#you have to believe strongly enough in your own ideas to assert yourself beyond what will make people happy

[maremote]

to be honest i think you fundamnetally have to have a bit of an ego to make any sort of good art. you have to believe that you have a unique perspective to offer or a good idea and you need to follow through on that without worrying about if other people like it. and if they don't like it you have to be able to look at your work and determine if they're right or not. and sometimes you have to decide that everyone else is wrong and you're right about whether your work is good or not.

[marshmallowprotection]

Cyclamen

Pairing: Saeran Choi/Original Female Character(s)

Bio: Saeran had just been given his hope for the future and freedom. Yet, it was all being tugged away from him just as quickly as he had been able to taste of the river of life. She wants to stand by his side no matter what that means, but her selfless love goes around both ways. They cling to the other as night falls and fate is put into their hands.

Set Post-Good Ending. Spoilers for the After Ending. 

[Read on AO3]

Happy Birthday Saeran!

Lila knew that she didn't have a moment to hesitate anymore.

It was only a matter of time until things got out of control again. The plan was underway and now that it was fully started and in control, there was no way to turn back. No matter how much she wished that there was. 

She was utterly frustrated but she knew that that wasn't going to fix it or change it.

Saeran made up his mind. He held her close and told her that there was no other way. He didn’t have a plan for it. He didn’t want her to know the truth but he couldn’t lie to her face. He had to admit that he had no rescue plan for himself. He was going to give up his life so that Saeyoung could live and so she could live his freedom for him.

He had told her over and over again that there was no other choice here. Lila didn't want to argue with him in front of Jihyun and Rika. The last thing she wanted was to be angry if this was truly the end of things. They both had decided that it proved nothing to be angry at everything. He had let go of that part of himself and he refused to let it overcome him again.

She was proud of him for choosing kindness over cruelty. That was hard for anyone to do. His heart held so much hurt and she knew that he wanted to scream. He wanted to cry and lash out, but it didn’t help him. It just made his heart hurt more in the process. He didn’t want to hurt anymore.

That wasn’t his choice, though.

Saeran was trying to be the better man, not because he wanted people to respect him or think he to be a saint. It was because he wanted to be kind. He wanted to choose to be kind because he’d been forced to be angry and bitter for so long that he didn’t want it anymore. He just wanted to be free and happy.

Happy to be himself and to find out what that meant.

His kindness knew no bounds. He did not know what was too much and what was too little. In a way, it was a double-edged sword. Because he was willing to give up his life it meant that he had the power to protect someone’s heart and happiness. He was willing to do whatever it took to be able to ensure the life and love of those that meant something to him.

And yet, he was learning how not to give himself too much at the same time, but this was beyond the limit. He had tried to set boundaries and assert himself as they started living at C&R after the escape from Mint Eye. He was able to say that he wanted a break, or that he wanted to eat or to go to sleep for the first time.

A taste of being able to do what he wanted without someone treating him like a child that didn’t know any better.

This is why Lila was so desperate to find him, now. Jihyun had told him something so scary and frightening that he must have been having a hard time. The secret made her skin crawl so very quickly, and all she could think about was how Saeran had been lied to for years about the truth of what happened in his life, not just to his twin brother, but to his mother as well. The only family that he ever had.

Lila couldn’t imagine the pain inside of his heart. She knew how he felt about his mother. There was a part of him that loved her and a part of him that hated himself for it. She stayed with him all those years, even though she had been a monster, and he wanted to care about her. He wanted to be the one that cared because nobody deserved to be…

Nobody would mourn that woman.

Saeran would, if only because he was too kind for his good, though Lila could say that she didn’t miss the woman. She never met her, never wanted to, and never will. The idea of seeing a woman who hurt Saeran like that so willingly for so long… It was hard enough to look Rika in the eyes and control the part of her heart that was angry.

She shoved that thought to the back of her mind as she sped the forest. Her eyes glued to her phone as she ducked and dodged any of the guards in the way. She had to get to him before it was too late. She wanted to try to convince him to come with them, she wanted to get him to leave with Saeyoung and herself.

He could.

Lila was prepared to beg. She wasn't sure how much good that would do but she was at the point where she would do it if she thought it would work. He meant so much to her, so much that she couldn't even put it into words, and to think that he would be willing to do something like this for her…

She was willing to do the same thing for him.

She wouldn't have even blamed him if he left and never looked back. Saeran would never do that sort of thing. However, when they had been separated after they agreed to go through this together, it felt like it was a smack from the universe trying to tell them that it wasn't meant to be.

Everyone lied to them and kept trying to pull them apart. They had worked so hard to get to where they were. He had worked so hard to get to the point that he was at now. It was a cruel joke that it was being thrown all back in his face.

What was freedom when it was being taken away from him after he got to taste it? What did it mean when he never really even got to have it? It was all some kind of sick joke and it made her sick to her stomach. Part of her wished that she could just take away all of the pain for him.

Yet, he was trying to do the same thing for her. They had had this conversation many times during the day and it always ended up the same. He didn't want her to die and she didn't want him to die. They would not address the word directly but they both knew that whoever was left behind, was most likely going to be killed. It was a macabre truth, to say the least.

But, the most important thing on her mind was finding him to comfort him. He didn't deserve to be alone right now. He needed to have someone there to tell him that it was going to be okay. Even though it felt like it wasn't going to be okay.

The last thing that someone would want to do is be alone when they learned something so traumatizing. He had to be reliving all of those memories.

That was no way for anyone to live. He was strong and he was very capable of handling his emotions, but that didn't mean that he had to suffer that by himself. It may have been a diversionary tactic but a part of her just knew that he had done what he did because he just needed to be alone. It had to be suffocating.

He had been handling it very well thus far, she had seen the look in his eyes all day.

That daunted look in the back of his eyes that he could not hide no matter how much he tried to suppress it. He could rationalize it as much as he wanted and he could stand his ground, but it didn't take away from the institutionalized fear that had been instilled in him from everything that happened.

Where was he?

It felt like Lila had been running around in circles. He had placed his location precisely on the map and she was working backward to be able to find it. The location that he had given V and Rika was very vague. It would require them to look at their phones and run around like chickens with their heads cut off.

It wouldn't buy them a lot of time, but it would give the two of them a chance to be distracted long enough for everything to work out the way that it was supposed to. She knew that he was intending for this to be goodbye. She didn't want to believe that, but as she continued to make her way through the forest, the fact became more and more clear.

Lila wished that the night wasn't as beautiful as it was. There was hardly a cloud in the sky, and the moon was as full as it could be. All of the stars were viewable overhead in a way that seemed to be just the same as it was at the compound, Magenta. In many ways, it felt like the first night that she and Ray kissed.

That had also been a lovely night. There had been so-so much going on but their emotions had never been stronger. Her heart felt the same way it did that night, if not impossibly stronger. The way that they made her feel, the way that Saeran and Ray had made her feel… the way that her Saeran now made her feel…

Lila had never loved someone as strongly as she loved them. As strongly as she loved the man they had come together to create. Those two people she learned how to love, she had seen them come together although they did not plan on that happening so soon and so suddenly. Through them, she had suddenly found confidence that she never had before.

Through Saeran, she finally felt like she could look at herself in the mirror and like the person that she was looking at.

She had struggled so long and so hard with her perception of herself.

Yet, just as she had managed to reach his heart in ways that nobody else ever had, he had been able to see the hurt inside of her and he had taken a chance just as much as she had.

Lila isn't sure where she would be if she hadn't met him. She felt as though she would have been lost and hurting if she hadn't accepted the offer to play a game.

She had been running away from her problems for so very long, and with him, she realized that you had to confront your problems. Through the RFA, she was able to see what happens when you close yourself off to the rest of the world and you run away from your problems to deal with them on your own.

Saeran was facing all of his problems head first now. No matter how scared he was on the inside, he never let it show. He was running into the fire without hesitation or fear. He was so much braver than he thought he was. Seeing him being able to do all of this made her think that she might be capable of facing her problems in the future.

She just wished that they were doing this together in the end. They had walked in this together and she thought they were going to finish it together. The idea that he would be left out here by himself to the very end made her heart weep. They weren't dependent on each other but they needed each other in this life. She couldn't imagine a life without him within arm's reach and no matter what he tried to say, he knew very well that he thought the same.

Kindness was supposed to be the thing that kept them close together.

It was her love for him that connected them.

It was his love for her that united them.

Lila reached out to him when he needed someone the most to see him and he took a chance on someone who needed to have her voice heard. The communication that they had with each other was so powerful that even the others around them commented that it was unbelievable how well they worked together.

A night like tonight just felt so bittersweet. It was every bit as perfect as it could have been as far as it looked but it couldn’t have been any further from the truth. It wasn't perfect. It was possibly the worst night of her life… of his life, too. The closer she found herself getting to him, the more ache inside of her chest that she felt. She did not want to leave him.

He wasn't going to give her a choice at the end of the day.

Yet, again, she was ready to beg him to reconsider his choice. He didn’t have to die. It wasn’t fair for him to stay behind when he finally got a chance to be free with his brother. Her frantic breath escaped her lungs as she finally pushed past the thick brush to the clearing that Saeran had put on the map. She looked around until her eyes finally rested his back.

Saeran was standing there by the edge of the lake, his eyes gazing out over the water and looking at the moon as it reflected its light against him. The faintest sound of the cicadas hummed in the back as she stumbled forward towards him. Lila didn’t stop to catch her breath as her trembling hands grasped at him and she buried her face in the back of his shirt.

He lifted one of his hands and pressed it against hers, “We don’t have that much time, my love. I am happy to see you again.”

“...Are you okay? After all that V told you?” She asked. Her hands still holding him tightly. It was just like how they always slept together. She would hold him and press her lips to the back of his throat to ease his nightmares. Standing up, Lila was too short to manage that but she felt the need to hold him.

