Forgive me for showing my fangs a little here instead of being as delicate in phrasing as I usually am, but. Periodic reminder:
sweeping "humans suck, humans are evil, the world would be better off if humans disappeared/had never evolved" statements may be cathartic but they're thoroughly inaccurate (ie, the vast majority of uniquely bad effects of humans on the planet are a) extremely recent, like within the last couple centuries, b) the fault of an extremely small minority not the entire fucking species, and c) fixable)
hating being human isn't the same as hating humans. I get species dysphoria is a thing. I get that it's often hard to fit in as a nonhuman in human social groups and that can make it easy to slip into hating everyone around you. Please fight that instinct
villainizing people for traits they didn't choose, such as the species they were born into, is neither cute nor fair. No species is inherently good or bad
misanthropy is cathartic in short term vents or whatever but genuinely embracing it wholesale as a philosophy is liable to lead to you hating humans, human society, and being in a human body more and more over time and thus make your life worse by constantly reinforcing a thought pattern that makes you angry and upset
you are not immune to being part of human society (translation: just because you're nonhuman doesn't mean you're not included in statements about the effects of the human population on the world, ie "humans are killing the planet")
related, you are not better than humans for being nonhuman. looking at my fellow dragons in particular on this one. I get it, draconic pride is a thing, dragon brain probably says you're the supreme being and all else is beneath you especially anyone who annoys you. Mine does too. Please recognize that is an instinct you are supposed to FIGHT, not something that's TRUE AND THAT YOU SHOULD EMBRACE. Good fucking gods.
some nonhumans are also human (it's me, I'm some nonhumans) and you are making sweeping "humans suck, why would I ever want to be human, all humans do is kill the planet" statements in the presence of people included in those statements, which is insanely rude (and no, you don't get to "but you're different because you're nonhuman" me! you do not get to decide to ignore half of who I am because you don't like it, you do not get to decide I'm not "really" human, and also see the previous bullet point). this goes doubly if you're in a space like a DIscord server where people have expressly stated they're not comfortable being tacitly included in statements like that
saying "but I don't REALLY mean all humans, I just mean the specific ones at fault!" after the fact does not actually change anything if every other thing you say is constantly "humans humans humans" and not the group you're actually referring to, or at the very least doesn't change how it reads to everyone around you
375 notes
·
View notes
how do you think in poems? i really enjoy the tags under your posts i've always wanted to write down my own thoughts that way bc in my head they feel so thorough and magical but whenever i put it in words i feel it just gets so much flatter and i no longer see a point and give up
oh oh oh, but lovely, can't you see that you've already started? it's a perspective that you hone, over time, something that is specific to you and you alone – that's the piece of it that makes it so special! you've already begun, and it only goes forward, up, sideways from here, wherever you wish to go!
think of it like a skill, for a moment, or a kind of muscle, if you'd prefer. you have to work at it, with it, over time and differing experiences, in order to progress.
(a quick important note: not progression as in the kind of quality-check of a grading scale, but progression as in evolution. shifting change. think of the leaves and their colors across the months of autumn, or temperatures rising with the sun and cooling with the evening dark. change isn't intrinsically a qualifying thing, it can just be, sometimes. this is difficult to remember, especially in the midst of frustration, but it is worth it. you are always doing better than you think you are – harshest critic, and all that.)
which is not to say that it's a simple thing to do! compare this to the vibe of me picking up crochet recently, with my shaking hands and too-quickly dwindling adhd focus – my first attempts at making a lil headphone sprout have not been going as well as i once hoped. my stitches are either too big and sloppy bc i'm not holding the yarn tightly enough to get clean ones, or i feel frustrated due to it not looking like how i'd like it to look in my mind when i started it, or even as i begin my umpteenth attempt.
but!! i know that it won't ever look the way i want it do if i set it down and never keep trying. it'll take awhile, like everything does, even the seasons take their time, the moon and its phases; but what i do know, is that, eventually, it'll resemble something i want it to. vaguely, maybe, but it is something. it doesn't have to look exactly like the guide i'm following, or the examples i'm inspired by, because it's mine – something made by my own hands, my own time and experience with every mistake and thrilling joy along the way to learn by.
take it from me: i want to be good at things i want to be good at so badly. and that excitement makes me want to be at the skill level i need to be at in order to do so right then and there, no learning curves or building blocks allowed. which is never how it happens, unfortunately, but –
i think, gently, that we tend to overlook what a pleasure it is to learn. to see the slow progression of things, to begin and change and continue and get better. and even if it's different as we go along, in a way it's our own little kind of magic, maybe, to create and never be done if we don't want to be.
