#but who told her stories and brought her up while his own mental faculties were wearing thin

[hylialeia]

you don't get it. she loved him once. she didn't have a maester, she had a brother. he sold their mother's crown to keep them fed. he said Dany, please. she loved him, once.

#I feel like the tragedy of viserys and dany is they really might have been close and loved each other normally of they'd been allowed to #barristan says viserys always seemed aerys's son but when has westeros had any sort of developed understanding of mental illness #dany knew him best and she said the last kindness left him when he sold their mother's crown #it begs the question how much kindness there would have been if they hadn't been children forced out on the streets #a brother dany says never forgave her for their mother's death giving her birth. #but who told her stories and brought her up while his own mental faculties were wearing thin #it doesn't feel like tywin keeping tyrion based on lannister name and blood alone #she loved him once. #that viserys had some inherent lecherous evil in him doesn't feel in line with that to me #it doesn't feel in line with dany please #if ned is the good guardian to tywin's bad one viserys was just a boy who found himself in that role under the worst possible circumstances #and who under duress of those awful circumstances and his own undiagnosed mental illness #(for which he never got any help or support) #failed his sister very very badly #leaving daenerys to feel the hole of his absence even when he was still alive #because she loved him. once #lol anyway! #asoiaf #daenerys targaryen #viserys targaryen

[scabopolis]

😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

Hope that I do this properly 🙃

I would adore a XO between Veronica Mars (LoVe) & Once Upon a Time (C/S).

PROMPT: "I’m really competitive and drunk and I just told a rival that my relationship is way better than theirs, but they don’t believe you exist (but I’m too stubborn to admit they’re right)" OR really anything you'd like. Honestly, I'm dying to see Logan and Killian interact/co-swagger.

And / or another installment of "Come Rain or Come Shine" from In Lovers Meeting because I love it with my whole ❤️.

Thank you so much for doing this. You made my day,

😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

Oh @jjmazzy​ you bring my heart so much joy! I didn’t feel quite up to the task to do a crossover between OUaT and Veronica Mars so I went straight for a OUaT AU. I hope that’s okay? 

This is just a silly little thing that I am realizing only fulfills about 40% of the prompt, but I think it’s cute??

ANYWAY! Enough hemming and hawing xx *** Title: Of Expats and Onion Rings Rating: PG Fandom: Once Upon a Time Pairing: Killian Jones/Emma Swan (mentions of Robin/Marian and a smattering of other characters) Additional Tags: Two out of three of my OUaT fics feature Killian as a bartender, silliness and only half a prompt, probably way more fluff than is medically recommended Word Count: 1,500

Every Friday night, Emma Swan sits on the same barstool at the same bar in the same restaurant. This Friday night has her staring into space as she lets the sounds from the kitchen and the bar swirl around her. It’s busier than usual, with almost all the booths and tables filled and the bar area half-occupied. In fact, when she first walked into the bar, she worried there wouldn’t be a seat for her. But the bartender caught her eye and waved her over, a menu and a glass of water waiting for her in her usual seat at the end of the bar. 

Said bartender slides her an Old Fashioned, extra maraschino cherries on the toothpick per usual. 

She takes a small sip of the drink. “Why is it so busy?” 

Killian’s eyes roam about the room and then come back to rest on her. “Some magazine labeled us the best kept secret in Portland, Maine.” 

“And in doing so—”

“Assured that we would never be a secret again. Yes.” 

“The pitfalls of fame.” 

“Burger or chicken sandwich?” 

“Burger. Any chance—?”

“Aye, probably a very good chance, but only because Graham is sweet on you.” 

Emma feels her cheeks redden. “He’s not sweet on me.” 

“Sure he isn’t.” 

She watches Killian step away from the bar and into the kitchen to talk to Graham. How Graham can manage to listen to anything given the noise of the dining room and the kitchen she’ll never know. Graham and Killian both look over at her. Graham rolls his eyes but nods, and Emma raises her glass in thanks. 

“Okay,” she says to Killian when he’s back at the bar. “He might be a little sweet on me.” She takes a long sip of her cocktail. 

Killian’s brow is knit with concentration. “Long day?” 

She nods. “I had a run in with Zelena.” 

“Ah. The wicked witch of the northeast. What’d she do this time?” The ticket printer next to Killian’s till spits out a long drink order, but he listens even as he mixes drink and pours glasses of wine. 

“She got engaged over the weekend and hasn’t shut up about it. And today, she took great pains to ask me, in front of everyone in the faculty lounge, if I’d be okay if she didn’t give me a plus one.” 

“Bit rude, isn’t it?” 

“Right? But then she kept going on and on asking how long it’d been since I dated someone, and did I know that after 35, forty-five percent of women’s eggs are considered genetically abnormal and her fiancé is a very wealthy furniture manufacturer and she’s certain he has some less attractive less wealthy friends he could introduce me to and on and on and on.” 

“Does she truly want you at her wedding?” 

“Oh, yes. She said she wouldn’t take no for an answer.” She runs her finger along the condensation of her glass. “Which is when I did something very very very stupid.” 

“Smacked her?” 

Emma snorts. “I wish. No I—” Her explanation is interrupted by the arrival of her burger and the plate of special order onion rings. Onion rings which are technically available only as an add-on to the steak sandwich but that Emma has a 80% success rate of cajoling the kitchen to make her a plate of. 

She eats her meal with one eye turned to Killian, waiting for a long enough lull in the drink tickets to finish her story. She’s almost finished her burger when Killian slides another Old Fashioned in front of her.

“What was this very stupid thing you did?” he asks, leaning towards her. 

“I told her I was dating someone.” 

Killian remains where he is but she notices the clench of his jaw. “Ah,” he says. “I was unaware.” He seems to hear his own words as he says them because he cringes. “Not that there’s a reason you would tell me. I mean, we’re friends, but friends in that way that I get you drinks and —”

Emma rests a hand on Kilian’s to stop the rambling. “I’m not. Dating anyone, that is.” 

“Then why—?”

“It just popped out. I’m not sure who was more surprised, me or Zelena.” 

“So, this fake boyfriend of yours. Just who is he?” 

“Well, okay, so this makes sense when you remember it’s Friday, and I knew I’d be coming here.”

“Right,” he says, equal parts cautious and curious.

“I told her my boyfriend was British.” 

Killian shakes his head. 

ExPats has been her weekly haunt for close to a year now and while not everyone who works there is a British expatriate, with Killian as bar manager, Robin as front of house manager, Graham as chef de cuisine, and Phillip as pastry chef, it kind of feels that way.

“And that he had blue eyes,” she continues. 

“Ah, I see,” he says, teasing her. “Are you telling me you’re sweet on Graham too?” 

“Not Graham.” 

“In that case, Marian is likely going to have a big problem with you trying to date her husband.”

“And, uh,” she clears her throat, “I told Zelena he has dark hair.” 

Killian wings an eyebrow. “How dark?” 

“Uh, right about your color probably.” 

“My color?” 

“Probably. I said probably.” 

“Interesting.” Emma takes a sip of her drink. There’s a delicious, hazy feeling brought on from the second cocktail washing through her veins. “So, you and I are dating?” he asks. 

“Stupid. It was so stupid.” 

“I wouldn’t say that. I mean, I’ve been meaning to ask you out for months now. This might be just the little push I need.” 

“What?”

“What?”

“What did you just say?” 

“What now?” he asks in return, the picture of innocence. 

“You’ve been trying to ask me out?” 

“Not as such, no.” 

“Oh.” She sinks back in her seat, disappointed.

“I didn’t want to risk you running scared and not being here every Friday night.” 

Emma perks right back up again. “Oh?” 

“You already said that, love.” 

Emma looked down at her plate, the remnants of the crispy bits from her onion rings on her plate. Something occurs to her then. “Graham doesn’t give these to me because I want them. Does he?” 

“Excuse me?” 

If she’s not mistaken the tips of his ears have gone a little red. She loves his little elf ears. “He makes these for me because you ask him. Don’t you?” 

“I might have told him they bring you an inordinate amount of joy.” He scratches idly at a spot on his arm. “And that it brings me an inordinate amount of joy to see how happy they make you.” 

“Did you know my weekly ExPats date used to be on Wednesdays?” 

She can see him try to mentally adjust to the change of direction in the conversation. “Really?” 

“I only came in a few times, but then one week, I had parent/teacher conferences so I came on Friday. And there you were.” Emma shrugs. “Your Old Fashioned is better than Will’s.” She bites off one of the maraschino cherries from the toothpick. “Your smile is better, too.” 

“Emma, darling, are you flirting with me?” 

“What? Suddenly it’s a crime to flirt with my boyfriend?” 

Killian laughs and it makes her heart hum. She likes the clean line of his throat as he tilts his head back. “Your boyfriend? I don’t suppose you’d want to go out on a date with, then?”

“I’m free on Wednesday.” 

“Funny that,” he says. “That happens to be my day off.” 

“Is it?” 

Emma would be content to sit at this bar all night and let Killian smile at her and make her drinks. It seems like Killian is having similar thoughts, until something seemingly flies out of nowhere to hit him in the back of the head. 

Killian reels around to find Robin standing there, arms folded across his chest. 

“What’d you throw at me, you git?” Killian asks. 

“A dinner roll.” Robin gestures at the drink ticket printer. A ticket printer which has at least 10-tickets waiting to be fulfilled. “Pardon, Emma. Mind if he stops flirting with you long enough to fulfill the drink orders?” 

“You’re fired,” Killian says. 

“For the last time, mate, you can’t fire me. My name is on the lease right next to yours.” 

“Murder it is, then.” 

“Make the nice customers their cocktails and then you can murder me.” 

Robin walks away, and Emma notices it’s not just her at the bar who finds herself charmed by the whole display between the two men. She thinks she might see a small group of women sneakily taking a cell phone video, giggling as they watch it through.

“Emma, I’m sorry, but I—”

She waves him off. “Do your thing. I’ll be here.” 

“Yeah?” he asks, and when she nods, he beams. “Good, because if we’re in a committed relationship I’m probably going to need your phone number.” 

“Pour the drinks, you goon.”

#FOR YOU JJMAZZY #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan #cs fanfiction #ouat fanfiction #p: emma x killian #never stories

[azz-clazz-shit]

Love is War by @/xXKrist_CrosserXx on Wattpad.

[It is based off the anime Love is War. Like the first half of the first episode. And I already asked the author if I could publish it on tumblr and they allowed it.

Italics are the narrator.]

You fall in love with someone...

In a cloudy and dark area,  Sugino stood in front of Kanzaki. "Pl-Please be my girlfriend!" He said bowing down with his hand out for the girl to hold.

...confess that love...

She gasped in surprise with a blush on her face and slowly let her hand rest against the Sugino's palm. 

... and become a couple.

Then all of a sudden, the sun came up, along with doves and a church. Along with many  animals and people that joined in as well.

Everyone would say that's a happy thing.

They all let out cheers as confetti and ribbons were released to the sky. 

But they're wrong!

A gift fell to the floor, breaking it apart.

Even among sweethearts, there exists a distinct power relationship!

She had a sweet smile on her face until all of a sudden, the smile turned to something more dark and sinister. Sugino had a shocked expression on his face as he tried to back away.

A side that exploits and a side that's exploited.

Kanzaki stepped on his head. She was holding chains as she let laughed at his misery.

A side that's devoted, a side receiving devotion. A winner and a loser!

If you're trying to live a noble life, then you mustn't become a loser.

Love is WAR!

Karma stared at Gakushuu with daggers behind his back where as Gakushuu also stared at karma with a gun behind his back.

The person who falls in love loses.

Kunugigaoka Academy!

It's a prestigious school with an ancient and honorable origin, founded as a faculty to educate upper-class children. The focus on nobility is gone,  but many talented students born into wealthy, distinguished families and shouldering the future attend the school.

In the hallway, the students passing by greeted each other.

One girl widened her eyes as she spotted something or someone.

Naturally ordinary people wouldn't be permitted to lead and bring these students together!

A boy with strawberry blonde hair passed through the hallway along with a person with red hair.

"Everyone look." The same girl said. People turned to the direction she told them to look and as they did they were filled with admiration.

"The Student Council members!" She squealed out as Karma and Gakushuu were walking. Gakushuu was in the front, reading a book while Karma was just right behind him.

Karma Akabane, the vice-president of the Student  Council at Kunugigaoka Academy. Total assets: 200 trillion yen. Yes, more than Koro-sensei. He family owns the Akabane group, one of the top four financial conglomerates in Japan, with over 1,000 subsidiaries. 

Benefitting her superior lineage, e was a talented young man, who has attained splendid achievements in various fields. Such as, traditional performing arts, music and martial arts. That is Karma Akabane. And the one Karma supports is...

Gakushuu Asano, the president of the Student Council at Kunugigaoka Academy. He's wise and intelligent, strong and silent. He scores first place in the practice exams. In contrast to the talented Karma, his devotion to studying commands awe and fear. And because of that exemplary behavior, he was selected to be the Student Council  President, despite being relatively new to the school.

The red armband that stays on his sleeve has been passed down from president to president at Kunugigaoka Academy  for all the years it existed!

Both walked down the hallway, hearing the chatters of many other classmates who made a pathway for them to continue walking as they just stared at them. 

"Those two always look so good together." A girl murmured. 

"There's even a dignity to them!" Another girl chattered back.

"Do you think they're dating?" A friend of theirs asked.

"Somebody please ask them!"

"I wouldn't dare!"

"It would be presumptuous to even get close to the. Let alone ask such a question!"

The doors of the Student Council opened. Then, the thud of the door, signaling it's closed brought the chatters of the students to shut down.

Karma poured tea into a cup. "It seems that... there's a rumor going around... that we're in a relationship or some such." He placed the teacup he poured in front of Gakushuu.

"That's normal for their age. You should ignore it." He advised to the red head. 'The fools do enjoy talking about nonsensical love affairs. Although...' His eyes turned to Karma's direction. And with a turn Karma looked at the Asano while holding a tray close to his chest. 'if Akabane demanded that I go out with him, I suppose I would mull it over!' He boasted to himself. 'And I'm certain she has feelings for me. Probably just a matter of time.' He let out a chuckle. 'He should just take off his prideful mask of a perfect, pampered young man and make his blushing appeal to me.' He thought to himself as he imagined Karma all fidgeting with the tray and blushing while facing his face away saying "Pr-president, I need to talk to you." He let out another chuckle. 

'The ignorant children with their common talk.' Karma thought with a smirk on his face. 'Who do they think I am. I'm a member of the Akabane family, the heart of this country. How did they reach the conclusion that I would be dating a commoner?' He took a peek of Gakushuu. 'Well, I suppose there could be a very slight possibility. If he gets on his knees and offered up his body, soul and hometown, I suppose I could train him to be a person who measures up to me.' He let out a light chuckle. 'Certainly, there's no one who doesn't pine for me. It's probably just a matter of time.'

Both were just creepily laughing to themselves in the empty room.

While they were engaging in this kind of thing...half a year has passed! Nothing of note happened during that period.

Both were in the Student Council room doing paper work sitting next to each other. And oddly enough, there was a steamed bun in the middle of the table.

"By the way, today there were snails in the interior of the apple and cherry relief in the courtyard's water fountain." Karma said, trying to start a small talk.

"My younger sister once caught a cold taking a dip in the water fountain, even though it was hot outside. When you act according to emotions, there are no good results." He responded blankly.

During this period of nothingness, their thoughts shifted from 'I wouldn't mind dating him.' to 'Maybe I'll make him confess his love to me.' Meanwhile, one other person had no idea that two super high school-level minds were in engaged in sophisticated strategizing.

A girl with green pigtails sat across from them. "Ah!" Kayano Kaede, the student council secretary of Kunugigaoka Academy. "That reminds me! Listen to this! I won a pair of movie tickets, but my parents won't let me see stuff like that." She said while grabbing something out of the pockets in the school uniform. "So, are you two interested?" The tickets she held up had the name 'Love Refrain' making it pretty obvious that it was a romance movie.

"Hmm," Gakushuu thought about it because Note: he is a cheapskate. "Come to think of it, I have a rare free weekend." He opened up a pocket planner and flipped to a page with nothing scheduled on it. "So, Akabane, why don't we-"

"Supposedly there's a jinx. If two people go see this movie together, they'll become a couple." Kayano interrupted him. 

Gakushuu's face suddenly turned pale and was dripping in cold sweat from hearing that.

"How romantic!" She squealed, squirming in her seat.

"Oh, President." Karma placed the pen he was working with down. He turned to face Gakushuu. "Did you just invite me?"

A drop of Gakushuu's sweat dropped.

"You want to go with me to a movie in which pairs are said to be a couple if they see it together. Oh, dear, that sounds a lot like..."

'Like I'm asking him out on a date!' Gakushuu, screaming mentally with his eyes twitching, finishing the sentence with his thoughts.

The Asano's predicament was, in romance, 'The person who falls in love loses' is the rule! As they were both filled with pride, neither one could confess one iota of romantic interest!

'What should I do? It's blatant. The only I could do is smooth it over!' Gakushuu tried to think of a scenario.

"Why don't we sell the tickets to a scalper?" He suggested.

"Oh, President, I've never seen you so flustered before." Karma said from behind. Karma let out a little smile as Gakushuu's face turned blue. "How cute." Karma said ever so slowly, looking down on him with his dull mercury eyes.

'This is unacceptable! There is no escape route of the path that Asano conquers! You're the one who's going to run, Akabane!' He was determined.

"Yeah, I invited you, Akabane. I don't care about rumors like that, but it sees you do." He grabbed the tickets from Kayano's hand. "Do you want to see this movie with me?" He asked as he waved the ticket in his hand.

That moment, Karma thought...

'After indicating the intent to invite me, he assigned me the choice of whether we see the movie or not. Well played. I could choose to refuse, but then all of y preliminary arrangements up to now would become meaningless. I went to all the trouble of fabricating a prize and putting it in Kaede's mailbox. My plan to aim for one of the president's rare free days would be for nothing! And if I turn him down now, the president may never invite me to anything again! From the viewpoint of a guy, I say no! And I say no to that kind of choice!' He mentally pouted at the last few sentences.

"Yes, well..." Karma finally spoke out. "I can't help believing in stories like that." Karma had a  fucking adorable face that I can't describe so just imagine Karma having the puppy eyes and blushing and everything around him is sparkling. "So if we are going, I'd like you to at least invite me with more passion."

'Innocent' skill implemented!

Because of that skill, Gakushuu was shocked as if he just stepped on a puppy or kitten. As if he had done something that would bring him to all the gates in hell, maybe even more.

It's a  negotiating skill passed on from father to child in the Akabane family. It's said this calculated expression and voice even make the gods' hearts beat faster. In truth, Gakushuu's thoughts were also in disarray. 

'Well, I guess it is an Asano's duty to ask a person out.'

That thought crossed his mind! Of course, Karma didn't let that chance go by! He pursued without a moment's delay.

Karma's eyes hatched onto him like a prey and acted hastily by grabbing his hands, which caused the tickets to fall to the ground. 

"I'm at the age where I'd like to try a little romance too." He looked away as if he was shy and Kara's atmosphere was filled with lovely hearts. 

Gakushuu flinched as a growing blush would soon fill his pale face as his eyes turned wide and wavering. Whereas Kayano just sat there, watching all this happening. But the an idea came into her head as she grabbed something out of her pocket.

This battle of thoughts seemed to be like a chess problem. Kara cornered Gakushuu, who searched for an opportunity to turn it around. The brains of these prodigies raced two steps ahead, clashing with each other as wheels turned faster than any ordinary mind! Karma strengthened his defense! Gakushuu tried to break through! They both constructed a theory leading to a conclusion! The one who completed the theory first would be the winner! 

"Ah!" Kayano voiced out. "If you don't like love stories, you can also use these tickets..." Karma and Gakushuu looked at her as if she somewhat interrupted something. She held out two tickets with both of her hands. "...to go see the movie, 'The Birdie from Tottori.'"

"'The Birdie..."

"...from Tottori?'"

Both said, looking at Kayano with a confused yet shocked expression on their face. 

Chaos Theory. Secretary Kaede's casual remark added an element of chaos into the theories that were all but completed! It was only one element, but like the Big Bang, the chaos increased the possibilities. In order to process the vastly expanded choices, the wheels in their brains spun even faster, going beyond their limits!

Gakushuu's and Karma's head erupted steam from all the thinking they had to do. They sat blankly as if someone just asked them 'Is the sun a planet?'

"Un, is something wrong?" Kayano asked in concern of the two people. 

As a result, their brains craved a great deal of sugar! The only sugar in the Student council office was in a single steamed bun! Thus, whoever obtained the steamed bun would be the winner!

Both rivals dramatically reached for the steamed bun. As soon as it was in the grasps of their hands, Kayano turned to the clock and said "Afternoon classes are about to start." She had the steamed bun in her hand and had a 'nom' of it as Karma and Gakushuu were frozen in place. "Well, see you again after school." she muffled out with the steamed bun still in her mouth as she walked away all innocently. She jumped in the air, letting go of the steamed bun and ate it whole, with a lick of her lips.

Both rival's souls seemed to had left their bodies. They both suddenly collapsed on the table as soon as Kayano left. 

It was a sophisticated battle of the brains, with the ingenuity and pride of these two geniuses on the line. Todays Battle result: Both sides defeated.

#assassination classroom #anime #ansatsu kyoushitsu #assclass #karma akabane #karma assassination classroom #asano gakushuu #karushuu #karma x gakushuu #gakushuu x karma

[paulinedorchester]

Garrett, Leah. X Troop: The Secret Jewish Commandos of World War II. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2021; London: Vintage Publishing, 2021.

(The American cover is on the left, the British on the right.)

Every so often, gifs from something called X Company cross my dashboard. When I came across Leah Garrett’s book X Troop, my first thought was that it must treat the same subject, but it seems that that can’t be the case: Garrett maintains that none of this story has ever been told before, because most of the documentation remained classified until very recently. (She claims to have single-handedly declassified many sealed British military records.) X Troop is about No. 10 (Inter-Allied) Commando, 3 Troop, commonly referred to as X Troop, comprising 87 German, Austrian, and (in a few cases) Hungarian refugees, all but five of them Jewish (at least under Nazi racial laws — I’ll get to that). It is indeed an extraordinary story, and occasionally an infuriating one. Garrett has done a tremendous public service in relating this tale, but the book itself has some puzzling — no, let's be honest, irritating — aspects.