“You never stop caring for me, huh? You’re always sweet,” his smile was bright but he looked away from her and back out to the lake. “I think it’s good that I got to learn the truth. It’s just one less loose end for me.”

Loose end, huh?

Saeran was adamant about his choice.

The cry that she wanted to hold back tumbled from her lips. Saeran stiffened in her arms but he didn’t pull away as the sounds of her crying echoed through the clearing. Lila was always trying to be brave for him because it helped her feel like she was being brave for herself. He had given her a chance to feel confident in her own right.

Before she met him, Lila was always running away from her fears and silently suffering from the pain because her voice was so small and it felt so insignificant. She tolerated being the punching bag for years. She withstood her parents treating her like she couldn’t be truly good enough to be a member of her family.

But, when she met Ray… when she met Saeran…

Suddenly, she felt like she was strong. She felt like she had the power to stand up for others and herself. Seeing him learn how to defend herself made her want to stand up to everything that hurt her and be a better person. Her love for him was of support, admiration, and more. When he looked at her and saw something brave…

Lila was looking at Saeran the same way.

The tears that were flooding her eyes refused to disappear. Lila had tried to hide her sobs for so very long to ensure that Saeran didn’t break down in front of V and Rika but now that they were truly alone, she felt herself starting to break down. “Please, reconsider, Saeran. Can’t you think about this one last time?”

Imagining a life without the person that made her feel this way…

She didn’t want to do that.

Saeran gently wrenched her arms from around him so that he could turn to face her instead. He cupped her cheeks in his hands and brushed against her tears with his thumbs. The look on his face was bittersweet, pained, but he was trying to hold himself together. She knew that he was hiding his pain.

Lila knew that he was hurting. He just wouldn’t admit it. He wanted to be the hero and he wanted to be the brave one, but she didn’t want him to do it alone. She wanted to stay by his side until the very end… no matter what that meant for her life and what that meant for their future.

Their love was something timeless.

“I’m sorry, Lila. I am. But I won’t change my mind. It has been destined ever since I was born to him. I can’t escape my fate in this life, but I can decide who I am and I know who I want to be now. I have finally learned everything about myself, and as sad as it may sound, I’m happy. Look at me, Lila, right now, I’m not a victim of abuse begging for kindness. I’m Saeran Choi, the man that you chose to love.”

He paused, only to brush his lips against the top of her head. Saeran poured his heart into how he showed her his love and compassion. He always did. Even as she was trembling in his arms, he was trying to reassure her that things were going to be okay. Even if that was a lie that they both knew very well.

There was a weak chuckle at the back of his throat, “For some strange reason, I’m really happy right now. I feel free, too. This is my chance to sacrifice myself for my precious beloved… to be strong in ways that everyone has always been strong for me.”

Lila shook her head at that statement. It was obvious that she was struggling to find something to say amid their dwindling time together. Her hands grasped at his sleeves desperately. It hurt so much. He couldn’t truly want this for himself after getting his freedom. It wasn’t right to be forced into this.

A quiet plea of “No, no, no, no…” escaped her as she furiously shook her head. She didn’t want to let go of him. This wasn’t the way that she thought this was going to end. This wasn’t what it had been planned to be when they started hunting for Saeyoung. Everything was within his reach now and he was…

Saeran didn’t stop her from clutching so hard at him that he could feel the burn, “I always was the weak one, and everyone needed to protect me… but I’ve grown. I can be the one to save my brother now, to save the RFA, to save everyone… and I think it’s an honor that I can lay down my life for you. It proves how far I’ve come. I feel as though I can finally forgive myself for hurting you.”

“Please, tell me you’ll find a way to survive… please… you need to live, my prince! You need to live!” Lila lifted her head to look at him. Her brown eyes ringed with red and tears. She didn’t at all know what else to say. “You’ve fought so hard, this can’t be the end of everything! You need to— You can’t—”

His heart was breaking at the same time that hers was. Yet, in his tears, he was smiling at her just as he always did. He said that he didn’t want to give her memories that hurt. Yet, this was hurting them. It wasn’t just hurting her in this situation… It was hurting him. Lila didn’t want to fight with him.

She just wanted him to value his life as he valued hers and Saeyoung’s.

“...I’m sorry. But, I… I don’t think I can promise you, my love.” He grasped at one of her hands and took it in his own. He pressed it against his cheek. Saeran noted how small her hands felt in his own. She noticed how slender yet firm his grip was. It felt like they were trying to study the other person to memory.

All this time… taken for granted.

His bright eyes were glimmering with tears that matched her own, “Please don’t be sad. I will surely be happy once all my emotions, yearnings, and burdens are gone. You and Saeyoung will survive, and you will be happy. I promise you that. The only thing waiting for us is happiness in the end. Thank you, my love… my light. I know this plan will work. It has to.”

“Why does it have to be like this, Saeran? It’s not fair! You shouldn’t have to throw your life away for us! Why can’t you be happy with us?” her voice cracked despite how hard she was trying to keep it from blowing up in her face. “We’re supposed to be a family. Our family can’t be complete without you! My family can’t be complete without you!”

Saeran closed his eyes. She wasn’t sure if he had the strength to look at her anymore. She wanted him to look because that meant he would have to think twice about this. “You’ve given me more than I ever could’ve dreamed of, Lila. You gave me love, hope, passion, and courage. This power that you’ve given me… this love you’ve coveted. It’s precious to me, and I want to make amends for my mistakes and be the best man I can.”

Resolution of his choices.

Lila never yelled. She never screamed. She never raised her voice at someone in her life, but at that moment, her frustration and anger caused her to speak so loudly of her wishes and her one and only heart, “Then, stay with me, Saeran! Don’t die! Let’s protect our love together and— I don’t know, I don’t know! I just can’t lose you… I can’t… I can’t…”

Her world was crumbling. Their fairytale was rotting. Nothing was going to change it and she wanted to stay. She wanted to stay with him. Despite everything, she broke him in his arms at last and found herself unable to say anything. Her words became nonsensical as he held her so very tightly to his chest.

As Saeran held his life in his hands, the person who gave meaning to his life, it felt like the moon was shining brightly.

“Lila, once this night is over, you can forget about me. Please, forget about me and live on. Be happy. Go back to your life as if nothing happened. Eat, see your friends again, and sleep when you need to rest at night, just like everyone else can. I want you to carry on my deepest wish, an ordinary life.”

“An ordinary life, sometimes… gloomy and lonely, but also… delightful and exciting. A life worth living is what you deserve. I’ll always be waiting for you. Even when my life is over, I’ll be your guardian angel as you were mine all this time, and I’ll always remain by your side. You are the one and only… you’re the start of my love and the end of it. This is the reason why I was born.”

“The only thing that I can feel at this moment is you, and as I hold you… I… I won’t hate anyone for this. I don’t want to be angry anymore. I just want to be free. I’ll be grateful for as long as I have left. I’ll hold onto this feeling of love that you gave to me and never let go. It’s my reason for being. I love you, Lila.”

“Even when my life is no more, I won’t forget all the experiences that I’ve had with you. Short as it may seem, these days have been the happiest of my life. I will cherish them forever. As long as my energy exists in this universe… until the end of time. My love for you is limitless, and it exists beyond mere mortality.”

Saeran kissed her forehead. It spurned her cries to continue but she squeezed her arms around him in response. That was what they did. When he gave her love, she would squeeze his hand to tell him that she wanted more. When she leaned over and kissed his cheek, he would always pull her hand back towards him with a small nudge.  

In many ways, their shared love language was touch.

It always would be.

Their time was running out. She needed to get back to Saeyoung and Vanderwood as soon as possible so that he could distract Rika and V for as long as possible. He looked down towards the ground where his phone lay abandoned. 

The screen lit up in the dirt to let him know that things were about to begin and that the final day had begun. So, he kissed her... he kissed her lips over and over again to remember the feeling of her against his skin. Neither of them stopped to catch their breath. They just wanted to hold onto the other and never let go. But, reality didn't work that way, and their true hearts were torn.

“It’s midnight,” his voice was soft. Though his cries were now prominent between the two of them. It was over now. He had to be brave for his love. “It’s time, my love. I’m afraid this is the end. I love you, I love you, I love you… I love you so much. You’re the greatest gift that I could’ve ever asked for. You’re the only present I could ever want.”

Though her voice was muffled, he knew exactly what she said to him. “Happy birthday, Saeran.”

With any luck, she was going to come back for him, regardless of what he said.

[ariainstars]

Sorry, But I Don’t Support Minorities (Any More)

For a start: I will not use inclusive language in this text. (I usually don’t, only in this case I want to make sure it’s known from the start.)

Secondly, if you identify as trans or non-binary and / or are a huge Harry Potter fan, I am warning you: don’t read this.

If you do want to hear me out, be respectful in your comments or hold them back altogether. I won’t tolerate bullying merely because I am expressing my own opinion. Though the topic touches a sore spot in me, too, I will be as objective as I can.

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

I am not and never was a fan of J.K. Rowling and her works. I found the Harry Potter hype strongly exaggerated, the books mildly unoriginal and biased, the films ok until they became so overloaded with derivation from other sources (dragons, elves, magic wands, brooms, unicorns, centaurs, phoenixes, basilisks, flying horses - stories like Star Trek or Star Wars at least have their own world-building) and later so dark that they were no fun anymore. In my opinion an average writer was lucky because she tapped into a trend and was at the right place and right time with her stories. I daresay years from now many fans will wonder why they liked these stories so much and realize that they just jumped on a train, having been too young and naïve to question it.

I don’t own any of Rowling’s books or DVDs or merchandise and I never have been part of the fandom. So, I come from a different corner when I say that I have my own attitude about the current shitstorm regarding J.K. Rowling now being coded as “transphobic”. This is due to personal reasons of my own.