which is all to say: it's already yours. why does it have to be anything else, anything more? why can't it just be good as it is now, where it might never be again? what is there to lose by enjoying the moment of where you are?
like everything, it will grow and shift and evolve with time, maybe into something you'd hoped for, or maybe into something you don't even have the words to describe right now at all. but that's the fun of it: how even now, even then, there, across time and distance and skill, there is a common thread of things; it will always come from your heart, your experience, where you are right then and there and now.
and if you think of that like magic, well, it becomes a little like magic, doesn't it?
also, something to consider: sometimes things you feel or think can't be put into words at that moment, or even at all! something else you could try (that i certainly do) is making something else with whatever it makes you feel - whether that's another form of art, or any other kind of media. if it makes you want to go outside and take a walk or get cozy and read or play a video game? that counts too! that's still an experience, you're still feeling.
i think that counts a little more than anything else, you know?
and as a little ending fun side-note, can i share something cool? i've never thought of it that way before, as thinking in poems. in my mind it's always been a kind of perspective of personal wonder, but you're right – it's poetry, in it's own way. you gave me that – so thank you, from the heart of me. i hope your journey finds you with every bright joy.
130 notes
·
View notes
Hi, idk if you're doing the ask game still but if you are, could we get rebelcaptain for number eight?
Hi, anon, thank you so much for the ask 💜 Confession? I read the prompt wrong a bit wrong and got through this whole thing before realizing it was things you said when you were crying 😬 but I'm going to argue that in this they both cry at points, so I hope you'll forgive me my error (and I really hope you like it!!)
things you said when you were crying
It took all of Cassian’s concentration to command his left foot forward, hands gripping the bars on either side of him so hard it hurt–though not nearly as badly as the rest of him.
Every muscle in his body was on fire, every bone sharply aching.
Not even ten minutes into today’s session of physical therapy and he was drenched in sweat, hair plastered to his forehead, shirt stuck to his chest, the salty taste of it on his lips, stinging his eyes. While he glared down at his feet, a large bead of it–containing all the grace of a raindrop and none of the beauty–dragged down his nose and fell to the floor.
The next step hurt just as bad as the last, and the one after that took twice as long and left him trembling, teeth practically rattling from the effort.
But he was determined, eager to heal. The Rebellion needed him. Already he felt like he’d been away for too long. Months spent in and out of surgery, in and out of consciousness, he refused to let any more time go to waste.
Cassian squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, fighting a wave of exhaustion, pain, and nausea that threatened to drown him; they were sensations he had grappled with more times than not since Scarif, and he had quickly learned that each was tortuous in their one unique way.
“Take a break if you need to, Captain,” the medic told him. “You have a long journey ahead, so pace yourself.”
Screw that. He opened his eyes again and, biting back a shout, forced his foot forward again.
But the toe of his shoe slid in a pool of sweat–all of his own making–sending his leg sliding out from under him. He tried to catch himself with his arms–to brace his weight on the bars framing either side of him–but his palms were too slick, making his grip precarious, and he crashed to the floor, the intense agony of his injuries hitting him all over again.
“FUCK!” he shouted, because what else was there to say when you could remember taking down stormtroopers without so much as a blink and now a single step had turned you into a humiliated tangle of limbs, sprawled across the ground.
Fighting for breath, he used what little energy he had remaining to reach up to the bar above his head and pull himself upright, clumsily positioning his back against the wall.
But following that act, he had nothing left with which to defend himself against the frustration, the hurt, the fear that fell upon him, predators on wounded prey–devouring, consuming–until he’d forgotten himself entirely and all he knew was the dark wash of anguish tearing him to shreds from the inside out.
“Cassian, Cassian.” A hand caught his own midair, preventing him from smashing the floor with his fist again.
The touch grounded him, bringing reality surging back to his frayed mind–he found himself wishing it had left him alone.
No…not now. He didn’t want her to see him like this. Couldn’t bear the look of disappointment he expected to find on her face. “Jyn…” He caught her knees on the floor beside him out of the corner of his vision, made himself look up at her, her image swimming before him.
“Let me–”
“What the hell are you doing here?” He tore his arm free from her hand.