The men who would make up X Troop left their native countries in their mid to late ’teens during the late 1930s, most of them without their parents as passengers on the Kindertransport. They occupied themselves in various ways until the middle of 1940 when, apparently without exception, they were interned on the Isle of Man, in Canada, or in Australia, to which more than 2,500 of them were transported on the H.M.T. Dunera, a dangerously over-crowded liner on which they endured conditions so horrific that the officer in charge — Major William Patrick Scott, a gleeful sadist and anti-Semite — ended up being court-martialed.

It is heartening to be able to report that British public opinion appears to have turned strongly against wholesale internment by mid-1941, but it wasn’t until that December that the internees were released from confinement. Those who had been transported overseas were offered immediate permission to return to the U.K. — if they volunteered for the Pioneer Corps, and I’m grateful to Garrett for providing the first detailed explanation that I’ve seen of what that meant. It wasn’t a good situation: they did menial labor and were bored out of their minds.

In the summer of 1942, they were finally offered an opportunity to join in the fight against the Nazis. This appears to be an instance in which the “great man” theory of history is perfectly valid, Lord Mountbatten being the great man in question. Garrett explains:

Mountbatten made a bold suggestion [to Winston Churchill]: they should create a new special unit of commandos, different from anything used before. Rather than coming from the ranks of the army or the navy, No. 10 (Inter-Allied) Commando would be composed of soldiers made up of displaced nationals such as Poles, Norwegians, and Frenchmen. Each of the units . . . would be used for different missions depending on their native languages. They would be unified by the shared desire to drive the Nazis out of their home countries. These commandos, highly trained and highly motivated, would lead the way when the time came for the Allies’ invasion of Europe.

And that’s exactly what happened. There were French, Dutch, Belgian, Norwegian, Polish, and Yugoslavian troops within No. 10 (Inter-Allied) Commando. There was also a troop known as the “British” troop, made up of Germanophones. That was X Troop (a nickname Churchill gave them). “X Troop would be Britain’s secret shock troop in the war against Germany,” Garrett relates:

They would kill and capture Nazis on the battlefield. But that would not be all. They would also immediately interrogate captured Germans, be it in the heat of the battle or right afterward. The men’s fluency in German would enable them to get essential intelligence that would guide the next moment’s choices rather than having to wait to interview prisoners until they were back at headquarters. ... They would have to be in peak form both physically and mentally. And because they were nearly all Jewish refugees from the Third Reich, they also would need to be diligently protected.

The situation was particularly dire because most were stateless — stripped of their citizenship in Germany or Austria, but refused naturalization by the Home Office. As one officer later recalled, “If any of them were captured in battle and their true identity had been revealed, their fate would have been almost impossible to contemplate.” (Those who chose to remain in the U.K. after the war faced an uphill battle in gaining British citizenship, as Garrett relates. She tells us nothing, incidentally, about Jewish personnel in the other No. 10 (Inter-Allied) Commando Troops.)

The first step was to have them adopt pseudonyms. When they arrived in Aberdovey (now Aberdyfi), Wales, for training they were each given 30 minutes to come up with a nom de guerre. They also had to concoct false backgrounds to explain why they spoke English with foreign accents. One man told the couple with whom he was billeted “that his accent was somewhat peculiar because his father had traveled a lot on business,” an unlikely story that they apparently accepted without question.

X Troop personnel were involved in the Dieppe raid — which may have been a mistake, as the troop was just past its infancy and several of the men were killed — and the Sicily landings and their aftermath, but of course all of that was really just a warm-up for the invasion of Normandy and, beyond that, Germany. More than half of the book is devoted to this. Assigned to various units, nearly all of the commandos landed at Sword Beach on June 6th, 1944, and proceeded into Central Europe, achieving victory after victory. Garrett places great emphasis on anger as their motivator: anger at the disruption of their lives and at their uncertainly over the fate of their parents and other relatives.

Leah Garrett is American; she is also Jewish. Like the overwhelming majority of my fellow Jews in this country, she is incapable of acknowledging the possibility of viable Jewish life outside of the U.S. or Israel. Her main piece of evidence for this view, which she hammers home repeatedly, is the fact that all but three of the surviving X-Troopers (22 were killed in action) chose to continue using their noms-de-guerre after the war — and, as she is at pains to point out, all of those who resumed their original names ended up emigrating to the United States! (The book’s excellent index helps the reader keep track of who was whom.) It’s true that names hold an important place in Jewish culture, but coming from someone using Garrett as a surname, her attitude comes across as either oblivious or chutzpadik, I’m not quite sure which. She also seems not to know that, historically at least, Jewish immigrants to Britain have changed their names with an assiduousness that makes the same phenomenon in the U.S. look like a mere blip.

Garrett also informs us, in the written equivalent of hushed tones, that some of the men who settled in the U.K. after the war married gentile women and brought up their children as at least nominal members of various Christian bodies. I share her discomfort with this, to be sure, but in order to maintain her shocked, shocked, stance she has to ignore something that she has in fact explained at some length in the book’s early chapters: a significant percentage of the future X-Troopers had only one or two Jewish grand-parents apiece, were brought up as Lutherans or Roman Catholics, and had absolutely no idea that they had any Jewish forebears until Nazi racial laws forced the issue into view. While I’ve known quite a few converts to Judaism whose initial impetus was the discovery of Jewish ancestry, it’s a bit much to expect that everyone will react that way. On the other hand, it’s dispiriting to learn that the inscription on the monument to X Troop that was raised in Aberdyfi in 1999 does not include the words Jews or Jewish.

Garrett is Professor of Jewish Studies and Director of the Jewish Studies Center at Hunter College, part of the City University of New York (CUNY), a post she has held since 2018; she previously taught at the University of Denver and Monash University. As a former CUNY faculty member myself, I’m in a position to tell you that (a) even as a full professor, she won’t have been hired with tenure, and (b) this book probably won’t help her to achieve it. It’s a great read on an important topic and represents prodigious research, but as a work of scholarship it has several marks against it. It doesn’t come from an academic publisher. It has only a partial scholarly apparatus — end notes, but no bibliography, or even a list of the many abbreviations used in the notes. Those notes aren’t always as useful as one would like, I might add: after relating that some of the men interned in Australia chose to remain there permanently, Garrett announces that they “would forever change the landscape of Australia. They would be known as the Dunera boys and would become leaders in the arts, sciences, culinary arts, and industry during the twentieth century,” but fails to give us any clue as to where we can go to find out more.

She also adopts an informal writing style that alternates between the faintly slangy (“All the evidence I’ve found points to ... ”) and the unnecessarily dramatic: two key chapters are written entirely in the present tense, a strategy that would normally be after my own heart, but which feels contrived in this context. It also seems not to be the case that none of this has ever been written about previously, as Garrett asserts. (Last but not least, Garrett recently resigned from CUNY’s faculty union, which may end up affecting her status there, as tenure recommendations are made by union members.)

Mixed feelings, then; but the book is worth reading, and I can recommend it.

#world war ii #u.k. armed forces #refugees #historical accounts #a long post for sunday #longer than i had intended in fact #with some very long paragraphs #book review #recommended with reservations

[percywinchester27]

A lot like ‘Us’

Word count: 3.8K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Warnings: Fluff

Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is eager and honestly, still in awe that she managed to get herself an acceptance from Stanford Law School. On the face of it, her life seems as put together, mysterious and independent as one might hope for. On the insides, she carries the burden of past that haunts her till date. Seemingly, she’d left it all behind; that is until she sets foot in the class of the Law School’s youngest, most promising professor.

Warnings: None for this chapter

A/N: I am so excited to share this story. I am really loving it <3 This is also written for @sdavid09​ ‘s Tale Teller’s 2020 Bingo Challenge.

Beta: My amazing girls @deanssweetheart23 and @anathewierdo Thank you!! I love you both <3

Finally the last of the boxes had been pushed up the five stories of stairs and into your living room. The guy from the movers quickly accepted the payment and disappeared before you could even utter “thanks.” You didn’t blame him. Anyone would be over eager to leave after hauling boxes up the stairs given that the lift randomly stopped working. 

You were just relieved that none of his men got stuck inside. That would have been awful. He complained about the sort of shitshows the rental buildings in the locality were, but all things considered, he had been pretty nice about the untimely disaster.

You closed the door behind and slid to the floor, glad that you didn’t have to smile for strangers anymore.

The lift might have been a shitshow, but the flat you were renting was really nice. It had two bedrooms, a living room and a small kitchenette. The flat had only one bathroom, but the grand balcony on the other side of the living room all but made up for it. You got off the floor and made your way towards the balcony. It overlooked a small meadow of sorts, and the entry wall beyond it was high and covered with thick vines. Right in the middle, was a small fountain in the shape of a mermaid, carved out of what must have been once pristine white marble. The mermaid had a mysterious look on her face, like she knew your secret, and was contemplating if it would fetch a good gossip. In her hand, she held a beautifully carved flask, from which the water fell into the basin below. 

It was like being in your own space, enclosed in this beautiful Caribbean meadow. That was until a voice called your attention.

“Hey!”

You looked sideways to find an Asian guy who couldn’t have been more than 20 waving at buy. You waved back awkwardly.

“So, I see you’ve met judgy Judy!”

“Who?”

He tilted his head towards the mermaid. “That’s judgy Judy.” he said, smiling. “If you happen to walk past her after 12 in the night, you are bestowed upon the judgiest of looks. And if you’re drunk…” he let out his breath in whoosh.

You laughed, then were surprised at the sound of it. You didn’t laugh this easily.

“My name’s Kevin,” the boy said. “Kevin Tran. Aren’t you the new girl renting 502? Meg?”

You shook your head. “I’m Y/N, actually. Meg won’t be here until Wednesday.”

You knew nothing about your roommate except that she loved her privacy. That was her only demand in the advert. That she was looking for someone who knew of basic hygiene and didn’t poke their nose in her business. You couldn’t argue with that.

He smiled, “So what brings you here, Y/N?”

Before you could answer, Kevin put out his hands excitedly. “Wait! let me guess. You’re a pastry chef, looking to start your own little bakery in this quaint little town.”

You rolled your eyes. That was about as far as he could get from why you were here. 

He caught on. “No… no… you’re an artist? Looking for inspiration?”

You pursed your lips, trying not to smile. “I’m actually starting the year at the Law school.”

Kevin whistled. “Law school, huh?” Then added, “Hey, what do I know? I’m just an engineer!”

You sized him up. He looked too young to be a professional.

He raised his hands up, “I know, I know what you’re thinking,” he said and you instantly felt guilty about judging anyone by their looks. Judgy Judy would be proud. 

“You’re thinking why would I live out of the city,” he said and you breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s ‘cause San Francisco is boring. Besides, I get to work from home a lot, and it’s an hours drive anyway.”

“Seems fair,” you said. He didn’t ask you why you weren’t staying in the official campus dorms. Maybe he had already done the mental math and figured out that the Law building was less than a ten minute walk from here. Besides, most of Stanford was a student town anyway. This building was closer to the college than even the Faculty residence.

“Hey, Y/N,” Kevin said genially, “Why don’t you join us for dinner? It’s just me and my roommate Jack. We can order some pizza and pop some beers. It’ll be cool. That way you don’t have to worry about cooking in the middle of all that unpacking.”

It was starting to get chilly outside, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, “I’m not much a drinker.”

“That’s fine,” he said, unfazed. “We have soda, if you want.”

You hesitated, “Thanks, Kevin, really. Maybe some other time.”

You waved at his somewhat confused face and stepped inside, closing the glass doors of the balcony behind you.

If Kevin thought you were weird, he’d get used to it like everyone in your life. He would get used to not talking, stealing glances and the fact that you weren’t exactly the sort of person people wanted around in fun times. He’d learn to ignore you like everyone else.

Most of the weekend was spent trying to put your room together. There really wasn’t much to your belongings except books and some clothes, which you arranged as neatly as you could. If the blaring music on your speakers disturbed Kevin and his roommate, neither of them complained. 

On Monday, you attended orientation lectures by a few alumni and the Dean. It all seemed like a dream to you. On Tuesday, they had a pre-law show you around in groups, the grand campus that was Stanford University. By the end, you were biased about the Law building being the best, maybe because you had dreamt of being here day and night for as long as you could remember. The Law school wasn’t a grand facade. It was functional and built in a pale beige sandstone which had weathered wonderfully over the years. The corridors were breezy and opened on to landscaped spill out spaces … and the building itself seemed to breathe through the tactfully placed fenestrations. 

The pre-law showing your group around the campus talked and talked and talked, while you followed her dumbfounded at the expanse of it all. One day, you’d get used to this, you knew that… but that day was nowhere near close. In fact, it had barely even registered that you had done it! That you had actually been accepted into Stanford and that you were going to be a lawyer!

Stanford had twenty libraries. Twenty. The place that you absolutely fell in love with was the Cecil H. Green library. The high, vaulted ceiling made you feel like you had stepped right into the Victorian era. The rows and rows of shelves absolutely boggled your mind. You could live here and it still wouldn’t be enough. 

You touched the richly colored mahogany table in the library and unwillingly, like it was the most inevitable thing in the world, you thought of him. The look in his eyes when he talked about this very place. “Y/N,” he’d say “You’re gonna fall in love with the smell of those books!”

You immediately yanked your hand from the table, as if a current had passed through your body. The girl next to you, looked over. “Everything alright?” she asked kindly.

You nodded and moved away from the piece of furniture. You couldn’t think about him now, not here. So, you took a couple of deep breaths and closed your eyes, focussing on the things around you, the long shelves, the smooth tables. And it eased some, you could feel your chest constrict a little.

Meanwhile, the guide talked on.

“Water?” The girl next to you offered as you all stepped out of the library. You needed it, but that meant talking to her, and you weren’t sure you were up for that.

“C’mon, take it,” she insisted, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You took the bottle and splashed some water on your face, then took two gulps, feeling better immediately. The water tasted funny, but in a refreshing way.

You looked at what was inside.

The girl laughed. “It’s cucumber water,” she said. “I figured we’d be doing a lot of walking today and this is a saviour.”

“Thanks,” you said, actually looking at her properly. She had a slim build, with dark brown hair and eyes. Despite knowing that they would be walking a lot, she was dressed in a black pencil skirt and a flowy baby blue blouse, with matching heels. She was carrying all that effortlessly without breaking a sweat, while you were wearing your most worn pair of comfortable jeans, a sweater and sneakers. You did notice that she looked really pretty and when she smiled, it reached her eyes.

“Better?” She asked

“Much. Thank you.”

She put her hand forward. “I’m Madison. Madison Maxwell.”

“Y/N Y/L/N.” You shook her hand.

The others had already gone ahead while she had waited for you to catch your breath and drink water. You started walking together.

“So, excited for the classes to begin?” She asked peppily and you nodded.

You figured that Madison was the sort to fill every silence with words. After a while, she was going to be really disappointed in you for your lack of responses or initiating a conversation.

As you walked, Madison told you everything that she could about herself in the span of the couple minutes it took you to reach the rest of the group. She was born and brought up in Pasadena, to a lawyer dad and a socialite mom. “I feel like my mom was born as a socialite! Her first words were probably, ‘well, hullo, Dahling!”

You laughed, and encouraged by your reaction she continued. She was a pre-grad in sociology from USC, where she was voted the most likely to charm people with her smile (seemed fair). She had two older brothers both lawyers in their Dad’s bigass firm, and they lived in this huge house overlooking a hugeass swimming pool. Her words, not yours.

The fact she was rich was pretty much in your face, from the gucci bottle filled with cucumber water to the Prada shoes, but it wasn’t because she was pushing it… she was just used to it.

“What about you?” She asked as you reached the group. “Where are you from?”

“Kansas,” you said.

“And?” She coaxed good naturedly.

“And I did my pre-law from University in Texas.”

“That’s nice. What about your parents?”

You looked down. “They died in a car crash when I was little.”

“Oh no!” Madison gasped. She looked like she was about to tear up. 

“It’s okay,” you said quickly, offering her a smile. “I’ve made my peace with it.” It was true. You’d had twenty odd years to adjust to it. It was a way of life now.

Madison still gave you an apologetic smile, but thankfully, for the rest of the tour she didn’t talk much. It wasn’t that Madison wasn’t charming, but everyone charming usually expected the same from you… and you weren’t. Why pitch her up for disappointment?

“So, see you tomorrow, Y/N?” She asked, tentatively.

Poor girl, you thought. “See you,” you said. “It was nice meeting you, Madison.”

“Likewise,” she said brightly.

You watched her walk over to another group of girls, all dressed fancily,who squealed when they saw Madison. You shook your head, smiling to yourself that Madison had found some kindred spirits.

It didn’t explain why she had been so nice to you all day though. If she already had friends, she didn’t have to care about you, right?

It took you a while to figure out which was your exit. Roaming around in the campus as it was dark, was anxiety inducing. Yet, a voice in the back of your head kept telling you how the Oval was at the centre of the campus, and the Law building was just to the south east. You didn’t want to hear the voice, hell you didn’t even want to think about whom the voice belonged to, but slowly and surely it guided you back to the gate closest to your flat. Once you reached it, you made a run for it, not stopping till you were inside the tall building gate and into the meadow. You ran into Kevin.

“Y/N!” He said, “I didn’t see you there.” Next to him was another boy, dirty blonde hair and a smiling face. “This is Jack. Remember, I told you about him?”

Jack took one look at you and concern rippled across his face, “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, just tired,” you whispered.

Before any of them could say another word, you dashed up the stairs. 

“The lift is working again!” Kevin called after you, but you bolted into your room without halting. Once you were inside, you locked the door behind and you rolled into a ball on your unmade bed, finally letting the tears make their way. 

You knew this was coming, you knew it the moment you set foot in this town that it would remind you of him… the way he smiled, the way he ran his hand through his hair when he was nervous… the way you loved him. Over the years you had trained yourself to snap out of it whenever your thoughts even inched towards him. You could shut it off and just stop thinking. It had taken years and years of practice, but finally you could lock him in the darkest part of your mind and not look at it. Not feel anything for him. In return, you barely felt anything at all. About anything, about anyone. 

In the long run, you preferred that bargain, though. The numbness.

And after spending so much time in it, the numbness felt homely. It cushioned you against the pain and the memories. So what if it cushioned you against feeling anything at all, too? At least this way you were functional. You could get through the day and be productive. Besides, who did you have to live for except yourself, anyway? So it was okay to just survive. To just feel enough for you to feel human. At one point even that had felt like an impossible feat.

You tried not to remember the days and nights wishing for the endless pain to end, wishing to just give up on everything, on life. At least now you didn’t feel that way. You had re-learned to aspire, to work hard. You didn’t feel hopeful anymore, but you had a goal set in mind and you were willing to work as hard as you could to fulfill it. 

Most of the time, you managed to block out all unwanted noise in your head and outside, and just concentrate on surviving. It will have to suffice till one day you could actually start living.

But once in a while the box cracked, like today, and all the memories came spinning out. In the library, somehow Madison’s prattling had kept you from spiralling. Now, there was no one to help. The thoughts simply overwhelmed you and you shut your ears, rolling into a smaller ball, as flashes of light from that night flared behind your closed eyes, the rain pouring down on you and all the blood. The thing you remembered most clearly was the cold. The skin-numbing, bone chilling cold as the water soaked through you.

You woke up to the blaring alarm. It was 7:15 in the morning.

“Shit!”

You jumped out of bed and then immediately slipped, landing on the floor with the thud. You cursed again as you got to your feet and rushed into the bathroom. Not only had you overslept, but last night you hadn’t even gone through your schedule of classes and lectures. The plan had been to wake up at 6, and go through the schedule once more, which you should have had studied last night, wear the perfect first day clothes that you should have picked out last night, and reach early to the classroom which you should have already figured out before 8 in the morning. 

At 8 in the morning, however, you were still trying to shimmy yourself into the only formal skirt you owned. You quickly threw on the first decent shirt that you could find and tied your hair in a ponytail, then made your way out of the apartment without breakfast. Your bag was threatening to spill out the laptop and notebook you carried as you all but ran across the street to get to the campus. 

By some extreme luck, you remembered the building perfectly. With a quick look through the schedule and the help of a very offended senior, you finally made your way to the class, completely out of breath by 8:20. Even though your hair was falling out of the ponytail, you were covered in sweat and your shoes were permanently damaged, you were miraculously ten minutes early. 

The classroom was huge and circular. It was stepped upwards, with desks curving around to focus downwards on the podium at centre, right underneath the big projecting screen mounted on the opposite wall. If you had entered the normal way, you would have probably entered through one of the two doors at the top of the class, but with your luck, you had obviously entered through the one door at the bottom, presumably which the faculty used. This way you had to climb up all the way to an empty spot with over a hundred people staring down at you in your hassled state. 

“Smooth,” a blonde guy from the third row muttered as you began climbing.

“Y/N! Hey, Y/N,” a voice called. “Over here!”

You saw Madison waving at you from the corner seat on one of the top rows. A few people were looking at where the commotion was coming from. To avoid more of it, you hurried towards her.

“Saved you a seat!” she said, moving her books from the seat next to her, to make space.

“Thank you,” you said gratefully. The three girls seated on the other side of her, gave you a curious look. The sort that is given to old cheese, wondering if it has gone stale.

“Girls,” Madison said, “This is Y/N. Y/N, these are Lacey, Meredith and Rebecca.” In your harrowed state, you only remembered that the brunette with long hair was Lacey.

“Aren’t you excited?” Madison asked, smelling like she had stepped straight out of a beautiful orchard, while you were sweating bullets.

“Mhmm,” you said. Madison went on to talk about how excited she was for this particular lecture, while you hurriedly set out your laptop, and readied your papers.

“He’s just so dreamy and hot,” Madison gushed and the other girls nodded in agreement. “I can’t believe we have him for the first lecture.”

“How are we supposed to concentrate?” One of the girls wailed.

Like that was really a problem. 

“Civil Procedure,” you read from the time table, quickly going through the syllabus, not even looking at the professor’s name the girls were raving about. In your experience, the content mattered, not who was teaching it.

There was a sudden ruffling, and everyone quieted at once.

“Sorry, I’m a little late,” an apologetic voice said.

It was 8:32, you thought absentmindedly, as you looked up from the papers, that was hardly late. That voice felt like long forgotten music.

The professor was facing the board, printing “Civil Procedure.”

When he turned, the floor dropped from under your feet.

He wore a light grey suit, with a striped tie and a white button up shirt, and stood tall against the black board. His soft brown hair was long and silky, curling slightly at his collar, and even though from this far you couldn’t see the colour, his hazel eyes were warm and slightly abashed.