  1. The Discussion Can Add Confusion

Rowling stated that in her youth she had problems with her own identity due to her father having wanted her to be a boy. I can understand that because I went through a long period in my late teens and early twens where I had difficulties identifying with the sex I was born with. At times I also felt physically attracted to females. In my case, it turned out to merely be a phase: I am an average cis woman. I can understand that for some people, such doubts may turn out to be more than a phase. But I know what Rowling refers to because I have been there. And I am grateful that there was no gender discussion when I was young because it would have confused me even more than I actually was, and I already had more than enough other problems. I was and I am a “common” woman, but there was a time in my life when I did not like it very much. That time was bad enough, combined as it was with other aspects in my life I had to come to terms with, which at times almost drove me to despair to the point where I contemplated suicide. So, I am glad that in my time being gay / straight / trans / cis / non-binary or other was not such an issue, at least not where I grew up. With my confusion and disorientation, well-meaning people might have taken the opportunity to encourage me to “embrace my lesbianism / trans identity”, when in truth I am neither. I was discouraged, from many sides, to liking myself, and that self-loathing took many forms. 

I am extremely cautious when it comes to gender identification because I know that finding one’s way in life under difficult circumstances can take years and years and end in a very different place from where it started, well beyond adolescence. In my case, for a long time I thought I was “not really female” because I love my independence and never wished for children: this is not due to some masculine trait inside of me but to my growing up with a disturbed mother who strongly invaded my life and mind and did everything that was in her power to trap me. I suspected that something was wrong with her since my early teens, but I found out the truth only about twenty years later. I had to accept her the way she is and put distance between us. 

Then there were my peers: where and when I grew up it was trendy to be (or appear) as tomboyish and easy-going as possible because this was seen as a sign of a “strong, modern, emancipated female”: fie on you if you wore your hair a little longer, liked clothes or only had to much as a flower-pattern on your notebook. Again: I simply had to get away. For many years I had been led to believe that my too “female” or “masculine” traits were a problem, when the actual problem was not mine. And if this happened to me, I daresay there may be many others in similar situations; which is something that who supports and encourages trans people usually does not consider. People who are confused about their sexuality without actually being trans need understanding as well.

  2. What About Us?

As a native Italian, I cringe when I only think e.g. of Lady and the Tramp’s silly “Bella notte” scene or films like Good Fellas or of The Godfather trilogy, cultural phenomena that did a lot to cement the general audience’s idea of how Italians are like. Not to our advantage. - No, “bella notte” is not correct Italian. No, we don’t play the mandolin, it’s an outmoded instrument that you are more likely to find in a museum. And no, spaghetti with meatballs are not Italian food!

Following the 2009 economic crises many countries in the European Community applied for financial “umbrellas”; Italy didn’t, it paid into those funds. Italy was the first Western country who went into lockdown as the Covid-19 crisis struck. The country functioned, though under huge restrictions and security measures. In both cases, other countries’ reactions in and outside Europe were like: “Typical - Italians are too lazy to work!” When it came to negotiating an economic pact to help Europe start again, the countries who had said this the loudest held their purse-strings tight - after having locked down too late and hidden the truth about the casualties in their own countries. Convenient.

Italians are generally often seen as silly and not trustworthy. And nobody talks about how demeaning and disrespectful, and on the long run damaging, it is to portray us in such a stereotyped way which at best is good for a laugh. The prejudices stick, and they have destroyed or turned into a living hell many existences.

There are huge now discussions about banning films like e.g. Gone With the Wind due to its “clichéd portrayal of Blacks”. Nobody talks about abolishing The Godfather or other films of that kind although they contribute to the stigma that Italians are either all in league with the mafia, or easy-going, silly folks who sing and drink wine all day and have no idea of what hard work means. Most Italians have too much personal pride to victimize themselves and bo-hoo “the rest of the world just won’t understand us”. They love their country but that does not make them not blind to its shortcomings. I hope they stay that way. In any case, I intend to.

  3. The Actual Problem: Bullying

I can sympathize with anyone who comes out as trans because I know what it’s like to be bullied. I was bullied myself for many years due to my Italian origin as well as my upbringing while I had to live among persons who were on a lower social level than I. I was e.g. accused of being stuck-up and “inhibited”. I know now that the female bullies were envious of my self-esteem and insinuating that I was missing “fun”; while the males were counting on another girl being at any guy’s disposal for free and were angry when I didn’t let them have their way with me. 

The actual problem with any kind of intolerance and discrimination is bullying. Whatever form it takes, bullying is or ought to be unacceptable. Bullies will be bullies, they do not care who they harass and why: if they e.g. can be convinced to leave trans people alone, they will vent their frustrations and build up their self-image by bullying people who are fat or black or whatever. Except trans people won’t be there to witness that (unless by coincidence they are both trans and fat / black etc.) 

We live in a world that gives a great deal of importance on competitiveness; as a result, even in families, schools and other institutions that ought to educate children and youngsters to be respectful towards themselves and others, bullying is often not seen as such, or simply downplayed as “assertiveness”. Bullies do not want to hear reasonable argumentation and learn to be sympathetic: they want to show off their power, provoke an emotional reaction from their victims to see how far they can go, and gloat when they can hurt them. They will not change their minds and they will never be trustworthy, no matter how many discussions about your particular situation you have with them. 

To bullies, the world is a jungle where only the strongest have the right to survive; any attempt to make them rethink their attitude will only make them laugh at their victims’ alleged stupidity (because that’s what a humane, respectful attitude is to them) even more. The only language they understand is violence. If you are bullied, protect and, if you can, defend yourself; never try to discuss. Minorities were silent and subdued for such a long time with good reason: because they knew that the more they held their heads up and did not hide what made them different, the more targets they offered for bullies. No one ought to go in hiding because he is queer or black or Jewish etc., but sometimes it’s unavoidable simply for self-protection. I am almost fifty years old and I have never witnessed a nasty person changing for the better. If anything, they became worse, because every time they got away, they felt more superior than before.

Particularly sly bullies will make their victims believe that they have changed, maybe even pulling off the role “I’m a victim myself”. Please, please, whether you belong to a group of minorities or not: don’t listen to them. Ever. Maybe they once were victims, but it turned them into arseholes, and now they are sunk too far in their own filth to care. Compassion is a good thing, but it should never go as far as to delude yourself, endure abuse and sympathize until you become an object for compassion yourself.

For instance, I like wearing dresses, cooking and sewing and looking after my household. Fifty years ago, that would have made me a pattern housewife; nowadays, feminists would either want to strangle me or at least have a good laugh at my expense. This just goes to show how short-sighted any kind of prejudice and bullying is. Any human being ought to follow its own nature with a healthy self-esteem, and esteem others as well. But with our today’s view of the world we are supposed to be not altruistic and respectful but “strong” so that “we will make our way in life” (i.e. feed capitalism in any way we can); and nothing can make you feel “strong” more easily than finding someone who is allegedly weaker and pick on him. We are expected to be “winners”, and the first thing winners need are “losers” to serve them as a foil. The pool from which to choose is large.

  4. Who Is Subject to Intolerance Can’t Be Intolerant… Really?

For many years of my life, I always found myself a supporter of someone who was ostracized for one reason or another.

A woman who had left her husband. (It was the early Eighties.) A gay man. A girl who had been harassed by being called ugly. A woman who had been abused sexually by a family member. A woman from East Germany (I live in the West and there are lots of prejudices.)

For the record: these persons were of different age, origin, upbringing, social status, intellectual level and character, and they did not know one another.

I knew and supported them for years, listening, loyal, supportive, interested in their problems and personal development. I never attacked or criticized them. And each and every one of them sooner or later accused me of “not understanding them” and “being prejudiced towards them”. In the case of the abused woman this was particularly unfair because I have been abused myself in my family, though psychically and not sexually. The divorced woman, my own mother, viciously accused me of lying and being in league with her ex-husband after I had been loyal only to her for entire decades.

It appears these people only were my “friends” as long as I told them what they wanted to hear. When I suffered, I was put off with “pull yourself together”. Like I had no problems, because the only people in the world having problems were them. Thank you very much. So, I was supposed to accept their growing insolence due to their being such poor victims, while from their point of view I deserved neither understanding nor respect.

Only recently, in the aftermath of the riots caused by the killing of George Floyd, I posted a comment on a video on youtube… guess what. I was immediately attacked by a black woman saying that my “stupid remark” just went to prove how a white person would never understand “things like these”. She had not even read my post carefully enough to understand what I actually wanted to say, she simply felt entitled to offend me.

I do not say that I dislike trans people or that they are bad, I’m sure there are as many good or bad people among them as anywhere. If someone says e.g. that though born with male organs they identify as female that is their very own affair. I must not like it or understand it. Tolerance means leaving other people alone to do as they please. Any person is “bad” only the moment they behave badly towards others; being different from the mainstream does not count.

But when I have to watch and read people nowadays defending trans or gays or blacks or some other minority, believing to be being open-minded or particularly noble and heroic by supporting them, all I can say is that I have been there and it did me no good. I won’t get caught up in another wave of “minority tolerance”: in my experience, it’s a waste of time. Many of those who now proudly burn their Harry Potter books and proclaim that they will no longer support the author, respectively that they “love Harry Potter but love trans people more” will make the experiences I made. Except they most probably won’t talk about that, because these experiences are so humiliating.

Minorities of any kind do not want to be supported, understood and defended by people who are not in their shoes: it hurts their personal pride. Which I can understand, although it’s a lame excuse for being mean to the very persons whom they expect help and support from. They will tend to envy the ones who do not have their problems due to being white / straight / cis etc., and consequently turn a blind eye to the fact that these can have huge problems of their own. Many of them expect their supporters not only to understand them but to support them enthusiastically at every turn, and if these don’t, (or if there is the slightest reason for them to assume that they don’t) these “victims” will feel entitled to be offended and become vicious aggressors, with a whole fan club behind them protecting their backs and convinced of promoting a honorable cause.

I am fed up with being tolerant. It seems you can hardly do anything anymore without offending someone: watching Disney movies or old classics, wearing a pink dress, calling a woman a woman instead of woman / trans / cis / non-binary etc. There is always someone who will point to these things saying why they’re not right.

