Tumgik
#like showing some human decency should be expected
lovelykhaleesiii · 4 months
Text
I have been going back and forth in posting this, but want to have a clean slate and a clear mind going forward.
this fandom if I am being honest (and from experience in many others) has been the most roller coaster ride. it has been wonderful and blossoming, yet also, toxic and disheartening…
my current state right now, I feel as though I have been shunned from the community from all corners. stranded alone, with only a few friends (I could count them on one hand) to talk to and to trust.
I have been incredibly disappointed in this fandom by people I had considered friends, people that I believed to be sincere and kind, but over time showed a very different and ugly side.
I am not going to sugar coat this topic anymore… and be warned, I will call you out if need be, from this point on. I always had hopes that as a community mostly dominated by adults, we would act more like it, but it seems not. then accountability is necessary, because this school yard behaviour is not it.
I work most of the time, I barely even have time for a social life on top of personal things… tumblr is not my priority. but when I log in on here, I do wish and intend for this to be a space where I can relax and enjoy myself, to be creative and write and share my ideas and stories. to interact with people, to bond over characters and stories that I don’t ever get the chance to in real life, because I barely meet people with similar interests.
this is meant to be my safe haven.
recently it has been quite the opposite…
I have been gaslit, bullied & ghosted/neglected. as someone who genuinely struggles to put herself out there, I have made attempts that I am thankful for yet hurt by the experiences. putting myself in discord chats only to leave in the matter of a few days…
I have said this before and I will say it again. If I ever say anything to you directly or indirectly, and it doesn’t sit right with you. I am open to talk privately about it. I am not perfect, in fact far from it. I have flaws as do we all. I can make mistakes, I am human. if the matter can be resolved, amazing, if not: I don’t expect to get along with EVERYONE on this hellsite. the block and unfollow options are there for a reason!!!
regardless, I understand everyone has their own personal lives and issues… believe me, I DO! I am a huge advocate for life > tumblr. you need a break, take the break. you want to go on hiatus, go on hiatus. you do not owe anyone in this fandom shit, as I have reminded myself as of late. In saying that, showing people common courtesy and decency is not by any means a stretch, it should be the bare minimum.
showing support to your fanfic authors/gif makers and creators is valid and ideal.
I have taken multiple breaks because the stress and exhaustion from my work and personal life has been a lot, that I am able to remove myself from a situation, to not allow anyone else to suffer my ordeal. your actions have repercussions, and you will be held accountable.
to wrap it all up, I will continue to write my little, silly stories, I will continue to read fics. However, I have of recent been so turned off by some of the people in this community, that if I’m being honest (which I also strongly advocate for, and believe I owe whoever read this that), I have no energy to interact with people that have crossed me and made me feel less of the person I am at this point in time. my friends who I respect and admire dearly, know who they are, I don’t need to tell them twice.
when I feel comfortable with this fandom, my interactions may change, but for now. I very much enjoy my small number of friends.
thank you to those who read this entire mouthful, I genuinely appreciate the small things and taking the time out of YOUR day to read and listen to little old me, says a lot.
please take care of yourselves, and I hope that we can create a better more wholesome fandom space.
love always, Hel 🤍
53 notes · View notes
anarchywoofwoof · 7 months
Text
anarchowhatever, commuwhocares, i’m gatekeeping you based on:
if you disrespect someone’s name or pronouns
if you make fun of innocent people for their non-harmful interests, hobbies, favorite things, eating habits, or anything they haven’t told you it’s okay to make fun of
if you litter in any way, shape or form
if you waste water, food or precious resources in the name of humor
if you return your cart to the cart corral
if you’re nice to kids even when they’re annoying or you don’t like them
if you’re nice to fast food, retail, or any service worker — this includes leaving your table an absolute fucking disaster at a restaurant. a little mess is one thing; it looking like a medieval feast is another.
if you’re nice to the homeless or the disadvantaged
if you’re nice to immigrants, minorities or those visiting from a foreign country
if you criticize a non-native language speaker for their accent or word choice
if you hold the door or elevator for strangers
if you speed in a car through residential neighborhoods or fail to yield for pedestrians/cyclists — same if you’re a cyclist and you fail to yield to vehicles
if you tailgate people in traffic
if you park in handicap or expected mother parking (clergy and police spots are open 24/7/365)
if you advocate on behalf of the “weird” but totally innocent friend or coworker when they aren’t there to hear it
if you’re nice to animals — including & especially the “gross” or “scary” ones
if you return your books to the library (preferably on time)
these are basic tenants of human decency. most involve care for other people or things. i’m sure there are plenty you could add based on your own experiences. i am positive that i left out an abundance of things. feel free to add to it.
but my point is that if you are able to successfully do the things above (or not, in some cases) or at least recognize where you maybe could improve in some of these behaviors, then the rest will probably be fine.
have i done any of the "bad" things on this list? absolutely, yes. and i would appreciate if someone called me out on it if i did. the point is not that if you have ever done these things, you’re a bad person. the point is that you should aim to be consistent about your behaviors and show a willingness to grow and learn.
26 notes · View notes
Text
A Fragile Little Flame
I know places we won't be found
Summary: Cassian has survived two wars and knows a thing or two about going up against a powerful adversary.
Nothing can prepare him for Nesta Archeron
my submission for @nessianweek
Read more on AO3
Tumblr media
Warning: Dragons, mentions of past SA, human men
Mate. Mate. Mate. 
It was all Cassian thought of. Day and night, ever since he’d first been hit in the face by her iron poker. Cassian ate, slept, and breathed Nesta Archeron. He thought he’d still want her, even if she hadn’t been his mate—Nesta was terrifying and fierce, an unstoppable force of nature he had no ability—or interest—in controlling. 
He wanted her so badly it made his teeth ache. Nesta wasn’t like her sisters and Cassian likened her to a human General. There were rules she expected him to abide by and Cassian, by virtue of his birth and training, did as he was told. She wanted to be courted, to get to know him. And he came as often as he could with little gifts, hoping something might please his mate enough that she’d finally agree to let him mark her with his scales.
Nesta wasn’t the only thing Cassian was supposed to be thinking about. Five hundred years before, the humans wiped all dragons from the face of existence—or so they thought. He’d led one of the last battalions, had planned final last stand. There were enough to take down the humans, but not enough they’d last when the continent finally sent reinforcements.
And the king was dead, his son, too. Cassian’s friend. Rhysand. 
It had been an agonizing decision. Did he preserve their dwindling ranks, or did he exact retribution? In the end, Cassian retreated and ordered utter silence. Let the humans think them dead. Perhaps, he’d reasoned back then, things would calm. They would become more tolerant.
With Rhysand and his father gone, Cassian had picked up the helm. Windhaven became his domain and for those five hundred years, Cassian had ruled as best he could. He wasn’t built for it—he did it because he loved his home, his people.
To learn that Rhysand had been alive the entire time, masquerading as a human king—messing with their minds so they never realized the same monarch had been overseeing them—well, Cassian was struggling with his grief.
His anger. 
Rhysand wasn’t sorry. He offered no apology. He merely slaughtered his father and ordered Cassian to reassemble his army and fall into line. All of which Cassian had done. For him, it came at a massive personal cost. Some little piece of Cassian’s soul chipped away when he flew from Windhaven to Velaris. To Rhys, who merely embraced him. He couldn’t discuss it with Azriel, who was so wrapped up in his own mate he failed to see Cassian’s misery.
And not with Nesta, who resented him from taking her from that miserable estate when Eris Vanserra stole the continent's princess, risking outright war. Though Cassian was surrounded on all sides by people, he’d never felt more alone in his life. Cassian lay in bed, listening to Nesta down the hall pacing by the window like she always did. She was debating running away and he almost hoped she would. It would give him a reason to snap his teeth and snarl at something.
She settled but Cassian didn’t. And this night, he couldn’t force himself into sleep. He kicked off his blanket and dug out a pair of pants in the dark, hauling them over his hips and buttoning them just in case Nesta decided to peek into the hall. He’d heard her and Feyre talking about Rhysand’s nakedness and how off-putting it was. And he knew Nesta had been born to be some great lady.
A human males wife.
Not his mate. 
She didn’t want to see his cock no matter how badly he wanted to show it to her.  He’d done everything he thought he was supposed to. His whole life, Cassian acted with honor, with compassion and decency. For all the good it had done him, at any rate. Maybe he should have kidnapped her, too. Maybe he should have taken her up to his home hidden in the mountains, the place he went when he needed to think. 
Cassian thundered down the stairs, not stopping even when he heard her door creak open. She was listening just as surely as he was. He cocked his head while pushing into the inky night air. Crisp and cold and drenched in pine. Just as he liked it. Cassian wouldn’t go far. Frustrated or not, Nesta was still his mate and still defenseless. Terrifying as she was, Nesta was still fragile.
Still his.
Cassian shifted, huffing steam into the chill as he stretched his wings. He’d been about to propel himself into the night when the window overhead opened and Nesta leaned out. He turned his head when she called his name oh so softly, tall enough he could bump his nose against the glass.
Nesta reared back, her silvery blue eyes wide.
“Are you leaving?” 
He couldn’t respond. Cassian watched her. 
Ask me to stay. 
Nesta hesitated, a delicate hand on the latch of the window. Whatever war she fought with herself died abruptly. “Try not to be too loud when you return.” Cassian snarled at her words, his decision made when she tried to shut him out. No more. Either she rejected him or she accepted him. No more in between. Somewhere in the last vestiges of his rationality, Cassian knew he was venting his frustration over everything into his situation with Nesta. He couldn’t calm himself down, not as he all but destroyed the second floor of his home dragging a screaming Nesta into the cold. He held her tight, taking flight before someone could come investigate.
Az would know where he’d gone, would maybe even understand why he’d done this. 
“Cassian,” Nesta pleaded as he rose higher towards that crescent moon. He held her tight in his clawed foot, a truly terrifying way to fly. He knew if he set her on the ground she’d bolt and he’d have to shift to chase her down. 
“Cassian!” Nesta tried again, fingers gripping him roughly. “I’m sorry, just…please. Put me back down.”
He couldn’t. He could merely make this as painless as possible. His heart pounded erratically in his chest at the sound of her terror, her fear wafting towards him with every beat of his wings. They had to go higher still, to the highest mountain peak. Only he could take her down, unless she wanted to climb a winding, narrow staircase of ten thousand steps. He very much doubted it—Cassian had managed it on a few rare occasions he thought to try, burning his unrelenting anger on the stone until he was broken apart and reforged anew.
Technically, the mountain home is a palace. And if Cassian wanted to be even more technical, it belongs to Rhysand. He abandoned it five centuries ago, and Cassian moved in. If Rhys wanted it back, he could physically fight Cassian for it. Especially now, as Cassian landed on the open air bridge made of iridescent moonstone to drop Nesta onto the sleek black marble floor. She hit her hands and knees, panting desperately for a steady breath of air. 