“I came to check on you, I wanted to–”
Cassian did all he could to turn away from her. “Don’t,” he said sharply, loathing the tears that were cutting lines down his cheeks.
Before Scarif he had been better than this at controlling his emotions, hiding them from others, but the regiment of medications he was on created a fog so thick he discovered his own thoughts betraying him all the time. If it wasn’t his short-term memory in shambles, it was his temper–forcing everything to be felt with a heightened sensitivity. The perfect storm of conditions under which he was dealing with perhaps the greatest challenge of his life.
It was hell.
“Will you please look at me?”
“Leave, Jyn. You don’t have to be here, this isn’t your problem. Leave.” His head fell back against the wall and he watched as Jyn’s face darkened, her fingers curling into tight fists where they rested over her thighs.
“Is that what you really want?” she asked quietly, fixing him with a hard stare.
No… A strand of her dark hair was hanging across her face and he wanted to push it back–maybe would have if he’d possessed the strength to do so. Force, her eyes were beautiful.
He was on the floor crying from pain and exhaustion; what must she think of him? Weak, pathetic.Yes, yes I want you to leave…
But she wasn’t looking at him like that, no, he wasn’t quite sure what her expression was saying, but it wasn’t that. I don’t know…
“What if I told you I’m not going anywhere?” Jyn murmured, reaching a hand tentatively towards his face, wiping a tear from his cheek with surprising gentleness. She caught his eyes again, still waiting to see if he would offer a reply.
“I’d say it’s just like you not to listen,” he finally sighed.
“It does sound like me doesn’t it?” she teased, lips briefly twitching upward. But her voice was serious, expression intent, when she said, “Cassian, why are you asking me to leave?”
I don’t deserve this… I don’t deserve you… At his best he’d been a mess–so used to playing whatever part the Rebellion needed that he’d half-forgotten himself–what could he possibly offer her or anyone else now? It wasn’t clear yet if he’d ever be able to walk well again, much less run or fight. He would only slow her down, burden her–and Jyn had carried enough in her life as it was without adding his weight to the equation.
But Cassian didn’t know how to put those thoughts into words–or maybe it was that his voice was betraying him as much as he felt his body was–so he just shook his head, looked across the room to where the medic was standing in the distance, awkwardly trying their best not to encroach despite the need to hover.
“I’ve pushed people away before,” Jyn said softly, pulling his gaze back to her face. “Usually when I needed them most… I did it before they could do it to me, because I thought that’s how it always went, that there was no other way that life could go.” Her hand returned to the side of his face, thumb gently brushing over his cheek. “But it’s not like that with you… I said horrible things to you on Eaudu, but afterwards, when I needed you, there you were.”
“This isn’t like that,” Cassian murmured.
“Isn’t it?”
“You can’t help me with this, I might not get better. And then what?” his voice broke on the question, the first time he’d dared to voice the possibility aloud. If he considered the notion for too long he thought it might take life, form the shape of a black hole, a yawning void that would threaten to swallow him alive. Where would I go? What would I do? What now?
Jyn blinked at him. “You think that’s a reason for me to abandon you?”
“I’m not the person I was–I might never be again.”
“Neither am I,” she replied fiercely. “Neither is Chirrut or Baze or Bodhi–any of us. How can we be? After everything we went through? And besides, it’s not the first time any of us have changed–I know you know that. ” He opened his mouth to speak but she held up her hand. “No, listen. I know you’re going to say it’s not the same, and you’re right, it’s not. This is a big change, a hard change. None of it was your choice, and I can’t even begin to understand what you’re going through.
“But if you’re trying to tell me that your ability to ‘get better’ is what determines your worthiness? I’m going to…” she took a deep breath, “to have to fight very hard not to strangle you, because whether or not you know this right now, you're worthy no matter what happens next.
“However you have to show up each day, however you’re feeling, the good, the bad, I’m with you. Same as…same as I know you’d be for me.” She cleared her throat, blinked back a watery shine that had fallen over her eyes. “Okay?”
He leaned his head into her palm. “Okay,” he breathed, because even though he knew he might not believe it tomorrow, he believed it for the moment–and he had a feeling if and when he changed his mind, Jyn would do all she could to bring that belief back.
She wiped her tears from her eyes and offered her hands to him, “Can I help you?”
It still wasn’t easy. He still felt some embarrassment, he still held anger and frustration for it all. He still hurt…
But together, they slowly rose to their feet.
41 notes
·
View notes