I’m sorry but clichés, prejudices and stereotypes can’t be totally avoided: the human brain is not wired to know all facts about everything and everyone. What you can do is teach children and adolescents to be respectful towards everybody, even if they don’t like a particular person or group. Nobody has the right to force you to like everybody and to agree with every life style. But it seems the world has become full of people who seem to have nothing better to do but feel personally offended at the drop of a hat and make a fuss about how hurt their feelings are. Helping someone out who is in a difficult situation is not the same as catering to the keyed-up hysterics of some entitled brat. Seeing the difference between these two can be quite difficult because the latter often show their true face only after years and years, when they realize that for some reason or other, they can no longer squeeze you out for their personal benefit giving nothing back.

Who follows my account is aware that I did not like The Rise of Skywalker. Heaven knows I wrote enough about it. But I did not and will not harass the studios twittering, mailing, making youtube videos etc. ranting and raving about what rubbish it supposedly is for years, like the haters of The Last Jedi. Listening to them, one would think their whole reason for living had been destroyed on purpose. We most probably largely have to thank them for the Episode IX disaster, the flattest and most uninteresting Star Wars film ever made; not to mention the harassment the actress Kelly Marie Tran was subject to. Anyone has the right to dislike the development the authors chose for the saga, but for heaven’s sake: after all, it’s just a movie. If such a relatively insignificant thing can be hyped up like this, I don’t want to know what’s in store coming from people who feel offended for much more personal reasons, like race or gender.

Tolerance cannot be one-sided; it cannot mean that whatever one side wants does not have to be reasonable or useful, but they are entitled to scream and yell until the other side gives in. (If for no other reason than to satisfy them so they will finally shut it.)

  Conclusions (I did warn you…)

I. Hogwarts is not my world

Hogwarts is supposed to sound like a dream come true, but I never liked the idea of a “school” where pupils, who are still children and adolescents, are taught spells and engaged in games and tournaments where they have to risk life and limb. These facts are commonly overlooked, I guess, because “the heroes” usually don’t get hurt. The heroes overcome their traumata but do not get wiser from them, on the contrary: their suffering is supposed to make them seem nobler so that we will root for them more. Harry loses his parents before he could get to know them; his adoptive family mistreats him, but he doesn’t care about them; Cedric dies in his stead, but they were not close friends; Dumbledore dies when Harry was getting too old for a father figure; Snape dies, but Harry never liked him either. The list could go on. Harry always remains an innocent; he never gets to look into a metaphorical mirror where he has to see all of the bad that is inside of him, his darker sides are always projected and personified by someone else. (When he does look into a metaphorical mirror in the first book and movie, he finds out that the Philosopher’s stone is, magically, in his pocket. How convenient.)

I can’t invest emotionally in a fictional character who stands out before having earned or deserved it. Harry is like a Chosen One who skips the hero’s journey: from an abusive household, he is catapulted into a whole new world made of mystery and wonder, where he immediately is singled out, admired before he lifts a finger, unexplainably lucky, awed due to his heritage, envied by who is not as special as he. Harry remains untainted by own sins because other people do the dirty work for him; which seems ok because they are, for one reason or another, uncool - Dumbledore = old, Ron = weak / foolish, Hermione / Snape = unpleasant, his parents = dead, and so on. Yes, Harry sometimes makes mischief, but people usually cut him slack because of his past as an abused child, his parent’s tragic death, and his undefinable power that makes him resist the Evil One. The Dursleys, Snape and Draco don’t tolerate him, which is why they are coded as villains or at least very disagreeable characters. How do you recognize a villain in these stories? Simple, he’s being mean to Harry. Everybody else gives him special treatment because you don’t want to upset the person whom you expect to defeat the ultimate villain. I always found his character bland and uninteresting. We e.g. learned why Snape was so lonely and bitter, but not why Harry was so “good” although he had grown up unloved, in an abusive household, until he was eleven. 

For decades now Harry Potter fandoms and clubs gather all over the world proudly proclaiming that they are something really special and not like “them Muggles”. No wonder these stories are so popular with who feels misunderstood and downtrodden. Wouldn’t it be nice to be born with capacities ordinary people can’t even dream of? When maybe you’re just a common person, shocking thought. Nowadays, if you want to be someone outstanding, make it up in your mind and it automatically becomes true. And if you identify with the protagonist, you get to be a hero before you did anything special into the bargain. Harry is a victim of other person’s sins and / or blunders and his story is about unfolding the details of his victimhood and correcting them so he gets his happy ending. We are supposed to sympathize with this: well, I can’t. Victimhood and alleged inborn virtue are insufficient to make a protagonist “overcome his trials” and emerge triumphantly over his sidekicks or enemies, without any real loss on his side, while they get killed or, at best, ridiculed. And I will not pick up the part of that sidekick any more.

 II. Feminism Is Not My World

While I am an advocate for women’s independence, I do not identify as a feminist. I have an independent nature: that does not mean I am or should be ashamed of being a lady. This where we live is the era of the tomboys, of the feisty, cool, tough females. And often they don’t just go their own way but feel entitled to scorn women who do have their own job and live with a man who respects them, but also like the color pink, pretty clothes, flowers, romantic stories and everything else the new wave feminism likes to dismiss as “brainwashing”. Today you can hardly let your daughter watch a Disney movie without being accused of undermining her identity with false ideas about womanhood because, oh wonder, it seems a “real woman” must think and act like a badass guy.

Louder for the feminists in the back: you can actually look and behave in a way that is coded as “female” and be intelligent, independent and self-respecting. Women who went their own way have existed in every age and culture, often making great achievements and changing the world around them; they were intelligent, compassionate and took matters into their own hands. They did not proclaim that they unfairly were victims of men: they knew how to make men respect them. Being a woman is not a stereotype thrust upon you, it’s natural. If someone rejects qualities that are identified as “female”, it’s their very own affair. If I wanted to return the offense, I might as easily say that “feminists” and “empowered females” are just too smug to do the dishes.

 III. Trans, cis, binary etc. is not my world

For millennia, people had to accept the sex they were born with. Now you can have surgery and take hormones to get rid of a problem which you can’t solve on your own. Sorry, but I can’t get my head around it: to me the gender diversity discussion is unnatural. Good and right things are always the same, they cannot change with time and “scientifical / medical progress”. Tomboyish females and same-sex lovers are as old as the world, but it’s only a few decades since you can surgically have your sex changed if you feel uncomfortable with it, and even less time since you can claim the right to be both male and female or not to choose any sex at all. Excuse me, what’s behind it? Fear of missing out? I know, nowadays we are supposed to “change the stars”, but excuse me, it’s not possible. Rowling did not change the stars: as I wrote above, she got lucky.

I can say from own experience that for healthy growth a person needs limits. It is not “tolerant”, in my opinion, to say that one can be male or female or binary or none of that, all by choice. If I raise a child calling it a boy because he was born with male organs, or by Catholic standards because I am a Catholic myself, I believe no one has the right to say that I am intruding into its personality. I would be intolerant if said child would later come out to me e.g. as trans or atheist and I would dismiss its identification and opinion as a matter of principle, or disown it altogether. Rejecting rules and values is like pretending that it is wrong to be e.g. female, or straight, or that Catholic values are rubbish. None of that is true. It is true that a trans or gay or atheist or Buddhist etc. is not automatically an immoral or inferior person.

I can accept other people’s choices about their gender identification; that doesn’t mean I must like or support their mindset. It doesn’t automatically make me “transphobic”. If it is intrusive or intolerant to say that someone is male because he was born with male organs, what will come next? Will “normal” females no longer be entitled to protect their most intimate privacy because any guy can share our private space, like a public toilet or dress room, claiming he’s a woman (and he might well not be trans, but a lying voyeur?) Will we no longer give our children male or female names? Not teach them any values? No longer send them to kindergarten, to school, maybe not even feed or clothe them or furnish their nurseries according to our own judgement, because the poor babies can’t choose by themselves yet?

We all did not choose to be born in the first place.

If you want to protect your children from suffering, don’t have them: suffering is a part of life. Trans is not my world. I don’t want to destroy it or to behave rudely towards it; I simply do not want to have part in it. I want people to care for me, and to do so because I am me, not because I come out with this or another sexual orientation or make myself an advocate for people who belong to this or another minority.

All of the above is why I will not jump on the current “I defend minorities” respectively “I defend downtrodden victims” train. The good part is that I don’t have any Harry Potter book or merchandise I could burn anyway. 😊

Anyone who is uncomfortable with my point of view can unfollow me. Bullies will be blocked and reported without further ado. Greetings from a notorious Muggle.

[warwaged-archive]

Alleria had always been good at pushing aside unwanted feelings.

It wasn’t comfortable, no, but easy enough to do while moving forward towards she who had been her tormentor for so long. Leave her dead; leave her buried in rubble never to be found again. It is what she deserves. What leaves her lips is much more softspoken, heart poured out in spite of her hesitance to do so; there is no word against the Light Mother, no offered offense regardless of how many come to mind. No sense of retribution to see her shattered, no gloating, no satisfaction; but there is fear, and there is vulnerability, and there is the silent begging for him to see her reason, to see her side, to see her pain.

And what then? I was locked in a cell for delving into the Void against her wishes. Will she make me a prisoner again? Or worse?

He would have tried to soothe her at the very least, in the past. This time there is no offered comfort; there is nothing but nearly disinterested certainty that surely it shall be fine, surely Xe’Ra would see the reason, surely she would do Alleria no harm.

But she has already done. Alleria has the scars to prove it.

Hurt that hits her then is not of so visible sort; only in her heart, after all, and that she can hide easily enough. Not comfortable, but easy. She knew Turalyon trusted her; she knew the Army of the Light fought for the future the prime naaru had foreseen. They think it is the only way to save the universe from the Legion, of course bringing her back is important. Somewhere deep down, she can almost hear the echoes of disagreement.