Perched on the railing, Cassian bellowed out a warning to anyone who might have thought to come after him. Snarling a blast of burning fire, the scent would linger in the air for days. Come no closer.
His mate was here and for the first time since he’d met her, Cassian gave way to instinct. He was trying so hard to act as if he were one of the human males that she’d been bred for.
Nesta had been born for him. He was wasting his time trying to sell her on the merits of the two of them together because Cassian would always be a dragon.
He shifted, dropping to the ground beside her with a casual grace she lacked. Nesta rose to her feet, shoving him hard in the chest. He was unmoved, though he grabbed her wrists one after the other when she tried to slap him hard across the face. 
“Don’t,” he warned her.
“Take me back,” Nesta demanded. Little tendrils of her golden brown hair danced around her achingly lovely face. Cassian was tempted to do as she said. It wouldn’t make her any happier.
Dropping his hold on her before he pulled her closer and kissed her, Cassian shook his head.
“No.”
He turned his back to her, intending to let her follow him inside where he could show her to her room.
“I’ll reject the bond!” she yelled after his back. He went so utterly still, his heart splattering to his feet. 
Anger flared through him. “Do it,” he dared, turning to face her down. Nesta, with her iron spine, jutted her chin in the air as he approached. He wondered if it irritated her that she had to look up at him, head and shoulders shorter than him. “Say the words.”
“And you’ll take me back?” she asked, a distinct tremble in her voice. 
Cassian’s smile made him feel feral. It would kill him to do it. He thought he’d have to throw himself in the sea rather than live another five hundred years without her. He swallowed.
“I’ll deliver you to whichever human lord you desire,” he told her hatefully. “Is that what you’d prefer? A mortal male to lock you in another pretty estate? To breed you as he likes?”
“Compared to being locked in your pretty estate and bred by you?” she whispered in response. 
He exhaled a breath, stepping away from her. “If that’s what you think of me after everything, then I wish you would reject the bond.”
It was risky, turning his back on her. It went against every instinct and yet Cassian couldn’t stand another second in her presence. His legs trembled, his throat tight. He was seconds from throwing himself at her feet and begging forgiveness.
His words were no way to treat a mate. 
Cassian waited for those words— I reject the bond. I reject you. 
Instead, Cassian heard Nesta’s clipping steps behind him, all but jogging to catch up with his longer gait. Relief flooded through him. Angry or not, Nesta didn’t want to sever what existed between them.
Elain Archeron had told him she couldn’t feel the thread  her and Lucien shared until she agreed to complete the mating rite. Nesta couldn’t then, either. Cassian had always been so cognizant of that, so careful not to overstep. Hope bloomed warm in his chest all the same as he glanced down at her. Nesta’s cheeks were blotchy, stained red against her fair skin.
“This room,” he told her, taking her up a flight of stairs and down a marble floored hall. “It’s yours.”
“And yours?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. Cassian opened his mouth to argue, but in truth, he wished it was. He merely shook his head.
“Downstairs,” he all but whispered. “If you need me…just yell.”
He thought she might reach out and touch him. Thought she might ask him to stay. Cassian would have done whatever she asked of him, even if it broke his heart. Nesta bit her bottom lip, nodding.
“I’ll need…I need my things, Cassian.”
He sighed. “I’ll get them for you.”
He turned his back not for the first time that night. He needed sleep and to reevaluate this entire plan. Needed to take her back before she stabbed him through the throat while he tried to sleep.
“Cassian?” Nesta called after his retreating back. He turned so fast the dark strands of his hair all but slapped him in the face.
“Yes?”
Her eyes flashed—not with anger, but hurt. 
“Don’t yell at me ever again.”
It was the way she spoke those words that made his body run cold. The fear that laced through those eyes, the way her shoulders slumped. Another male had harmed his mate.
“Tell me his name,” Cassian whispered, daring one step towards her.
Nesta slammed the door before he could come any closer.
Cassian would learn this. He would teach her she could trust him, he would mark her with his scales.
And then he’d punish every male who had ever put their unworthy hands on her.
All in that order.
NESTA: 
It wasn’t the first night she cried herself to sleep. Sometimes, Nesta thought she hadn’t stopped since her mother died, though she knew that wasn’t entirely true. She’d kept it together long enough to make sure Ferye and Elain were okay. Had taken over that miserable, crumbling estate when their father died, leaving no heir and no one but her to manage things. And she hadn’t let a crack show when Graysen had Elain dragged away in that cart, sacrificed to a monster she’d later married. 
She cried that night, though. She cried thinking about the anger in Cassian’s usually kind hazel eyes and the way he’d spat those words at her. He hadn’t raised his voice, hadn’t tried to strike her or grab her or any of the things Nesta expected. It was all on his face. His usual careful yearning was gone, blinked out and remade into something that hated her. 
And even though Nesta wasn’t sure if she wanted what Elain and Gwyn had, she was certain she never wanted Cassian to hate her.
She waited until she heard his heavy boots fade before she burrowed her face in the pillow and wept. She wasn’t sure why. For the first time in her life, Nesta didn’t feel the crushing weight of the world bearing down on her. She felt free and had ever since Cassian had insisted she join him in Windhaven.
Nesta didn’t understand why she was making things so difficult. Not just on him—Gwyn and Emerie didn’t trust her, either. Not entirely, anyway. They watched her with wary eyes even as they included her and Nesta couldn’t blame them. She’d spent so long willing herself to be made of ice that even when flames licked through her veins, it burned cold. 
She fell asleep to fraught dreams where Cassian made good on his promise. Where he took her back to Velaris.
Back to Tomas.
Nesta didn’t dare tell anyone what was waiting for her. Elain had been allowed to tell Graysen no  because their father died before a contract could ever be drawn up. Feyre had chosen Tamlin, poor match as he was. But Nesta had been gifted to Tomas, and only luck had kept her from fulfilling her end of things. Some nights, Nesta wondered if he and his horrible father hadn’t figured out that a dragon had snatched her away—more likely, they thought she’d run if they noticed her absence at all.
Tomas was supposed to keep his distance after the night in the garden. It had been Lord Graysen, of all people, who had answered her call for help. Elain had been gone by them, sacrificed to the beast and Nesta had been desperate. Tomas was her fiance and a lord to boot. She’d gone promising him anything in exchange to get Elain back.
Foolish. It hadn’t occurred to her he wouldn’t want money. Nesta had just barely escaped a fate her friend Gwyn had not, and it had been another villain who intercepted her. Lord Graysen, obsessed with their lands, had banished Tomas. He was dead, beheaded and buried. She’d watched Lucien do it from her bedroom window.
All the while wondering how long before Tomas came back.
He wouldn’t find her here but gods, she knew he’d try. She was just another pretty trinket for his collection. He would absorb the Archeron lands and then it would be just as Cassian had said. He’d breed her until there was nothing left of her. 
Nesta woke to hazy sunlight filtering through a gauzy curtained window. She was still in her dress from the night before, hair still braided in a crown around her head. She forced herself up, cracking her stiff joints as she made her way to the door. She needed something to wear and meant to cajole Cassian into taking her back.
As it turned out, there was no need. Her wooden trunk was placed right outside the door. Cassian had gone, just as he said he would. Why she doubted him, Nesta would never know. Cassian had honor, was a man of his word. Her chest ached thinking of his face from the night before.
So alive with rage.
Tell me his name. 
Nesta was so tempted. 
Instead, Nesta unwound her hair and bathed in a chamber big enough for a muscled man with wings, practically swimming in the bubbled water. It was the happiest she’d been in a while and when she emerged, hair damp from the towel, her body clad in a soft silver dress with buttons down the front, Nesta thought she might seek out Cassian and see what he was doing.
Needle him a little. His presence was soothing. 
As it turned out, Nesta didn’t need to. She pulled open the door, fingers sliding through her hair to rebraid it, and found Cassian waiting on the other side. His eyes widened at the sight of her unbound hair and too late, Nesta realized he’d never seen it. His own dark hair was half pulled from his ruggedly handsome face, the facial hair against his jaw neatly trimmed to stubble. She wondered, as she studied his face, what had given him the scar that cut through one of his eyebrows or the faint slice over the bridge of his nose. 
In broad hands, Cassian held a tray of breakfast food. He meant to feed her? Nesta blinked, suddenly unsure what to say to him.
“I…” he trailed off, nostrils flaring. “You look nice.”
She swallowed, drinking in the brown of his skin and how nicely it offset the hazel of his eyes. He wore a dark tunic and his fitted pants and was perhaps more casual than she’d ever seen. No weapons or strapped leathers. 
Just Cassian. 
She couldn’t tell him that, so instead, Nesta nodded. “Thank you,” hating how her voice sounded so clipped and bothered. It killed the softness in his eyes. Walls up. She saw the way his spine straightened when he handed her the tray, how he no longer tried to touch her hand with his fingers. Why did he even want her anymore? She’d been making courting so utterly miserable.
Any other man would have given up. There was nothing to gain from her—Tomas was set to take it all. All Cassian would get was her.
Nesta walked the tray to a little table facing the window, curious about their new arrangement. “Am I supposed to stay in here?”
“You may go wherever you like,” he replied softly from behind her. Practically pleading. She knew what he wanted and some small part of her wanted to give it to him. Nesta couldn’t be nie and she couldn’t be compliant. 
“But only in the house.”
She spun, catching the hard glint in his eyes. “There are ten thousand steps down the mountain, if you’d like to try your hand,” he replied. “Be my guest—”
“I still want to see Gwyn and Emerie,” she interrupted, cutting him off before he could say something they’d both regret. “Azriel promised to train me.”
“They can come here, then.”
“And my sister Feyre still needs my help with her wedding. I’m responsible for her dowry. You promised,” Nesta added, reminding him of what he’d said to convince her to come to Windhaven in the first place. His expression softened.
“I remember the agreement.”
“Do you?” she hissed, looking around the room. Cassian turned his back without a word, leaving her alone in that room, having made exactly no headway at all. Nesta sighed, arching her neck in an attempt to alleviate some of her stress. 
Tell me his name. 
She’d tell him and Cassian would kill Tomas and Feyre would lose what little standing she had left. Feyre and Tamlin were supposedly a love match. Feyre was already tainted by Elain’s association with a dragon. Two sisters mated to two dragons was intolerable and Nesta didn’t believe for a moment that Tamlin would stand beside her.
Especially if he learned Feyre technically had her own mate—the dragon king. 
Nesta ate what Cassian offered gratefully before making her way through what could only be described as a palace. The man himself was nowhere to be found which suited her just fine. She was still warring between confessing everything and just ending things entirely. She didn’t want to. Cassian was all wrong. The opposite of what she’d been trained for and yet Nesta wanted what he was offering, certain it would feel like peace. 
Nesta swallowed those feelings, just as she always had. Instead, she mapped out the palace. She found a large, empty dining room with a table big enough for twenty people. She wondered how often Cassian ate alone here. The image made her heart ache. 