“My name’s Sam Winchester,” he said, the words each felt like a separate stab to your gut. “I'll be taking the Civil Procedure Module for this semester and the next. And, I’m usually never late… especially in the courtroom.”

Some laughter ran around the room. He gave it a minute acknowledging it with a smile, then opened his laptop, and a tech hurried over to set it up.

“While Paul here is helping me with the wires, let me introduce myself more fully,” he said, leaning against the table. “I did my pre-law from right here at Stanford, so I’m still your senior. You all better be respectful.” More laughter rang around. “Then, I went to Yale for law school. I’ve practiced in New York for two years before moving to California, and practicing in LA for a few more. I currently work as the Senior Associate at Acton Griswold in San Francisco. You guys heard of it?”

“Is he kidding?” Lacey whispered. “Who hasn’t heard of Acton Griswold?”

“You’re even paying attention to what he’s saying?,” said the girl next to Lacey. “I can’t get over the way he looks. What is he? 30? Hot damn!”

“I have to impress him,” Madison muttered, though her voice had become softer. “I need that internship at Acton Griswold.”

On the podium Paul was done setting up the laptop, and Sam walked over to it opening the presentation. He pulled out frameless glasses from the box and slid them up his long pointed nose.

“Damn!” Lacey said again.

Your vision was tunneling in, and the room was spinning around you. Nothing made sense anymore. Not where you were, not what you were doing. Nothing mattered except the fact that he was standing there, right in front of you. 

You could hear the rustling of papers, and the tap-tap of fingers hitting keys. while you just sat there numbly, not knowing what to do, not caring what was happening, or how long it had been.

“Y/N? Y/N?” Madison was calling your name. “Are you okay? You look really clammy.”

Maybe she had been calling you for a while because a few people ahead of you turned to look, visibly annoyed. and it was in slow motion, almost reluctantly, as if to seek the source of disturbance that Sam’s eyes found you. 

A second passed and you could see them widen, then freeze in absolute shock. Unadulterated and profound shock. 

“I’m sorry, I need to go,” You muttered, then grabbed your laptop and your bag and rushed out of the door at the top, without caring about the papers you had spilt… and bolted across the corridor, without a sense of direction till you found yourself in a toilet cubicle, locked and in hysterics. 

This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not ever. 

You had closed that chapter of your life, fled as far away as you could and yet, and yet he was right here. Sam was so close to you, how had your heart not known?

***************************************

A lot like ‘Us’ Masterlist

A/N 2: SO WHAT DO YOU GUYS THINK? Are we off with a good start?

PLEASE PLEASE please let me know?

If you want be tagged, you can send me an ask or add yourself to the taglist here.

Or here’s my side blog @percywinchester27-writes. You can give that blog a follow and turn the notifications on to know about updates.

ALLU taglist:

@feelmyroarrrr​  @gabavaldman​  @im-a-light-child​  @cosicas-cuquis​  @bllyjianne​  @hoboal87​  @i-is-for-inspiring​  @daughterleftbehind​  @wackiekebab​  @mylovelydame21​   @dancing-the-hellfire-rumba​  @superbadassnatural​  @bellastellaluna​  @babypink224221​  @badlittlehabit99​  @anathewierdo​  @sams-bubblegum-bitch​

#sam winchester x reader #sam x reader fluff #reader x sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester fanfic #sam winchester fluff #lawyer!Sam #professor!Sam #Ana writes allu #anawrites #anawritesspn #q

[liw-the-melancholic-apple]

The first one  - Bonusscenes in traditional written word

This is a smau and a zukoXreader, although i haven't decided how this ends yet.

Y/n has recently transferred to Ba Sing Se from Omashu university and meets the gaang through a schoolproject they do with sokka and suki.

Masterlist

Bonus 3: Partytime

It was a short walk from the metrostation to the park in which the party was held. Suki and Sokka had explained to you that their friend Haru had helped organise it. Apparently, it was a thing the Psychology department threw every year – that was to say the students of the Psych faculty. Haru was one of them and deeply involved in Campus life.

Sokka had said that you were going to be gobsmacked and mind boggled by the professionality with which the party would be set up and you had laughed. Shame on you for not believing him. He had been right.

The park was obviously of the public variety and so you expected a couple speakers, and crates of beer strewn about. What you didn’t expect were fairylights in every last tree and bush, a DJ set-up of the highest quality and amazing sound from all the speakers one could imagine, or three tents with bars in them, where drinks were reasonably priced. You hadn’t been expecting the benches, couches and tables made from pallets used in warehouses or the abundance of cushions and pillows. You hadn’t expected the camping chairs and the make-shift firepit. It was insane and you stood in awe as you failed to follow Suki.

“You coming?”, Aang laughed before he grabbed you by the hand. You first made your way to one of the bars, then, equipped with alcoholic goodness, Suki introduced you to Haru, who turned out to be an ex-roommate of Zuko’s. He also played guitar in what he called an inappropriately ambitious garage band, which intrigued you. But before you really got to interview him on any of that, he was disappeared by a friend of his.

Suki found a couple of her Kyoshi sorority sisters and introduced you to them and their partners. It turned out that your initial idea of fraternities and sororities was wrong: They were not all terrible and not all ‘brothers’ and ‘sisters’ were stuck up snobs. Suki was the best example of that. She was amazing and clever and smart. And very kind and not at all elitist. After all she was the one who invited you to this shindig. Her ‘sisters’ and their boyfriends and girlfriends, some of which were also in fraternities and sororities, were as kind and open as Suki was and you spent a good portion of your night learning names, trying to remember the history of the different organisations and their respective significance to BSSU, being taught simple fight stances and moves from the Kyoshi’s and laughing.

You laughed a lot. Only halfway through the night, hours later, after Sokka had joined you again, when you had lost all sense of being a stranger, you realised how desperate you’d been for this kind of interaction. This kind of laughing, dancing, making fun of people and talking bullshit. How much you had needed to be part of a group. How lonely you had actually been.

But at this moment, while you were trying to not spit out your beer as you listened to a story about Suki, expertly told by Mamoto, who was either someone’s boyfriend or someone’s brother – who knew? There were so many people and so many connections and a good deal of friends dating a friend’s ex – you didn’t think about what you’d needed for two months. You thought about … nothing? Everything? Really, you just let your thoughts drift, like you drifted yourself. From conversation to conversation, from person to person, from group to group, from subject to subject.

As nervous as you’d been standing in front of the dragon, as relaxed you were now. You didn’t really care about the music or the drink you had in your hand – you were not overdoing it, though, you were still new and needed to make a good expression – you cared about the company. And the company was excellent.

Bian, one of the Kyoshi-sisters, and her girlfriend Tuyet had claimed you after they found out about Gray Sky.

“A band? Like a proper band?”

“I mean that depends on your definition of ‘proper’ but, yeah? There were several people, playing several different instruments in order to create a coherent song.”

“Which means a proper band!”, Tuyet assured you.

“Have you ever played at a place? Or like an actual concert?”, Bian wanted to know.

“We used to play Friday nights at a bar.”

“Proper band!”, they both smiled at you.

“You should meet TaMing. She was a Kyoshi-sister before she dropped out of college. She plays in the same band as Haru.”

“Oh, I’ve met him. Seems nice.”

“Right, right. He is. Usually he brings his guitar to these things. At some point he will sit at the bonfire over there “, Bian explained, “and play some typical bonfire music. He’s good. You should go over there.”

“Not right now, though. I would first like to know what you think of Sokka!” Bian’s face was hard to read. You couldn’t tell if she liked or hated him but in a sense you also didn’t care. Your answer came instantly: “He’s great!” He was. A funny kind person with some brains. Admittedly, he didn’t look like a genius or ever put a lot of emphasis on how much excelled academically, but that didn’t take his intellect away. His jokes and nonchalant-ness were inviting and genuine and deceptively ‘hid’ his smarts. Sokka wasn’t intimidating when you first met him, but that didn’t mean that you shouldn’t be scared of him.

You were quite certain that you wouldn’t want to cross Sokka. You’d be dead. You’d be killed until dead. But it would look like an accident…

“Don’t you think he is a bit too goofy?”

“No, I don’t. I mean he sure is goofy, but I find that to be delightful.”

“Give it a couple more weeks.”

“You don’t like Sokka?”

“No, I like him! I just also find him annoying, I could do without all the dumb jokes. But he’s good to Suki and really, that’s the only thing that matters…If he makes her happy who am I to complain about some goofy puns, you know?” You liked Bian.

So, a little later you followed her to the camping chairs by the bonfire. This is where you met back up with Toph, who you now realised you hadn’t seen in a hot minute. Just like a bunch of the others. In the beginning of your little Kyoshi-session you had all but held hands with Suki and Katara, but Suki soon left you in order to wash someone’s head about their head – Wan is that you? In Ba Sing Se? – so you held on to Katara who vanished quickly after Suki with what looked like Aang.

Now you were reunited with Toph you brought out the bottle of Banana liqueur you got earlier that day. Toph tried some and declared you crazy. It was an acquired taste. While you were drinking your respective drinks Toph explained the general basics of the group to you:

“Well, you obviously know that Sokka and Suki are dating. That’s a nice spot to start. Suki is new, Sokka is old, meaning that I knew Sokka before I knew Suki. Suki just is Sokka’s girlfriend to me, you know. He went off to college and weeks later we were hearing about this badass girl he tried to get to like him. It was very entertaining.” You chuckled at the idea of Sokka trying to impress Suki before they were dating.

“Anyways, I heard about Suki because I was friends with Sokka in High School. Sort of. I was friends with Aang, who was friends with everyone in High School, because, well you’ve met him. He’s Aang. He’s friends with people. But he was pretty close to Katara and Sokka, after they met. And us four kinda became our own little core group.

So, Sokka, Katara, Aang and I are all old, while Suki, Zuko, Haru and you would be new.”

“Well”, you interrupted her, “I wouldn’t dream to compare my standing with you core group to Suki’s position. I just met you. She’s been dating Sokka for how long?”

“2 years 10 months.” That was quick. She just knew that. Off the top of her head. You made a mental note.

“And Zuko has probably been a part of your group for a while as well, right?”

“More or less since after he graduated. His time at uni did him well, I’d say. We ran into him around new year’s of his freshman-year here”, she whirled her arms around, hitting Tuyet in the face.

“Sorry, I thought you were further away. Anyways,  he started being nice and I think we ended up together on New Year’s. And after that he bonded with Sokka in his first year here. So, you know, Suki – Zuko – Suki -Zuko – about the same time they joined.

And back then Zuko lived with Haru, so that’s how we met him.”

You kept drinking and chatting until Sokka burst onto the scene looking for Suki. When he couldn’t immediately find her, he asked you for the bottle of rum you still had.

“Listen, it’s late and I’m not waiting for my illusive girlfriend to bring me a drink, to start catching up!”, Sokka yelled after you commented on how much of the bottle he had emptied in just his first gulp. “I asked Suki to get my drink ready and await me, but she ignored that… No, Toph. No.”

He held the bottle out of her reach and twisted his shoulder weirdly, so that she’d never guess where exactly the rum was. He kept cradling the bottle while Haru and some friends found their way to the bonfire and – like Bian had promised – broke out the guitars. They were good. Really good. You hummed along to some of the songs and joined the choir of Toph, Sokka, Suki, Zuko and a bunch of strangers in the choruses of most others.

Suki took the bottle off Sokka, nearly as soon as she arrived, but when the 90’s boyband hits sounded through the park, Zuko gave it back to him.

“Poor Suki, will not agree with that”, you grinned as he caught you watching him.

“Maybe, but you will. Believe me”, Zuko said with a smirk and a wink.

He was right. With another two gulps of rum, Sokka was ready to not only sing solos but also presenting his version of well-known boyband-choreographies.

“You still judging me?” Zuko leaned over and gestured for the bottle of Banana liquor.

“Yes, sorta. I’m still feeling for Suki. She will not have a good time tonight.”

“You really underestimate Sokka, you know. He’ll be just fine. And so will she. Maybe a little exhausted because he’s going to be full of energy all night.”

“What about the hangover tomorrow?”

“They don’t live together.”

“Sounds like a technicality…”

“Meh”

With a look Zuko asked permission to try the Banana liquor and, with a look, you gave it to him. His face twisted in various amusing ways before nodding.

“Not what I expected. Gotta say it. But I think I may like it.”

“Take like, two more sips. You should be a fan after.”

He followed your instructions and grinned at you. “It is unique, I give you that.”

“You can always give me the bottle back.”

He kept it. What happened to it, you didn’t know but it never found it’s way back to you. Zuko either emptied it or he passed it on to someone. Not that you cared. Suki had reluctantly joined Sokka in his choreography and, surprisingly, so had Bian and Tuyet and some other Kyoshi sisters. Tuyet was pulling you from your seat to join. Toph pushed you off the chair and when all said and done you had been dancing stupid choreos of Sokka’s for about 80 minutes and missed Zuko leaving. Thus was created the mystery of the Banana liquor. 

The night ended late. It was early morning and the birds were chirping when you carried the last of the boards that had made up the bars to the van. It would be locked and collected tomorrow by some Psychology student. Haru offered his parents’ house as refuge for the night as a reward for helping to tidy up. You all had gladly agreed. Sokka was still singing 90’s anthems to entertain you all and you weren’t the only ones tidying up. It was rather fun, really.

When you arrived at the house you didn’t really take in the details. You were shown a room and fell into the bed, fast asleep before your head hit the pillow.

#atla fanfic #atla zuko #smau #avatar: tla #zuko x y/n #zuko x reader

[bookish-but-corruptible]

Look at what I found in my hard drive

(Remus/Severus, post Battle of Hogwarts)

Remus was sent to the Dae Llwellyn ward, it turned out, on accident.

Amid the stream of bodies being sent to St. Mungos after the battle at Hogwarts, they had seen yet another "werewolf" scrawled in his file and hastily redirected his unconscious body to the ward for serious bites.

By the time they had realized their error, they couldn't be arsed to care. He was a quiet, unobtrusive patient- more plainly, he didn't regain consciousness until his second week in the ward.

The Killing Curse, even one that a patient had not borne the full brunt of, was nothing to sneeze at.

When Remus did finally wake, alive and still mostly paralyzed, he wished he hadn't. In all his scenarios of the possible outcomes of this war, he had not imagined that Dora, young and quick to laugh, might die while he lived. He should have known better- hadn't it been him, sick, impoverished, mistrusted, who had lived while James and Lily Potter had died?

He realized, as he lay there day after day, fingers slowly beginning to twitch, to grasp spoons, that he hadn't had a contingency plan for living. The hospital bill alone would be more than he could pay off in a lifetime, and now that his face had been plastered across the Prophet the prospect of paid work was nearly impossible. He could attempt to make his way back to India if Umbridge's restrictions were repealed, but it seemed a bit cruel to Harry.

Nearly every day since he'd first been committed to the ward, Harry had come by to visit, at first simply to keep up a stream of words even though Remus could not speak. He told him about the demise of Voldemort, the rebuilding of the castle, and one day came in with a look of bewildered pride and announced Ginny had agreed to marry him.

Remus had managed a hoarse congratulations, even as he felt a stab of pain- he imagined he'd worn nearly the same expression when he had realized Dora loved him. The simultaneous sense of paternal pride was why he could not leave England- he was Harry's last link to his parents, and after so much loss he couldn't truly entertain the thought of buggering off as he had in 1981. He would stay. He would figure something out. He had plenty of time to worry himself sick in the meantime.

Naturally, it was Harry who told him of Snape's hand in the downfall of the Dark Lord, the vicious attack he'd endured and very nearly died from at the fangs of his serpent. Predictably, Severus had a contingency plan- after seeing so many who had betrayed the Dark Lord killed in this manner, he had found it prudent to carry a healthy dose of an antidote to the venom.

It was not until after the night of the full moon when he had been brought down to transform in the Ministry's cells and wheeled back to the ward afterwards that he first saw Severus.

Or, rather, heard him.

"You insufferable wretch," a deep voice croaked down the hall, "How dare you condescend to me, as if my mental faculties were not intact! That you are paid a full salary to force fingerpaints upon the crippled is galling. Yes, go! And in the future, find an occupation worth the air you breathe!"

Remus, muscles still shaking with the pain of the transformation and still feeling vaguely as if he might vomit, smiled.

Remus worked his painstaking way to having just enough control over his fingers to feed himself, urinate on his own (thank the gods), and finally to operate a charmed chair that would take him out of his room.

This afforded him only enough freedom to venture to the shared room where patients could socialize under the watchful eyes of medical professionals. In the afternoons, an aggressively compassionate witch named Hilda led them in small crafts. Several of the patients seemed to take comfort in her attentive interest as they struggled to make meaning of their suffering, and drew strength from her belief in their recovery.

Remus loathed her.

It wasn't entirely fair, he realized. It certainly wasn't something he was proud of. But on the fifth day that she coaxed him from his perch gazing out the charmed window currently opening to the depths of the ocean, he thought, call me honey again, and I will bite you.

Even Harry's visits had begun to exhaust him; he did not want to tell Harry that he was getting better, that yes, he would be out of here in no time, that he felt very grateful- he would nearly make a full recovery, after all. There were other words on the tip of his tongue that he could not possibly tell the boy- that sometimes, he thought he missed the war.

It was somewhere in the depths of this masturbatory angst, lingering in the doorway of his room, unsure if he might be more miserable staring at the bare walls of his room and navel gazing or socializing under the piercing stare of the crafts witch, that he heard the sharp clatter of a metal tray.

"Bancroft! Only Bancroft may make my potions, you imbecile! I will not accept this- oh, you're certain there are no poisons? Dimwit. Do you know how easily those tests are fooled? I betrayed the Dark Lord- has it not crossed your mind how many wish to see me suffer?"

A moment later, a young man emerged from the room, goblet in hand. "I wouldn't mind," he muttered to himself, then looked up to see Remus.

"Oh, hello Mr.Lupin," he smiled.

"Good afternoon, Bessel," Remus wheeled past him, silently thanking the mishap of paperwork that had brought him here- it was difficult to last on this ward with a phobia towards werewolves.

"You don't want to see ‘im," Bessel warned Remus, who had made his way to Severus' door.

"He's an old friend," Remus reassured him.

Bessel looked at him in disbelief.

"A coworker," Remus amended. "We went to school together."

"Your funeral, I s'pose," Bessel shook his head.

Severus' head was turned away from the door, and he ignored Remus as he wheeled slowly to his bedside.

"Is she sending in scouts now to coerce me into creating sculptures out of broomstick twigs?" Snape's baritone cut through his still torn throat like gravel.

"Hello, Severus," Remus greeted.

Snape whirled at this, and Remus controlled his reaction to the sight of him a moment too late. One eye was bloodshot all the way through, the other still swollen shut. In fact, entirely half of his face was grotesquely swollen; it was not difficult to imagine bones crunched beneath jaws and pieced together again.

"Lupin," Snape sneered, "I thought you were dead."

"Reports of my death were exaggerated, I'm afraid."

"I should have known," Snape pushed himself, shaking, onto his elbows. "Dark creatures are notoriously difficult to dispose of."

"Not up to your usual standard, Severus," Remus smiled. "And, as you yelled at Hilda the other day, your cognitive faculties are intact, so I shan't cut you any slack."

"That woman does not need nor deserve your pity."

"Perhaps not, " Remus allowed. "She is rather tenacious, isn't she?"

"She has the inexhaustible glee of the Demented given a victim to Kiss," Snape muttered.

"That's better," Remus wheeled himself to Severus' bedside.

"Leave, Lupin," Snape turned his head again, hiding his disfigured face. Remus could see that under the swathes of bandages, his chest and arms were a mass of swelling and purpling bruising.

"Do you know," Remus continued, "I think we may just be the last of our class? Certainly of the Gryffindors and Slytherins."

"You say that as if we have some shared history to fondly recollect, instead of the torment your dear friends inflicted upon me. We could, if you like, talk about that time you tried to rip me apart with your teeth, but I'm not sure you would remember that as well as I do."

Remus snorted. "As if you never gave back twice as good as you got."

"Well," Snape smiled fondly at that. "I do remember Potter and Black shouting their carnal love for one another at breakfast."

"That was inspired," Remus chuckled, remembering two boys standing atop the breakfast table, hooting audience gathered below. When Severus didn’t resort to retaliatory cruelty, he had a sarcastic streak that was nearly likeable. Unfortunately, it did not show itself often.

"We are not friends," Severus frowned at him.

"No," Remus agreed. "You are my captive audience. Hilda doesn't come for me when I'm speaking with someone else. And the other patients care that I lost my wife, my family, and all of my friends."

"I would rather be bitten again than listen to your sob story."

"Do you ever miss it?"

"The peace and quiet I enjoyed before you tried to foist your problems upon me?"

"The war," Remus said softly. "Having a sense of purpose to get you through. Feeling like you were needed."

Snape's single bloody eye widened. "You are insane, Lupin," he rasped. "Though perhaps that would make sense to a beast. Connected a bit too much with the inner animal, hmm?"

Remus watched him, silent.

Severus broke his gaze with a huff, and rolled away onto his side. “Leave. Spare me your nattering.”

"Get some rest, Severus," Remus replied, and wheeled himself back to his room.

*

Remus returned the next day with a chess set, which he unfolded onto a stainless steel medical tray.

"You only have to concentrate on where you'd like the pieces to move," Remus explained. "It's charmed."

"Explain to me why I would do that," Severus lifted a violently trembling hand to brush the hair from his eyes.

"Because you're bored," Remus shrugged. "You've got to be, sitting in here all day."

"Perhaps I enjoy the company of my own mind," Severus replied, "more than mentally unsound werewolves."

"Your stipulation was that I be silent," Remus gestured to the chessboard. "This doesn't require speech."

"Stipulation makes it sound as if I gave you terms under which you could visit me," Snape peered at the chessboard. "I'll take the black."

Severus seemed surprised when Remus held his own and nearly won. Remus thought he should be offended, but he found he didn't much have the energy to care.

"What will you do when you leave here?" Remus asked.

"I thought we had agreed not to speak," Snape frowned. The shattered chess pieces were realigning themselves, erstwhile arms scrabbling across the board to join their bodies.

"I thought you never actually gave me a stipulation."

"I will be free of both the Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore. I will do what I wish."

"I don't know what I'll do either," Remus folded up the board, suddenly tired. "Thank you for the game, Severus."