(Weren’t you important for him? Didn’t he care? You gave your heart and body and soul in a way so complete and honest and whole, in a way you never had before; you gave yourself to the wrong person. He doesn’t care. You abandoned the Light, and he no longer cares. He cannot love someone who dwells in the Shadows. But he can love a being of Light even if it is a tyrant, even if it is a torturer.)

They are not loud enough she cannot silence them. The bleeding is not severe enough she cannot ignore it.

Alleria underestimates how hard it would be to see Xe’Ra again.

Indeed, apprehension gripped at her heart at the mere suggestion of restoring the Light Mother, but she had since steeled herself to the inevitability of it; or so she thought. The Windrunner had never been the submissive sort, never one to be forcibly controlled; one who valued her freedom too much to ever submit to chains, never had, not other than those that would lead her to Azeroth again. Alleria could have escaped, even if she could not have fought; could have returned to the Void, to her displeased teacher, could even have wandered the Twisting Nether again until she found path to Azeroth by herself — but the Xenedar was where she had to be, reliable path to the future she had seen that Light and Void were both blind to. The future where they won.

It wasn’t enough to make her fond of her cage, but it was enough to make it tolerable.

The bars were made of Light, as pure and bright as the Light that composed Xe’Ra herself. Alleria could not touch them, of course; a way to guarantee she could not reach beyond it, to make her as little threat as possible. More often than not, she had been left alone to reconsider her path and forsake the Shadows; not always. Sometimes the Light Mother would reach to her in sickeningly sweet tone, elated in listing all that she would lose forever were she to stay with the shadows, before offering her a path to the Light once more. Unbeknownst to Xe’Ra, perhaps, those were the days she got to Alleria the most, heart tight at the idea of losing her sisters, her homeland, her lover, her son. Yet it was for them, too, she chose the path she walked; and it was holding on to this knowledge that Alleria kept herself calm enough not to give away any reaction, nothing but constant denial.

Other times, it was Light forced on her physically, or the attempt to. She remembered thinking of Lothraxion, of Fel being cleansed by Light, of how much it must have hurt for the Nathrezim; she remembered thinking Xe’Ra underestimated the Shadows and Alleria’s own will both, if she believed to cleanse her as easily as Fel. The Void would not surrender one who had so willingly given herself to it; and whenever she was at her limit, Alleria saw Xe’Ra give up, made aware the mortal would break before bending, and knowing she needed her alive for the future she had seen to come into being.

Well, at least until she decided Alleria needed another push, a more direct interference from the Light to set her once more on the right path.

Seeing her may have brought memory of such instances to her mind, but it does not make Alleria fear. She finds it hard to fear, then, in spite of being haunted by it not long ago. Seeing Xe’Ra again makes her rage. A quiet, contained sort of rage, to be sure, but one that burns intensely, one that she had not felt so strongly in so many years. Had she the power to destroy the Prime Naaru, Xe’Ra would be in pieces again already. The thought comes with a certainty that does not let her deny its truth even to herself; Alleria doesn’t try to. She does not shun the anger, either; it is justified, and she has kept it long enough. Let it be felt. Let it bleed out if it must. There has been silence and submission for too long.

If anxiety or anger occupy her, neither finds reciprocation in the dreaded Light Mother. Xe’Ra does not care, she realizes; and there is no shock in this, not truly, not for her who knows the naaru to only have cared for her perfect vision of the future for years, but to see it extended to Turalyon as well is new and unexpected — as is his loyalty to her, so blatantly offered, so unblemished. He kneels as if faced by most sacred being, and it is the truth of it, Alleria realizes, the truth of it in his eyes at least. There is adoration in his gaze, devotion in his voice, relief to see Xe’Ra restored.

It is enough to subdue the flames of her resent, ice cold aching in her heart substituting it. It is neither comfortable nor easy, then, to push aside unwanted feelings. It is hard, and it hurts; oh, if baring her feelings to be met with disregard had been bruising as being punched in the gut, this hurts as being trespassed by blade instead. Part of her wants to cry out betrayal, that he would so devote himself to this thing who had tried to rob her of choice, who did rob her of freedom, who hurt her as it saw fit and branded her wrong for having a mind of her own. Part of her thinks the betrayer to have been herself, venturing in the Shadow out of own volition. It hurts all the same. Duty she could understand; this wasn’t it. This was care and concern Turalyon had not shown to her, even when he had last seen her behind bars made of pure Light; it was commitment he had not shown her when she spoke of her worry and hesitated to aid one who had only done her harm.

Keeping herself impassive is stilling breath with same focus she had been taught once, so many years ago, when learning to tread amidst Eversong trees quiet as a shadow. It is clenching teeth and digging her nails in the flesh of her palm so strongly it hurts, but it is a welcome hurt, grounding, simple enough to deal with. It is forcing herself not to feel, impossible as it is — making herself ignore it, as if that was someone else’s lover, someone she did not know.

Did she know him at all, as it was?

Alleria had always been good at pushing aside unwanted feelings, and she succeeds, even when it is arduous effort. All eyes remain on the naaru, on the demon hunter that steps up to speak to it; all eyes, even her own. She feels what will happen before she processes it; heartbeat racing and body taut as a bowstring ready to snap. True understanding only comes to her, clear as crystal, when Illidan refuses Xe’Ra. She knows, and how could she not? It is watching her tale reenacted with different characters. It is seeing yet another fall prey to a monster who cloaks herself in good intentions, who makes use of righteousness to blind others on her tyranny.

She isn’t sure she can stomach to see it, yet green eyes do not dare look away, barely even blink. It is only when Illidan forcefully frees himself of binding light that Alleria releases breath she hadn’t realize she had been holding, a quiet gasp made soundless by deafening noise; only then gaze is forcefully torn away, the coalescing forces much too blinding to withstand.

There is barely a moment of quiet, briefest second in which she can feel how deeply Illidan’s words resounds with her, how deeply she feels it, from life that was not Xe’Ra’s to take to destiny that is his own, just as hers was, is, will always be. The moment ends too soon. All too quickly, it is brought to an end by a different voice loudly asserting his rage over Illidan’s actions, more vicious and angry and passionate than she remembered seeing in a long time.

When had he last acted like that? The rage upon seeing Lothar fall, perhaps. Turalyon had never been prone to outbursts of anger, seldom allowing himself to act on rage or resent. Lothar… Lothar had been his mentor, closer than even just his commander. There was connection between them, it is secret to no one; a bond, truly. And if any had been deserving of it, Anduin Lothar most certainly had; yet even drawing out such comparison thinking similar feelings would be attached to Xe’Ra sickens her (breaks her heart).

Breaks her further. Both relief and cathartic sense of justice done, found in seeing one pushed into a situation so similar to what Alleria herself had lived through destroy her tormentor, fade all too soon; feelings she had not even had the time to fully feel, truly, barely acknowledged at all amidst surprise and shock and rush of each turn of events. It is too much, too sudden, and amidst the overwhelming sea of feelings she experiences, she does not even know what is it she feels.

And then and there, for the first time in so long she does not remember when it happened last, Alleria feels like falling apart.

She doesn’t. Many years of shutting feelings tight within, burying them within own chest until they cannot hurt (until they hurt all the same, just as deep, just as truly, but all of it is securely beneath the skin) do not fail her then. Alleria barely acknowledges what happens, if focus is entirely on the scene before her; the words are lost in the haze, but she can see Turalyon’s sword (Lothar’s), half metal and half Light, and although she cannot see the wound, she can see Fel blood dripping to the floor, clawed hand holding sword in place even as it carves his flesh. Something Illidan says must have gotten to him, for eventually Turalyon withdraws, and eventually the demon hunter is left to brood in a corner, and eventually the paladin returns to the bridge, perhaps unsure how to go on about his duties then.

They have not been able to touch for many years now, but it is the first time Alleria is glad of it.

Even standing close to him feels like too much; but the mask does not slip, and neither him nor Vereesa nor Arator, not a single person in the multitude of faces within the Vindicaar, seems concerned when she offers some poor excuse of something to do, steps taking her away (away, away, even if she does not know where), aimless until she finds what she was looking for without conscious thought: a distant corner, empty and lonely and dark. Like she is. Where she belongs.

No strength is enough to keep herself together then.

The tears are quiet, if only because she does not dare making noise and drawing attention to herself — it’s not what she wants. Alleria does not resent that none of them noticed her distress; she has never been comfortable with exposing such feelings to others (lie; she had been comfortable enough once, with him, and the thought only causes her to cry more). If the sounds do not escape her, body still shakes with the soundless sobs, heartfelt, hurting, broken.

Xe’Ra is dead! Xe’Ra is dead. Gone, truly and completely this time. Why is it not enough? Why does it still hurt, even when she knows she is glad the Light Mother will never harm her or anyone else in attempt to force her will on them? Why does it hurt, when loathed dreading she had felt upon realizing what Illidan was going to suffer had turned to overwhelming relief, honest joy even, to see such fate averted and Xe’Ra dealt with? Why does it hurt regardless?

(How long have you been silent? How much have you ignored, set aside, pretended not to see? And now that she’s dead, what? Now you pretend and ignore and set aside and stay silent forever, because Xe’Ra is dead and it doesn’t matter anymore.)

Whatever she had suffered, it does not matter; not anymore. Her pain does not matter; this is as much justice as she will ever receive.

Her pain does not matter. And thoughts return to Turalyon, then, Turalyon who had once gone through lengths she expected none to go in order to help her; to offer her a hand she refused time and again, to do whatever he needed do to allow her to heal. Turalyon who shrugged off her concerns in favor of believing in Xe’Ra’s goodwill. Turalyon who knelt in front of Xe’Ra, who offered her respect and adoration he had not spared his so called wife. Turalyon who so eagerly threw himself at Xe’Ra’s killer, in blind rage that was not stopped by the logical thought he could not defeat Illidan, not truly, not when his own power would not have been enough to defeat the Prime Naaru.