Nesta found a pool on the lower level, steam curling as it overlooked the sloping mountainside. She could picture Cassian here, too. She could picture him everywhere—in the bedrooms, the study, the lounge and finally, the library. The library made Nesta reevaluate every harsh thing she’d ever said to Cassian. He couldn’t have known the comfort books offered her and yet he still had this large, two story space. 
Squashy, leather furniture draped with crocheted blankets broke up stacks that stretched floor to ceiling. A trailing staircase took her to the second level, the railing overlooking the bottom. There were books on every topic she could imagine—including Nestas favorite. 
Romance. 
She could remember sneaking her very first when she’d been ten years old and hiding it beneath her pillow. It had been too grown up—so many quivering bosoms and men’s appendages described as swords. And yet, it was all so thrilling to her, despite the sex. Stories of men willing to risk it all and women who were genuinely cared for. 
Loved.
That was not the future promised to her, which only made Nesta want it more. She wanted someone like the heroes in those stories. A man who loved her beyond reason, who would have done anything for her. And she wanted to be that kind of woman, too. Nesta felt fragile as she pulled down a stack of covers that seemed interesting to her before tucking herself beneath a blanket.
She spent the morning tucked into a chair, reading something new until she forgot where she was. It was Cassian’s boots on the floor that drew her back to reality. He pushed into the library, a little basket in hand. He cocked his head, his expression unreadable and she wondered if they were about to have another fight. 
“This is for you,” he murmured, striding into the library to offer her the basket. Nesta set the book face down on the arm of the chair, leaning forward to take the basket from his hands. It was her fingers that brushed his hand that time, touching the soft red scales that covered his wrist.
Cassian’s eyes fluttered shut.
“What is this?”
“For you,” he said gruffly, putting space between them. Nesta waited until he retreated before pulling aside the blanket atop the basket. Nestled inside was a fragile music box. Made of what she assumed had to be real silver, and shaped like a pretty, circular ball and when she slid her nails against the crease to open it, a familiar melody sang through the air.
How Cassian knew this was her favorite, Nesta would never know. She swallowed thickly, tears rising hot in her throat. How had he known? Who had told him? Holding it close to her chest, Nesta stormed from the library, her hurt threatening to spill out of her like a broken dam.
He wasn’t far. She found the general hovering just outside the door with a wary expression. 
“Who told?” she demanded. 
He huffed out a breath. “Are you angry with me?”
She was trembling. “Who told you, Cassian?”
“No one told me!” he snapped, closing the distance between them. Gripping her arms in his broad hands, Cassian stared down at her with the same overwhelming hurt that was all but drowning her. “I know you like I know myself.”
She shook her head. “You don’t know anything about me.”
Nesta wrenched from his grasp. She meant to give him back the music box, to make him regret having ever offered her this at all. She couldn’t do it. No one had ever given her such a thoughtful gift. Something for her, no strings attached. Cassian watched, that hurt softening into a wholly different emotion.
“Nes,” he whispered. She backed away, eyes burning.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Nes,” he tried again, watching her walk away from him. Nesta had to force herself to turn her back.
To walk away entirely.
CASSIAN: 
Cassian woke in the dead of the night to utter silence. His body was tense—tight, like a threat was looming in the dark. He sat up, trying to recall the dream he’d had. Maybe that was what had pulled him, he thought. Rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes, Cassian forced himself to breathe, to relax.
It didn’t work. Instinct said something was wrong, was urging him to fight. He pushed himself out of bed, fumbling for a pair of pants. He’d just slung them up over his hips when he heard what must have pulled him from sleep the first time.
Loud, terrifying screams filled the air, reverberating off the vaulted ceilings. Nesta. His mate was screaming with fear, was calling him for help. Cassian reached for a curved blade on the edge of his nightstand before running from the room. She was a floor above him, an offering he’d made so she didn’t feel like he was hovering over her shoulder. 
It seemed like a mistake. What was in there? In the seconds it took him to reach her, every terrible scenario played out in quick succession in Cassian’s mind. Something had crawled through her window, was attacking her, was going to kill her—
He shoved open the door, blade outstretched, to find Nesta thrashing in her sheets. A sheen of sweat shone against her beautiful face, her too-thin body tangled in the blankets. He set his knife down when he realized the only foes she fought were in her mind. What haunted is mate? Who had harmed her so irrevocably that she was trapped in her own mind? 
Panting with anger and hatred, Cassian went to her. She still needed him, even if she didn’t want to. He knew she’d wake up and shove him away, would cut him into bloodied ribbons for the crime of seeing her so vulnerable. 
“Nesta,” he whispered, hauling her body up against his. Her cheek pressed to his bare chest, her arms sliding around his neck. “Nesta, you’re safe. Wake up.”
She clung to him, sharp nails slicing against his skin.
“Cassian?” she whispered, her voice so small. So fragile. He couldn’t stop himself from pressing a kiss against her unbound hair.
“I’m here,” he agreed, heart pounding. 
Don’t send me away. I love you. 
“Did I wake you up?” she asked, her voice wavering. Her whole body trembled against him. It might have been funny, had she not been so scared and sad.
“No,” he lied, thumb stroking over her cheek. “I was still up. What were you dreaming about?”
She stilled. “Nothing.”
Nesta reminded him of the wildlings out east. Of Lucien, even, from the forest. Alone and uncared for for so long, she didn’t know how to trust him. Maybe she had trusted a male once and he’d hurt her. 
She let him hold her, stroking her hair until her wild heart slowed. He knew he needed to go before she came to her senses. Before she realized he’d witnessed something vulnerable and meant to punish him for it. Cassian’s heart was already bruised when it came to Nesta—he couldn’t take any more rejection. 
Pressing one last kiss to her head, Cassian began untangling himself. 
Nesta grabbed his bare bicep. “Wait,” she whispered, her voice practically a whimper. It made his chest ache. What haunted her? 
Who hurt his mate?
“Yes?” he managed, his voice trembling. She looked up, those silvery blue eyes glowing in the dark. Beautiful—she was so stunningly beautiful, even when she was sad. Even when she hated him. Cassian still couldn’t believe she belonged to him at all. He couldn’t fathom what he’d ever done to deserve her. 
“Stay with me?” she asked, scooting on the bed to make room. “Please?”
“You…” he swallowed. “You do not need to beg me. I’ll do anything you ask.”
Her scent was everywhere, burning his nostrils. His body reacted and Cassian, terrified his cock would ruin this moment for him, settled on his back and drew her against his chest so there was no danger of anything touching her that shouldn’t. Nesta trembled even beneath the blanket, even with his body radiating heat.
Cassian stroked hair from her face. “What do you dream of?”
She said nothing. He supposed he should have expected that. He took a breath. “I dream of the first war.”
She twisted, arms resting on his chest. “The first war? You were alive for that?”
He nodded. “I was young…barely older than you are now, when they came. We weren’t prepared. I was lucky that day. I was up here with Rhysand…my mother was in Windhaven.”
“How did they get up here?”
“There used to be a path. It was crossable in the spring and summer months. We traded between us. It was tense at times…but peaceful during others.”
“What shifted?”
Cassian didn’t know, could only shrug his shoulders. “I think there was frustration brewing among the humans. It was a dry season—everyone was hungry. I suspect they were looking for someone to blame and were tired of resource sharing. They did not burn any of our crops but raided them instead.”
Nesta rubbed his chest soothingly. “You dream about that?”
He laughed humorlessly. “No. I merely think about it. I was too young to be in charge of anything back then. My mother still made dinner for me each night.” Gods, but how he missed her.
“I dream of the aftermath. Of the bodies of children and females…how they used to rip off our wings and staple them to posts in warning. How many we lost…and how I became general by default. It was my decision to back down. To hide.” 
He swallowed hard.
“I never wanted to have to make that decision.”
Nesta lowered her mouth, kissing his chest. It was the first kiss she’d ever offered him. Cassian had been so afraid to tell her that story, that she’d think less of him.
“You did what you had to do, Cassian. There are no good decisions in war.”
He blinked back his own tears, swallowing his regret. No one had ever told him that. Azriel had merely nodded tightly, falling in line obediently, though Cassian knew he hadn’t liked it. Azriel had wanted retribution.
Azriel didn’t want to lead. Rhysand chose to hide with his traitor father among the humans, biding their time for five hundred years. And Cassian was alone, shouldering the burden of those decisions silently. He resented it, though he was trying not to. Rhys expected him to fall back in line, but Rhys had lived in a palace.
Rhys had let those males send human females to die, appeasing their lust for blood and their hatred of their own kind. It had taken a human female to motivate the prince to finally act. Cassian had a lot of regret about that, too. He felt like a failure across the board—a failure to his people, a failure to his mate and her family, and maybe worst of all, a failure to himself and his own values.
“It’s not your fault, Cassian,” she whispered, drawing him back to the present. “You’re one man. You can’t be responsible for every decision someone else makes.”
“Someone has to,” he whispered. “Someone has to take care of them.”
Nesta exhaled warmly against his body. “And who takes care of you?”
He almost said his mate. He didn’t dare, not when he was holding on to her by a thread. At any moment, Nesta might quit altogether, might demand he release her. Take her back. Cassian took her wrist in his hand and pressed a kiss to her palm.
“Don’t worry about me,” he said.
Nesta swallowed, twisting so her cheek was back on his chest. “Cassian?” she whispered. 
He held her tighter, catching the quaver in her voice. 
“Yes?”
He could feel her heart pounding in her chest, thudding wildly with fear. She reeked of it. He was so desperate to know what scared his iron-spined mate. What could make his lovely female quake with fear? She’d stared him down with an iron poker, after all. She’d looked their king in the eye with nothing but disdain.
“Feyre is getting married,” she said, her lips dragging over his skin. Cassian forced himself not to react, to only hear the words coming out of her mouth.
“Perhaps,” he agreed. He very much doubted Rhysand would let his mate marry another male without some sort of fight.
“She loves him,” Nesta tried to explain. “He…he helped us, when Elain was taken. He kept Graysen from all but taking the estate. He’s…he’s decent enough.”
Hardly high praise, and yet Cassian didn’t argue. Nesta was working herself into something and he wanted to hear it. He merely stroked her back, waiting for her to continue. 
“Being here with you…being with you…it could ruin that marriage.”
His stomach splattered in his chest. “Oh.”
He didn’t know what else to say to her. Cassian needed to step away. He knew what was coming. She was going to reject him, reject their bond. He couldn’t even fault her for it—the reasoning was good. Compassionate. 
He pulled his arm from beneath her, sitting up. Nesta lunged, that scent of fear stronger than before. “Please don’t go,” she pleaded. 
“I can’t…” his voice was raw even to his own ears. “I’ll take you home in the morning.”
He swung his legs off the bed but Nesta was quicker, holding his bicep in both hands, her nails slicing against his flesh.
“Cassian, please listen.”
He paused, daring to look over at her. Her eyes glimmered with water, rimmed red from those unshed tears. Cassian swallowed his own grief and sat back on the bed. He still wanted to help her, despite his fractured heart.