*

Harry visited the next day, pacing the room the entire time with a barely contained nervous energy. Molly Weasley had decided that the wedding preparations should be underway, and Remus was adrift in a sea of talk about the appropriate flower to symbolize Harry's love for Ginny.

Remus tried to be the father Harry needed, but the more Harry paced, the more the room seemed strange and far away. Remus had a recollection of Dora admiring a sunflower in the field surrounding the Burrow, how appropriate that was, how open she was to life and to love, like Lily. Lilies, the flower of high summer, warm and vibrant.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Remus said softly, "I'm feeling very tired today."

*

"Harry and Ginny have scheduled a date for the wedding," Remus' white knight advanced.

"Pity. Ginerva was a passably clever student."

"They've invited you."

"Oh joy. Oh rapture unforeseen."

A black knight, after careful consideration, moved left.

"He asked me about flowers. I couldn't stop thinking about Lily."

At this, Severus stiffened.

"I wonder, sometimes, what advice she would give. She always knew what the right thing to do was. The right thing to say."

"She would tell you that your need to be liked is so pathological that you are recalling the memory of a woman some twenty years lost to ask how to best serve her son's needs. Your move, Lupin."

Remus moved his pawn forward, and Severus swiftly captured it.

"If you are not here for the game, I think you would be better served by the company of the other patients," Severus crossed his arms over his chest. Remus wondered when he might be able to leave his room unaided.

"You must check that tendency to shoot yourself in the foot."

"A muggle expression," Severus leaned forward to watch his queen take Remus' king.

"We were both raised half muggle," Remus leaned back.

"Yet another thing we can reminisce over," Snape's eyes narrowed. "Our incandescent childhoods."

"My childhood was fine," Remus became acutely aware of the fact the game had finished.

"Ah, yes,” Snape sneered. “I can picture it now. Gay romps through grassy fields, a healthy appetite for human flesh…”

Remus watched Snape quietly until the tirade petered out. "Same time tomorrow, then, Severus." Remus closed the board with a snap.

Snape did not contradict him.

*

"I thought we might try a rune riddle," Remus held the paper up. "Bit of a change of pace."

"Tired of being beaten?" Severus looked at the paper with interest.

"I beat you plenty," Remus passed the paper to Severus, who held it with a hand that only trembled slightly. "I beat you at least a third of the time."

"A quarter," Severus muttered. "This first rune is fire."

"Yes," Remus took the paper back, "the third line is the one I couldn't parse."

"Give me the quill," Severus demanded, and Remus handed it over without comment, watching him struggle to write with his non-dominant hand.

"Harry wants me to be part of the ceremony."

"Hmm," Severus squinted at the rune puzzle.

"I'm flattered," Remus sighed, "but when I'm around him, I feel like I'm trying to be the ghost of James."

Severus put the paper down. "Lupin," he rubbed his functional hand across his forehead, "you are miserable because you have spent your entire life attempting to anticipate and cater to the needs of others. You are not a house elf. You are a man."

"I don't think Hermione would appreciate that comparison."

"Granger is a-"

"Smart, compassionate young woman," Remus finished. "I can't just," he sighed. "Harry needs me. He deserves this. He's suffered enough."

"We've all suffered," Severus muttered. "Now be quiet and let me think."

*

"You didn't come yesterday," Severus said.

Remus blinked. "I- it was a full moon."

Severus' eyes closed briefly. "Of course."

Remus felt a grin break over his face. "You missed me."

Snape glared. "I don't have much choice for company."

“Oh, don’t martyr yourself,” Remus tossed the morning paper at him. “You’ve run off anyone who tried to show you kindness.”

Severus looked surprised, briefly, at his bluntness. "And yet you keep returning to be abused," he recovered quickly, pulling himself up to sit cross-legged. He hunched over the paper. "You've already done the interesting bit," Snape glared from beneath his lank hair.

"I missed you too."

*

“They’re releasing me tomorrow,” Remus said conversationally, stirring a godawful amount of sugar into Severus’ tea. The anti-wobble charm was not quite enough to counteract Severus’ tremor in any two-handed task, and they both pretended amnesia at the first episode of spilt tea and sugar all over the linens.

“I’m sure Hilda will find other victims,” Severus took the tea in his left hand. “Though none quite as compellingly pathetic as yourself, I’m sure.”

“You’ve only to ask, Severus,” Remus met his eyes. “I’ll come visit.”

“We’re not friends, Lupin,” Snape’s eyes narrowed. Both lids retracted smoothly now, the swelling faded to a sickly green and black mottle of bruises, two dark puncture marks beneath the right eye.

Remus watched him, quiet.

“What is it, wolf?” Severus sat up, infuriated at the judgement he felt in the silence. Lupin’s easy retreat gave him no satisfaction, his containment no victory. “Are you so desperate in your loneliness that you thought I might consort with you of my own free will?” He sneered. “Had you imagined I would drop by whatever den you’ve crawled into with tea and biscuits? Pathetic, crippled mongrel-“

Remus regarded him for a moment. The expression was brief, but Severus was a master of reading intention. This was not anger, or hurt. It was pity.

Remus stood with his tea, almost elegant despite the hospital robe and noticeable limp. He walked out, and without raising his wand the door swung and clicked shut behind him.

Sound cut out all at once, and Severus could hear only his own quick, enraged breaths, steadying over slow minutes.

#remus lupin/severus snape #rl/ss #remus lupin #severus snape #harry potter #fic #snupin

[sketchesofsam]

The Illustration Master Class - A First Timer's Journal

This is a long blog post. It's mostly for my own purposes, but also for those who want an in-depth look at what being at the IMC is like. I have some pointers for first timers, things you might not think of and things to consider in advance. They'll be at the end of the article. I want to thank Dave Palumbo for allowing me to use a couple of his amazing photos too, he's a talented SOB. 

probably won't forget the moment my Facebook messages suddenly started pinging off. 'Congrats Sam!' 'Hey Sam, you won!' I distinctly remember thinking, hmm, what did I win? Did I enter another twitter giveaway or something? Then someone followed up with 'you won the scholarship!' It took me a moment. Then the chat I was in the middle of with my other half suddenly filled with lots of expletives and capitals on my end. Holy shit. I'd won the Muddy Colors scholarship to the IMC, something that had been a long-term wish of mine since I'd found out about it 5 or 6 years prior but hadn't ever had the funds to attend. So to find out that my entry to their scholarship program - through the generous donations of the Muddy Colors Patreon - submitted on a 'what have I got to lose' mentality that was still shadowed by the fuzzy sting of not getting into Spectrum, had scored me the full cost of the course. I'd honestly forgotten I'd applied. Let that be a lesson to those of you who hold back on submitting to things, especially the things that are free. It's always worth a punt. 

So what's it like to go to the IMC? I can tell you that winning the scholarship made the pre-IMC thumbnail assignment a lot more stressful than if I'd paid for it. The weight of imagining disappointing the people who had seen my work and voted for it - artistic heroes of mine -  was pretty heavy. It made me feel like I couldn't just go and do the same thing I'd always done, even if it had won me the scholarship. Before I started drawing, I reconsidered my influences. I'd started a secret pinterest board a few months back simply called 'Ho Fuck That's Good.' Stuff that gave me a gut punch when I looked at it. I spent a lot of time looking at those images and a lot of the others I had pinned. I stopped paying attention to work that I simply found technically impressive, that had awesome composition or great values. I looked for what moved me. Why it moved me. I started making notes about themes I found compelling or that cropped up a lot in my own work. I decided I wasn't going to do just a straight up realistic narrative Whaler Girl piece, I was going to try and make my own work be more like that which moved me. A risky, and perhaps somewhat dumb move, given those same realistic, narrative images had won me the scholarship. 

We were asked to provide 4 or 5 thumbnails, either of our own choosing, or from an assignment provided, such as an illustration to accompany a short story, the likes of which are often published on Tor.com. With themes like duality, death, grief and love in relationships crowding my brain, I created a lot of thumbnails. I wasn't going to take the first 3 or 4 that came out. I did about 20 in total and narrowed it down to the 6 I felt most attached to. Some of them even had hints back to The Whaler Girl in a very asbtract way. They'd come out better than I'd hoped for and I could see a tiny glimpse of the sort of painting I might get out of it. It made me excited to put them in front of my chosen faculty member. 

We were asked to pick a top 5 from the vertiable smorgasbord of faculty. That was hard. It turned out that most people got grouped with their top pick and that dictated who the other faculty were that would give you feedback. I suspect my pick would have surprised a few people. Kent Williams was actually the instructor I was least familiar with, but researching his work, especially his most recent work, it hit the same kind of buttons that my inspiration board had. His work felt emotionally personal and while I knew I didn't want to necessarily paint like he did, I felt he might be able to give good feedback on how to tap into that sense of the personal. Perhaps someone who could help keep me on track with the first wibbly steps I was taking with my own work. I count myself lucky to have landed in the group with Rebecca, Kent and Tara (McPherson). 

I wanted to make a good first impression, but there were so many approaches to the dreaded 'crit day'. Some folks brought only one or two finished colour thumbs, some folks just had small, traditionally drawn thumbnails, occasionally done on arrival the night before. Some brought photo mockups of the exact piece they wanted to work on. All approaches got good feedback. I'd been forewarned that crit day could be rough, but I think the Studio 201 guys were pretty chill. I did peek my head in on the other two rooms briefly. Donato, Greg Ruth and Scott Fischer were all highly animated and I've been told often argued with each other's feedback. Dan Dos Santos, Irene Gallo and Greg Manchess were part of the group that, from chatting to folks, seemed to get the most direct feedback.

I was a little surprised when there was no tracing paper used during my crit. All three faculty members responded favourably to what had been my favourite thumbnail, despite its weirdness. No direct suggestions other than resolving the shapes in my minimal, non-figurative space (that minor bit of feedback would come to haunt me by The Thursday of DOOM, but I'll get to that later). Inspirations like Inka Essenhigh, Hope Gangloff and Dorothea Tanning were thrown my way, I loved all three for very different reasons. It was safe to say inspiration was running high and I had a tonne of positive energy to run with. 

I felt like I was well prepped going into the IMC, but I wasn't. Choosing to go full traditional when having to fly internationally was a pain. I didn't have a lot of the stuff I needed and had to rely on the infinite kindness of my fellow students and faculty to see me through. Stephen, Annie, Chris, Julia, you were all lovely, I can't thank you enough. 

My Tuesday started with James Gurney sat at my breakfast table. That was surreal but awesome. He and his wife Jeanette are as lovely two people as you could hope to meet, full of insight and always taking notes. The previous day's lecture on photo reference was flowing through my mind and I dreaded having to ask fellow students. My figures were both nudes and that wasn't something I was comfortable with, though I thought perhaps I could take individual legs and arms and use a little online ref to fill in the rest. I wish I'd drummed up the courage to ask my fellow students, but that particular social step eluded me the whole week. I spent the day instead with many sheets of tracing paper, figuring out What marks were what. I had discussions with Greg Ruth and Donato Giancola about how to find those shapes and make them fit in my piece. You have to figure out who to listen to, and whose advice to stash for a later date. You get bombarded with advice if you go in as open-minded as I did. I'd thrown myself into a pool I should have been paddling in first, pretty much at the very public deep end. I'll admit I found ways to put off getting to painting, as it was only the 2nd oil painting I'd done in the last 20 years and the company I had in the room was stellar and a little overwhelming. Eventually, I chose to redraw via a grid so I could edit as I went along and I used some reference I shot of my own limbs to help flesh the drawing out. I left Tuesday feeling reasonably positive about the work.

Wednesday was a full day with faculty feedback, up to the first 5 pm lecture. Dan Dos Santos, who is perfectly lovely, but also very honest with feedback, stopped by my easel. Overall, very complimentary, he pulled me on a bit of weird anatomy, that after using a lot more photo ref with the rest of the piece, had begun to stand out. He suggested I grab Rebecca after our discussion. I'd responded best to her feedback, as she seemed to understand what I was trying to do, so I grabbed her after lunch. She immediately told me the leg and anatomy I'd had in the thumbnail had been working, and that if I liked the weirdness (which I did) to go weird with the rest of the piece to make the leg fit. Literally the opposite of Dan's feedback. Feedback is such a personal thing, every instructor has their own view of art and own journey. I'd probably tried to take a little bit of everyone who'd stopped by and given feedback and every little bit had nudged me slightly off the course I'd intended to take. Dan's feedback was spot on, if I'd been after something with a solid grounding in realism, but I wasn't. I was after an emotional feeling rather than muscles that looked like they fit where they were supposed to go. Rebecca suggested I just print the thumbnail out, mount it to masonite and paint on that. But resolve my shapes first. 

That led me to ask Tara for advice and after some back and forth, I thought I knew where I was going, and decided rather than be tied to the values I'd got in the thumbnail to start with, I'd trace down the printed thumbnail and resolve my shapes. All went well, I got the drawing on the board, and aware of the ever-ticking clock and my ability to get feedback on my painting process, I was keen to get started the following day.

I nick-named Thursday 'Thursday of DOOOOOOOM' in my sketchbook notes. With that many 'O's'. It started well, with my sketch on my illustration board, I figured I'd use acrylic underpainting to speed up the process, then seal with matte medium and start on top in oils. I'd brought a lovely lime green and violet with me, my underpainting was done in warm purple-reds as a counterpoint, and I was winging it. It felt good. I stepped away for a bit before lunch and came back after to the horror of a C-shaped warped board. A brand I'd not used before, I hadn't been heavy with it at all. I threw some matte medium on the back in the hopes it would pull itself out of the curve, but it only stiffened. I think panic set in at this point, I knew there was no point in doing more on the board, but I'd been stubborn over mounting the printouts I'd done. Old dog, new tricks and all that.

Distraught, I knew I had no choice. I slunk off to the back of the studio and tried not to blub my eyes out as I tried a totally new method of mounting with less than perfect tools. Flustered, my hair constantly got stuck in the medium, making me even more panicked that the whole thing would be a disaster and that I'd missed the last supply run and would have to face the very public shame of asking someone for actual help. If there's one thing I hate, it's not being self-sufficient. My fellow students would have happily helped out, but shame is a pretty powerful emotion, it tends to rule what you do. I prayed the mounted paper wouldn't need a 2nd sheet mounting on the back to counter the drawing mounted on the front. At best, in the blazing sun, this stuff would take a couple of hours to dry to the point I could paint on it. The wind did its best to prevent me from stacking the board outside and in my hours of deepest bleakness, I figured that maybe if it blew over into the dirt and insects, I'd say fuck it and make them part of the fucking thing too. It was also at this point I realised the printouts had cropped the two thumbnails I'd chosen to work with, altering their composition drastically. My own dumb fault for not setting the page size up properly in the printer. One more shame I'd suck up and live with. I wish I'd asked for help. I think knowing the pieces weren't what I'd initially intended broke my ability to give them my full attention and killed my mojo for the next couple of days. My anxiety rats, as Rebecca delightfully referred to them, were in full swing. 

While I waited for it to dry, I headed back into the studio and mentioned to Rebecca I'd given in with the curved board and mounted the thumbnail and would she have a look over what I'd chosen to do with the background. Rebecca is gracious and lovely and patiently listens to me explain what I've done. Then she points to some of the graphic elements I'd put in and gently says that they still feel too literal and forced, that the motifs I choose should be something I relate to closely and that it doesn't quite live up to the right hand, figurative side of the painting. I suggest a couple of other ideas, feeling a scrabbling panic bulding in me, only to hear her tell me everything still feels too literal. My logic brain knows she's right, but after a distraught morning, I'm clasping at any straw I have to salvage the situation. I don't know if it showed, and she saw that I was struggling with it or if it was just honest feedback for the moment, but at that point, she looked at me and said 'maybe this piece is a step too far for you right now, maybe you should do the other piece, if that's something that's more comfortable for you.' I think I agreed with her, nodded and extolled the virtues of taking a step back into my comfort zone, getting a painting I knew how to do done was a good thing, yes? But damn if that wasn't a kick to the gut at that very moment. 

She was absolutely right, though. I'd throw myself into a deep pool, with people who were olympic athletes at diving its depths, and in the course of a week expected to be able to at least dive a good distance with them. I'd been able to get my head underwater with my well-planned thumbnails, but in this overwhelming, information packed, inspiring, public test of artistic mettle, I'd punched above my depth, so to speak. Trying to shift gears artistically when you have your own space and the time to find your journey is one thing, I don't know if it can be done in a week, no matter how much amazing input you get from your artistic heroes. Chris, Erin, Annie, I'm sorry if my energy those next 48 hours was a bummer, it wasn't a place I was familiar with being. 

Kent Williams came to the rescue of my very bruised ego that evening with a talk about his personal journey through art. Indirectly, seeing the bredth and depth of his work over such a long time span, I confess to feeling a little idiotic that I'd expected to be able to make that leap in a week. Every faculty member who gave a talk like that had shown me that their journeys were long, and often fraught with failed ventures or periods of doing artistic things they didn't want to. I left the lecture with my tail between my legs, but a renewed sense that I would do my best with the hand I'd given myself. I did a couple of colour studies that evening, traditionally, inspired by seeing James Gurney's master studies in his lecture. I loved doing them, and wish I'd had more time to do more. But I found a piece online that had a palette I liked and did a couple of explorations of a similar theme. I finally, finally, 4 days into the escapade, managed to put down some oil paint.��

Friday and Saturday I painted as much as I could, but tentatively, I was making marks I'd never made before. I listened to the feedback being given around me and let anyone who wanted to stop and give me feedback, do so. I'm not sure I actively asked for it. I struggled as the ladies around me with their amazinly characterful pieces drew the attention of everyone who went past. I wondered if I was so far off the mark and weird that no one knew what to say about my piece. Maybe it was so bland that they couldn't praise or crit it. In retrospect, I recognise that my mood and lack of decent sleep was tinting my mood heavily, and I suspect I was giving off the same vibe, which is enough to make folks give you a bit of a wide berth. 

The theme of finding your niche and doing what you love came up in more than one lecture over those days. I went to bed at 2 am both nights, in an attempt to get as much done as I could. I socialised a little more, realising that was as much a part of the experience as the painting. If not more. I'm hugely thankful for the bonds I forged during that week, something I couldn't have done at home, no matter how much I painted. Those bonds were worth much more to me than the painting I half finished. I think I came to accept that what I wanted to do was going to be a journey that needed a little longer than a week to take. I wish there had been more 'round table' lectures with all the faculty, seeing them interact together on the business lecture was amazing. 

Sunday was chill. I'd had the intention of painting more, but clearing up took a while, and I felt good being relaxed. So I socialised more instead. Our final lecture with Donato was the perfect note to end the experience on and the open house was a chance to take in everyone's work, the standard of which was amazing. After a super tasty mexican dinner and strawberry margherita, the bar beckoned. After drawing I don't know how much hentai in people's sketchbooks and getting a badass Bill Nighy sketch from the awesome Bud Cook in my own sketchbook, alongside the weirdest pseudonyms and animal drawings ever, I crashed and burned as being under the influence after a week of mental stress and lack of sleep took its toll on me. Conan, thank you for making sure I got back safely that night, I really appreciate it, I suspect I'd have passed out in a dark corner of the bar otherwise. Sad I missed out on the late night partying that ensued, but damn, did I need that night's sleep. 

So there's one woman's view of what it's like to go to the IMC, to throw yourself at the mercy of the faculty and your own desires. To fail and not deal with it well, to realise that the painting was never the important thing. IMC was amazing. I can only hope this gives those of you who haven't been a teensy insight. I'm not going to cover what the lectures were or what faculty shared with us, that's a very specific IMC experience, that you really have to go to appreciate. I will say I am hugely thankful to Dan, Rebecca and all of those on Muddy Colors who made that experience real for me. It has enriched me in ways I suspect I'll only realise as my journey continues. Thank you to everyone who gave me kind words and praise and to those who tried to guide me on my way. If ever the opportunity arises for you to attend, I would say grab it with both hands and run with it. Even if your experience doesn't run as profound as mine, and it simply lets you have some time to paint whatever the hell you want, being in a huge room full of people going through the same thing is well worth the price, not to mention watching faculty paint in real time is invaluable. 

So, what if you've taken that leap, some months from now and you're going to the IMC? Here's a few pointers from someone who thought they were prepared and was woefully not. 

1 -  THE DORMS Are basic AF. I was somewhat prepared, but when the FAQ says the beds are firm, they mean it. Think springs wrapped in a bit of plastic tarp. The sheets are functional, but the blanket looked like someone had put used dog bedding through a shredder and mushed it out into a rectangle. I bought a spare blanket at the CVS store, cause no way was that thing touching my skin. I may be a little sensitive though. I affectionately referred to the whole set up as my prison bed, cause honestly, that's all I could think of. If you can bring your own bedding, I'd recommend it.

The dorm bathrooms are gender neutral, which means anyone can use them. I was fine with it, but it's odd the first time you wander into the bathroom and find the opposite sex brushing their teeth. I never had any problems taking a shower, though, they were pretty quiet. 

Morris Pratt Dorm was definitely the more social, I was very thankful to be on the 3rd floor, as a light sleeper, the partying into the wee hours would have kept me awake had I been on the lower floors. The box fans helped with white noise, but the doors are all pretty heavy, so unless folks are very delicate with how they close them, expect some noise. I found the box fan enough without the AC, even when it got pretty warm on the last couple of days. 

2 - FOOD. Having never been to a large educational establishment in the US, I wasn't sure what to expect with the food. Would I have to venture into Amherst to find healthy stuff, would there be much choice? The food was surprisingly decent. It's still a large facility, so it's never going to be amazing restaurant quality, but there were a few choices every day and a well-stocked salad bar. They even had a soft serve ice cream machine, that I managed to avoid until Sunday. I'm not a coffee drinker, but I had it on good authority that the coffee in the dining hall wasn't great. It might be an idea to bring a drinks container with you, as mealtimes are the only time you can get drinks on campus, outside of water fountains. Amherst is only a 10-minute walk down the road, though. 

3 - ART SUPPLIES AND STUDIO SAFETY. I brought paints, brushes and surfaces with me, with the knowledge I'd ordered a couple extra things for while I was there and that there was a supply run. If you work on specific surfaces, it's best to bring those with, Michael's wasn't super well stocked, and more speciality things like large clayboard weren't available. A lot of people bring extras and are happy to share, thankfully. I would have brought more old rags or kitchen towels and some tape. People often used walls to tape up thumbnails or other pieces of art.

