as she threaded the needle.

“I’m working. Can’t talk,” she said, knotting off the thread and refusing to make eye contact with him.

“Bull, I’ve seen you chatting with your friends while you work before,” he said, getting a brief glare from her although she didn’t say otherwise. “I just have one question for you. Why do you hate me?”

“Oh, you mean besides the fact that you use your position to threaten my friends and their family?” Her tone was dry as she quickly analyzed the tear, then began to pin the sides of the fabric together.

“That would be a great reason if you didn’t already hate me long before this.”

Adalena look up at him, eyes furious and began to sew. Imri pursed his lips, biting back a sigh as he stood up straight again.

“I don’t mean to badger you,” he said, earning a snort of derision from her. He continued anyway. “I mean it. Whatever I might have done- and I’m sure I did something, I know I can step on a lot of toes, going about my usual business, but I truly didn’t mean to step on yours- I’d like to address it, fix it, whatever I might do. At the very least, I’d like to be able to give a sincere apology.”

Her sewing slowed to a stop and she looked up at him, eyebrows knitting together in what almost looked like confusion. “You sound awfully sincere already,” she said, her voice full of suspicion.

“Is it really so hard to believe I might be?” he asked. “I mean, to be frank, while I would like to give you an apology, you are making this rather difficult.”

She frowned, then rolled her eyes. “You are so likeable.”

“I am!” he objected, a little hurt. “If you actually got to know me, I might surprise you, you know. I’m not half as bad as you seem to think- you might even like me.”

“Debatable,” she said simply, returning to the shirt. At first he thought she was going to refuse to speak any further, as she made stitch after stitch without saying another word. He was ready to give up on her, there was no use in pressing her any further if she didn’t want to answer his question.

“You know,” she said, catching his attention. “I’m beginning to think that I was tricked.”

He tilted his head slightly at her. “Tricked? By who?”

She removed a few pins from the fabric as they became unnecessary, sticking them into a tiny cushion on the counter. “I was told by a certain someone that you had plans for me. I can’t say I’m certain you don’t, but I’m beginning to think they weren’t quite as sinister as first implied.” Her eyes flicked up to him. “I think you can guess who. I have noticed you two don’t get along.”

His nose crinkled up. “Ava.” The seamstress confirmed this and Imri crossed his arms, huffing out an irritated groan. “So, what was it then? What terrible plans did I have in store for you?”

“Oh, about the same as you seem to have with every girl in town,” she said, her voice high and mocking. “I thought she was exaggerating at first, but then you went about seducing all of my friends one by one, so…”

He couldn’t help but shrug a shoulder, at the risk of looking uncaring. “It’s hardly seducing if everyone involved already wants to jump into bed.”

“They’re only sleeping with you because they’re hoping to leave here princesses.”

“Well…yes, some of them,” he admitted, grimacing uncomfortably. Not every girl in the village was like that- most of them weren’t, but the few who were could be exhausting at times. “It’s not as if I haven’t tried dissuading them from that. I let them know what I’m about.”

She paused long enough to give him a dry, unimpressed expression.

“I do!” he insisted. “I keep telling them I’m not here to get married, but they keep hoping that I’ll just magically change my mind.”

“Have you tried, I don’t know, not sleeping with them?”

They stared at each other, both at an impasse. Though, he had to admit, she looked less hateful now. More like she was thoroughly done with him. He supposed that was an improvement.

“You know what?” she said, shaking her head with a small smile. “I believe you, I don’t think you’ve seduced anyone.”

“See, if everyone would just listen-”

“You’re not charming enough to be capable of that.” She tied off the thread and cut off the excess. Folding the shirt, she placed it on the counter in front of him with a thin, pleased smile. “All done.”

He studied her for a second, an annoyed pout on his lips before he snatched up the shirt. “Thank you,” he forced himself to say and left the tailor’s shop.

[mochifufu]

i feel embarrassed to have had the slightest thought that you might be different from the other guys that had shown me interest in college. i will not personally confront you with how you made me feel, because you apparently like to call confrontational girls “crazy,” and also because me telling you anything will mean nothing if you are not in the right mindset to accept and change how you are. i also might be wrong and maybe i just happened to view every single thing in a distorted way.

thank you for having the courage to consistently ask me to hang out, whether it be for cooking a meal or to study — i truly did enjoy the moments we spent together. but i hope you learn someday that by doing so, you are setting an expectation for yourself. to whomever it is, if you act a certain way consistently for a while, that act will be associated as your norm, and people will expect you to act in such way continuously. so when you break that consistency all of the sudden, it is easily identifiable. especiallt in cases where feelings are involved, there also comes the emotional burden of having to understand the reason behind such sudden change. in this case, your consistent act of hitting me up every day changed all of the sudden, and I had a hard time wrapping my head around the cause of the change, usually end up questioning my own actions as the catalyst of the change.

of course, you have no obligation to live up to such expectation, even if it is an expectation that you set for yourself. but it was just personally a lot for me to handle emotionally, on-top of the personal problems that i was having at the time. i am not trying to blame you or make you feel bad about what you did; me being overwhelmed by my emotions is not your fault. i was the one who let myself get emotionally attached to you, and my own pre-existing problems were the ones that amplified the pain from the emotional consequences that resulted from your change of action. but i hope it is not too selfish of me to wish that you would understand why i felt such a way.