“I’m listening.”
“I’m engaged.”
The world seemed to rip open. Blood roared through his ears, drowning out any sensible, rational words he might have said in response. She was his mate. He’d been courting her for months. How could she possibly be engaged to another male? 
“How could you not tell me?” he said, voicing his thoughts out loud.
Nesta let go of his arm, hugging her chest tightly. “I thought you’d leave.
Cassian was falling to pieces. “Leave my mate?”
“I didn’t understand! I just…a lot of men have courted—”
“You’re my mate,” he repeated. “That…engaged?”
“My father arranged it before he died and my fiance…our estate is worth a small fortune, Cassian. I’ve put him off, but…”
Cassian couldn’t stand it. It wasn’t her fault and still she was breaking his heart. He rose to his feet quickly. “You intend to marry him.”
“I have to marry him,” Nesta whispered. “I have no choice.”
He almost fell to his knees and begged her to let him kill the male. Kill his whole family, even. Cassian could spare her, he reasoned. Could fix this the only way he really knew how. And
Cassian understood that Nesta didn’t understand that Rhysand was going to have her sister one way or the other and her sacrifice would mean nothing. Her sisters would find happiness and she, it seemed, would doom herself to a small life with some human male. 
Cassian only wanted to know one thing.
“Is he kind?”
Nesta looked down at her hands. Cassian thought he could survive it if he knew she was being cared for. 
“Does he love you?”
She didn’t answer. The last pieces of his heart ground to dust, leaving him empty and wrecked. She couldn’t even lie to him. Couldn’t promise she’d find peace in this marriage. Cassian turned his back to hide his own sorrow.
“I’ll take you home tomorrow.”
He left her in her bed, all but running from that room. 
Cassian left his heart with her.
NESTA:
Nesta paced back and forth. She hadn’t expected Cassian to agree so easily. She’d hoped if she told him, he would offer to help her. Would think of some solution Nesta had missed, something that would preserve Ferye’s engagement while freeing her.
He’d just…let her go. And it angered her, at first. Filled Nesta with a rage so white hot and cold that she’d almost followed after him to scream in his face. Why didn’t he fight back? He said he wanted her and then he just…let her go. She wanted him to react, to refuse to send her back. That’s what Azriel would have done, she reasoned. 
The fire had banked to nothing by the time Nesta understood why Cassian walked away. He’d told her, hadn’t he? When he’d explained the war and what haunted him—all those decisions he’d made that he didn’t want to in service of some greater good.
Cassian was never going to force her to stay and she’d been too cowardly to tell him what she wanted. She needed to just ask him for his help.
No one had ever helped Nesta. Not her mother, who had often taken a switch to her knuckles when she spoke back—training Nesta to remain silent. To be obedient. And certainly not her father, who had never once cared if he made a decision on her behalf that hurt her. Her sisters were too young and Nesta had never put that burden on them. She’d merely been the shield. If someone needed to put their body in front of the firing squad, it ought to be her.
She knew where his room was without ever being told. She just knew. Nesta pushed open the door and found him standing in front of his window. Still shirtless, his golden brown skin edged with blood red scales. Cassian was beautiful. His hair was unbound, hanging in soft, dark waves that brushed over his shoulders. What would it feel like to run her fingers through it? 
He turned, his expression guarded again. She wanted to see him like he’d been in her bed. Vulnerable and open. 
She had to meet him somewhere, she reasoned.
“I don’t want to go back,” she whispered, closing his bedroom door quietly behind her. “Please don’t take me back.”
Cassian crossed the room in an instant, sweeping her off her feet to hold her against his chest. He fell into his bed, arms around her so tight it stole the breath right out of her lungs. He had his face pressed into her hair and his body shook silently. She didn’t dare look up to see if he cried or not. She merely let him hold her like she was something precious. Something he cherished.
Cassian got himself together with several loud gulps of air. “Tell me what you want, Nesta. Tell me what you need.”
“I can’t be responsible for ruining Ferye’s wedding,” she whispered. She didn’t believe for a moment that Rhysand would somehow scoop Ferye up at the last minute. He’d had several chances with Feyre—including a night where he’d been entirely naked—and Feyre remained unmoved. Ferye could be stubborn that way. 
Cassian tangled his fingers through her hair, tilting her head until she was looking at him. His expression all but smoldered, his eyes slightly reddened from the tears he’d shed. She reached up to caress his face.
“I can’t marry him.”
He lowered his mouth and Nesta didn’t stop him. Didn’t want to stop him. Cassian’s lips found her own, gentle and soft. A perfect rebuttal to the kiss Tomas had forced upon her. There was nothing disgusting about the moment and instead of fear and revulsion, Nesta felt undiluted want. 
She let herself run her fingers through his hair, let her nails graze against the neatly trimmed stubble of his jaw. He moaned softly, pressing his luck to let his neck kiss slide into the first. They were on dangerous ground. Attraction had never been their problem.
It was everything else. Nesta didn’t stop him even when she knew she ought to. Even when he shifted her so her legs straddled his lap and his hands held her hips firmly. She could feel his desire through his pants and her nightdress. She didn’t stop him when his tongue slid over her lips, begging to be let inside and certainly not when she did what he wanted.
Cassian tasted like the cold air smelled. It was Nesta’s turn to moan, to kiss him with that same frantic need. Nesta clung to him like a life raft, her own tongue finding his own to taste, to touch. Her body seemed to understand what to do instinctively, rolling against him in search of friction. An ache was building between her legs and no amount of rubbing against him would fix it. And while Nesta’s hands roamed over his skin, touching his scales, his muscles, his skin, Cassian kept his hands firmly on her face.
She understood why. She was carried away which meant he had to stay in control. But oh. How she thought she’d like to see him wild like he’d been when he’d come to rescue her. Cassian had been terrifying in his beast form, wings flared in defense of her. 
Cassian was the one who broke the kiss, gasping roughly as he held her face in both hands. “Nesta,” he panted, her name a prayer on his lips. “Nesta.”
She swallowed hard. No one spoke to her like that. Spoke about her like that. Cassian thumbs stroked her face, forehead resting against her own.
“Don’t leave me, Nes,” he whispered. 
She curled her arms around his neck, burying her face against him. Nesta didn’t want to leave him. She wanted a way out of her fathers mess. She didn’t know how long they sat there like that, wrapped up in the other. Holding each other like a lifeline. That’s what he was to her—Nesta’s head stayed above metaphorical water so long as she could count on Cassian. 
“Surely there is a way out,” Cassian finally murmured, kissing her temple. “Tomorrow, I’ll speak to Rhysand about it.”
That made her nervous. “If he interferes—”
“Do you trust me?”
The words robbed her of breath. That was what it all boiled down to, wasn’t it? Did she trust Cassian to uphold his word and help, or did she assume she’d have to do this by herself? It was so dangerous to be vulnerable, to risk getting hurt. He might disappoint her. Might hurt her. 
Nesta’s heart pounded erratically in her chest as anxiety rose in her throat. It was not in her nature to yield an ounce of control.
“I trust you,” she replied. Cassian’s eyes fluttered shit, his relief palpable. He kissed the corners of her mouth before sliding her out of his lap. Cassian pulled her into his bed, arms wrapped around her body, face nuzzling against her neck.
“I’ll keep you safe, Nesta.”
She turned to look at him. To ask him the same question she’d asked mere hours before. “And who takes care of you?”
The faintest hint of smile danced over his beautiful face.
“My mate.”
210 notes · View notes
transpersian · 3 months
Note
That anon is unbelievable. 💀 Like yeah, people can do/say/wear whatever they want in their own homes, but it's also common fucking knowledge that you alter your habits a bit when having guests over so that they're comfortable. This might differ some between households, but there are common boundaries that most people expect to have respected when they're a guest in someone's home - such as not seeing their host in the nude (or partially nude) with no warning or consent.
That's just basic fucking decency that Poppy apparently lacks. It sounds like she didn't even provide a heads up that this was something her guest should expect during this visit. A 42y/o with a background in social sciences should not need to have normal human behavior explained to her. At best, she's a shitty host who bullies her 18y/o guests for being asexuality after daring to express a minutae of discomfort.
Even if we remove her victim's age and orientation from the equation, it isn't much better. I'm pretty sure the vast majority of people, when accidentally seeing a platonic friend in a state of undress, are going to feel awkward and instinctually look away. It isn't just out of personal discomfort, but out of respect for the other person's privacy and dignity as well! Not that Poppy would understand caring about that.
I can believe that first encounter was an accident. But Poppy's immediate response to her guest having a completly normal fucking reaction to this scenario being to get offended and then mock its sexuality is so incredibly telling. It's clear that the second time was intentional as hell, for no other reason than to be petty and provoke more discomfort as punishment for Poppy having her ego shattered by an 18y/o that didn't want to see her topless. Pathetic.
Disclaimer: I'm all for destigmatizing breasts being uncovered in a nonsexual manner. But - just like cis male chests - there will always be contexts where they are presented sexually. "Free the nipple" doesn't suddenly mean it's you're no longer capable of inappropriately exposing your breasts to someone. Intent and context are key. A cis man walking around in nothing but his underwear while an unsuspecting guest is in his home has the same potential of being inappropriate/uncomfortable, regardless of breasts being involved or not.
Ah, a sensible anon! Thank you for writing, anon.
This is another one of those asks that I don't really feel a need to respond to most of; it's just a solid articulation of how obviously horrific and callous this behavior is to any decent human being with a proper grasp of boundaries, compassion, and consideration for others.
But it also highlights something that I think is glossed over a lot: while the problem is always relevant, what's truly telling is how people react to being told they've hurt someone.
Do they show concern and want to understand how their actions affected the other party? Or do they get defensive, going so far as to, perhaps, dismiss the person's concerns entirely?
Or even better, let's set aside the nudity, the location, the terminology used, etc for a second and ask this:
Why are so few people talking about Poppy's attitude towards Dormiyu's "weird asexual shit" and how flagrantly acephobic it is?
What mental gymnastics are we pulling to make that okay, along with how her and Zena laughed about it together? In front of Dormiyu?
But yes. Behold, my "massive hate campaign" is now being used to... checks notes Boost and defend a teenager who's accusing a 42yo of sexual impropriety and bigotry, while her fans are bulldozing in here with superstar arguments like "technically the dictionary says that isn't flashing" and "if you're in my house, I'm allowed to be nude around you, it's my house."
And these are the same people telling me that I look insane and ridiculous?
Yeah, they hold no power here. We'll see how it all washes out in the end.
13 notes · View notes
c-is-for-circinate · 2 years
Note
a penny for your Ashton thoughts?
ASHTON GREYMORE MY BELOVED
Fair warning, I am once again half an episode behind, plus I'm pretty scattered today, but let's have some bullet points and see what ensues.
Anybody remember when, a couple of months ago, some posts went around about how 'everyone says Ashton's So Loyal but that's bullshit and people letting their affection for Taliesin overrule their objectivity'? No? Well I do and I AM STILL SMUG ABOUT THEM BEING WRONG.