Alleria had never resented the lack of further action when she was imprisoned. Turalyon stood with her then, between herself and Xe’Ra even, when he pleaded for her life. It was all she could have asked for; neither of them could defeat her, much less the entire Army of the Light. Alleria never meant to make them enemies, either. It was her path home, to accept Xe’Ra’s sentence; it was how she would reach Azeroth again (how she would see Arator again) — and Turalyon had done what he could. Had done enough.

Had done so much as he was willing to do, she thought now. He could have acted then how he acted now, could have known it was an impossible victory but raised his sword all the same. His lack of action was not because he knew it would be futile; he hadn’t done more because he hadn’t cared enough to do it.

He surely seemed to have a tremendous amount of care for the thing that kept her captive, however.

Arms wrap around her knees, attempt to make herself quieter, to give herself comfort (no; to make herself smaller, perhaps, as if she continued to shrink in her shadowy corner, she might disappear completely). It wouldn’t matter, would it? Arator had an aunt who would always be better mother figure than she could hope to be. He and Vereesa and Sylvanas had all believed her gone for so long; they didn’t need her (Sylvanas is the name that gives her pause; she hadn’t had the chance to meet her, hadn’t seen her in so long… but perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps it would be easier if she had not met any of them at all. At the very least, Sylvanas could be spared the disappointment.)

The Locus-Walker had taught her the Void would play her feelings to their purpose, and it never fails to prove true; her shadow companions, voices without bodies, whisper to fan the flames of her resent, to deepen her sorrow, to offer her comfort. It is barely effective at all; she is drowning in feelings all her own, sinking each time she briefly thinks she might swim again.

There is but one certainty for her, then and there; she does belong to the shadows, in the shadows, irreversibly, irrevocably. It is in the silent darkness she finds as much solace as she could find anywhere; and the cold nothingness of the Void does not feel like such terrible option after all.

[whisker-biscuit]

Harley Quinn is Not A Good Role Model: Chapter 4

Rated T-M for language and graphic descriptions of violence

Pairing: Dr. Flug/Black Hat

Summary: Dr. Flug Slys is a successful psychiatrist working at one of the world’s most respected mental institutes for the criminally insane. But this new patient is unlike anything he’s ever encountered. Flug is determined to help him, nonetheless.

Black Hat has other ideas.

Note: All Black Hat POVs are in first person

Chapter 4: Naming Conventions

Before we continue, I suppose I should make a few matters quite clear.

First, I am not, as you humans say, beyond this world. My body is very much physical, for all of its horrific capabilities. I require sustenance as any other, although the frequency and form of it differs greatly from most current life on this miserable mass we call a planet. I also have the potential, hypothetically, to experience pain in its most basic, physical manner.

I have yet to encounter something able to do so.

Secondly, I have a biological drive, so to speak, in the same way all living creatures do. But unlike the pathetic urges felt by these creatures to survive and reproduce and further the existence of their species, mine is the unconditional opposite. I live to destroy, to halt the process of life and its advancement. These inclinations are most strongly felt during the potential removal of a soul – a being, if you will – from the corporeal world, but that does not mean I am unfulfilled in the more subtle eradications of the every day. Far from it; I relish the inconsequential inconveniences, the negligible nuisances, the eventual ends of equanimity that develop only from the consistent and repetitive breakdown of the emotional and mental states. One does not have to lose their head to, well, lose their head.

Third and last of all, I am not above admitting my faults. I will not deny to being prideful, or confident, or even arrogant. The accusations of those concepts mean nothing to me. But to be unwilling to recognize a mistake, or refuse to believe one can be made, is a dangerous and frankly foolish mindset. How does one expect to prove themselves the best, if they cannot seize their moments of weakness, however few, and use them as stepping stones to an even higher level of awareness and efficiency towards their claim? The thought baffles me.

That is not to say I allow my enemies or allies to recognize them, or admit to them there are indeed mistakes that I can make. Quite the contrary – one must always display a certain poise in the presence of others that does not betray any hint of fault, as failing to do so often leads to insubordination, mutiny, and challenge on all sides. A lapse in judgement is fine, so long as it is known to only yourself.

And so, of course, we reach my current predicament. I had one rare moment of weakness, and it was such an unfortunate occurrence as to happen in a situation where many significant details were at stake – the disruption of human lives, the destruction of human lives, and myself. Needless to say, my error cost me dearly, and I soon found myself captive at the hands of the detestable Inspector Marcus Daniels and his deplorable team from that blundering group known as Interpol. It was not my first time in incarceration, but it was the first instance in which I was actually treated as a more viable threat than most convicted individuals. Imagine my surprise and disbelief when I was finally released from my, transport, to find I had been dropped rather unceremoniously at a criminal mental hospital, of all things.

To say I was insulted would be an understatement.

Even more humiliating was the presence of who was supposedly my psychiatrist. A thin, clumsy, stuttering excuse of a human who hid his face under a paper bag and was so woefully unprepared for the task appointed to him. His boldness surprised me, near the end of our first meeting, but that was quelled easily with the threat of bodily harm. Humans are so breakable, really. I should have snapped his neck and been done with it.

But in the high brought on by my inclination, I forgot myself and my situation and erred yet again. I attempted to change the shape of my jaw, for easier access to wrap around the beautiful, beating veins of the throat and tear it open in the most visceral, painful way. But I was thwarted as soon as I tried.

That damned collar.

So here I was, confined in a high security room reserved for the most mentally unstable and unable to do anything about it. You could imagine my frustration, perhaps, in those first few hours after I was wrestled away from the pitiful doctor and left alone to do nothing but dwell on my newfound situation.

Of course, one does not create a means of escape without first knowing every variable, so I spent much of that isolation observing every inch of my outfit, my cell, and the door. I counted every buckle keeping me restrained – six – as well as every bolt covering the only way in and out – forty-five. No windows, no manipulated patchwork in the floor or wall or ceiling, and no immediately obvious form of liberation. Everything was a lovely shade of light blue, intended for its calming effects I’m sure. Even the blasted toilet seat was the same color. It too would be unhelpful to my predicament – nothing more than a basic hole in the ground with a foot pedal for flushing.

My mortification turned to fury rather quickly.

Unfortunately, the bloody padding was thick and smooth enough that my teeth – currently my only way of expressing my ability – could not puncture in any place I attempted. Ironically, it was not my physical strength but my…release of emotion that garnered attention.

I had admittedly overlooked the possibility of the presence of other inmates.

A few responded immediately to my outburst of anger, loud in their screaming and thumping. Whether they were declaring their presence, asserting their own dominance, or were simply emboldened by my actions I cannot say. Regardless, it was enough to startle me out of my emotions and instead pay attention to the direction and distance these sounds occurred in relation to my quarters. At least three voices, maybe more, all coming beyond the right side of the wall when I faced my cell door. Whereas I had stopped my actions quite suddenly, it took nearly five minutes for most of the others to calm themselves.

Fascinating.

Moderately satisfied with my conclusions – or as much as I could be in the present situation – I settled down on the raised cushioning that no doubt was meant to resemble a mattress. One side was raised in the imitation of a pillow, but no blanket or detachable items were available. It struck me as odd until I remembered a personal assassination of a high-ranking nobody in which I tied him with his own comforter and proceeded to suffocate him with his pillow.

Unlike the fools at Interpol or that idiot doctor, there was a semblance of competence here, at least.

My surprise the next morning was apparent even to the densest of people when I was visited by the same psychiatrist who had pressed my patience just the previous afternoon. He was not alone this time, obviously having learned his lesson; another man in a white coat arrived at his side, along with one of the guards who had so rudely assaulted my person. They stood shoulder to shoulder like a meager mimicry of force, and I could not help the expression of amusement from outweighing my irritation.

“Back again already, are we? I didn’t take you to be that imbecilic.” I took the time to incline myself against the far wall in the perception of laziness. Nonchalance is often greatly underestimated.

“Ah, I, I did say we have to w-work out a schedule while y-you’re here,” Dr. Slys resembled a skittish antelope, rather remarkably well. “Since yesterday, uh, since we d-didn’t get to finish our, your orientation, I thought it would b-be best to try again as soon as possible. I’ve, brought another psychiatrist if, if you’d be more comfortable with someone else.”

This particular individual puffed his chest up most pathetically at the declaration of his presence. “That’s right, Doctor, and I’m here to let you know that we won’t tolerate any breach of protocol or improper behavior from our patients.” He was reckless enough to glare at me. Fool.

In response to the feeble display at superiority I allowed myself a chuckle. “So it would seem. And what shall I call you?” He was considerably larger than Dr. Slys; at least six feet if I had accurately estimated the height of the security guard, to whom he rivalled in elevation. Nothing outstanding about his features, except perhaps the dainty silver watch along his wrist.

“I am Dr. Bautista, but you can address me as either sir or doctor.” The newest intrusion held up a clipboard in a parody of importance and clicked his pen most unprofessionally. “According to our records, you have no known history of substance abuse. Is that correct?”

His words had long stopped holding my attention, and I deemed the watch to be more significant. Not knowing the time and date can be so cumbersome. My gaze stayed fixed on the polished silver metal, waiting for the angle in which I could read it properly. The watch’s owner did not have the intelligence to realize this, as he cleared his throat in obvious frustration.

“I asked you a question, Patient 513.”

“So you did,” was my soft reply. Patient 513. How interesting, that they had already assigned me a number. No doubt an attempt to disassociate me from my former life. At yet another sound of aggravation, I flicked in the direction of the nuisance’s face. He had stepped closer, just past the human line of defense.

“Yes I did, and I expect you to answer it.” I studied the movements of his hands, waiting for the clock face to be visible. “And I also expect you to make eye contact in a conversation. Honestly, can you believe this?” The miscreant turned to his colleague, no doubt trying for sympathy.

