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#I just wanted to write some shit

[ may be a bit spotty activity-wise for a bit. brain’s being a shit so im trying to get medication but that’s a really sensitive area for me ( + it takes a few weeks to start working anyway ) so it’s slow going orz ]

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{心のマスク - The Hearts Mask}

             It’s like breathing in quicksand, the grating feeling of his throat rasping with the panic welling into his being. They’ve been gone a long time and death is a close friend of the shinobi, draping over him like a blanket. Yet it’s not comforting, nor does he welcome the guilt and the regret. It tastes like bile in his mouth, too bitter and hot to mean anything good. Fingers card through his long hair in shaky strokes, tugging angrily at the knots he finds. The pain is sharp and helps him focus, brown eyes darting around the small confines of his simple apartment. There’s too many memories strewn about and he curses himself as the panic wells back up in him like boiling water. 

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WHOO okay I slowed down posting here & instagram with the agility trial this weekend, then my birthday (the 1st/Canada day), etc., and I was just rechargin’. I’m tired! Should be back to our regularly scheduled programming shortly (aka photos).

I want/need to get some photos of Gunner (and maybe me) with our ribbons from the weekend! I am also waiting on the photographer that was there for the trial to put up her album - I’m hoping she got some good ones so I can buy one or two!

Uhhh, easily best birthday ever? Like, between the blast we had at the trial (despite some embarrassments), I got tortilla blankets as gifts, I got a 75% off discount code on one of my fav games in conjunction with a gift card, I don’t even remember what else. It’s just been an amazing birthday. I felt so supported and encouraged by everyone at the trial; my fiance has been supportive & sweet & encouraging in every way; my friends and my mom and my grandma and my fiance’s family continue to also be amazing, loving individuals… I’m just in such a great place right now, you guys. It’s kind of overwhelming in how wonderful it is.

I want to do a proper review of the trial but it really boils down to Gunner getting more exposure, getting more used to having bar-setters sitting within the ring, etc., and working on my nerves so my handling is still together. And my timing. My verbals were a little late, combined with Gunner getting distracted wanting to deliver smooches.

Ring-side he was an angel. He didn’t rocket his cannon ball head into anyone’s face (my biggest fear), he snoozed in his crate like he was born for this (I really, really did not expect this, absolutely expected him to whine & cry the entire time), was wonderful about other dogs snarking at him, didn’t jump on anybody even when his lil fan club of 4-5 surrounded him for pets and ogling. Such a good man! I actually legit feel like I could take him to the ren faire or something if I wanted at this point??? Such a good man.

I have so many feelings after our first trial, too, but I’ll save that for another post! All good feelings, just like, more on the ways relationships with our dogs can grow and things. Ugh, I love my boys.

I don’t remember if there was much else I was gonna say. Gunner and I gotta go to do more trials, basically, and work on exposure. I’ve got proofing to do on our 2o2o, so I don’t have to slow down as much. And as always, our weaves (particularly entries) need tons of work. Everything else is refinement, practice, exposure, time.

Time for a relaxing 4th of July hanging with friends, smokin’ meat, swimmin’ in a pool, eatin’ s’mores, and just not doing anything I don’t feel like doing, lmao.

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”When the weight of the world is on your shoulders, you learn.”


I DONT WANT TO LEARN THEN ❜  the world shouldn’t be her problem, if THIS was the result of dying then she wanted to ACCEPT IT WITH GRACE. it was a lose lose situation, she had been floating around, trying to SEEK OUT the other man with urgency. she doesn’t even know HOW LONG she’s been away, but in the end it all BLENDED INTO ONE MESS, the blurred memory of her death; the HUNT of trying to find a strong soul that she can posses and try and FINALLY figure things out. the body she currently had wasn’t hers, obviously.  however there were a few things that stayed the same: the blue and purple PORTAL MARKINGS across both arms and the iconic COLORED EYES. though instead of a glint, they were dull; wide in a panic at what was currently going on. 

VIOLENT SHAKE RAN THROUGH BODY, this wasn’t something she could get used to ❛ I DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT I HAVE TO DO. ❜ not yet, but everything was too much to deal with right now. at this moment, she just WANTED A HUG

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For the love of cheese, I had forgotten how hard it is to actually. Write something. With a beginning, and an end, and so much of in between to structure. How do you choose words? What’s a plot? Pacing? Character consistency aaaaaaaah n_n

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𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐍𝐈𝐀. awake , distracted . his mind is weighted in thought as he stares blankly at the ceiling above him. the fabric of his sheets stirs slightly, but he remans fixated in his gaze as his mind runs rampant with thoughts now spilling out . it’s unsettling to say the least , an inconvenience when his body yearns for sleep. thoughts stray absently to a life of what could have been, of relationships that could have been forged instead of being cast away like he were some diseased animal. anger surges , a tidal wave of emotion beckoning him to find a release ; sweat beads at his forehead as he climbs out of bed , his fists clenched as he walks to the viewport of his room. a fist slams into the transparisteel , his knuckles surely bruising as he does it again. an angry roar bellows out of his throat, his eyes tearing up as he punches at it over and over until his hand is bloodied and cracked. 

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 , 𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 ! he thinks of her often , his heart piecing together only thoughts of what she was like. there are no stories of her , no mentions or histories of her life . all he’s ever heard was what aria had told him from late night arguments between her parents. a woman whom their father loved , a woman who her mother hated , a mother whose life was taken too soon before she could even lay eyes on the life she had created. 𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐄 . her name breathes life despite him taking it from her . head hangs low, arms tensing as his fingers begin to numb from the pain now searing upwards his arm.                    𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙴𝚁 !     he doesn’t even know what she looks like, nor knows the sound of her voice. there was no mother to soothe his fears or tend to his wounds. a child void of love / a man incapable of showing any. names have power , his own forged at birth. he’s heard stories of his name, how some in some religions it relates to 𝚆𝙰𝚁 , to a ram . it gives him strength , hardens his exterior , because all he has is himself. 

cheeks are flushed , his breathing labored as he examines his battered hand. numbed from his anger, the pain a reminder of the pain he keeps to himself every day. a part of him tells him to let go, to move on…but admittedly he’s TERRIFIED to. what will he do if he moves on ? what will drive him ? he tilts his head back as he tries his hardest to suppress his thoughts. years of meditation have kept his anger at bay , but now it’s a true test to his training.

he moves back to his bed , his body sitting on the edge as he sinks down into the mattress. he swipes a hand through his hair , the sweat staining his hand as he wipes the remnants of tears fallen for the mother he’d never met. a woman who was the only one deserving of them. eyes close momentarily, a small huff exhaling from the hollow of his throat as he finally dismisses the plethora of thoughts that have PLAGUED him. there is only silence now. he refuses to become victim to his thoughts again and it upsets him realizing how weak he is for succumbing to them. in a fit of rage and frustration he brings his vibroblade to his hand , the hilt of his weapon clinging to him selfishly as he stands back upright and hacks at the table nearby. the electric wiring casts a small shadow above his brow, green eyes illuminated by the dim light from his weapon.
𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍. after a good minute or two he stops, his bloodied hand seeping against the hilt as he deactivates it and tosses it to the floor. he falls to his knees, his head burrowing into the bed as he slumps in defeat.  
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