Seriously, this rock is the walking personification of "I don't care," I said, caringly, as I cared deeply. We all know this by now, I think. I love it with my whole heart.
Something fascinating to me about Ashton in comparison with Taliesin's other characters: they are, every one of them, Extremely Sure they know how the world (or their specific part of it, at least) works. Part of what's great about that is how often the things they're Sure Of disagree -- Percy, Molly, and Caduceus in a room together and asked to debate human nature would be a wild show to watch from the other side of a bulletproof one-way mirror, safe behind blast doors. And so far Ashton is in their own way perhaps the least obviously Absolutely Sure out of all of them, which is really interesting in its own way! It means when I think about Ashton, I always find myself pondering: what ARE they Sure of?
I think we saw our biggest hint about that with his rage during the Hytroga heist. There are rules. You keep your word. If you create an agreement, you keep it. Breaking an agreement like that is WRONG, fundamentally, core-of-how-the-world-works wrong, and people who do that should Pay For It.
The other half of Ashton's worldview seems to be something along the line of 'people are assholes' -- put together, "People are assholes, but there are rules." Certainly 'people are assholes' is probably the part he'd say out loud! Which makes it really interesting that, by the standards of a Taliesin Character, Ashton is practically halfhearted about this one. They certainly don't believe that people never act for reasons of loyalty and love. I think about Ashton in comparison to Percy or Molly, in particular -- Percy and Molly, who were quite sure that the universe contained Decent People and Terrible People, and that they could quite readily tell the difference. (Percy might have had ranks for 'tolerable people', a category that could theoretically be applied to either Decent or Terrible people, but it was all very much something appropriately categorized.) Ashton doesn't go around the world expecting to find Terrible People the way they did. He goes around expecting to find assholes, which is a statement of general dickishness but also not, like, a thing to get morally offended over or be surprised about. Even the kind of prissy rich people that Molly would have loathed (lord, Molly meeting Jiana Hexum?) fall comfortably onto Ashton's scale of 'yeah, they're an asshole, that's whatever -- no, OBVIOUSLY you can't trust them, but who trusts people?' There are very, very few individuals who seem to rate Ashton's 'no, this person is so awful they have forfeited their right to be treated with decency and rules' classification. Thinking about how he flipped out about Hytroga, it almost feels like it's a surprise to him. Like Ashton goes around pseudo-cheerfully expecting a certain baseline of shittiness in the general tone of 'why would I be SURPRISED by that?', and when someone fails to live up to even those (complicated, only-known-to-him) standards, it hits right in the gut.
There's an interesting tie-in here with how Ashton thinks people thinks of him, specifically. Ashton thinks of themself as 'that asshole, who people may at any given time be annoyed with/furious at/relatively meh about'. And like, that's...sort of true? They have a really low charisma score! Various NPCs have indeed come pre-annoyed with him! But Justi was reasonably pleased to see him, and Milo saved their damn life and then let them keep living in their punk squat house, and the Bells Hells love him. I think that might be part of why 'people are assholes' is such a complicated thing, for Ashton. Yeah, people are dicks -- but it's not like they're going to just ignore the fact that friendship and love and loyalty exist too. That sometimes people are inexplicably fond of them in ways they can use. (and meanwhile, Ashton has been so, so lonely, Ashton who was almost fond of Jiana Hexum for being a person he could rely on who considered him Of Use, Ashton who's all in on Bells Hells as a crew and FCG in particular, who lets Laudna goo-cry on their shoulder and plays with Fearne and is Kind Of A Dick (affectionate) with them all. Ashton who was so ready to be valued and has gone all in on it immediately.)
...oh motherfucker, if Chetney is Travis's version of Nott, then Ashton is Taliesin playing Beau.
That aside, it's been great to see them in Basuras for multiple reasons, including the fact that it really beautifully illustrates exactly how and why "People are assholes, but there are rules" might become a life philosophy. In a lot of ways, that's the core motto of this entire town! People are assholes, everywhere, always, and nobody ever really stops them -- but there are a few central fundamental tenets to how things work around here, and if you break them you are in for a WORLD of hurt.
Honestly, it has been such a joy to watch Ashton in Basuras. They're in their element and it's wonderful! They know the town, the players, the rules, the games, the local legends. How many years has it been since Ashton's been here? And Justi and the All-Minds-Burn collective still remembers them fondly? It may be a shithole, but this is home.
Lastly, I have had SO much joy watching Ashton take FCG's whole "oh, Ashton is our leader!" to heart. He's never made a big deal out of it, never given orders exactly, but in a leaderless collective of fuckwits all trying to Twitch Plays Pokemon their way through life, Ashton has been guiding discussions, proposing plans, and doing a really unexpectedly excellent job of nudging disordered chaos into action. Part of it's because this is home turf and Ashton knows what's what here, but -- every time they tell Chetney to keep an eye out for if the group's being followed and Chetney immediately goes with it, every time Ashton checks in with the group to see whether certain people are okay -- it's so good! I love it so much! It doesn't work during fights exactly, because barbarian rage tunnel vision (contrast Fjord, who did similar nudging and guiding things but was also very much a battlefield controller with a good big-picture view of the whole field most of the time, especially by the end), but on a general day-to-day basis...at least in Basuras, Ashton is actually acting as the group leader, and I love it so much.
At any rate, the tumblr grapevine suggests that the second half of this week's episode is going to involve Dusk getting revealed as Secret Inside Assassin PC, and I am stoked to see how Ashton reacts to that. Ugh. Do I need to just bite the Twitch Subscription bullet for weekend VODs, given that this state of bed-at-mid-break affairs is likely to continue for...literally evermore, with this new job? I think I do. I really think I do.
278 notes · View notes
catchyhuh · 5 months
Text
KIDS!!
no not like what they were like AS kids. that's cute though i might do that later but anyway this is just how they are around children. you bring up canon i shoot you dead. now let’s get goin
lupin:
lupin LOVES kids. does that mean he’s good with them/should be trusted to watch them and keep them from accidentally dying? no
he’s expected to have them because. gestures. but he’s not really in a rush. he’s just kind of waiting for fate to do something. (he’s hoping fate will have something to do with fujiko giving his kid pretty incredible genes but the reality is he’d probably stumble across some embittered oliver twist adjacent kid and take them in)
the REALest reality is he’s just every child he runs into’s favorite uncle. he’s a horrible influence and you know kids LOVE that. holds them by their ankles, throws them like five feet into a pool, they LOVE it, and it horrifies every reasonable adult nearby. except his friends. they’ve grown immune to the terrifying sights that come with this guy.
jigen:
(pushing aside the new jigen thing just in case it makes this post age poorly) have you ever met someone who hates kids but children just love them
jigen hates it but he lowkey has some fatherly instincts within. lowkey. it’s faint though don’t expect him to offer to watch your kid for you but like any mildly decent human being he’s not going to let a child run into an electrical fence. usually though those same people don’t just start giving said kid a piggyback ride to guide them back to a more responsible party though but don’t ever bring it up to him
really i think it just comes from a soft spot for mildly vulnerable people. not an obligation he feels exactly just like. this child is miserable. if i made a stupid face, will the child continue to be miserable? granted, if the stupid face does not cheer up the kid, he’s not beating himself up about it either. i said kids LIKED him not that he was GOOD with them
fujiko:
very impartial. again, has the basic human decency to see a child clearly about to hurt themselves within arms reach and moves to stop them, but it’s like. does she care about that child’s hobbies, their favorite color, their latest minecraft build? uh No not really no
not above smiling and cooing over how cute babies are, but again, doesn’t mean SHE FUCKIN WANTS ONE LMAOOOOO it’s just that she has. eyes. if she thinks your baby is ugly on the other hand she won’t exactly TELL you so but her grin is noticeably forced and shes like. “what. an angel. wow. she’s really gonna break hearts someday i’m sure. wow.”
fujiko (pushing aside that fuckass movie) fujiko does not want kids. if she has a kid it’s someone else’s responsibility hands down. it’s not even that she’s afraid of the commitment OF a child (although that admittedly isn’t a thing she’s a fan of) she just knows for a fact that some people on this earth are not meant to be parents and by GOD is she NOT meant to be a parent. honestly it’s a self-awareness she wishes more people had.
goemon:
i have to be. completely candid here i’ve never really thought about this. but now that i am it’s very clear to me that goemon is the type of person who talks to a 5yo the same way you’d talk to a fully grown man and that’s hilarious
kids are always very interested by him in the like. “why are you so dressed up” “why do you talk like that” “is that a real sword” sense which tends to overwhelm him for a brief blip, but leave him with them for a half hour and come back and he’ll be showing them INSANE hide and seek techniques 
he simultaneously doesn’t understand children at all but is also capable of having fun with them. a big chunk of it depends on his current mood, but if they’re like, nice, pleasant kids, 9 times out of 10 he’ll do like. one cool thing for them just to see them go OWAOAAWW!! he can get a little silly with it. if the situation needs be.
zenigata:
do you guys hear that? that like. wooing trumpet noise. with a little bit of stomping in there? sounds like there’s an elephant in the room or something. anyways
kids either love or hate him immediately. like goemon it tends to revolve around his mood and the mood of the kid in question, because sometimes he goes from sulking about losing (again) to “Oh My God is that your baby? TWO weeks old? just two weeks old? that tiny?” in a heartbeat. conversely children also tend to find him very bullyable. either way they flock to this guy
if you had a six year old and you needed one of these five to watch it for like, three hours, zenigata is your safest bet, but that’s. NOT SAYING MUCH he’s just the only one who’s moderately prepared for like. kid fell down and started crying type things. kid doesn’t WANT to eat spaghetti for lunch but that’s what they have to eat. that type of deal. he puts on this calm but slightly stern tone and the kid's like . okay fine i'll eat it. it's very jarring for anyone who's seen the way he is normally omg that trumpeting is back what the hell is that noi
POINT IS he’s good with kids. not perfect (children imitate the behavior they see you know) but good enough. it’s backed up in canon! in fact it’s so backed up you might even say he might as well have a kid even,
I'M SORRY FOR THE JOKES I JUST CAN'T HELP IT
15 notes · View notes
howlsofbloodhounds · 9 months
Text
Color and His Importance to Killer:
He provides STAGE 1 a safe place to be. He gave Killer hope, and someone to turn to. Someone that doesn’t just walk all over him and ignore what he wants.
Color is the one who makes him realize that he isn’t helpless. That he does still have a choice in his life, and he isn’t doomed to just being used for someone else’s sick intentions. In someone else’s sick little game.
STAGE 1 doesn’t want to hurt anyone, he never has, and with Color: he doesn’t have to. No more blood or dust or coffins on his conscience. Color found someone he can relate to in STAGE 1, a Sans who’s also suffered at the hands of a Human and was also fused with another SOUL. And STAGE 1 gets a desperately needed friend.