He got none. Instead of catering to the ego of his fellow, Dr. Slys surprised the psychiatrist, and myself, when he looked directly at me and said very sincerely, “It’s 9:47 am, on a Wednesday.”

I had already written off Dr. Bautista as useless and of no interest to me. Yesterday, I thought I had come to the same conclusion about Dr. Slys. But now he tiptoed closer, and despite the limp I saw in his gate – my doing I was certain – he did not appear bothered by the decrease in our distance. He offered his gloved hands to me, palms up.

“That’s what y-you were wondering, wasn’t it? That’s why you were, um. You wanted t-to know the time.”

To see a human again who I had attacked less than a day before was unusual. To see him willing to visit me in my own territory, backup or no, was abnormal. For him to be observant enough to recognize what I wanted, and to give it to me without negotiation in his favor, well. It was rare to the point that I found I could not ignore it.

“If I say yes, Dr. Slys, what would that matter?” I could feel the edges of my mouth part fractionally, poised to expose my only current weapon. Regardless of subject, it was dangerous for anyone to feel they had power over me. Dangerous for me, of course, but even more so for them.

“Ah, well, I j-just thought, you might want to know, since you…” His goggles fluttered briefly in the direction of his colleague’s watch, but he did not reveal me. Smart creature. “Well, I know I like kn-knowing the date, and the t-time. It’s…easier. Everyday.”

“Is that so.” I could find no lie in his expression, despite the headwear. This was the second time he had been so earnestly truthful, and the second time it had caught my attention, for what reasons I could not say. I would have to be careful with this one.

At his eager nod, a good-natured smile stretched along my visage. “Well, Doctor, I suppose I should thank you. You may ask five questions, and I will answer them.” Both psychiatrists were visibly astonished by my change in attitude, and my smile spread further. Two could play this game of catching the other unawares.

Of course, the idiot Dr. Bautista attempted to open his mouth, but I stopped that behavior short with a hiss. “Dr. Slys may ask me five questions, and I will answer them.” He looked affronted, but had enough self-preservation to let his colleague take his place.

“Okay, um, okay.” He fretted with the serrated edges of his paper bag; a bizarre motion I had witnessed before. “I g-guess, we’ll start with what we asked earlier. Do you have any history of substance abuse, or currently using? Our records have no indications of anything.”

“No, I do not. Nasty, uncontrollable things.” I was not lying. Drugs of all forms – except alcohol, perhaps – were useful tools of destruction but entirely unpredictable in combination with my biology. One methamphetamine mixture could have no effect beyond an itch along my feet while another could leave me in the closest I’d ever experience to a seizure. There was no way of knowing which black market substances were pleasurable, painful, or nullified without personal experimentation, and I did not have enough interest in the subject to waste my time.

“Well that’s g-good,” Dr. Slys scribbled along with his fellow psychiatrist and looked me in the eye. “Next q-question. Are there any allergies we should be aware of? Food, medical, latex, etc.?”

“I have no such weaknesses, Doctor.” To even insinuate that human issue was insulting.

“Okay, um. Third question. Are there any actions you feel would be detrimental to your psyche? Some patients have a history of physical, emotional, or sexual abuse that can accidently be brought to memory in a, situation, such as restraining involving human contact or the sound of raised voices. We cannot comply with all requests, but if there is anything you think is noteworthy, we will take it in consideration. If you have a preference for the gender of your psychiatrist or physician, we can do that.”

“I do believe you offend me, Dr. Slys, to assume I am so easily triggered by petty things like those.” I had noticed that as my supposed doctor continued his query, he appeared more relaxed and confident in his posture. The stuttering had also vanished. Fascinating. “But to fully answer your question, I do not have many, requests. However, I must ask that your security keeps their hands to themselves. It was rather irritating yesterday.”

“Well, we can try our best to accommodate you, but I’m afraid that would depend on your behavior around others.” Dr. Slys moved on the weight of his heels and winced, clearly still injured. I offered him a cruel twist of lips. “Okay, so that’s about it for the preliminary. Now about your schedule, I was – we were thinking that the best option would be to start with a bi-weekly counseling session in your room, with me and possibly Dr. Bautista depending on…conduct. I would also suggest a three-hour period of recreational activity every day, and we can work out the activities at the beginning of each day. Perhaps after a full evaluation of mental and physical stability, we can include group therapy and/or outdoor privileges as well. Would you agree with this tentative schedule plan? Your first counseling session would be with me tomorrow at 11 am.”

I pretended to consider it, to assume as they did that I would be actually be imprisoned any longer than a week. “Yes, I suppose that is a plausible arrangement. How long would you estimate my sessions with you to last?” I tilted my head, amusement broadcasted freely.

“Roughly about an hour and a half, give or take.” To my surprise and admitted delight, he looked at me with narrow, calculating eyes and continued, “And I expect we’ll be having them for a long time, Mr. Black Hat. You shouldn’t underestimate our facility.”

I should have been incensed by his calling out of the real meaning of my question, but frankly I found it interesting. Here was a human who understood at least the basic rules of how I played. That he had willingly defied my orders the day before and was now matching my serve with a fair enough return was not as bothersome as I had earlier considered.

“Very well, Doctor. You may ask your final question.” I crossed my legs on the imitation mattress, nearly finished with our conversation, lovely as it was. But what he asked next caught me off guard.

“In your case file, it mentioned you had named flying as your favorite mode of transportation. Why is that?”

I could not help the bemused twitch of my eyebrows nor the brief, startled blink that passed my face. Dr. Slys waited patiently for me to recover, and the colleague at his side appeared just as rightly confused.

There was no gain or loss to be had by answering this, so I settled with a shrug and laid back, studying the unusual human. “Flying is statistically the safest method of travel.” He looked at me, and I looked at him. My mouth parted. “At least until it hits the ground.”

His gloved hands tightened on his clipboard in what I assumed was anxiety. Imagine my surprise when he let out a solitary laugh, not much more than a breach of air past his lips. It stopped just as suddenly as it started, and the doctor seemed shocked at his own action.

“Is something funny, Dr. Slys? I didn’t know humans could find a plane crash humorous.”

My psychiatrist was nervous now, and fretted yet again with that silly headwear, but still he responded despite the abrupt suspicion placed on his shoulders.

“I j-just thought it was a coincidence, a-a bit of a funny connection.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

Unfortunately, my doctor has already shown to be more observant than he looks, because he shut his mouth promptly – I could even hear the click of teeth – and returned to his notes in an attempt to protect himself. His colleague was not so perceptive, however, and gave up the doctor’s secret.

“Hey, doesn’t your name mean a plane wreck? Like in German or something?”

Dr. Slys squeaked most unbecomingly, but it was too late. As someone who prides myself on my knowledge of social etiquette and culture, I knew most languages thoroughly, and those of Indo-European roots were no exception.

“A flugzeugabsturz?” I gave my psychiatrist a lengthy once-over, considering him. “No, your last name is Slys. But you pronounced it as the English adoption. So how…?” As I calculated, Dr. Slys’ body language grew more nervous, apprehensive even. “Perhaps not German, then.” The answer came to me just as my doctor appeared ready to flee, and I smiled.

“Icelandic, I do believe.” My delight heightened at the stiffness setting in his legs. “Plane crash. Flugslys. Dr. Flug Slys.” I practically purred the word. “Do tell me, since you pronounce your last name so hideously, does your first name follow its Icelandic rule, or is it more barbaric? Floooog.” My psychiatrist shuffled backwards to the door. “Fl-ugh.”

That was it. That was how he introduced himself. I watched, twitching grin wrapping my face as Dr. Flug Slys grabbed his oblivious colleague and the forgotten guard and hauled them out. There is a lot of power in names, you see, and he seemed to know it as much as I did. The two doctors stood just outside my cell and whispered hushed nothings while I laughed longer and louder than I had since my capture.

“It truly is a pleasure, Flug Slys!” I raised my voice, standing and gliding to the center of the room. I could see the top half of brown paper through my window. “I look forward, to our first real session tomorrow. You are a fun one indeed, Dr. Flug.”

Every use of his name sent my psychiatrist into a flinch until he disappeared from my sight and I heard his retreating, feathery footsteps leave the hall. The mirth from the encounter left me in a much better mood than I had expected while confined here. Perhaps I would not be so short of entertainment.

Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough, in my honest and humble opinion.

[mentalisttraceur]

Trust Thought

I think one of the main reasons I see so many people struggle with trust, is that no one’s ever shown them what healthy, evidence-based, earned trust looks like.

I think the archetype of trust I’ve seen espoused in American culture is a horrible template, because it’s fiat-based. Just started dating someone? Automatically expected to “trust” them. Roommates with someone? Automatically expected to “trust” them. That’s awful. If the prevailing narrative is to be believed, you’re just supposed to pretend you’re unaware that anyone you’ve met could be lying or manipulating. You’re supposed to train yourself to ignore that possibility, instead of establishing mutual openness and transparency upon which trust can actually be built. It’s like we’re “optimizing” for the critical failure case, teaching people it’s virtuous to widen the gap in which we don’t actually validate that the people we let closest are doing what we expect them to do.

Definition tangent: Now, to be clear, there is a difference between “benefit of the doubt” and “trust”. For the purpose of this ramble, “benefit of the doubt” means that you tentatively act as if what the person is being truthful by default, up to some reasonable threshold of risk, while remaining aware that they haven’t actually proven themselves yet. Complete “trust”, to me, is when you actually get to the point where you can accept that person’s representations about the world as a source of truth roughly approximating your own senses and memory and reason in accuracy. There’s obviously a contiguous fuzzy gradient in-between.