the day after your friend told me that you had feelings for me, preaching to me for good thirty mjnutes about how you would make the perfect boyfriend, your actions started to change. i of course have no clue what caused the change, or if that change really did happen right after that conversation i had with your friend for a matter of fact. but i dont think i am crazy to the extent where i would feel like you are different for no reason. ever since that day your friend had a talk with me, although we still spent a lot of time together, those long hours of hanging out became very stressful for me and the hours to follow after the hangouts were even more stressful, for the feeling i got was that you were less interested in me at the least. you started making uncertain plans, putting me and my time on hold for plans that mostly did not happen. you would set ambiguous plans for “tonight,” only to not contact me the detailed time and place of the plan that was supposed to happen “tonight” until i reached out multiple times to confirm whether it was happening or not (and most of the time, it did not happen and therefore i ended up wasting my time being embarrassingly excited to see you and spend time with you for plans that you were not that keen on making happen to begin with).

as embarrassing as it is to admit, yes, you were a big reason why i took 40 ibuprofen pills and went to the ER. your irresponsible words and sudden increasingly indifferent actions towards me after the day your best friend told me how you supposedly felt made me question my worth, even as a friend and a human being, and wonder for hours on what i could have possibly done wrong to cause this sudden shift in your action. again, my apologies if i sound like i’m blaming you for my actions — i am not. i would like to take full responsibility for feeling such way, thinking such way, and committing such actions. i was just disappointed and upset by your actions and it was just overwhelmingly burdensome for me to keep on thinking and stressing about your irresponsibility. already having been in a bad head space to begin with, the extreme stress from you was the one last factor i needed to pull the impulsive act of overdosing. during the couple days that you started to act differently, i could barely focus on anything else — even things as basic as studying, spending quality time with other people, or eating. i was unable to sleep properly for many nights as well, unable to fall asleep until the morning, which is even later than my already-late sleeping hours due to my insomnia, because i could not get my mind off of many things, with you being one of the more overpowering thoughts. i felt as though my brain was going to explode from all these thoughts and problems in life floating in my head, and decided to take the ibuprofen impulsively because it was nearby and i desperately was seeking for there to be peace in my mind at that moment. i just wanted to stop thinking for a while but i felt as though these thoughts were out of my control. i was not planning to kill myself, but i was ready for the worst. next time, even if its not regarding me, please do not tell your friend to tell your love interest that you like them if you are not certain about your feelings. others’ feelings are not objects that you can toy with and trash when you lose amusement in them. i might sound dramatic for saying all of this and committing such acts, but some people are more sensitive to emotions and get affected by them more easily and heavily than others like yourself. if its a feeling that goes away after 3 days of you telling your friend to go wingman you, then it is probably safe to assume thag it is a fleeting interest, not anything serious. your feelings are your responsibility. you are free to feel however way you want at any time, but once it starts affecting others involved in the situation, you have to know that you are responsible for that and actually be prepared to be responsible for it. your uncertain feelings can be torturous to others in ways that cause immense pain. if you cannot do anything about the pain the other person is going to be put through because of the resulting actions that seep out from your feelings, then it is probably not a good idea to let those feelings out in the first place. 

even when i was at the hospital, you did not care much. even when i got out of hospital, you did not care much. you yet again made the empty promise to pick me up from the hospital, and an hour before my discharge you told me that you actually have class from 12 - 4 followed by a call at 4:30, and told me that we should just eat dinner together. you were so busy retracting your words and rescheduling me to fit your schedule that you did not even bother asking me on my wellbeing or anything regarding my trip to the hospital. you also continued to be inconsiderate with my time for rest of the day of my discharge, not letting me know when to come over for the very dinner that you set, and the very dinner that i asked you to let me know when i should come over for. keeping up with the recent trend that you have newly established, you did not respond to me when i literally asked you to let me know when to come over and continued to remain silent until i called you around normal dinner time asking if it was happening or not. you also had the audacity to call me “late” three minutes after the time you established only when i called to check if the dinner was happening. no, i did not flake on you for that dinner unintentionally because i fell asleep. i really was convinced on going over to cook dinner with you despite just coming out of hospital and despite you not even letting me know when to come for dinner. i ended up not going on purpose because my friend helped me come to my senses by letting me know that you told the same friend that was preaching you to me just couple days prior to this that you no longer had feelings for me.

i dont know what to think of you. i am still hurt. am i just boring? so boring that you lost interest just couple days, not even a week, after telling your friend to preach you to me? if your feelings faded that quickly, then that probably means you never really actually liked me that much and it hurts to think that as well. another thing that i could not get out of my mind, and still am having a hard time getting rid of, was the thought that maybe i am just not meant to be liked and/or loved by anyone. as i have told you before, i had gone through similar situations where boys would act as if they are very interested in me and then suddenly seemingly change their minds and act differently just when i decide to be more open and vulnerable to let them in. with all of this repetition, along with other factors of my life, i am continuing to feel as though maybe i am just not worthy of being loved and cared for by anybody, and it is quite unfortunate that you, who I thought genuinely cared about be, ended up participating in further developing and solidifying such a horrible feeling. please be very carefully about your emotions and confirm that you actually feel something significant about the other person before acting upon your so-called feelings. as i’ve numerously reiterated throughout, your actions could have a bigger impact than you imagine on the other person.

i get that in a two-person relationship, there are always two stories to be considered, and that it is important to hear your side of the story to properly interpret the situation. nonetheless, regardless of your side of the story and what possibly led you to make such decisions that output such actions, yes, you did hurt me in many different ways, and i am still hurt. i’m not sure if hearing your side of the story will ever change the emotions i was put through because of your actions. what you did is not a move to pull after telling someone to tell me that you like me, but it is also not something you should do to a friend. i am not asking you to take responsibility for all that has happened due to your emotional irresponsibility and disrespect for me and my time, but it would be nice if you could someday come to a realization that you really did fuck me up badly and empathize with what i had to go through due to your irresponsibility.