For STAGE 2, Color provides happiness. He provides color in an otherwise empty world. A world that Nightmare makes sure remains empty to him.
Color doesn’t use him. Color believes he’s a person, not a thing or weapon. Color doesn’t expect him to feel emotions the same way he does, and he never attempts to pressure STAGE 2 into anything.
Color doesn’t attempt to control or force his will on STAGE 2. He doesn’t fear STAGE 2, either. He offers family and love and care, to someone who can’t remember ever having that.
He offers a safer, better life where Killer can choose to be who he wants to be. He offers Killer stability, and loyalty. No one has ever given Killer their loyalty, although they demand it of him.
Color doesn’t expect undying loyalty. He doesn’t expect obedience. Should Killer ever decide to part ways with him one day, then I’m sure Color would accept that, too—no matter how much it hurts him.
But more importantly: Color tells him the truth. He doesn’t lie or sugarcoat anything, not to spare Killer’s feelings. Not if he believes Killer needs to hear the truth. He gives Killer back his free will, and his freedom in one fell swoop by telling him the truth.
That doing what others want, what they expect of him, is hurting him. That he doesn’t actually want any of it. That it’s okay for him to do what he wants, for once. To explore the world and find out who “Killer” is, without anyone whispering in his ear telling him who “Killer” is.
That a life of violence and bloodshed isn’t the only option he has. That living as Sans’ ghost isn’t all there is for him.
His very existence is vital to Killer, provides stability to his SOUL. Eases conflict, reunites STAGE 1 & 2 in a common goal. A safer life means STAGES 3 and 4 are unlikely to happen as often, and more importantly, aren’t needed.
Color provides a safe place to heal. All parts of Killer. Color provides the chance to become Sans again, should that be something STAGE 2 Killer also wants.
And if Killer decides not to become Sans again, I’m sure Color would respect that, too.
Bottom line is this: Color is Killer’s friend, and he isn’t interested in playing games. He won’t force Killer to do anything. If Killer wants to change, if he wants to be Sans, if he wants to stay as Killer, if he wants a better life, if he wants to stay with or leave Nightmare. Either way, all choices Killer has to make on his own. Color is just there as support and advice.
He isn’t Killer’s savior, in his eye, he’s just showing Killer some basic decency. But to someone who’s been deprived of it for so long, it’s a huge thing. To someone who’s never been treated with that kindness or like more than just an object or tool. Killer’s never had a choice in his life. Color is making him see that he does now.
35 notes · View notes
jesuspilled · 1 month
Text
Israel’s horrendous genocide continues unabated while our new foreign secretary Lord Cameron, brought back from the dead as it were (he’s no longer an elected Member of Parliament) and hurriedly created a peer of the realm to give some semblance of legitimacy, struts the international stage and criss-crosses the world’s trouble-spots. So I thought I’d offer a reminder that this guy has form. And I mean bad form. Back in December 2012 I wrote a piece titled Why they call him ‘Agent’ Cameron. It went like this.
In a speech to Conservative Friends of Israel at a recent lunch [in 2012] David Cameron said – and not for the first time – things that are deeply disturbing to people who expect him to put British interests first. He compromised himself and our country with ridiculous pledges of support for a foreign military power whose behaviour is beyond the Pale and an affront to human decency. Here are some of his remarks…
“I am a passionate friend of Israel – and that’s the way it’s going to stay.”
Tumblr media
In that case he shouldn’t be in British politics. And he falls foul of the Seven Principle of Public Life, especially the principle of ‘Integrity’ which says in words a child could understand: “Holders of public office should not place themselves under any financial or other obligation to outside individuals or organisations that might seek to influence them in the performance of their official duties.”
“We promised to stand up for Israel and in Government that’s exactly what we’ve done. We said it was ridiculous that Israeli officials felt unable to visit Britain because of the malicious and unfounded use of arrest warrants so we changed the law to end it.”
This is about individuals taking out private arrest warrants for Israeli war criminals arriving in the UK because the Government drags it feet. Tzipi Livni had been responsible for launching the pre-meditated blitzkrieg four years previously which slaughtered 1,400 defenceless Gazans (including 320 children and 109 women), horribly maimed thousands more and caused immense devastation to essential infrastructure and services. She showed no remorse. Livni’s office issued a statement saying she was proud of Operation Cast Lead, and speaking later at a conference at Tel Aviv’s Institute for Security Studies, she said: “I would today take the same decisions.” She and other high-ranking Israeli criminals decided not to disembark and flew back home when they were tipped off that arrest warrants had been issued.
“When I was in Opposition I spoke out when — because of the law on universal jurisdiction — senior Israelis could not safely come to my country, without fear of ideologically motivated court cases and legal stunts,” said Cameron. “When I became Prime Minister I legislated to change it. My country is open to you. And you are welcome to visit anytime.” He dismisses as “legal stunts” the UK’s solemn obligation under the Geneva Conventions to bring to book those suspected of war crimes. So much for his duties under international law to “fight impunity for grave international crimes wherever they occur”.
3 notes · View notes
whitegoldtower · 13 days
Text
Angry, pissed off Tam’lin below the break. This is how I think it would go down the first few hours of having Kar’niss in the camp. The szarkai isn’t pleased with the hypocrisy.
As a character, Tam’lin is usually the quiet one. He does what he needs to, he tends to avoid dialogue that could possibly upset the other party members, he’s generally a very relaxed person. Imagine the reaction, then, when he finally loses his shit.
He automatically rolls Nat 20s for insight, intimidation and persuasion on this one.
“Stand down! Stand down.” The szarkai snarled, at the group of people he called ‘friends’.
A group of misfits and outcasts, rough and disorganised, constantly warring, either with themselves or with him.
“Get back, now. All of you.” Tam’lin rarely showed such intensity, such fervour, nothing like the state he had worked himself into as he stood outside of his tent, defending the drider. Protection was a strong instinct he had cultivated and nurtured since he’d discovered his autonomy. He didn’t want to hurt his friends, but he would, if it came down to it.
And they must have known; Tam’lin saw the way Gale backed off immediately, the way Astarion defensively picked at the hilt of his dagger, anticipating a fight.
Tam’lin pointed at him.
“I’ll pretend I did not see that,” the ranger said, lowly, his white hair wild and messy, “I intend to hear him out. And you should, too. By the gods, hear him if nothing else, just as I heard you. We have all wrestled with ourselves and one another, unearthed secrets that should have been revealed upon our meeting. I remember you, in particular,” Tam’lin rounded on Astarion, “thanking me for looking past your condition and reassuring you that you were not a monster.”
He turned to Wyll, “I remember you, so fearful and vulnerable, ready to saw those horns right off your skull.”
Finally, he rounded on Lae’zel, “And you, how you advocated for the occasional ‘capricious murder’, as if that was not something of a monstrosity in itself.”
Perhaps he was going too far. Perhaps not.
“All of you have, in some way or another, fought with yourselves for a scrap of understanding, a glimmer of hope that you will not be seen as monsters. Why is he any different?” The szarkai eyed up his camp, “Is it because he looks less human than the rest of us? Is that it?”
Disappointment momentarily overtook his ire as he looked upon Karlach and Gale,
“You two, I expected better. Especially you, Karlach. Everyone thought you were a fucking cambion before learning the truth.”
The curling of Minthara’s lip, however, only threw oil on the fire, and Tam’lin met her gaze for the first time in his life, his gaze piercing right into her skull.
“Ilharess, my sweet dear cousin, this is the only time I will ever defer to you. Know this. This is not Menzoberranzan, here and now. I will speak to you on your own level, just this once. Put your pride aside for one small moment and consider; as a former pawn of the Absolute; is he not entitled to his revenge?”
Minthara’s visage hardened, a hot flush rising to her cheeks from her neck. Tempered rage. Perhaps the only reason she did not smite him, there and then, was because he was right.
“You, better than anyone else, should know how it feels to betray Lolth. To be used as a puppet. Does he not deserve better? Either one of us, both you and I, could have suffered this fate for our alleged sins against our people. And I count us lucky that we were not, although we still could be. His circumstances were a product of injustice.”
He tore his gaze away from her.
“I welcomed all of you as friends, despite your flaws. I intend to welcome Kar’niss in the same manner. Before you confront me in this manner again, like a pack of fucking wolves,” he spat, looking pointedly at Shadowheart, “Consider finding a shred of the decency within yourselves that I once showed you.”
There, then, was something akin to a silent respect in Lae’zel and Minthara’s auras; he was finally showing that authoritative streak. There was fire, there. Something that could be respected, even admired, by Astarion, too. The ambition impressed Gale, and the fierce passion tempered Karlach. Guilt crept in, somewhere along the lines, when he looked upon Shadowheart and Wyll, seeing perhaps just a hint of fear, but he did not back down. He was ready to defend Kar’niss, tooth and nail, and upon realising the fact that he was simply trying to protect a vulnerable being, Wyll’s posture relaxed.
The entire party was in shock. Perhaps it was for the best. Tam’lin resisted the urge to turn on Kar’niss, in that moment, to seethe that the drider had better not make him regret the decision to stick his neck out for him and possibly make an enemy of his friends. He slowed his thundering heart, bit at the inside of his cheeks.
He looked poised to chew off his own tongue. He’d won them over, for now, at least. He could see that much in their faces.
4 notes · View notes
ness-plays-wizards · 11 months
Text
Caesar Route Chapter 7 (11-15)
Last time on the Caesar Route, Caesar got stabbed on the Ides of March.
Also the big un-foreshadowed twist was brought to you by a dirty liar! Also Viggo is here for some reason.
Tumblr media
Caesar is way too calm about this. Maybe Viggo is just a DnD barbarian then.
Tumblr media
Oh my god I totally forgot he got stabbed.
So Mischa the doomsday cat shows up after being gone for a million years and shows Liz and Caesar to a hiding place in a shack. Caesar passes out and Liz casts a healing spell on him. Mischa then brings up how villainous Caesar apparently is, which I have no comment on because I fucking forgot what she’s talking about. She points out that Liz must be in love with him because why else would she show basic human decency, yada yada yada.
Tumblr media
Huh. Not the kind of line you’d expect from a dating sim like this.
Liz tells Mischa that she can’t trust Caesar because of all the lies he’s said, which is a smart decision. Mischa tells her that the only way to proceed now is to basically real life block him.
Tumblr media
What a smart decision! I’m sure we’ll definitely follow it.
.....Right?
Tumblr media
YOU REALLY SHOULD. But the only choice that moves that stupid fucking love meter is the dumbass one.
Tumblr media
Girl this is literally one of the stupidest decision you’ve made on this app. And that’s really fucking saying something! Mischa is literally out here telling you that you need to block his ass, but you literally won’t just because the plot says so. Fuck this plot. I know I said that I don’t really believe the twist because of the bad writing, but with Solmare, you can really only take their writing at face value.
Nobody speaks for what has got to be several awkward hours until Caesar wakes up. He’s surprised Liz is still here.
Tumblr media
Now is literally not the time. 