The university runs a very strict number of safety policies surrounding paints, water and mediums. Bring some lidded jars with you for mediums and water. Everything has to be labelled clearly and remained closed when not in use. Even water used for rinsing acrylic and watercolours. All have to be disposed of carefully too. Same with anything you wipe paint or mediums on, so using something a bit more disposable like kitchen towel might do you better. They ask you to cover your oil paints when not in use, though that can be with a simple piece of palette paper. 

If you choose an easel, if you have space for a little extra table, you'll likely make good use of it. The chairs they supply are also very basic and not comfortable for long periods, so bringing a cushion is definitely a good idea.  Oh, and they say the studio opens at 8 am on Monday but I got there at 8 am and a lot of the spaces had already been taken, so if you want prime real estate, get there early! 

4 - SELF PROMOTION This sounds like a no-brainer. I brought business cards for the faculty and my portfolio review with Irene Gallo. I thought I'd sorted my work out reasonably well, but actually, my website would have been a better place to show off my work. I also wish I'd brought a physical portfolio to leave out for students and faculty to flick through, perhaps an example of finished work that was either nicely printed if I was doing digital, or one of my traditional pieces. The latter is tricky when flying. My business cards were on the pricey side so I wish I'd had some decent postcards or stickers, printed for the open studio, where folks were picking stuff up. You never know who's going to pick one up! The internet can be spotty in the building, so unless you have some 4G going on, it can be tricky to show off folios digitally. 

You might also be lucky enough to score a second portfolio review if the guests have enough time, I am so glad I could put my work in front of WotC's Jeremy Jarvis. It cheered my Saturday up no end! Make sure you check the lists when they go up and bag your second spot early. And don't puss out. 

5 - DON'T BE AFRAID TO ASK FOR HELP I'm stubborn and British, so asking for help is the worst, but everyone there will gladly help you out if they can. Especially the assistant team, Daneen, Julia and Stephen and the 'honored easels' who've been in your situation. Take advantage of them, they are all lovely people.

And that sums it up! An amazing, tiring, exhausting, mentally demanding, inspiring, overwhelming experience that I wouldn't change for the world. I hope to repeat it in the next year or two. I count myself lucky to be part of the alumni and perhaps if you're reading this, I might see you there too. 

[rheatheweirdestworm]

A Painful Realization of a Relationship

Warning: Very long, personal post ahead. Read if you have a lot of time to spare or have experienced anything similar

Before I get started, please note that this is going to be a vent/story of the one relationship that I have ever been in, and it will include some things that may trigger people or make them uncomfortable. However I have held onto this story for long enough and after months of thinking back on it day in and day out, I need to share it somewhere, even if no one will ever see it or read it.

For those of you who don’t want to read this essay of a story, the long story short I was verbally, mentally, and emotionally abused in this relationship. I was forced into doing things I was never and still am not comfortable with, but never learned to say no until recently, and it hurt me and everyone I cared for more than I could have ever imagined. If that type of story interests you, please read forward.

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In 2015 I was in 10th grade or so (I don’t have the best memory when it comes to times or dates so please bear with me if my timeline sounds weird. I can remember most events, but times elude me). I remember it very well, because this all started in a class I considered hell: 1st period gym at 8:15 AM. Seriously who makes kids run around and do that THAT early?! Anyway, I was a very shy kid not yet out of their bubble and even though I had some friends in the class I preferred to walk alone at my own pace and be left to my imagination so I could ponder over events or think about the most recent book I’ve read. The first couple days were fine, I walked alone and would occasionally be invited to join my group of friends because they likely felt bad seeing me walk alone and didn’t realize I enjoyed it, and I very much appreciated them noticing and trying to care for me and make sure I felt remembered. However one day I was walking by myself after falling behind the group of friends since I didn’t wish to join in the conversation, and was minding my business when the person this story is about walked up. Let’s just call him Guy for privacy’s sake, I doubt he will ever see this but it’s better safe than sorry. Guy came up and at first didn’t say anything to me, but after a minute or two of awkward silence where I realized he was not trying to pass me (I walk very fast so I thought maybe he wanted to pass but simply couldn’t), so I turned to him and said “oh, hi” to pretend like I hadn’t noticed him. He replied with hi and started a small conversation to introduce himself and all that stuff like that. A couple weeks go by and we’re now walking together all the time and talking, which I was ok with because Guy seemed like a very nice person who wanted to just be friends with the shy girl and maybe help her feel more like a part of the class. I’ll say now, I was VERY oblivious to a lot of things, and that will matter soon. As the weeks went by and we talked as often as we could during class, we would occasionally have nothing to do during class and would sit on the bleachers. Guy would sometimes go over and talk with his friends and I would take that spare time to read whichever book I had with me that day. Every once in a while he would stop talking with his friends and come over to sit with me, and would sometimes ask me about my book, which was fine. What wasn’t fine was when he started to randomly put his head in my lap and ask me “can you rub my hair/head?” to which I almost always replied no, and he would persistently ask and give up after a solid minute or so. He was incredibly persistent so I finally said yes, and it made me feel incredibly awkward, but because I was too shy and nice to say anything and risk hurting his feelings I kept quiet about it and did what he wanted me to. When the semester ended, Guy somehow won over my heart.

We dated for a couple of weeks, I thought we were going to be the high school sweethearts of the class, but over the summer while he was in summer school, he messaged me one day and said he was falling for someone else. After a minute or so of talking I told him to go and be with the other person, and he said ok. When my birthday came a month or so later, on my birthday I received his “hey” message. He then explained that the person he fell for was “not nearly as good as you, and wasn’t nearly as nice as you have been” and asked to get back together. Stupidly, I said yes.

As the time went on we did become the high school sweethearts, but also as time went on everyone around me, and I mean everyone-- from teachers to friends to even the school faculty and counselors (one counselor brought me to her office and sat me down to make sure I was making clear decisions and try to break me free of him, but as you’ve probably guessed, I didn’t listen). As that time went on, he started to ask for.. things. If you do not like to hear about sexual stuff then please do not read any further. I didn’t have a phone, so we talked through FB on my computer, and he would start sending me those cheesy “what are you doing?” “sitting on my computer playing MC/watching youtube” “what would you do if I were there?”. Guy kept asking things like this, and I always changed the subject because a part of me was aware of what he was doing, and I was incredibly uncomfortable with it, but I was too nice to say no, and I think he knew that. One day he sent me a message “I’m horny..” Off the start, I was only 16. That is not old enough to be doing sexual things and even though stuff still happens at a young age, Guy knew I was pretty uncomfortable with things like this. I responded with something like “I’m sorry you feel that way, but I can’t help out with that”. His response? He begged me to do roleplay with him to “help him get off” because he wanted me to help.. This happened multiple times and so finally, being the too nice person I am, I agreed to. I was incredibly uncomfortable, and I distinctly remember one day going through this with him and having to pretend that I was getting off too, and I verbally whimpered. I was that uncomfortable, but I never told him. It got to the point where he started asking for nudes, and when I said I couldn’t do that, he asked me to do a live video of me “getting off” in front of him. Keep in mind my laptop sat with me at the dining room table in view of the living room and kitchen, where someone always was in my house. I declined MULTIPLE times, but yet he persisted. One day, as you can probably tell, I gave in, and of course I faked it. I have to admit that on more than one occasion I would try to make it real but fail because I was too uncomfortable. I was eventually caught by my family and although it was one of the most embarrassing things I have ever gone through, I was happy it happened. Until he found another more private way to roleplay. This went on for a year, if not two.

That same year he proposed to me. Yes we were still young, but he was going off to the army and wasn’t to be back for a couple years so it was more of a promise ring than anything.

Fastforward a bit to senior year, we had one class together, and this is where things started going too far. He would start to touch me physically more than he had before (before now he had started touching me in school just as play touches to which I asked him not to do, he never listened because “it’s adorable”). He would make sure no one was looking, cover me up with a large jacket, and touch me and pretend we were cuddling since everyone knew we were dating. At first I wanted to believe I liked it, and I wanted to believe so hard I forced myself to, because “normal relationships do this all the time, it’s ok”. All the while I had him believe it was all consensual because in my mind I wanted it to be so badly that I let him do all that stuff to me. I will spare you the details of how far he touched me, but I will just imply that yes it was below the clothes and it was mostly where no one should be touched at that age. Once he made sure I was “ok” with that, he had me do things to him. I was of course still very uncomfortable with this but still trying so hard to “be the best girlfriend” that I obliged. I did things with him I shouldn’t have, and although we never had sex during that time, it was still close enough but too much for me to mention fully. Just know it was too far. 

During that same year, he started asking me to sneak off to the bathroom so he could “finally try to fuck, I’ve waited so long and want to know what you feel like so badly”. I was still only 17, he was 18, it would have been illegal. That didn’t stop him from trying because “if no one finds out it’s fine”. He knew I wouldn’t say anything, i was too far under his spell and so convinced with myself it was all fine. Thankfully, we never were able to do anything while I was still underage.

Another couple months go by, and he’s off in the military for the summer. He comes back though, and it is because “I missed you so much and was so worried about you I couldn’t handle it mentally”. That was one of the only things he ever did “for me”.

That same time, the verbal, emotional, and mental abuse began.

Life got progressively worse for him, and I felt horrible for him and he knew it. He was living with some friends who supported him and helped him get a job that he couldn’t really handle because of health issues with his knee. So I came over to visit during the weekends since I too was living with a friend for the first semester of college. And there, in that place he was staying, was the first time we had ever had sex, and I had verbally told him I was not ready. He told me later he knew I didn’t want to but in the heat of the moment he tried and I didn’t stop him. I hated myself for it, however that incident only made it worse. For the entire relationship after that day he asked for it every single time I saw him in person, and I always said ok because “it’s normal”. 

In our entire relationship, I asked for sex less than 10 times, but we did it too many times to count or remember because he wanted it. Guy would tell me that he couldn’t get off without me being there to help in one way or another (whether that’s digitally or physically), and so I was doing something with him every day. If I ever wanted to just sit and watch a movie or tv or just play a game, it wouldn’t happen without something happening before or during the activity. Every time he wanted something sexually and I said I was not in the mood for it or just simply did not have the time he would respond with “when will you be free” or “I can’t get off now without you.. and I REALLY don’t want to have to sit here like this for who knows how long” “My mood only worsens when I can’t get off.. I don’t want that to happen but if I can’t get off then I’ll likely start snapping at you or getting mad over the little things”. Simply guilt tripping me into leaving class or staying up very long nights so he did not have to get off himself.

Throughout time, his life progressively got worse and worse than it was before, and he became homeless at some point in time. I personally gave him literally all the money I had, I gave him food I owned and even stole food from my family and gave it to them whenever they didn’t decide to give food to them themselves even though they did not want to because we literally could not afford another mouth to feed. I can literally say I gave him the clothes off of my back. Although he never really had anything to give back in return, he returned the kindness I gave him with sexual favors and verbal abuse. I understand that he was going through a hard time and was not quite right mentally, but the things he said should have had no excuse. We would get into arguments about the way he would waste money: he bought things that did not help him a lot, he just thought they were cool. He bought a $40 or something LIGHTER because it looked cool, but it barely worked. He bought an $80 vape because he smoked and needed something if he didn’t have cigarettes. He wasted a lot of money that he desperately needed, money provided mostly by anyone but himself. 

Last year, things got very bad, and I can’t say I wasn’t warned. I went to a professional tarot reader one day and had her tell my future, and it was spot on, but somehow I did not realize that the bad things that were mentioned were in connection with the one person I focused myself on. During my school semester last fall, I stopped caring about my classes, I stopped caring if I passed or failed. I remember multiple times skipping class because Guy texted me he was super stressed and was having a rough time. What did I run 30 minutes across town because I didn’t have a car to see? Him sitting on the couch playing a game wanting sexual stuff because he was stressed. Although yes he was stressed because of his situation, he never did much of anything to solve it except vent to me about it and expect me to help fix everything because “I’m too stressed to think properly”. He certainly wasn’t too stressed to think properly while he sat on the couch for full days and did nothing but play games. 

In late September, he made a friend. This friend seemed fine at first, and I even met them with Guy and thought they were a cool person, they were incredibly nice to me and I thought that was great that Guy had made another supportive friend. How I wish it were just that. Through the next month, Guy had started texting this new friend and doing the same roleplay and live videos as he was doing with me before for sexual stuff, and since that friend had a car, he would go over to her house and spend the night and get all kinds of sexual things from her and return the favor. I instantly knew what was up, but I was too ignorant and oblivious to really believe it despite all the proof. Whenever I was convinced enough to confront Guy about it, I was met with verbal abuse. Keep in mind, we were still engaged. Next thing I know, Guy was asking if I wanted to do “things” with the new friend. Excuse me? Of course off the bat I said no, but I think you guys know where this story is going if you’ve learned how hard it is for me to keep saying no. After literal weeks of him begging over and over I finally started to break but under the condition I never had to see him do anything with her. In the end thankfully I never did anything with her, but that’s because I finally was able to prove that Guy and she were doing things behind my back. What’s worse is the friend had a girlfriend, and the girlfriend was told that I was ok with it, but when she found out I wasn’t she didn’t care and even wanted to do things with Guy too. If only I had left while I still could and while everyone who knew what Guy had done was screaming at me to do.

I asked Guy if he saw his future with me, who had literally given up everything to him when he gave so little in return, or if he saw his future with the new friend and her girlfriend. At first he said the friend, but later when I asked again he denied he did, because he started to realize I was finally thinking about leaving. Emotional abuse ensued, and he cussed me out more than ever before, saying things like “That’s not what a fucking fiance would do” and whenever I confronted him about him doing things with the friend I asked him strictly not to, he would respond with “it’s my decision as an adult to do things with whomever I like”.... Yes the person who is engaged can do whatever he likes with whomever he likes and can say things like that to the fiance. Totally acceptable.. (can you feel my sarcasm from here?). 

January, I finally put my foot down and told him I needed to break up with him so that I could focus on me and fix everything I had broken in our time together and fix the completely broken me. When he realized I was serious, he emotionally abused me-- whether on purpose or not-- and tried to convince me to stay with him, because at that point he didn’t have that friend around anymore because they too had to focus on school and didn’t have anyone to be there physically. I felt absolutely horrible for leaving him, but in the end I did it and told him firmly not to contact me and that if I ever could get my life back together then I would CONSIDER coming back ONLY if he could fix himself and become the actual responsible adult he claimed to be while he cheated on me in front of me. 

I still am haunted by these memories and more that I did not mention. I am still fighting so hard to fix what I had so stupidly let break. I am trying so hard to feel like myself and figure out who I really am beneath all the lies I forced myself to believe so hard that I left logic behind. And sadly, a part of me

My only advice to you or anyone who hasn’t gotten this far without falling asleep or getting bored of reading is don’t let a single person tell you what to do or guilt trip you or make you feel as worthless as I did. I learned my lesson the most painful way that no matter how hard someone pushes, you have to say no or risk being walked over so hard that it breaks you.

Please don’t let anything like this happen to you, or anyone else you know.

#vent #story #painful story #love story #life lesson #lesson learned #I will only get stronger #long post #personal

[homervnned]

––   f l o u r - c a k e d    h a n d s    c l o s e    t h e    r e g i s t e r .

                         “ oh, for fuck’s sake. ”

                                           there’s that signature eye roll.                                      they’re talking ‘bout their dead wife                                                          A G A I N.

                                          haven’t they read the roll along’s                                           no sentimental bullshit policy ?

                       “ just eat your fuckin’ cinnamon roll. ”

whaddup. hope y’like your bakers how you like your sweet rolls :  rude and emotional unavailable !

( sean teale, human, he/him & cismale ) is that ( spellbound ) by ( ac/dc ) playing? guess ( “brooks baker” / ferris feller )’s comin’ in hot! heard folks say the ( “25” / 52 ) year old ( bakery owner ) was at the thanksgiving fair, ( nearly droppin’ a tray of sweets ‘n goodies at his bakery stand as he thought he recognized the orange-wearing witch who hexed him years ago ) when chaos ensued. during the glitch, ( he tried to follow that damned lady to give her a piece of his mind, but wound up defendin’ himself from incomin’ hooligans with a blow-up baseball bat instead ).

b a c k g r o u n d. 

born as ferris feller in letum falls, oklahoma, 1930. his mother, greta feller, raised him and his little sister ( possible wc, if she’s been turned supernatural ? ) on her own. the story goes his father was stationed abroad in the military as a courier and died in a freak accident. there were photos of him ‘round the house, but really, those are just black and white photos of some random soldier his ma had written correspondence with as a volunteer letter writer during world war i. his real father was the local pastor. his mother started sleeping with him after he brought his suits in to be dry cleaned at her laundromat.

ferris took a natural liking to baseball, and distinguished himself as a standout batter early in elementary. his ma worked extra mending clothes in order to pay his little league dues, and soon little ferris was catapulted to local baseball success.

he never was the brightest tool in the shed. always quick with a comeback, but his faculties were always more geared toward the sport than mental acuity. he passed high school with the help of a tutor and very lenient teachers, who all wanted to see the first letum falls baseball star make to the big leagues.

and make it, he did. in 1948, ferris jumped on board with the new york yankees and made major league history with the team for over fifteen years.

but there was always this one gal throughout high school who couldn’t get the hint. she asked him to the sadie hawkins and he said yes out of pity, which he learned was a big mistake. this girl confessed her love for him at the end of their senior prom, ‘n ferris didn’t know what to say except no. that summer, stuff got weird. it started with small things. a beetle in his salad. worms in his burgers at the diner. and then he noticed the trend: it all happened when she was around, watchin’. she cornered him after a game in baltimore about two years after he started playin’ and demanded he propose to her, that she’d seen into the future and they were meant to be. ferris laughed in her face. and she said he’d rue the day. she said, you’ll get what’s comin’ to ya, feller, and then you won’t be so gosh darned smug.

ferris thought nothin’ of it, until the tenth year of his baseball career rolled around and he noticed his hits hadn’t changed. his records hadn’t budged anywhere but up. but... he was supposed to be pushin’ 33. his original teammates were talkin’ about retirement. developing some crow’s feet, some aches ‘n pains, some grays. yet there ferris was, as fresh-faced as when he joined.

and that’s when it hit him. that damn girl hexed him. and with the media talkin’ bout his miraculous youth, ferris knew he needed to step outta the limelight. but just retiring wasn’t an option –– they’d send reporters to monitor his post-game life. they’d see that he still looked the same. sounded the same. 

once again: not the sharpest tool in the shed. ferris ups and disappears in 1964. the media speculates kidnapping. murder. the search is on and ferris flees. ducks into the shadows. waits a few years livin’ quiet before he slinks on back to letum falls. 

it isn’t until near arrival in ‘66 he realizes he’s... he hasn’t got a plan. he parks the car he bought off the side of the road in delaware and racks his mind for a story. a name. anythin’.

brooks. it works. different letter, different sound. he buys himself a modest house near the outskirts of town ‘n gets his ducks in a row. doesn’t even blink at the idea of a surname, ‘til people start askin’. he’s gotta have a reason to be here. a story. people start sayin’ he looks familiar... and there’s his in: ferris feller’s son. came here in search of my pa, you seen him?  he’ll fake shock when folks say feller disappeared years ago. swallow his tears ‘n pay his vague condolences when they say his ma died of a heart attack in ‘64, after learnin’ about ferris’s disappearance. and he’ll... open a bakery. yeah. he’ll lie ‘n say his ma was a baker in baltimore, she met feller after a game ‘n he was the result. he’ll stay a while. open a bakery. bakery. baker. brooks baker. that’ll work.

so he opens the roll along. the town loves it. by 1970, he’s winnin’ awards with his sweets. but the baker’s disposition doesn’t match the confections’ flavor.

he’s bitter. crass. a dark cloud. you don’t walk into the roll along for a chat. but that doesn’t stop some from tryin’. behind that glare, there’s somethin’. behind those icy eyes, there’s a different story.

ask him if he knows baseball. he’ll say nah, never played a lick in my life. he misses it. god damn it, he misses the game.

he keeps facial hair to look around his age. although his age is loose –– he avoids numbers. avoids specifics. folks speculate he’s in his mid-20s and that’ll do. but if he ever shaved? he wouldn’t look a day over 22.

t h e     f a i r .

the roll along had its very own tent at the thanksgiving fair, and it was doin’ great business. brooks almost dropped a full tray of sweet rolls when chaos broke out. and then he saw the lady in orange and he just about lost his marbles. chucked the tray onto the nearest table. set off after her. but she disappeared ‘n then he had some hooligans on his hands, so he snatched the closest weapon –– a jumbo inflatable baseball bat and had at it. 

no glitz and glam. no heroics. he whacked those monsters upside the head with a useless bubble of hot air, sustained some deep slashes, ‘n then got the fuck outta there. locked himself in the bakery, slumped against the fridge, bloodied. cursed himself for bein’ here. cursed himself for not just dyin’ already.

the roll along was roped into hosting one of the pre-vigil gatherings. the mayor asked for 400 sweet rolls to honor the 400 fallen. brooks thought it was in poor taste but hey, can’t argue with asherby. he spent all night bakin’ the damned things in his blood-stained shirt.

c u r r e n t l y .

he can’t shake it. seein’ that woman. because that might be her. that might be the bitch who did this to him. the bitch who took everything by giving him it all.

so he’s stress bakin’. a lot. pawning it off on everyone and anyone. takin’ out his frustrations on unwitting customers.

people are askin’ more questions ‘bout where he’s from, but it’s been so long and he’s told so many white lies, it’s hard to keep his story straight. what’s it to you? is his go-to response, but that’s not sufficing any more.

c u r r e n t    c  o n  n e c t i o n s .

unlikely friends – duffy freely.  they’re an unlikely pair. but somehow, brooks’ bitterness doesn’t scare duffy off. and there’s somethin’ about this girl’s earnestness that’s got something akin to trust risin’ up in him. a friend. who’d have thunk.

smug flirty banter – cal caldwell.  the roll along supplies baked goods to letum skate, and ever since findin’ its owner hiding away in a closet from customers and coaxing him out with baked goods, brooks has developed... an intrigue ‘round cal. and, well. the guy’s a warlock. maybe he can help figure a way outta this fuckin’ curse.

w a n t e d    c o n n e c t i o n s .

younger sister.  she’d be pretty old now, but i imagine if this was filled, she’d have been turned supernatural in her 20s or 30s. growing up, brooks and his sister weren’t very close. brooks was always their mother’s priority because of baseball, and i imagine there was a lot of bitterness when he left town so quickly for the yankees. she’s likely around, and if they have interacted, it would be clipped and tense. dysfunctional as fuck. there’d be a lot of resentment about how their mother died. because, well... it’s his fuckin’ fault.

drinking buds.  two shots of vodka, glug glug glug !!   brooks is... well. definitely an alcoholic, among other things. he carries such a weight that it’s the only way he really knows how to dull it all. he’s bound to have a person or two for choice company in those need-to-drown-it-out moments.

bitter buds.  they don’t take one another’s shit. and in all other universes, maybe they’d be sworn enemies. but for some reason, these two wind up actually getting along.

someone haunt the shit out of him.  ghosts, i’m lookin’ at you.

unofficial baker’s aid.  alright so. brooks is all about flying solo. managing his own shit. but maybe this customer hangs around so often that they’ve become part of the process? taste testing, helping to get things out of the oven, dealing with customers when brooks is done with their shit, etc.