That said, I think part of the problem is that people feel like they’re entitled to not proving their trustworthiness. I frankly think that’s asinine. Give people benefit of the doubt, sure. But trust? Let me put it this way: Until you’ve known me well enough that you’re confident beyond a reasonable doubt that there’s no way that I’m kidnapping and raping people as a past-time, I expect you to remain vigilant for signs of me being engaged in such activities. Until you’ve known me well enough that you trust me with your life, I expect you to seriously consider the possibility that I might be out to kill you, or could be bought off by the people who do. Until you trust me with your bank accounts, I expect you to keep an eye out for me possibly trying to rob you. And so on. I don’t think you’d be a bad person for being weary of any of those things. In fact, I’d consider myself a bad person if I had a problem with you seriously considering those possibilities until you knew me well enough that they naturally faded from your mind.

The reverse side of that problem, is that people just aren’t taught to think with a healthy degree of critical/”what if” double-checking. “Okay, he says he did ‘x’, but what if he had actually done ‘y’ and is now lying?” Did any of us get raised to seriously listen to and evaluate any unexpected noises when we’re visiting a new acquaintance’s house? Did any of us get raised to actively seek out sources of yells that sounded like they may have been unclear calls for help in the distance? If a roommate brings someone over to spend the night, how many of us seriously consider that we might need to parse the sounds from the bedroom for signs of distress, as opposed to pleasure? I know I sure as hell didn’t, I just “lucked out” with the inclination to thoroughly consider the  spectrum of possibilities before me, and tendency to focus on the ones that cause the most human suffering, so I do the above as a matter of course now. But I don’t actually know of anyone else who does.

We’re taught that trust is an ideal end state but not how to get there, so most people seem to think it’s achieved by stifling suspicions/concerns. But no, the end state of trust is approached by accumulating enough evidence that you can genuinely comfortably feel that the suspicion/concern is so unlikely so as to not be worth thinking about. And, I assert that, barring obscenely evidence-defying cognitive gymnastics, suspicions and concerns ought to be taken seriously, given benefit of the doubt, and resolved with proactive openness and transparency, not internalized dismissal.

I also suspect that part of this strongly ties with the very problematic ideas of “faith” that permeate much of Western culture. We’re supposed to treat faith as a personal merit, instead of a blatant epistemological error. Even though it just boils down to convincing yourself that you know something is true when you actually don’t have enough evidence/information to feel that certain. Faith is the padding we’re taught to place between the evidence we have and the conclusions we’re suppose to hold (whether religious or otherwise).

This is all compounded by the fact that depending on how you look at it, there is a very thin line between mutual, equitable, consenting radical openness/honestly/transparency, and abusive, controlling, one-sided imposed openness/transparency. Many people have had really shitty experiences with relationship partners who were controlling and abusive, who insisted that they have access to your communications, location, etc. (Sidenote: those controlling abusers are assholes of a high severity, and you should never put up with their shit, and I’m sorry if you’ve had to.) Since so many people go through an experience with a controlling/shitty/abusive relationship partner who demands such access and uses it as leverage to get what they want, many people are rightly weary of anything that looks similar in future relationships. But I think in life there are many things which are necessary for approximating ethically ideal outcomes, but which can be severely misused. Radical openness and transparency is one of those things. I think it’s possible to have healthy, mutually agreed upon radical openness/transparency/access in a relationship, gradually ramped up as trust starts to build - and it’s invaluable for rapidly building evidence-based trust. Literally by definition, nothing can build trust like being radically open and transparent enough with each other that dishonesty has nowhere to hide.

As an example I’ve mentioned before, in my going-onto-nine-years relationship, this is exactly what we have (although we basically never utilize that access any more, because we basically no longer have any realistic concerns/fears/etc about each other’s minds). Once it seemed likely that we were compatible for a long-term/life-long relationship, the expectation was that we would have full access to each others’ accounts if we need to, and the was and remains a general attitude that we’re even fine with each other making use of that access even just out of idle curiosity rather than only in emergencies. But it’s important to note: this access is given in an equitable (rather than one-sided) way, and, after years of trust were built, it’s become entirely acceptable for one of us to say to the other “don’t view this account until further notice” or whatever, and it is precisely because of so many years of being radically open to each other that no suspicion or paranoia can really creep in under even the most extreme of circumstances anymore.

As a thought experiment, I encourage people to contemplate if your methodology for building trust in relationships can survive an intelligent, skilled, and fundamentally selfish to the core manipulator as a relationship partner. While I won’t pretend what we do in my relationships is bulletproof, I do think that we create an environment in which anything short of proactive honesty between each other simply cannot remain hidden. But it’s definitely better than the cultural default model of “trust on faith” or whatever.

Of course, you don’t have to adopt the radical transparency/access extreme like I do with my partner(s). But I think most people could benefit from thinking about trust, especially in personal relationships deeply entwined into our lives, more as something which grows with evidence that the person presents a truthful account of things, especially when it’s hard or inconvenient for them. Hopefully that makes the concept of being able to find someone that you might be able to trust one day seems more feasible when building trust is reconsidered from this perspective.

[zodiacc-horoscope-blog]

DailyHoroscope

Sunday March 12,2017 Aries (3/21-4/19) As you work through a rough experience, you need to relax. You may think that doing so is easier said than done, and you are partially right. If you set yourself up to believe that calming down will be difficult, then it will be difficult. But if you emotionally step away from what's bothering you, and you consciously decide to seek serenity, then you will find serenity. And when you do, Aries, that will be the beginning of the end of the stress and the fear. Everything will turn out just fine. ==================== Taurus (4/20-5/20) Whenever you take on a responsibility or set out to achieve a goal, you tend to put a lot of pressure on yourself to not just succeed, but to be perfect. Your behavior may be a testament to your determination, Taurus, but it isn't necessarily a good way to be. For your next big venture, you need to consciously tell yourself that you're going to treat yourself kindly, and that you're going to enjoy the process, rather than fearing it or being intimidated by it. This small act will help you immensely. The more you operate this way, the easier it will be. ===================== Gemini (5/21-6/20) You may be trying to please someone who is very hard to please. You may be going out of your way, above and beyond, and jumping through a hoop or two to make this person take notice. But some people draw their power from making other people feel that way, and that's not a good thing. When you play into that by trying to gain approval, you aren't doing yourself any favors. Instead, make your own approval the only approval that counts. In the end, it really is the only thing that will count. ===================== Cancer (6/21-7/22) You may be using up all or quite a lot of your energy now to pursue something that is very elusive. You could be using that energy to reach for something that is easily attainable, and that may be what you should reach for right now. You are not a quitter, and you are not someone who gives up just because something you want is hard to get. You are tenacious and tough, Moonchild, but sometimes you should be practical too. Reach for what you can have now. That far-off goal will become attainable in the near future. It's just a matter of timing it right. ===================== Leo (7/23-8/22) You will soon embark on a journey that you have hoped for, Leo. You may be so afraid to fail that you will take a passive approach, and there is a lot to be gained if everything works out well. It may seem that just going along for the ride will be the right way to go, when in fact, you should really pour your all into it. If this is a creative project, then your immersion will be all the more important. Put your stamp on it. Put your heart into it. Make it yours. Make it great! ===================== Virgo (8/23-9/22) You sometimes find it hard to say no, Virgo. You find it hard to put a rejection into words. This is even harder for you when you fear that someone else might wind up being hurt. But sometimes it is better for everyone when you tell the whole truth, and that's what you should do now with a situation that is starting to get out of hand. Maybe you have avoided telling the truth, but it's time to speak up. Doing so will make it easier for everyone in the long run, including you. ===================== Libra (9/23-10/22) You may soon set out on a quest to manifest something you have wanted for a long time. You may have a very idealistic idea of how this will happen and what it will be like when it does. But be very careful about creating too rigid an idea of what will occur. If you do, Libra, you will limit your opportunities and your possibilities. There is a lot of wonderful possibilities than you can yet imagine, and if you put restrictions on what can be, you may not get all you can. Be open to whatever comes your way. ===================== Scorpio (10/23-11/21) You may be struggling with a choice or with how you are going to handle a situation you are now experiencing. You may think you are being quite logical and thoughtful about this, Scorpio, but you need to clarify where your feelings about it are coming from. It is possible that you are being strongly influenced by a situation from the past that had a dramatic impact on you. If that's the case, you need to rethink your strategy. That was then, and this is now, and the two situations are actually very different. Go back to the drawing board with a fresh mindset, and you'll make the right decision. ===================== Sagittarius (11/22-12/21) Have you ever had a dream that you were being chased? If you haven't, you can probably imagine what that would feel like. Suppose you were forced to climb up a mountain to avoid your pursuer. Then, when you reach the top, there might be no option but to jump from a great height to get away. It might seem like a terrible ending. But what if suddenly a friendly dragon arrived, beckoned you onto its back, and flew you to safety? As of now, you may not be physically running from something, but you could have a feeling of being in peril. But magic is about to happen, Sagittarius, and you'll find an unlikely way out of trouble. ===================== Capricorn (12/22-1/19) Patience is a virtue, Capricorn, and it is one that you have been abundantly blessed with. You aren't one to rush or assert or force things into happening, and you aren't someone who gets irritated and begins pacing the floor when things don't move fast enough. However, even though patience is ordinarily a good thing, right now you need to be less patient and more aggressive. Something you want will be within arm's reach very soon, but only for a very narrow window of time. When it appears, be ready to grasp it. ===================== Aquarius (1/20-2/18) You are a very intuitive person, Aquarius, and right now you may be having feelings about something. These feelings may frighten you because it seems that something isn't going to turn out very well. But you need to recognize that sometimes even the most intuitive person is influenced by forces such as fear, longing, and imagination. If you are feeling very intense about what's happening now, you may not be able to fully trust what you're feeling. Just relax, despite what you fear, this will turn out quite well. ===================== Pisces (2/19-3/20) Someone's presumably constructive criticism may seem to be coming from a place of hostility or personal resentment. But because you are such a sensitive soul, Pisces, you may take it to heart. Even though you can probably see that this criticism is drawn from anger, there may be still something viable and valid in it. Sift through what you hear, and apply it to what you know. If any of it rings true, then simply use it to improve whatever needs improvement. That way you will benefit no matter what.