And Liz agrees, because she gets pissed off about all his lies. Nobody gives a straight answer for at least eleven clicks until Caesar reveals he became a prefect by cheating with Zett’s help. Then he is about to reveal something that is probably along the lines of “I need the Star Sapphire to break my stupid ass otome pig curse” but the chapter cuts off before we get a straight answer.
Wasn’t there some plot thread about the end of the world 5 chapters ago?
Queued for: May 2
10 notes · View notes
smallfrenchstudyblr · 1 month
Note
an acquaintance of mine, who i met through a mutual friend, casually admitted that he used chatGPT to help with his master's thesis (in the humanities); and when i curtly said "i don't think that's good" he was like, "oh it was just to give me some ideas and to help me write the introduction and conclusion.. and besides since i'm not going to write a PhD it was completely unnecessary anyway for me to be forced to write a thesis anyway"
i'm not going to report him or anything but it legitimately is so upsetting to me that someone with this kind of attitude now works as a high school teacher
Oof, that is rough, and on top of the substantive issue, there is something really tactless about one person admitting to you with a lot of chill that they cheated, when you yourself put in the work. It lacks some decency imo. It is indeed very upsetting, and I am sorry that you met someone with this little consideration for (your) academic work.
Obviously the first point is not valid: "to get some ideas" is literally the absolute worst use of ChatGPT or any AI ever, I stand by this and will die on that hill. "to write the introduction and conclusion": the most charitable interpretation would be "to help me rephrase stuff", but I am going to guess he meant "to tell me what to put in the introduction and conclusion", which is also bad. Introduction and conclusion are not summaries of the content, nor are they vapid fluff. There is proper content to put in both of them. If your intro/conclusion ends up feeling like a rehash or an empty shell, folks, you're doing it wrong. It's ok, we've all been there, but it needs to be changed.
As for the "I won't do a PhD anyway"... Something in me balks at that, but I have to sit down and consider if it's internalized elitism or not. I think it depends why you do a Masters, and from my experience it varies from country to country. In France, people go have a Masters because Undergrads are shorter, and you often are not competitive on the job market with a just an Undergrad. The vast majority indeed don't want to do any research, and therefore are not required to - you often can do an internship instead. But even in countries where Masters are more of a choice, an option rather than something that you naturally have to do, obviously not everyone will go into research. Still, the point of going one step above the undergrad is that it should then truly mean something. The masters is not a 5th year of undergrad, I think it is acceptable to require of MSc Graduates a different, wider skillset than from Undergrad Graduates. And part of that skillset is the ability to conduct an independent, small research project. The MSc theses expectations are not even close to a PhD thesis expectations anyway, I would argue they are barely the same exercise (in France, they do not even have the same name). The goal is not to show that you can be a good researcher, it's to show that you can develop originally ideas, think critically of the current state of knowledge, knows how to write convincingly about a complex topic, and have implicit understanding of epistemology, whether you realize it or not (aka you know how to know things, or you know at least one way to know things and understand the world).
These are all transferable skills, and your friend should sit down with a PhD researcher, to understand how little there actually is to do with a classic MSc thesis (or a mémoire as well it in French) and an actual PhD thesis.
5 notes · View notes
mokutone · 2 years
Note
Do you associate any songs/music with yamato ? Would love to hear your take !
ps shrike by hozier is probably my number one pick for him
Alas! Not only is my music taste generally pretty bad, but it's also much more obitocore than it is yamatocore...
Tumblr media
That said, the song in my rotation that makes me think of Yamato the most is Big Blue by Vampire Weekend. It's only one stanza, repeated over and over, about being tired and hurt and without a home, and feeling suddenly accepted and dare I say embraced? But being worried that this is only temporary, and that ultimately the narrator is still on their own.
Every once and a while, I'm seized by the desire to make a music + art post, like homestucks used to back in the day on this site, where the first introduction of the stanza is when the child who will become kinoe, first uses his mokuton in fear and desperationm and it saves him. Second repetition of the stanza is while he's in Root. Third repetition is when he's in the Hokage's anbu. Fourth and final repetition is when he's in the infinite Tsukuyomi. Hell on earth and malice.
But, like I said, vampire weekend isn't all that good. U may enjoy this one more: It Will Come Back by Hozier for when I'm feeling Aggrieved by the Miseries and Torments.
The way that the narrator of this song explicitly dehumanizes themself, calling themself "it" in wicked combination with euphamisms directly comparing themselves to like, a wretched animal...calling themself literally a thing...the way that the narrator is begging not to be shown kindness, or affection, because the narrator understands that if kindness or compassion becomes a part of their expectation for the world, everything the narrator understands will fall to pieces.
i know who i am when i'm alone i'm something else when i see you you don't understand, you should never know how easy you are to need
don't let me in with no intention to keep me jesus christ, don't be kind to me honey, don't feed me, i will come back
Yeah, like, part of it is the fear that if the narrator is treated like a human being, the narrator won't be able to live in the way that they might have previously, treating themself like something less than human, undeserving of basic decency.
but also, the narrator is pleading with somebody who obviously is intending to show them kindness in the first place, so what they're really begging for, beneath all the misery and self-disgust, is for the person they're pleading with to mean it, to really feel compassion for them, for this not to be a temporary amusement but something that the narrator can honest-to-god hold onto. Ough. Yeah. Alright. The repression of one's basic human dignity and yet the desperation for love + acceptance is a very yamato thing in my head...
anyway I understand why u pick the Shrike song too, it's very good, and similar in some ways, the narrator asking the person that they love to remember them when they're reborn, because in this life they're unable to actually speak their affection...ough whole lot of repression and longing in Hozier's work, rich ground for Yamato enthusiasts to dig in
45 notes · View notes
drowning-in-cacophony · 10 months
Text
Comedy Night
For @flashfictionfridayofficial Prompt 201: Comedian's Night
Summary: a woman suffers through amateurs while waiting.
Tumblr media
She hates Comedian’s Night.
It’s a farce, is what it is. A smoke show to hide how it’s just absolute torture, just the sort that’s not banned by any limits of human decency, even if it really should. Comedians are one thing – she’s never liked them, how they prowl the stage with their big grins and expectant eyes, and their jokes are almost always weird stories about themselves that, on second thought, aren’t as funny or nice as they seemed to be in the moment.
But amateur comedians? Now that’s another type of hell.               
Her jaw makes a horrible clicking sound as she grinds her teeth for what must be the fifth time already, her fingers curled too tight around her glass. The wine’s thin but she needs something to take the edges off, so she doesn’t simple combust under the pressure.
Her eyes flicker to the man stood just off the stage, half in the shadows. The architect of her misery, the head torturer. He, naturally, is grinning widely at the jokes, like they’re actually funny. Is he just being nice, or gleeful of the irritated mood he knows he’ll have put her in? The terrible thing is there’s a horrible chance he actually thinks the jokes are funny.
The lad on stage seems to be bumbling his way through a story about a zoo. Or maybe it’s a metaphor for life, being chased by tigers or something, but frankly she’s not paying attention and even if she was, she’d have lost the plot. His pacing’s not great, sprawling and a little blown out at the edges for good measure too. He’s not used a microphone much and it shows.
She drinks the wine. Finds it wanting.
Another joke. Actual torture would be so much more preferable right now.
Around her, people seem to be interested. Or maybe they’re just watching for little else to do. One woman is definitely staring at the stage to ignore how her partner’s hinting for something else, his hand on her knee. Another man’s taking notes – competition, then, wanting to know how to better his own act? She’s seen him on the stage before. She doesn’t remember how he did because, again, this is actually the worst.
On the bar stool, it’s hard to cross one’s knee over the other delicately, but she manages, rolling her eyes as the lad gestures out at the audience, obviously hoping for some participation. Annoyingly enough, this crowd gives back enough to make this a starter. Not like another guy who’d gestured out and been met with resounding silence.
Well. Resounding silence and the sound of her very long gulp of wine. Poor timing, really.
This crowd must be drunker, or happier – it is the end of the week – or just people with bad taste. The lad beams for a moment, relief in his eyes, while the notetaking guy scowls, and then scribbles down his notes more furiously.
She looks at the architect of her misery again. He hasn’t glanced at her once since she arrived, not even to check she’s actually still here. He knows she will be, is the thing. Knows she’ll never back out of a job even if she has to sit through all of this first. It’s not the first time; it won’t be the last, since Comedian’s Night is quickly turning into a weekly affair. She preferred it when it was in the middle of the week – she could avoid these amateurs so much easier then.
The silver lining is that Gig Night’s on a Saturday, so she never has to suffer through young teens scratching their way through songs or middle-aged men warbling country down a microphone.
A burst of raucous laughter interrupts her thoughts, and her gazing. A burst of actual laughter, so it’s clear these people are insane. One person coughs on her drink, but her lips are wide in an amused smile. The architect of course looks delighted, always brightened by the thought of new talent. She can already imagine the pathway his thoughts will be taking. How he can take the lad under his wing, offer him a few more slots, see how he does. Then, if he keeps doing well, the architect can find him connections, spring him high in the world, and all with his own name under the lad, attracting more flies to this honey-soaked ladder of his. She knows all this, of course, because that’s how he got her. A much different sort of talent or job, but it’s the same principle no matter what you’re dealing with. Scout out talent. When you find it, lock it in with kindness and support so they feel indebted to you. Push that enough until you’ve got claws in them, and then you’ve got a connection for life. An opportunity, whether that be free publicity, a last minute party entertainment or, in her case, a business rival about to find his deadly end.
Time pulls on, excruciating joke and torture all bound in one, even if she’s the only one suffering. Maybe the guy with his hand on his lady’s knee might be suffering too, from a different sort of annoyance, as he’s sulking behind his beer now. Oh, and notetaking guy, who’s scribbling like a madman while looking like he wants to cry. Either way, all things come to an end. Even torture.
She drains the last of her wine as the lad takes his bows, flushed in cheek, and looks over at the architect. Finally, he’s looking back, eyes gleaming like forbidden jewels and a different sort of quirk to his lips. His hand raises, his finger crooking towards her. Come with me.
Placing her glass down on the counter and gritting her teeth anew, she does.
7 notes · View notes
colorcodedbeanies · 1 year
Text
S1E2-"The Cat's in the Bag"
That's right two in one day I'm in a hormones induced fugue. If i focus might knock out a third tonight. This one shorter
TW: Violence, racism, gore description
also note: I use Native American and Indigenous as the general term because they're what I've been led to believe is acceptable but let me know if there's something else I could be using/some grammar hink going on here.