#othqintro #intro.

[findingschmomo]

Summary of my first experience with Magischola, playing a Cryptozoology professor at Magischola Prep Summer Camp. 

First day of class, Professor Skugg revealed she had not been feeding her gremlins, accidentally let loose a Memmic on campus and cursed a Loup Garou Counselor to obey her so she could use her in class. She also spent most of the class not teaching, but rather, ranting about her conspiracy board about the existence of a Reverse Mermaid in the woods. When the Registrar visited her last class to monitor what was happening, she lied through her teeth and the class covered for her.

The next day, the Registrar ordered the Board of Tutelage to begin their investigation on Professor Skugg based on these allegations. Professor Skugg took the advice of some of the students and changed her name to Professor Norm Al, claiming to be Skugg’s cousin and her substitute teacher. Wren Bradford, director of the camp, and Skugg’s best friend was very unamused by this plan and may have started panicking about the camp being shut down. This is also about the time when Professor Skugg started telling the campers not to talk to any of the men in suits who were clearly conspiring against her. Chants of “Professor Skugg did nothing wrong” started to spread throughout the camp.

That evening, Professor Skugg led a cryptid tracking session in which campers stumbled upon a Chupacabra, which they then trapped and tested for sapience. One camper than killed the chupacabra to fulfill a fae deal much to the horror of the other campers. (Professor Skugg may have laughed as the cryptid died, but that was mostly from the excitement of having fresh chupacabra jerky at the bonfire. It definitely did not warrant a student shouting at her “You don’t need a freezing spell, you’re cold hearted enough.” Minus two points from Morton)

At the bonfire many students started screaming about a ghost joining them. Professor Skugg, enjoying her chupacabra jerky, found this to be very stupid. There was definitely no ghost. She spent the evening chatting with Wren Bradford about how the students had been inhaling too much smoke. 

For Thursday’s class, Professor Skugg was barred from using her classroom because of the ongoing investigation. Despite making an anonymous announcement of “Dear Board of Tutelage, everything is fine. You can leave now. Thanks,” the investigation continued. Her first two classes consisted of a game of camouflage and a rare visit from a wandering Sasquatch. Highlight of the class was an initiate attempting to heal the injured Sasquatch, stating “You keep drawing the healing rune, I’ll feed him my Rice Krispie.”

After her second class, the Sasquatch stumbled into the main courtyard, suffering from heat exhaustion because he was meant for colder climates. The students tried to help but failed. Professor Skugg lead the injured beast away and swiftly took care of the problem. (Humanely, despite the agonizing wail from the Sasquatch himself.) She then skinned the beast and left the rug in the Bradford common room, as one does with luxury items. 

Unfortunately, for her last class of the day, a Marshal sat in to monitor her. Even more unfortunately, a Jiwa Setan interrupted class and attacked one of the counselors, sucking his positivity out of him. The students handled the situation quickly, easily getting rid of the beast, while Professor Skugg (still masquerading as Norm Al) definitely did not panic. The Marshal proceeded to lay into Skugg, telling her this is a warrant for an arrest, and that this Norm Al nonsense ended now. Once the Marshal left, Professor Skugg tried to calm the angry students down by assuring them their counselor would be fine and it was more important to come up with a cover story for what had happened and to make sure the Registrar did not find out. “Remember class, what happens in Cryptozoology, stays in Cryptozoology.”

The Marshal distributed class evaluations during dinner, asking students if Skugg should remain on faculty despite her crimes. Professor Skugg spent most of dinner bribing students with house points for positive evaluations and attempting to calm Wren Bradford down, continuously stating that everything was fine.

In a sudden twist of fate, a poetic announcement was made in which the Registrar asked Professor Skugg to be their date to the ball to which Professor Skugg readily agreed. Realizing that the Registrar’s monitoring was not meant to get her in trouble, but rather because of their crush on her, her spirits were completely lifted. She spent the evening helping Wren Bradford commentate the Court Tournament, sharing stories of their own camp days (specifically humorous stories at the expense of their mutual friend, Von Cailler (healing prof)) before the incident that closed the camp down a decade ago.

Professor Skugg kept a low profile for most of Friday morning, but slipped in an announcement during lunch as a response to the Registrar’s message:

“Dearest Registrar

I have kept my distance from afar

I always thought your careful eyes

Were meant to terrorize

But now I see that these are lies

Yes I will accompany you too the dance

Thank you for giving me this chance

To prove that I truly do belong,

and that Professor Skugg did nothing wrong.”

Most interestingly, some students started asking Skugg to participate in their show case ritual. They claimed Skugg was suffering memory altering magic and was involved in the camp closing incident. Which is preposterous, but Skugg was used to people never believing her about the Reverse Mermaid she saw, so she agreed to help out with the ritual anyway. 

During the showcase, Professor Skugg almost panicked to death when Morton Court decided to use the Sasquatch skin as part of their ritual in front of the Board of Tutelage. Luckily, the students never mentioned her by name and she remained clear of the crime. Wren Bradford sent her many panicked glares.

During the Williams ritual, Skugg, Wren, Von Cailler and Toni were led into the circle to be given their memories back. As the students chanted it suddenly all became very clear. The constant fog within Skugg’s mind, the headaches, the inability to plan for the future, the constant running from consequences, were all side effects of terrible mind altering. 

10 years ago at camp, Skuggs friend was bitten by a lycan and turned into one. Desperate to save their friend, she and her other friends tried a ritual to save him which went awry, killing him in the process. The lasting image was burned into Skugg’s mind: a person, half wolf, half human. Von Cailler, panicked and scared, casted a powerful memory altering spell on the rest of his friends. For Skugg, it meant forgetting the incident, forgetting the friend, and having their mind in a permanent fog with no ability to future plan or comprehend that her actions have consequences. 

The burden of her memories spiraled her into a panic attack, further exacerbated by the ghost of her friend speaking to her. Von Cailler continued to be unrepentant, and the ghost friend gave a speech that left all the campers in tears, “There will always be people like him, people who hate you for who you are. But every day you wake up happy and smiling, is a day they lose and you win.”

The students shared in the mental burden with Skuggs. On the way back to the dorm two students confronted her, showing her her Reverse Mermaid board and telling her they still believed in her, and that her passion was not pointless but rather inspiring. Spirits slightly lifted, Skuggs put on her giant ballgown dress and headed to the dance with the Registrar.

While dancing with them, the Registrar suddenly grabbed her, calling for the Marshals and cutting the music. Her arrest was announced, and Skuggs begged to speak to the camp. She apologized for all her wrong doings, told the world that her mind was finally free and that she mustn’t run away any longer. She’ll go to jail, she’ll do her time, and she was so very sorry for everything. As she fell to her knees, the Marshals turned to the campers, “Do you believe Skuggs should remain?” And the campers shouted back near unanimously, “Yes!” which warmed Skuggs heart and brought her to tears. She was put on probation instead and asked to return to teach at next year’s camp. 

In all seriousness, this past week has been absolutely magically. All of the kids were fantastic, emotionally mature empathetic human beings who changed my life and created a beautiful story. Bless them all. The staff was so welcoming and wonderful and we created such a safe and accepting environment. My heart is full of warmth and my faith in humanity slightly rebuilt. 

#ignore me #primaschola camp #a memoir

[kuriquinn]

Still

Disclaimer & Masterpost 

Summary: Kakashi can’t help the whimsical smile on his face as he watches his former students, interacting with one another as if no time has passed. This peace won’t last long, he knows. But for right now, in this tiny medical tent, they can all pretend for a little longer that everything is going to work out perfectly. [NarutoWeek2017 – Day 1 - Prompt: “Team 7”]

While the rest of the world is busy combing the battlefields for the wounded and burying their dead, the original members of Team 7 are forcibly put on bedrest. None of them are very happy about it, but no one is really in the right condition to fight it.

And Tsunade Senju is not a woman to be argued with.

“That’s all we need now, is for the saviours of the Shinobi World to drop dead from exhaustion,” she remarks imperiously, stepping back into a command role with ease. “You’re all going to sit tight and recover your mental and physical faculties before you even think of dealing with other matters – yes, Sakura, that means you too!”

And she stalks out of the tent leaving her apprentice silently fuming.

“Thanks, Sasuke,” Naruto sneers, albeit without true malice. “This is all your fault for trying to look cool! And making Sakura have to carry your unconscious ass back here, too! Looks like things haven’t changed since we were kids!”

A hand slaps the back of his head, and he winces. “Owww…Sakura, I’m injured! You can’t go hitting people in the head that are already hurt!”

“Then don’t pretend like you’re any better than Sasuke,” Sakura chides. “I had to carry you both back here because you hyperventilated yourself into unconsciousness!”

Sasuke smirks. “Loser.”

“Honestly, I told you two to take it easy, that was not taking it easy,” she goes on, hands on her hips. “I know you had to dispel the Infinite Tsukuyomi, but wouldn’t it have made more sense to eat a few ration pills to get your strength up beforehand? Honestly, the two of you are so short-sighted sometimes, I don’t even know how you’ve managed to survive so long. And another thing…”

Kakashi can’t help the whimsical smile on his face as he watches his former students, interacting with one another as if no time has passed.

This peace won’t last long, he knows.

There’s the matter of rebuilding the world following the war, a task he knows he’s going to get saddled with (Tsunade has made it pretty plain to him she has no intention of taking back the mantle of Hokage after this is all over). If that’s the case, it means he has to invest in getting Naruto rehabilitated and ready to take over as soon as humanly possible, which is a whole other headache. Then there’s sorting out all the trouble Sasuke’s been causing (he has no idea how he’s going to talk the kid out of that metaphorical nest of vipers), and being there for Sakura when the post-traumatic stress finally hits (Naruto and Sasuke have been dealing with this in one form or another their entire lives; Kakashi’s not sure how his lone female student will cope).

But for right now, in this tiny medical tent, they can all pretend for a little longer that everything is going to work out perfectly.

Several cots have been squeezed into the small structure, along with trays of bandages and other equipment set aside for their use. Yamato has been brought here as well, and lies utterly still, while IV lines stream medicine and nutritional fluids into his weakened body.

If anyone deserves some rest and relaxation after all this, it’s Tenzou…

Kakashi lies supine, his limbs heavy like lead and every thought making his head spin; he’s a little dizzy, as well, not used to seeing out of two eyes after so many years forced to rely only on his right. Naruto is a ball of barely contained energy, cross-legged on his cot and bouncing up and down nervously; he’s still running on adrenaline. And Sasuke…is twitchy for an altogether different reason.

Despite being in the company of those he considers precious for the first time in years, he looks utterly vulnerable.  As if he can’t quite figure out how he came to be here or what his next move is meant to be. For someone whose entire life is a series of steps taken to reach a new goal, Kakashi imagines he’s feeling a little lost right now.  

Sakura paces back and forth, practically chomping at the bit in her concern for the people outside their tent. Every now and then she sits down beside Naruto or Sasuke and rechecks their arms, muttering about their idiocy and all the medical procedures they’re going to have to go through once they return to Konoha. Neither boy complains, though, taking her mile-a-minute fretting with heretofore unseen patience.

So much for Tsunade ordering her to rest…

Every now and again, Sakura will suddenly go utterly still and gaze over at Sasuke. Her expression blooms into an expression of such utter joy and love that Kakashi feels as if he is intruding simply by observing it. But before he can look away, it is replaced with something cold and hollow, like she’s remembering something horrible, and then she’s once more a whirling dynamo of fretting and rambling.

She might not notice the way Sasuke’s eyes follow her when she moves around, but Kakashi does. There’s no discernable intent behind it, no sudden epiphany or understanding, but Kakashi gets the sense that the foundation for something are being laid in this moment.

He hopes to one day see it come to fruition.

No one talks about the bevvy of guards surrounding the tent, the express purpose of their presence being to ensure that Sasuke Uchiha doesn’t go anywhere.

Not that he has any intention of doing so; he surrendered himself to the closest authority the minute the Infinite Tsukuyomi was dispelled, and intends to accept any punishment that he is due.

(That the closest authority was acting Hokage Kakashi Hatake is only coincidence and proximity; Sasuke didn’t really get a chance to move much farther from him before passing out due to the combined effects of chakra depletion and blood-loss.)

When Sai arrives, carrying an armful of clothing and rations, he is practically ambushed by Sakura and Naruto (“Naruto, what the hell are you doing! Get back to bed, you’re not supposed to be standing!” “But Sakura, he brought ramen! It’s crappy military ramen, but still!” “I don’t care! Sit down before I make you sit down!” “Huh. It seems being a war hero hasn’t made your bedside manner any better, Ugly – ow!”). Kakashi is also curious about the state of affairs, but he can bide his time while Naruto relieves Sai of his burden (ramen first, of course!) and Sakura envelops him in a tight hug.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” she tells him warmly. “Everything happened so fast before, we lost track of you.”

“It’s thanks to you guys that I am,” Sai replies evenly, and then looks over her shoulder to see Sasuke observing the entire interchange silently. There’s a subtle down-turn of Sai’s lips, and he slowly pulls away from Sakura.

Approaching the missing-nin with the same wary air of someone facing off against a lion, Sai wanders over to stand before the surviving Uchiha. Naruto and Sakura immediately go still, as if anticipating the need to protect someone – but unsure who should merit that.

“I have read that first impressions tend to irrevocably influence future relationships,” Sai begins quietly. “Yet since knowing Naruto and Sakura, I have learned different. I would…not be averse to seeing if my first impressions of you were wrong. At some point in the future, of course.”

The tiniest frown appears in Sasuke’s forehead at this, not quite sure how to respond.

Sai holds out a spare Allied Shinobi Force uniform and flak-jacket. “This should be in your size, Coward.”

Naruto makes a choking noise, and Sakura’s cheeks turn an angry red; Kakashi wonders if he’s going to have to intervene in yet another teen-angst-fueled altercation.

A moment later, however, something unspoken appears to pass between the two, because Sasuke nods once and replies, “These will be sufficient.”

And the tense atmosphere dissipates.

At least he didn’t call him “traitor”, I guess…

Sakura wastes no time dragging Sai away to lecture him about tact, before switching gears, demanding updates on the world beyond their little tent. She wants to know the status of the wounded, the current supply situation, whether they have to worry about clean drinking water, are any outbreaks of sickness being properly quarantined, and have transports back to the various villages been organized –

“Ino said if I told you anything while you were supposed to be resting that she’d hurt me, and honestly, she scares me more than you do,” Sai replies dutifully, causing Sakura to erupt into a furious, anti-Ino rant.

Meanwhile, Naruto has brought back two of the tiny ramen rations to where Sasuke is sitting, and as he waits for the tiny field kettle to boil, chats idly about how he can’t wait to return home for Ichiraku ramen.

He regales his friend with stories about the new menu, changes in flavour, the new premises – which leads to a long, drawn-out explanation of how the village was destroyed in Pein’s attack. Sasuke listens gravely, no doubt thinking of his own recent goals, and for a wonder Naruto notices, because he quickly changes the subject to happier topics – reuniting with Tazuna and Inabi, how he and Sakura defeated Kakashi’s bell test (“Really?” Sasuke says, staring over Kakashi like he doesn’t know if he should be judgemental or amused about the entire thing.) and how even after everything, Condor the Ninja ostrich is still alive and kicking.

(Sasuke looks comically disgruntled at this news.)

The warm reminisces are interspersed with good-natured teasing. It feels a little bit forced, but everyone appreciates it all the same.

Naruto grumbles. “Real asshole move, Sasuke, taking the hand I use to hold my chopsticks…”

“Tch. It’s your own fault for not becoming ambidextrous,” Sasuke retorts, and then utterly invalidates his argument by slopping his own ration down his front.

“Come on, Sai,” Sakura sighs out loud, “let’s help them before someone ends up with chopsticks up their nose…”

“Is such a thing an actual medical concern?” Sai wonders, although he dutifully follows Sakura and proceeds to help Naruto; it isn’t even a question that Sakura will see to Sasuke.

Kakashi chuckles and pulls himself into a sitting position, reaching for the pile of clean clothing. Bathing is a long way off, but he wants to get rid of the sticky, itching sensation of dried blood against his skin.

He thinks nothing of stripping off his blood-stained, torn clothing right there. Battlefield conditions leave little room for modesty, and besides – they’re all men here, and Sakura is a medic that’s changed his bedpans and seen him in various states of undress over the years thanks to his propensity for landing himself in the hospital.

They’re a far cry from the easily embarrassed youngers he was responsible so long ago –

“Kakashi-sensei,” Sakura says suddenly, while he is in the process of tossing aside his ruined flak jacket, “you should really take off that mask. There’s got to be a lot of blood and other toxins on it that have dried. You don’t want to be breathing that in while you’re recovering.”

Her words are delivered in the usual matter-of-fact manner of a physician, and yet there’s something entirely too innocent about it.

Dimly, Kakashi notices that Naruto and Sasuke have gone utterly and completely still, though their gazes have abruptly zeroed in on his face.

A long-forgotten memory hits him then, bringing with it a tidal wave of nostalgia, and Kakashi can’t help smirk.

Ah. So that’s what this is…

“You’re right,” he says, solemnly, surreptitiously sneaking a nearby surgical mask into his hand. “I definitely don’t want to breathe anymore toxins in, especially in my weakened state.”

He reaches for the bottom of his shirt to pull it and his mask over his head, and in a move that even Sasuke’s Sharingan couldn’t track, he fits it over his face.

“Much better,” he declares to his staring former genin squad.

The so-called Neo Sannin all slouch forward, exhaling in united frustration.

“Still?” Sasuke asks.

“Still,” Naruto and Sakura chorus.

Sai just looks confused.

We’re going to be alright, Kakashi realises.

終わり

Reviews and constructive criticism are appreciated!

クリ

Next Chapter

#narutoweek2017 #naruto shippuden #naruto week #naruto fanfiction #team 7 #team 7 reunited #team 7 forever #naruto uzumaki #sakura haruno #sasuke uchiha #kakashi hatake #sai #captain yamato #chapter 699 #sasusaku hints

[djrelentless]

“2014...Friend Or Foe?”

December 23, 2014 at 3:08pm

Well, another year has come and gone. And what can be said about the year that bought usThe Ice Bucket Challenge, Lumberjack Beards and The Battle of Celebrity Silicone Parts. 2014 cemented history for some and unraveled it for others. We watched the product of racism grow into an epidemic of police brutality and learned a lot more about ourselves than we wanted to know. So, let's jump right in and do a recap!

I can't think of anyone else who deserves this cover more than President Obama.

Politics is one of those subjects that we are told never to discuss at a dinner party, but this year I don't think any of us could escape this topic. In the United States, President Obamahad a roller coaster ride that I don't think any otter president has ever had to face. His uphill battle with the Republicans just got nastier as they continued to be "The Party Of No". It amazed me that their hatred for the first Black President would drive them to put in place rezoning laws to secure the elections later in the year. Republicans cunningly said "no" to many ideas just to later blame Obama for things not getting done. This hatred and racism would spill into other areas later in the year.

Here in Toronto, we started out the year with Mayor Rob Ford being defiant by not stepping down after admitting that he smoked crack on The Jimmy Kimmel Show. His arrogance would make him believe that he would win the next election. But as my grandmother used to say….."God don't like ugly (and he ain't too fond of pretty either)." Health issues would eventually take him out of the mayoral race and have his brother take his place in the running. But the good folks with common sense had the good taste of send the message to the Ford brothers that they are not welcomed in City Hall anymore. And although the gay community were really hoping that Olivia Chow would have been our next mayor, the inner core of downtown could not out voted the conservative suburbs and John Tory was voted in.

It was really interesting to watch the blogs and twitter-sphere talk about what was going to happen and what should have happened. I was surprised to see how many conservative acquaintances I had on my facebook friends list. I even had someone in my circle who is super-gay and a Ann Coultier fan. Talk about a walking contradiction…..I mean….who knew we had gay republicans in Canada? And one of my favorite things (….this is sarcasm), is watching some Canadians who only know what is sensationalized on the internet and on TV talk and post about life in the states. As if what they read or heard is the only life for Americans. Everyone has guns, everyone voted Bush in office in both elections and all Americans are stupid. That's no different than the Americans who think Canadians live in igloos and say "a-boot". I guess that's why many Canadians believe that the racial problems that happen in the states are not here in their own backyard. I often joke with my husband that I now know why Canadians get mugged and shot in The Big Apple. They go in with preconceived notions and carry their Canadian philosophies with them when traveling (like walking directly behind New Yorkers instead of giving a little breathing space while walking down the street…..definitely a good way to get shot or at least cursed out).

2014 could be described as history repeating itself. With the re-election of President Obama came more racial divide in the world. Remember….what happens over here effects over there. In his first term, the Republicans accused him of going on an Apology Tourthrough Europe. But Obama realized that in order to fix the US's standing in Europe, he had to repair relationships. Recently he began speaking about fixing things with Cuba. As an American (especially from Florida), I was surprised when I came to Canada and saw commercials for vacationing in Havana. This would never happen in the states. But with the Democrats' big loss in the Senate election this year, Obama lost any power in Congress. And try as he might to reach out to work with the Republicans……they are not having it.

The Ebola Crisis, Russia, North Korea, the Israeli-Palestine Conflict, the missing Malaysia aircraft, Healthcare Enrollment, "The Interview"……..whatever Obama said or did was not good enough or was not soon enough. But I guess the Republicans were not counting on him to remain so level-headed. Just once I wanted him to explode and show full anger for all the shit that he has had to endure as the first Black President. But he knows that he has to remain focused and stay on course. When it is all said in done after he leaves office, his legacy will out live the assholes who tried to sabotage him every step of the way. Let's just hope that Hillary Clinton really does throw her hat in the ring for the 2016 election (I wanna see the US make history again as Bill Clinton becomes the First Husband). So far, the Republicans have not presented a viable candidate.

Unfortunately for Obama, his presidency has brought up the old "Jim Crow" mentality. Just as the US took two steps forward, bias crimes and hatred slowly started to rise and knocked us four steps back. We are still recovering from the Zimmerman Verdict. Paula Deen andDuck Dynasty are still on the air (and I just got back from a trip to Florida where I was surprised by how many Redneck reality shows are in production). Chick-fil-a became the fast-food headquarters for homophobia while some gays tried to turn the situation into black people and the n-word situation nothing changed.

In July, I heard a report about a mentally challenged black man named Milton Hall being shot 46 times in Detroit. And then we watched on YouTube as Eric Garner died in a police choke hold because it was believed that he was selling loose cigarettes (known as a "lousy" on the streets) on Staten Island. Shortly after that came the news of Michael Brown being shot and left in the street in Ferguson. The  reports of 12 year old Tamir Rice being shot and killed by police in Cleveland left me stunned. Earlier in February, I wrote a blog called"Hunting Season Is Open In The U.S." which talked about the rise of hate crimes against black youth. Little did I know that this blog would become a prelude to a summer of killings by the police. And all of these shootings would open a huge debate about what is excessive force. Of course we want to support the law enforcement officers who are really out there to protect our communities, but something has to be done about the percentage of cops who are hunting down people of color while the judicial system seems to not be holding them accountable. Yes….there are bad people and bad cops. Out of all the names I mentioned above, there were no cigarettes found on Eric Garner. The rest had probable cause to be stopped…..but not killed.

And while the internet can be the perfect place to see the world and learn new things, it can also be the breeding ground for hate and misinformation. It's scary to think what and who is lurking behind the keyboards out there. Agendas to start a race war and spread propaganda is at every turn. Folks writing sensational articles and blogs to get hits to their sites (without regard for who they hurt or discredit). For every positive article or blog there are probably hundreds to counteract that message. And unfortunately, many people don't check the sources or credibility of these sites and articles and then just accept them as truth. Look before you leap, people.

With the rise of cyber-bullying, teen suicide is slowly becoming common place. Many deaths happened in 2014 (including the death of Bill Cosby's image). And although we lost quite a few celebrities and icons this year (Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Robin Williams, Joan Rivers, Jan Hooks, Maya Angelou, Ruby Dee, Casey Kasem, Shirley Temple) there was one particular non-celebrity death that struck me really hard. It was the suicide of 16 year old Sergio Urrego. His story really got me because he did not kill himself because of bullying by classmates. No…he killed himself because of the faculty at his Catholic School in Colombia found a photo on his cellphone of him kissing his boyfriend and began harassing them both. Forcing the boyfriend to out himself to his parents about his sexuality then forcing him out of the school. Then they went as far as not releasing Sergio's records so he could not transfer to another school. The poor child posted the lyrics and the YouTube clip of Pink Floyd's "Goodbye Cruel World" on his facebook page on August 4th and then killed himself.

This is the danger of allowing religion into politics. People kill in the name of religion. And now people are killing themselves because of religion. And with idiots like Andrew Caldwellproclaiming that he is not gay no more and dancing around with the holy spirit on YouTube, it's hard to believe that in this same year Pope Francis in the vatican declared that "homosexuals need to be welcomed…..and have gifts and qualities to offer the Christian community." But the majority of black churches are not following the Pope's words. In the communities of color, there remains homophobia (which is completely silly because there are plenty of gay people in the church). When will everyone understand that we are not free until everyone is free. It is hard to break down the years of institutionalized hatred, racism and homophobia. We must first look at ourselves and ask the question…."how would I like to be treated?"

Another topic that has risen since the summer is the appropriation of Black Culture. One of the great things about the United States is the concept of making something out of nothing. Ideas being turned into reality fuel the imagination and the economy. So, the concept of Hip Hop and Ballroom Culture being repackaged and marketing under white artists has come under fire. Since the Eric Garner choke hold, many of the black community have asked where is the outrage from folks like Miley Cyrus, Robin Thicke, Justin Timberlake, & Iggy Azalea. And it seems that since Iggy's sales have been through the roof and she has been deemed the new Elvis of Urban Music, she has been the subject of complaints. Rivals Nicki Minaj and Azealia Banks have voiced their distain for the gal from down under. Because I am leery of most things I read nowadays on the internet, I don't know what to believe about Iggy. I like her music and her flow, but is she really stealing thunder from other black artists? I mean….Kendrick Lamar seems to have moved on since the Grammy's. And it's funny that we haven't heard very much from Macklemore since all his accolades. The argument is that "everybody wants to be black to sell records", but when it comes down to actually being down for the cause of fighting for justice no one is around. Don't use our music and culture for record sells and then turn your back on us when we need your voices as much as ever. And don't think because you adopt black children that it gives you card blanche to say the word "nigger"….I'm talking to you Madonna. Even though you are about to drop your new album, I haven't forgotten your Instagram comment on your son, Rocco back in January.

And the continuation of Ballroom Culture appropriation continues as many gay white men love to ki-ki and duck walk to RuPaul's "Sissy That Walk" (which is another kind of appropriation since Ru was never a Ballroom kid either). But the funny thing is watching"Paris Is Burning" and seeing all the appropriation of the 80s rich Republican Culture as they aspire to be all the things they watched on "Dynasty". And today's Kardashians don't help either. Getting rich off of poor people's lust for power and fame. So, who's wrong and who's right. Should we take this opportunity to adapt and accept each other's culture instead of pitting black women against white gay men? I mean….we can all be "Gone With The Wind Fabulous" if that's what we aspire to be. We are all guilty of admiring something about another race or culture. Some imitate it and others try to destroy it to make themselves look superior. Everyone wants to point the finger, but no one wants to look in the mirror.

So, as this year comes to a close I am grateful for a few things. One of the things I am most proud of for 2014 is that I received the 2013-2014 "Friends Of The Foundation Award"from the Toronto Peoples With AIDS Foundation for my fundraisers, POZ-TO andSUNDAY NIGHT FEVER. My husband and I have worked really hard to create a space for the HIV+ Community and raising awareness. My "HIV/AIDS IS EVERYONE'S BUSINESS" Campaign has brought a lot of people together to raise their voices in the fight. And we celebrated our second year anniversary of the POZ-TO event on World AIDS Day(December 1st). Another is the sense of community that rallied together to help me after my bicycle accident in October that left me with a fractured cheekbone and jaw accompanied with a chipped tooth. It was amazing to see how many people cared and came out to perform, donate and support me in my time of need. I am also grateful for reconnecting with my family. I know too many gay people who do not have the support of their biological family (and there is nothing wrong with our adopted family, but there is something really special about being connected to those who are in our blood line). And lastly, I am forever grateful for my loving husband, John Richard Allan. I have never met anyone who has understood me or supported me as much as this man. I am truly blessed.

I don't know what 2015 will hold. But I do know that our conversations and debates about justice and racism will probably be more intense until we change some laws and outlooks in the United States. I know that Bill Cosby needs to address all of the rape accusations against him. It's tough watching the death of another black man. I know that not all cops are bad. I know that not all black youth are bad. I know that shooting police officers just because they are cops is not going to help the solution of fixing what is wrong with the relationship between communities of color and the law enforcement. I know that there are still some good people out there who are working to make their immediate worlds better (and honestly….that's all we can do on a personal level). I know that if you can't see passed the bubble you live in, you are not gonna go very far in life. And as for me….I am looking forward to seeing what else I can do to make my immediate world a better place.

[vinnystreets-blog]

All 10 Play Summaries and Analyses + Monologues

Julius Caesar is the story, mostly of the aftermath of Caesar’s death. There are essentially two schools of thought regarding the character of Caesar himself. One is that his arrogance is what leads to his death, as numerous warning signs are greeted with apathy my Caesar. The other theory is that fatalism or divine intervention brings about the events which occur on the Ides of March. I favor the latter interpretation, as Caesar’s death is also the result of Cassius’ envy and pride, Brutus’ dependence on others to do his thinking for him, and Antony’s hedonism which distracts him from protecting his friend and sovereign. One monologue from Marc Antony stands out as an exceptionally  emotional piece to include. Shakespeare is always more brilliant than anyone when it comes to conveying attachment and emotion in written form:

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;

I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their bones;

So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus

Hath told you Caesar was ambitious:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Caesar answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest–

For Brutus is an honourable man;

So are they all, all honourable men–

Come I to speak in Caesar’s funeral.

He was my friend, faithful and just to me:

But Brutus says he was ambitious;

And Brutus is an honourable man.

He hath brought many captives home to Rome

Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:

Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?

When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept:

Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:

Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;

And Brutus is an honourable man.

You all did see that on the Lupercal

I thrice presented him a kingly crown,

Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition?

Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;

And, sure, he is an honourable man.

I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,

But here I am to speak what I do know.

You all did love him once, not without cause:

What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him?

O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,

And men have lost their reason. Bear with me;

My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,

And I must pause till it come back to me.

2. Jesus Christ Superstar is in many ways a parallel story to that of Julius Caesar , and not just because JC is the main character. It begins with Judas criticizing Jesus’ popularity in much the same way the conspirators in the beginning of Julius Caesar do. Judas criticizes Jesus’ vulnerability and weakness just like Caesar was humanized by Cassius and Brutus’ conversation. What does exist in JCSS is more of a dialogue between the titular character and his followers. Judas is quick to criticize Jesus’ flaws without looking at his own ambitions. In this same way, Brutus believes he is looking out for the people of Rome, but fails to examine his own or Cassius’ reasons for violence and acquisition of power thoroughly.

    Uniquely, the play touches on specific instances of how such a man as Jesus would have lived, maintaining relative biblical accuracy while taking creative liberties. The scene in which Jesus tries to heal the lepers, only to be overwhelmed exhibits the struggle of draining oneself to take care of others. Mary Magdalene then struggles with loving Jesus, as how does one love someone without destroying a part of what that person is, or trying to possess them? The only monologue/ solo song I could find that I wanted to do is for Jesus’ tenor part, but maybe one day I can pull it off:

JESUS

I only want to say

If there is a way,

Take this cup away from me,

For I don't want to taste its poison.

Feel it burn me, I have changed,

I'm not as sure as when we started.

Then I was inspired,

Now I'm sad and tired.

Listen surely I've exceeded expectations

Tried for three years seems like thirty,

Could you ask as much from any other man?

But if I die,

See the saga through and do the things you ask of me.

Let them hate me, hit me, hurt me, nail me to their tree.

I'd want to know, I'd want to know, my God.

Want to know, I'd want to know, my God.

Want to see, I'd want to see, my God.

Want to see, I'd want to see, my God.

Why I should die?

Would I be more noticed than I ever was before?

Would the things I've said and done matter any more?

I'd have to know, I'd have to know, my Lord.

Have to know, I'd have to know, my Lord.

Have to see, I'd have to see, my Lord.

Have to see, I'd have to see, my Lord.

If I die what will be my reward?

If I die what will be my reward?

Have to know, I'd have to know, my Lord.

Have to know, I'd have to know, my Lord.

Why should I die?

Oh, why should I die?

Can you show me now that I would not be killed in vain?

Show me just a little of your omnipresent brain.

Show me there's reason for your wanting me to die,

You're far to keen on where and how and not so hot on why.

Alright, I'll die!

Just watch me die!

See how I die!

See how I die!

Then I was inspired,

Now I'm sad and tired

After all I've tried for three years, seems like ninety,

Why then am I scared to finish what I started,

What you started - I didn't started it.

God, die will is hard,

But you hold every card.

I will drink your cup of poison,

Nail me to your cross and break me,

Bleed me, beat me, kill me, take me now - before I change my mind

3. Macbeth - William Shakespeare: Though Macbeth wasn’t my favorite play at first, as I failed to see how it differed greatly from Julius Caesar in terms of general themes, I later came to enjoy it upon reflection. Macbeth mirrors Brutus in that he is a good man brought to crime by circumstance and ambition. Unlike Brutus, he has his ambition and pride guarded by a supernatural prophecy in which he believes wholeheartedly. Macbeth paints the picture that while hard work is important, ambition unchecked by morality is not viable. Furthermore, the harder one grasps onto power and status, the more quickly they seem to fly away. The true depth of Shakespeare’s work comes mostly not from examining what transpired, but creatively imagining how things could have turned out differently.

If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well

It were done quickly. If th’assassination

Could trammel up the consequence, and catch

With his surcease success: that but this blow

Might be the be-all and the end-all, here,

But here upon this bank and shoal of time,

We’d jump the life to come. But in these cases

We still have judgement here, that we but teach

Bloody instructions which, being taught, return

To plague th’inventor. This even-handed justice

Commends th’ingredience of our poisoned chalice

To our own lips. He’s here in double trust:

First, as I am his kinsman and his subject,

Strong both against the deed; then, as his host,

Who should against his murderer shut the door,

Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan

Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been

So clear in his great office, that his virtues

Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued against

The deep damnation of his taking-off,

And pity, like a naked new-born babe,

Striding the blast, or heaven’s cherubin, horsed

Upon the sightless couriers of the air,

Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye

That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur

To prick the sides of my intent, but only

Vaulting ambition which o’erleaps itself

And falls on th’other.

What I like particularly about this soliloquy is that Macbeth seems to have knowledge that this deed will not be the last, and when he ends, seems to resolve not to kill Duncan. Yet I imagine those seeing it for the first time rarely imagined that this resolve would only last until his wife returned to convince him once again to murder his liege. The reversing of gender roles in her strong will is unique, but is also paid karmically in turn when Lady Macbeth cannot bear the guilt of murders committed by her word on her conscience.

4. Death of a Salesman - Arthur Miller: Though DoS strikes many as a tragedy regarding the mundane workforce lifestyle, capitalist competitivism and mental illness, I see more as a tragedy in Willy’s failure to be a good father figure. From the beginning of the play, he is critical while taking little action. This is perfectly understandable, one of the continually stressed themes of the play is the great fatigue put on Willy by his job and travel. It may very well have killed him. But he also commits adultery, chooses, a profession which he clearly has no passion or talent for, fails to assist or guide his children morally or practically, etc.

Despite this, one can’t help but pity him. He’s wise enough to regret some of his choices, like not going off to Alaska with his brother. And he still makes a fair deal of effort to support his family. It’s just that his miserable job, lack of friends, mental illness and general difficult circumstances overwhelm him. Linda seemed like a very flawed character to me. She tries to support Willy, but can’t muster up the courage or will to drive him to change his situation the way Lady Macbeth does with her husband, albeit she goes too far. At the end, she says, “we’re free.” This is a hauntingly familiar feeling for anyone who has lost a loved one who was also a burden to them.

And when I saw that, I realized that selling was the greatest career a man could want. ’Cause what could be more satisfying than to be able to go, at the age of eighty-four, into twenty or thirty different cities, and pick up a phone, and be remembered and loved and helped by so many different people?

5. The Crucible - Arthur Miller: I enjoyed this more than Death of a Salesman for a couple of reasons. The first was that, While DoS is an American tragedy written for a modern audience (modern at the time), Crucible is a play set in a foreign time and somewhat foreign culture which already seems to take some of the qualities of a historical artifact. What do I mean by this? I mean that people in a future society will see the way John Proctor acted to maintain his reputation in exchange for death, and ponder it in awe. They will have no idea how to relate to such a concept, though I hope the same honor propagates itself in society consistently.

In a way, Elizabeth kills John. She refuses to corroborate his story of the affair. Ostensibly, this is to protect John’s reputation. But this makes no sense, as his reputation will be tarnished as a liar, and is, when she says that he has been faithful. More likely, it is that she cannot bear carrying the shame with her and her name, regardless of whether John lives or dies. Perhaps she even wishes his death as justice for his affair.

Reverend Parris, I have laid seven babies unbaptized in the earth. Believe me, sir, you never saw more hearty babies born. And yet, each would wither in my arms the very night of their birth. I have spoke nothin’, but my heart has clamored intimations. And now, this year, my Ruth, my only – I see her turning strange. A secret child she has become this year, and shrivels like a sucking mouth were pullin’ on her life too. And so I thought to send her to your Tituba – Tituba knows how to speak to the dead, Mr. Parris. Who else may surely tell us what person murdered my babies? They were murdered, Mr. Parris! And mark this proof! Mark it! Last night my Ruth were ever so close to their little spirits; I know it, sir. For how else is she struck dumb now except some power of darkness would stop her mouth? It is a marvelous sign, Mr. Parris!

6. The Importance of Being Earnest - Oscar Wilde: Wilde’s bombasity and artistic character are reflected in much of this play’s jovial nature, in Cecily’s and Algernon’s respective characters specifically. There are few monologues as the dialogue is quite witty, playful and back-and-forth, but most of the scenes are quite entertaining. In particular, I love the scene where Cecily and Gwendolen are piecing together the stories of the guys’ fabrications and giving each other suspicious cobra eyes, while also intending to be as polite as possible. The ending scene in which Lady Bracknell is entirely only interested in Cecily’s monetary prospects also has hilarious stage potential. Overall, this is an ideal comedic example for those who haven’t seen it. I’d love to do Act 1, scene 1 or 2 someday. An excerpt:

“How you can sit there, calmly eating muffins when we are in this horrible trouble, I can’t make out. You seem to me to be perfectly heartless."

"Well, I can’t eat muffins in an agitated manner. The butter would probably get on my cuffs. One should always eat muffins quite calmly. It is the only way to eat them."

"I say it’s perfectly heartless your eating muffins at all, under the circumstances.”

7. Long Day’s Journey Into Night - Eugene O’Neil: This piece is the ultimate tragedy. While a glimmer of hope is seen at the end for Jamie and Edmund (Jamie admits some of his faults, Edmund’s father finally concedes to send him to a state-of-the-art sanatorium in hopes to cure his tuberculosis), Mary’s situation only gets worse. The play also gives a general sense that permanent situational betterment by the Tyrone family is impossible. The scenes in the play are very repetitive, often including arguments, and always around when the family gathers for a meal. Through this repetition, the fall of the brothers deeper into alcoholism, and a general familial obsession with past issues, it seems very unlikely that any of the Tyrone family’s issues will be confronted head-on. My sense is that O’Neil wrote this play as a reflection of typical families, including his own. The positive note he wishes to highlight is simply that some familial love is still built into the family, and you see it in Jamie’s drunken stupor in the final scene, and in Mary’s last words about falling in love with James Tyrone.

You've just told me some high spots in your memories. Want to hear mine? They're all connected with the sea. Here's one. When I was on the Squarehead square rigger, bound for Buenos Aires. Full moon in the Trades. The old hooker driving fourteen knots. I lay on the bowsprit, facing astern, with the water foaming into spume under me, the masts with every sail white in the moonlight, towering high above me. I became drunk with the beauty and signing rhythm of it, and for a moment I lost myself -- actually lost my life. I was set free! I dissolved in the sea, became white sails and flying spray, became beauty and rhythm, became moonlight and the ship and the high dim-starred sky! I belonged, without past or future, within peace and unity and a wild joy, within something greater than my own life, or the life of Man, to Life itself! To God, if you want to put it that way. Then another time, on the American Line, when I was lookout on the crow's nest in the dawn watch. A calm sea, that time. Only a lazy ground swell and a slow drowsy roll of the ship. The passengers asleep and none of the crew in sight. No sound of man. Black smoke pouring from the funnels behind and beneath me. Dreaming, not keeping looking, feeling alone, and above, and apart, watching the dawn creep like a painted dream over the sky and sea which slept together. Then the moment of ecstatic freedom came. the peace, the end of the quest, the last harbor, the joy of belonging to a fulfillment beyond men's lousy, pitiful, greedy fears and hopes and dreams! And several other times in my life, when I was swimming far out, or lying alone on a beach, I have had the same experience. Became the sun, the hot sand, green seaweed anchored to a rock, swaying in the tide. Like a saint's vision of beatitude. Like a veil of things as they seem drawn back by an unseen hand. For a second you see -- and seeing the secret, are the secret. For a second there is meaning! Then the hand lets the veil fall and you are alone, lost in the fog again, and you stumble on toward nowhere, for no good reason!

*He grins wryly.

It was a great mistake, my being born a man, I would have been much more successful as a sea gull or a fish. As it is, I will always be a stranger who never feels at home, who does not really want and is not really wanted, who can never belong, who must always be a a little in love with death!

TYRONE

*Stares at him -- impressed.

Yes, there's the makings of a poet in you all right.

*Then protesting uneasily.

But that's morbid craziness about not being wanted and loving death.

EDMUND

*Sardonically

The *makings of a poet. No, I'm afraid I'm like the guy who is always panhandling for a smoke. He hasn't even got the makings. He's got only the habit. I couldn't touch what I tried to tell you just now. I just stammered. That's the best I'll ever do, I mean, if I live. Well, it will be faithful realism, at least. Stammering is the native eloquence of us fog people.”

8. Medea - Euripedes: I admire the simplistic form in which this play is such a straightforward tragedy. Jason abandons his wife, Medea, in the attempt to bolster his status by marrying Glauce, daughter of Creon, king of Corinth. In the one day that Creon gives Medea to plan her departure, she plots the murder of Glauce and Jason and her own two children. Fascinatingly, her wish to make Jason miserable overwhelms her maternal instincts and she murders her children before leaving in Helios’ chariot. Apart from some light comedy, there’s not much to uplift this play besides the badass (albeit gruesome) female-empowering theme of a woman who murders her children just to revenge her honor and make her husband suffer as much as possible.

“Human misery must somewhere have a stop; there is no wind that always blows a storm; great good fortune comes to failure in the end. All is change; all yields its place and goes; to persevere, trusting in what hopes he has, is courage in a man. The coward despairs.”