Tumblr media
Indigenous people in Breaking Bad are a background element I'm hoping to also make clearer to myself in this watchthrough, especially since it's a throughline that gets picked up again with Better Call Saul and the Kettlemans. There are no major Native American characters in the series, and yet they keep popping up in a way that reads as both prop-like and intended as thematic. This episode in particular opens with a Native American man towing Walt and Jesse's RV out of the ditch, and ends with two Indigenous children playing in the wreckage left behind by their cook. The ABQ area is home to a couple of different tribes. The only reservation that I believe is named in the show is To’Hajiilee, which is occupied by the Cañoncito Band of Navajos. Until provided with other information I'll assume that's the nation to which these unnamed characters belong. Again, I do want to drill in on how badly these characters are props. None of them even have speaking lines. Additionally, its part of the running theme where most brown characters are positioned in opposition to law enforcement. The man who tows them out accepts their bribe to keep silent about anything he's seen. However, given the work the previous episode has done to establish law enforcement as a. deeply racist and b. wildly destructive. There's an argument to be made that this is one of the most human things these characters could do. Rather than concern themselves with something that's not their problem to begin with, they instead keep their mouths shut and profit where they can. I don't want to go too far down this as a overarching read, both because it risks extending the show too much credit and because I think there's a tendency to sanitize the legacy of colonialism into just. White people being corny and Indigenous people giving knowing eyerolls, rather than a system of routine violence. But still, given that this is an analysis focused on race and law enforcement, its worthwhile to me to bring up instances where this is even glanced on.
There's an entitlement to Jesse's space which Walt perpetually demonstrates that really starts to rear its head here. Jesse's just going to have to be ok with Walt storing two dead bodies and a wrecked meth lab in his driveway, because after all, he can't very well bring it back to his nice normal house with his nice normal family can he? Jesse is also expected to take responsibility for whatever happens to the bodies, despite them both being Walt's kills This is played for a joke (resulting in at least one Tiktok audio) but it does have lasting impact on Jesse as he navigates dealing with Emilio's body and Domingo as a hostage. It makes him so uncomfortable that he feels the need to get high just to stay in his own house. All of this is something that either doesn't occur to Walt, or that he just doesn't care about. This is an entitlement that's reflected in Skyler later when she goes to confront Jesse. She barges in his front gate before yelling at him about having the audacity to touch her. The Whites don't understand themselves as criminals. Again, they're nice normal people, not like this "druggie burnout". He isn't protected by things like legality and decency, and anything they say or do to him should be considered reasonable frustration or concern. This culminates in Skyler's line "not that it's any of my business, but you might want to consider a new line of work". This line isn't just ironic, but deeply telling about how the American middle class views drug dealing. A choice, and perhaps even a waste of talent that needs to be scolded back into the fold, or locked away where decent people don't have to see it.
In general Walt's not great at predicting human behavior. He's admittedly having to learn as he goes, but it doesn't even occur to him that his wife might check the call history. Or that she might even notice when he's scream whispering at the phone in the middle of their living room.
This is drilled down on further in the "chiral" scene. Two chemical compounds, seemingly identical, that yet behave very differently. This I believe is meant to be understood as Walt attempting to pitch his joint identity as both druglord and loving father. Can't I be both? And yet the bleedthrough is evident. "Is this going to be on the murder/midterm?" This is also a duality Walt struggles to grant anyone else. After blustering a bit about drug dealers having any kind of administrative structure he asks Jesse if Domingo's "capable" of listening to reason. As a distributor, a "business man", "he should be capable of mutual self-interest". There's a lot you can say here about how white suburbia conceptualizes capitalism, how it should be a system that prevents rash acts of temper, because after all, doesn't trade serve everyone better? Suffice to say this is going to come up again when Domingo talks about majoring in business, and yet again with Tuco.
Final note on the classroom scene, Walt blurting out knowledge is power is a funny little whimper to tack onto his floundering, but its also emblematic of how he attempts to hold onto control of his reality. I think its notable Walt's dialogue becomes more jargon heavy when he's stressed, not less.
No natural transition in or out of this so I'm just going to reproduce this line from Jesse's website in its entirety. "Ethnicity: I'm totally cool with ethnics-Black, Mexican, whatever...as long as you're SMOKIN' HOT, YO!" 0_0. I guess. earmark race as a commodity and move on.
Despite the inherent goofiness of the scene where Walt recaptures Domingo I think its important to remember what a horror show this is from Domingo's perspective. Nearly died in a chemical attack, woke up next to the body of his cousin, dragged himself out, only to be recaptured and locked in a basement for days, barely able to breath the whole time. On some level Walt seems cognizant of that, and it only becomes more apparent the longer he spends with him. Domingo may be a drug dealer who will bring down vengeance on them if he gets away...but he also likes the crusts off his sandwich and asks after his cousin. Again, Walt can't cope with the duality. It doesn't match his image of what a criminal should be.
Enough so that he does exactly what he told Jesse not to do last episode and smokes up. Granted, he uses weed, not meth, but to a post war on drugs America this was pretty similar severity. Walt wastes a good chunk of Jesse's weed attempting to roll the WORST joint I've seen in my life, flaunts his partaking in Skyler's face as a sign of his independence, and then sneers and scowls at Jesse for indulging to cope with melting a childhood friend into meaty chunks. After all, Walt's not a junkie. Walt can be trusted to keep his head even if he loosens up from time to time. Jesse, on the other hand, has an unmanly dependence, and needs to grow up. After all, this kind of thing should be routine for him, right. He's a Criminal.
Walt has a habit of setting Jesse up to fail and then scolding him for it. When Jesse's uncertain if plastic can stand up to acid, Walt refuses to explain. Just barks at him later for not following instructions unthinkingly. When Walt expresses doubt, Jesse attempts empathy, attempts to come up with a paradigm where Walt can make himself ok witih it. I struggle to call it a MORAL impulse but its definitely a kind one.
Skyler asks Walt about Jesse at the doctor's office, a place he where he can't leave and also can't sex her quiet. She's learning to anticipate his resistance to openness. She also frames the information as transactional, "don't you think you OWE me this", in a way I can't help but see in connection to the baby. I'm your homemaker ergo you owe me honesty. Walt responds with a veiled threat. "I love you, and that won't change, so back off". To his mind the only thing his family should concern themselves with is his emotional state. Anything beyond that is outside their purview.
Nice wet meat effect.
14 notes · View notes
raviliuz · 11 months
Text
Really random nice Marcus piece
Because it's this blog's 3rd bday and I thought I should post something
It wasn't the best day for Marcus. He slept in and didn't eat any breakfast. He was hungry, his head started pounding because of it and he couldn't take his ADHD meds on empty stomach.
After his second lesson, he finally had a longer break. He automatically headed to the kitchens. Marcus tickled the pear and entered.
"Good morning" he greeted with elves "Sorry for being a burden, but could you make me something to eat? I didn't eat breakfast".
Marcus felt awful for adding more work to the house elves who were always busy, even without his stupid breakfast. He learnt to really appreciate their work and be grateful even though his parents always said they were slaves made for that.
"Of course, Marcus sir" elves answered in agreement "What would you like?"
"Something fast, a sandwich would be good, don't want to waste your time".
They started working and Marcus went further into the kitchen and found Oliver Wood, sitting calmly on the floor.
"Oh, hey, Wood" Flint muttered, feeling too bad for any teasing.
Wood looked surprised. He needed some time alone from the crowd and he always found kitchens calming in its mechanical business.
Marcus sat next to him.
"You look bad, man" Oliver said unsurely.
It made Flint laugh dryly.
"You know how to flatter a man".
Oliver turned red. He hated that, he was extremely expressive, every emotion quickly showing on his face. When he was angry, he looked like puffed up cat.
"I meant it in "you look bad, are you okay" way".
Marcus couldn't lie, he was surprised that Oliver cared, or at least was bothered enough to pretend he did.
"I'm hungry, my head is killing me and I'm twitchy 'cuz I couldn't take my meds. Life is awful."
"Meds?" Oliver asked, truly curious.
"I have ADHD, was actually diagnosed during holidays" he explained "I have to take my meds right after breakfast but I was too late for that so..."
Their, surprisingly civil, conversation was interrupted by a house elf, Marcus was almost sure it was Vekey.
"I have your food, Marcus sir".
Marcus stopped correcting them to not call him sir as it didn't work.
What Vekey brought definitely didn't look like a simple sandwich. Twelve carrot cupcakes stood on a plate like a pyramid.
"Sir Marcus is nice, sir Marcus deserves his favorites" Vekey explained with a huge grin, making Flint blush.
"Thank you all so much. You all are too nice."
The house elf left and Flint put the plate in between them, waving to Oliver to eat.
"You are really kind to the house elves" Oliver pointed out.
"You sound surprised. It's human decency".
"Well, yeah" Wood scratched his head awkwardly and took one cupcake "Kinda expected you to treat them like slaves".
Marcus understood that and respected the truthfulness but Oliver explained further as if afraid he would be misunderstood.
"I mean, that's how I would guess your parents raised you, you dirty pureblood".
Dirty pureblood was a laughable insult in Marcus' opinion.
"Honestly, they did. But I'm kind since I was like ten and Terence screamed at me for a good half an hour for not saying "thank you"" Marcus laughed.
Oliver had no idea Flint and Higgs knew each other before Hogwarts. He was just about to answer when Marcus continued quieter.
"Then my parents screamed at me for an hour or so for treating them like we are equal" he admitted bitterly "But..." he wasn't sure if he should continue, but after Oliver's soft interested gaze, he did "Terence's opinion matters more. Always have."
Oliver observed as Marcus took a small container from his pocket and took one pill. He swallowed it and took another cupcake.
"Don't want to be nosy but your family seems kinda awful."
"That's fundamentally not true".
Marcus protested and Oliver was sure he would get mad for insulting his family. But Marcus finished :
"I got disowned so I don't have a family to be bad."
Wood couldn't help but burst out laughing. He felt kinda bad, laughing at 17 years old getting disowned by his family. But he explained to himself that Flint made the joke himself, it was okay.
"That's kinda awful" Oliver just said after a while.
"Nah, I'm good" Marcus shrugged "The least toxic people in your life, the better you're doing, you know?"
They finished the cupcakes and Marcus' hunger and headache faded. He stood up.
"Bye," Flint said simply but decided to add "It was actually really nice to be civil with you ."
16 notes · View notes
chuuyanaurkahara · 1 year
Text
!!this is not to pick fun at anyone, sorry if i make it seem that way!!
it only happened a few times, but i still find it funny
Tumblr media
for example (the one i see most) is when someone comments on a god fucking dammit post with 'i hate azrael in this au' i always refrain from telling them that azrael was like that in canon too. maybe still is. just with other people and minus the parts where azrael is 'nice' or gives dani some 'luxury'.
also, yes, you should hate him. that's the point. hate him. i am not trying to depict his actions as good. heck, i even have characters who (actively) call him monster, psycho, sick bastard, etc.
i try to depict him as an asshole in every au. sometimes i succeed and sometimes i do not. i try my best though, so expect more asshole azzy. and while he might have better moments where he shows human decency or whatever, he is still an asshole in the end.
hell, he would probably laugh if he saw someone getting hit with a car.
that were my main reasons/arguments/points/whatever, but i could probably list more or whatever.
bye for now lovelies<3
6 notes · View notes