How I wish the Argo's sails had never swept through the dark blue Clashing Rocks into the land of the Colchians; I wish the pine trees had never fallen in the groves of Pelion, cut down to put oars in the hands of the heroes who went after the golden fleece for Pelias. Then my mistress Medea would not have sailed to the fortress of Iolcus' land, her heart battered by love for Jason. And she would not have convinced the daughters of Pelias  to kill their father and would not have come to live here on Corinthian soil with her husband and children, winning over the citizens of the country she had come to as a refugee, and obliging Jason in every way. This is what brings the greatest stability at home: when a woman does not challenge her husband. It has all gone sour now, affection turned to hatred. Jason has cast aside his children and my mistress, and now goes to bed in a royal marriage with the daughter of Creon who governs this land. And Medea, in despair, rejected by her husband, howls out "the oaths he swore" and calls upon the right hand, a potent symbol of fidelity, and invokes the gods to witness Jason's treatment of her. She won't eat; she just gives in to her grief, washing away all her hours in tears, ever since she realized her husband had abandoned her. She never looks up or raises her face from the ground. She is like a rock or wave of the sea when those who love her try to give advice; except that sometimes she lifts up her pallid face and mourns for her dear father, her country, and the home she betrayed to come here with this man who now holds her in contempt. The poor woman knows from bitter loss what it means to have once had a homeland. And she hates her children, takes no pleasure in seeing them. I'm afraid of her, in case she has some new plan in mind. She is a deep thinker, you know, and she will not put up with this kind of abuse. I know her and I am terrified that in silence entering the house where the bed is laid she might thrust a sharp sword through the heart or kill the princess and the one who married her and then suffer some greater tragedy. She is frightening. It won't be easy for an enemy to come out victorious in a battle with her. But here come the children from their play. They know nothing of their mother's troubles for the childish heart is not used to grief.

9. The Seagull - Anton Chekhov: The play’s title comes from a scene in the first act. Treplev shoots a seagull and brings it to Nina, his love, to win her over. Trigorin, his literary rival (and Nina’s love interest) comments that he will write a story one day on how a girl is used and ruined by a man who has nothing better to do, just like the seagull. Towards the end of the play, Treplev has gained some ground in his career as a writer, but is still mostly receiving bad reviews. If Trigorin is a popular contemporary writer for his time, Treplev is the starving artist whose work will perhaps be remembered only after he is gone. Or perhaps, his ideas are too lofty and abstract, and it’s Treplev’s fault for not grounding them more concretely. Regardless, Treplev shoots himself after Nina confesses that after several years, she still loves Trigorin. While his death is perhaps not preventable, Treplev fits the allegory of Trigorin, only in reverse. He is ruined by his hope for a love with Nina. In part, she uses him by leading him on, and in part it’s his own fault for his obsession with a girl who is clearly passionate, independent and not very considerate, and who clearly loves someone else.

“NINA

Your life is beautiful.

TRIGORIN

I see nothing especially lovely about it. [He looks at his watch] Excuse me, I must go at once, and begin writing again. I am in a hurry. [He laughs] You have stepped on my pet corn, as they say, and I am getting excited, and a little cross. Let us discuss this bright and beautiful life of mine, though. [After a few moments' thought] Violent obsessions sometimes lay hold of a man: he may, for instance, think day and night of nothing but the moon. I have such a moon. Day and night I am held in the grip of one besetting thought, to write, write, write! Hardly have I finished one book than something urges me to write another, and then a third, and then a fourth--I write ceaselessly. I am, as it were, on a treadmill. I hurry for ever from one story to another, and can't help myself. Do you see anything bright and beautiful in that? Oh, it is a wild life! Even now, thrilled as I am by talking to you, I do not forget for an instant that an unfinished story is awaiting me. My eye falls on that cloud there, which has the shape of a grand piano; I instantly make a mental note that I must remember to mention in my story a cloud floating by that looked like a grand piano. I smell heliotrope; I mutter to myself: a sickly smell, the colour worn by widows; I must remember that in writing my next description of a summer evening. I catch an idea in every sentence of yours or of my own, and hasten to lock all these treasures in my literary store-room, thinking that some day they may be useful to me. As soon as I stop working I rush off to the theatre or go fishing, in the hope that I may find oblivion there, but no! Some new subject for a story is sure to come rolling through my brain like an iron cannonball. I hear my desk calling, and have to go back to it and begin to write, write, write, once more. And so it goes for everlasting. I cannot escape myself, though I feel that I am consuming my life. To prepare the honey I feed to unknown crowds, I am doomed to brush the bloom from my dearest flowers, to tear them from their stems, and trample the roots that bore them under foot. Am I not a madman? Should I not be treated by those who know me as one mentally diseased? Yet it is always the same, same old story, till I begin to think that all this praise and admiration must be a deception, that I am being hoodwinked because they know I am crazy, and I sometimes tremble lest I should be grabbed from behind and whisked off to a lunatic asylum. The best years of my youth were made one continual agony for me by my writing. A young author, especially if at first he does not make a success, feels clumsy, ill-at-ease, and superfluous in the world. His nerves are all on edge and stretched to the point of breaking; he is irresistibly attracted to literary and artistic people, and hovers about them unknown and unnoticed, fearing to look them bravely in the eye, like a man with a passion for gambling, whose money is all gone. I did not know my readers, but for some reason I imagined they were distrustful and unfriendly; I was mortally afraid of the public, and when my first play appeared, it seemed to me as if all the dark eyes in the audience were looking at it with enmity, and all the blue ones with cold indifference. Oh, how terrible it was! What agony!”

10.  Our Town - Thornton Wilder: I chose this as my last play to read, both because I had never read Thornton Wilder’s work and because small towns hold a special place in my heart. I grew up in a town of about 2,000 people, Cooperstown, New York. Besides being ultimately somewhat tragic, a unique blend of gallows humor and breaking of the fourth wall serves to lighten the tone of the play to a hopeful lesson, rather than a complete tragedy. Some of the scenes, like Emily and George talking from the windows, and the morning of her twelfth birthday which Emily visits after dying, all seem very familiar and nostalgic to me. For me, Our Town represents the smaller things in life and how important it is to appreciate them. George wants to go to college, but rightfully gives it up to stay with Emily. Emily in turn, only lives a few short years with George. Yet she doesn’t express regret, even though she has every right to. She died in childbirth, and could have lived much longer. She finally only wishes to lay next to George, and reflects that the living never understand the truly precious and amazing nature of life. Her remark that the poets are the only ones who come close to understanding this essential nature, bolsters my courage in pursuing a starving artist lifestyle.

GEORGE: After a pause, very seriously. Emily, I'm going to make up my mind right now. I won't go. I'll tell Pa about it tonight.

EMILY: Why, George, I don't see why you have to decide right now. It's a whole year away.

GEORGE: Emily, Fm glad you spoke to me about that . . . that fault in my character. What you said was right; but there was one thing wrong in it, and that was when you said that for a year I wasn't noticing people, and . . . you, for instance. Why, you say you were watching me when I did everything ... I was doing the same about you all the time. Why, sure, I always thought about you as one of the chief people I thought about. I always made sure where you were sitting on the bleachers, and who you were with, and for three days now I've been trying to walk home with you; but something's always got in the way. Yesterday I was standing over against the wall waiting for you, and you walked home with Miss Corcoran.

EMILY: George! . . . Life's awful funny! How could I have known that? Why, I thought

GEORGE: Listen, Emily, I'm going to tell you why I'm not going to Agriculture School. I think that once you've found a person that you're very fond of ... I mean a person who's fond of you, too, and likes you enough to be interested in your character . . . Well, I think that's just as important as college is, and even more so. That's what I think.

[gyrlversion]

Queen and Kate Middleton arrive for joint engagement in London

The Queen and the Duchess of Cambridge carried out their first ever joint engagement. 

Kate, 37, and the Queen, 92, shared a blanket in the back of the car as they pulled up at King’s College London, where they reopened Grade II-listed Bush House.

The Duchess was elegant in a grey Catherine Walker coat, believed to be a new bespoke addition to her wardrobe, which she teamed with her new favourite £510 Gianvito Rossi block heels and a black Mulberry clutch. 

In a rare move for such an outing, Kate, 37, completed her outfit with a hat, which is likely to be a sign of respect to the monarch. It is the same hat she wore when out with the Queen in Leicester in 2012.

Meanwhile the Queen, 92, plumped for a rose pink cashmere coat by Stewart Parvin and matching Rachel Trevor-Morgan hat with beautiful floral detailing at the brim.

Although they have carried out a handful of public visits with other members of the Royal Family, it was the first time that they have been on one together in public, outside of Buckingham Palace.  

In 2012 the pair visited Leicester as part of the Diamond Jubilee tour but were joined by the Duke of Edinburgh. However they did make individual stops on the schedule without him, including watching a student fashion show. 

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The Queen smiled warmly at the Duchess of Cambridge following a brief ceremony to officially open Bush House on Tuesday

The Duchess of Cambridge carried a bouquet of pink, white and orange blooms, left and right, as she left Bush House

The Queen and the Duchess of Cambridge shared a blanket as they arrived at King’s College London in the back of a car

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Outside on the terrace which overlooked central London, left, Kate and the Queen both remarked on the ‘impressive’ view

The Queen unveiled a plaque marking the official opening of Bush House, King’s College London, today

The Duchess and the Queen both donned hats for the occasion, left, although Kate had to readjust on the blustery roof, right

The Duchess of Cambridge remained by the Queen’s side as she officially opened Bush House on Tuesday 

The outing took place in March, shortly before William and Kate’s first wedding anniversary. 

Later that year the Duchess of Cambridge joined the Queen at Fortnum & Mason for an event launching a military initiative, where they were joined by the Duchess of Cornwall. 

Today the Queen and the Duchess of Cambridge appeared in excellent spirits as they arrived at Bush House, which previously served as the headquarters for BBC World Service but is being leased by King’s College London. 

It marks the newest building as part of the university’s Strand Campus. 

Kate and the Queen could be seen sitting with a blue blanket over their laps as they arrived in the back of a car. 

The Queen and the Duchess of Cambridge have arrived at King’s College London for a joint engagement

The Duchess of Cambridge received a beautiful bouquet of flowers as she left King’s College London following the outing

The Duchess of Cambridge waved as she followed the Queen out of Bush House, King’s College London, today

The Queen perfectly matched her outfit with her pink sapphire and diamond surround brooch, as seen on her coat

The Queen and the Duchess of Cambridge spent roughly an hour at Bush House before leaving, pictured 

There was much fanfare, with well-wishers crowding outside the gates to the building and some even standing on bollards in the hope of getting a better glimpse of the royals. 

Following royal protocol, Kate waited for the Queen to leave the car before exiting the vehicle herself. She continued to walk behind the monarch as they made their way into the building. 

The royals were greeted by Lord Christopher Geidt, chairman of King’s and former private secretary to the Queen, her most senior advisor.

He was ousted in a palace coup two years ago but remains close to the monarch. 

They were taken up to the eighth floor where they met donors, supporters and old alumni of the university who had contributed to transform the former BBC World Service at Bush House to a new faculty. 

The Duchess of Cambridge looked elegant in a Catherine Walker coat, black hat and black heels for the outing

Following protocol, the Duchess of Cambridge walked behind the Queen as they made their way into Bush House

The Queen and the Duchess of Cambridge appeared in excellent spirits and smiled as they arrived at Bush House

The Queen brought a splash of colour to proceedings in her pink coat and waved to royal well-wishers as she arrived

The Queen smiled as she stepped out of the car, dressed in a coat by Stewart Parvin and matching Rachel Trevor-Morgan hat

The Queen and the Duchess of Cambridge were given a warm welcome as they arrived at King’s College London today

The Duchess of Cambridge and the Queen will be given a tour of some of the facilities of Bush House during the engagement

The Duchess of Cambridge smiled as she stepped out of the car, while the Queen turned her attention to the well-wishers 

A crowd gathered to watch the royals drive through the gates into the campus of Bush House, pictured 

Outside on the terrace which overlooked central London, Kate and the Queen both remarked on the ‘impressive’ view. 

Meeting a group of builders, Kate said: ‘Do you all still get on? What a mammoth project this was.’ 

But it was meeting staff and students from the university’s robotic section that really captivated the royals. Matthew Howard, head of King’s robot learning lab, said: ‘It’s a sawyer robot and it’s designed to learn skills by copying the behaviour of people.

‘The sensors can be built into clothing and can pick up muscle activity as they can be made with metallic thread. It picks up the EMG muscle activity and transmits it to the robot and tries to copy what the person is doing. 

‘Sam was moving his hands so the robot moved its hand. The Duchess grabbed the hand and then Sam tensed his hand so it felt like a handshake.’

As she shook the robotic hand, Kate giggled and said: ‘Very nice to meet you!’. When it gripped her hand back, she laughed and said: ‘So strange’. 

The Duchess of Cambridge followed royal protocol by waiting for the Queen to leave the car before exiting herself 

The Duchess of Cambridge stepped out in one of her favourite shapes of coat as she joined the Queen in London today

The Duchess of Cambridge wore her new favourite Gianvito Rossi block heels and carried a Mulberry clutch 

The Queen’s Rachel Trevor-Morgan features beautiful floral detailing, left and right, which was on display as she arrived 

The Queen and the Duchess of Cambridge were greeted outside Bush House, the latest edition to the Strand Campus

The Duchess of Cambridge brought a more formal take to her outfit with a hat, which she wouldn’t typically wear on such an outing

The Duchess of Cambridge wore her long brunette locks in soft waves for the outing with the Queen in London today

The Queen looked slightly alarmed when the hand came near her and decided not to grace it with a regal shake. 

The royals then went downstairs to meet students in the university’s special trading floor and entrepreneurship section. Kate met entrepreneur Aysha Ingar who has set up an app for Muslim women and Tobi Oredein who has set up a media platform for black women in the UK. 

Kate told Aysha and Tobi: ‘I come from an entrepreneurial background and my parents started their own business so I’m all for it. Congratulations and keep going.’ 

Kate also met medical student Qasim Munye, 22, who has set up an app called Shortly for people who want to read short stories on the go, allowing people to choose a story that suits how much time they have to read. 

Kate said: ‘Oh that would be fantastic for the kiddies when it’s bedtime. Particularly for tired parents who want the children to go to sleep.’  

The Queen and the Duchess of Cambridge arrived at Bushy House, King’s College London, on Tuesday morning

The Queen climbed out of the car ahead of the Duchess of Cambridge, who followed respectfully behind

The royals were greeted by a crowd of well-wishers who had waited outside the building, hoping to catch a glimpse

The Duchess of Cambridge has rarely attended an engagement with the Queen without her husband the Duke of Cambridge

The Queen, patron of King’s College London, and the Duchess of Cambridge were greeted as they arrived at Bush House

Qassim, from London, said: ‘She mentioned that she thinks it would be good for her children before they go to sleep, to enable to set the time of the book.’

Mr Munye said he is now going to think about adding stories for children to the app. 

They ended their visit in the development’s new auditorium, where the Queen, who is patron of the university, unveiled a plaque, formally opening Bush House, before signing the visitor’s book alongside Kate.

Lord Geidt, who also went to King’s as a student, made a short speech and gave the Queen a gift of book of royal photographs. 

King’s Principal Prof Edward Byrne said: ‘It’s a huge honour to have Her Majesty and Her Royal Highness here. The University was founded by King George IV in 1829 and has always been associated with the Royal Family since as the monarch has always been our patron. 

‘It’s a day that staff and students will remember for the rest of their lives. Both HM and HRH really enjoyed meeting students from all over the world, those who have established their own businesses through the entrepreneurship institute and those in the robotics section. 

‘The duchess has a special interest in young people and has supported some of our mental health projects at King’s.’ 

Later, Kate visited the Foundling Museum to understand how it uses art to make a positive contribution to society by engaging with vulnerable and marginalised young people.

The museum tells the history of the Foundling Hospital, the UK’s first children’s charity and public art gallery.

Kate, who visited the museum in 2017, is expected to view Bedrooms of London, a photography exhibition that documents the living conditions of London’s most disadvantaged children.

The Duchess of Cambridge joined the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh on an outing to Leicester in March 2012, pictured

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[kashal1221]

Session ? (18, probably): Automatons (15/7/2018, Games@PI)

Dear Dad,

You may have surmised, even from your limited interactions with them, that my companions find little difficulty in landing themselves in hot water. It has been little more than a week since we departed from Opal City, and already much has happened. As you'll recall, having been there at the time, our ship was badly damaged. I was able to use magic to mend it to some extent, but between my being the only proper sailor on the ship, and the one mending any leaks that sprung up, I was rather in need of a couple of helping hands. Einar claimed to have a contact who could help us aquire metal sailors, needing neither food nor rest, from a facility hidden in the Sietemus's Teeth. Already I was suspicious- the area is well known to be riddled with pirates. Stranger still, his contact turned out to be a skeleton. But unlike the undead I have fought in the past, who were as lacking in mental faculties as they were in flesh and blood, this skeleton was as intelligent as any living man. His name was Juniper, and he promised to lead us to this facility. 

We received no trouble sailing to the island Juniper directed us to. It was when we landed that trouble began. The entrance to the facility was a large hole in the ground, leading down into fathomless depths. My companions, using methods of calculation I can hardly begin to understand, deemed the drop to be more than a thousand feet, with unknown depths of water beneath. Fortunately, long drops are of little consequence to my companions and myself, though this was a much longer fall than any I have previously undertaken. Jamborin, my half-elven wizard friend, myself, and three of our companions jumped in, and we fell freely for ten seconds or more before Jamborin cast her spell to slow our descent, allowing us to land safely in the water. Two more of our number flew down on our broom of flying, while the skeleton simply jumped, with no spell or magic item to aid him, save whatever enchantments keep his bones upright without flesh to hold them in place. 

To reach the facility, there was a further swim down through an underwater passage. Jamborin and I, each through our own methods having the ability to breathe underwater, led the way, though the trip was short enough that even those of us less magically inclined were able to surface on the other side unharmed. 

We met a strange woman then, sitting at the front desk. Though our tests deemed her a living human, she behaved more like an automaton, with no animation in her voice or face. All along I had my doubts about this trip. The strangeness of this woman only further worried me. My companions of course still behaved as though this were all a lark. Having been warned that a corridor was filled with traps, three of our number immediately ran directly down that self-same corridor, and as a result were brought almost to the point of death. Still we soldiered on, making our way deeper into the facility. We were left to wait for a good hour, during which my companions nursed their well-deserved wounds. Eventually a man, Winter, came to show us in. As we passed through, we saw more of those strange people, mindlessly working on the constructs, neither speaking nor looking away from their task. It was then that Winter revealed to us the price of the constructs we sought- not any amount of gold, but a living person. As this news sank in, Barris, always quick to draw his gun, opened fire upon Winter. Winter ran to sound the alarm as two suits of armour sprang to life to defend him. It did not take us long to kill Winter. The suits of armour, animated with the spirits of water and fire elementals respectively, proved harder to defeat, though defeat them we did, in the end. 

They thanked us as they died. From what I understand, they too were bound unwillingly in service. If I were controlled, and used to enslave others as they were, I too would welcome death. 

Our troubles were not yet over. The door through which we had come began to descend, trapping us in that room. Finch, our alchemist, as well as Jamborin's familiar, Bookwyrm, were the only ones fast enough to slip through before the door slammed closed. The rest of us, stuck inside the room, were able to work open a second door, which led to a loading bay, a handy means of escape. We communicated with Finch and Bookwyrm, and planned to each go out our separate ways, us through the loading bay and him back through the way we had come. But on the other side of the door, something strange began to happen to Finch. He became flat and mindless as the workers we had seen, and began to join them in their work. I teleported through the door and ran to him, shaking him, hoping to wake him from this enchanted stupor. For a moment he looked at me with a spark of recognition, but it was quickly suppressed, and he returned to work. Taking hold of him, I dragged him towards the door. But that was when something entered my mind, the same thing that had enslaved my friend. For a moment I faltered, my body leaving my mind's control, but with great mental effort I broke free, and teleported Finch and myself back through the door. 

Reunited with our friends, Finch's consciousness soon returned to him. In the loading bay, we found various means to bring ourselves as well as some cargo up to the surface, more than a thousand feet above us. Finch and our light-fingered friend, Luisa, found themselves a barrel which turned out to be a machine meant for underwater travel, which was fashioned somewhat after the features of a crab. It fitted only two, but the three breathing members of the party who could not do so underwater found magical means there in the loading bay. And so we made our way through the water, hanging on to the crab-like machine as it rose through the depths. 

We were accosted then by a terrifying sea creature. It had three large, bulbous eyes and a mouth filled with spiny teeth, and many waving tentacles fanned out behind. It spoke in our minds, furious that we had stolen from it. 

As we fought the creature, I felt it probe into my mind, demanding that I submit to its will. I recognised the cold touch of its magic. This was the same creature that had attempted to enslave Finch and myself, the same creature that enslaved the poor workers inside that terrible facility. Angered by this realisation, and bolstered by the knowledge that I had bested its enslaving power once before, I once again threw off the enchantment and continued to fight it.

The creature soon realised we were not a party to be trifled with, and it sought to escape. We pursued it, the crab-like machine catching and refusing to release it as we sought to kill the foul creature once and for all. A spell from Juniper put the monstrous thing to sleep, and we all gathered round, each of us preparing our deadliest attacks, hoping to kill it before it woke. On Juniper's signal, we let loose with spells and weapons, all eight of us at once. The massive creature fairly dissolved into a pulp from the strength of our attack. 

Monstrous creature dealt with, we continued on to the surface, though not unharmed. Two of our number were cursed by the creature's foul aura. Barris was quickly healed, but the other, our newest wizard Aquila, suffers still. She is bound to a tub that we have filled with seawater - emerging for too long causes her terrible pain. 

Upon our return to the ship, I was naturally furious with Einar for leading us to such an evil place, and I played a rather terrible trick upon him. I told him that we had bought the constructs, and that as the payment was a living person, we had come to retrieve him, to use him as payment. He looked so terrified at the prospect that I could not keep up the pretence for long. Even so, the relief when I told him that we were not indeed selling him had him in tears. In truth, I am somewhat perturbed that he did not question my story in the slightest. He fully believed I was capable of such a thing. Perhaps I have after all been too hard on him. I do regret playing that trick on him, especially as Jamborin decided that the scare was not punishment enough, and sought to tie him to the mast. I brought him down, of course, and he collected himself enough to have us on our way to Oceanward, now aided by seven stolen constructs.

We are at Oceanward now, with our ship at dry-docks while we search for a healer for Aquila, though the city is far from a haven away from danger. As it turns out, two of our number are wanted criminals here. One, you can probably guess. There are few places where Luisa is not a wanted criminal. The other may surprise you. Our dear alchemist is wanted here for treason, and there is a not insignificant bounty on his head. I hardly know what it is that he has done, but I know him to be a good man of strong morals, and I hold little respect for heads of state as it is. We will do our best to keep him safe, but I somehow doubt we will make it in and out of this city without incident. I will update you in my next letter on how this all plays out. I dearly hope I will have nothing to report, but I sincerely doubt that to be the case. 

Love, Hamish

#session notes