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sealrock · 2 months

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send STRAINED for a scene from my muse's past in which they interact with someone they have a difficult relationship with

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cw: discussions of death & religion

(ty for the ask @oneiroy!)

"D'you think She's listenin'?" A low voice came from her right. It was midafternoon, a time dedicated to meditation and spiritual nourishment, not childish whispering. Tauvane usually spends her rest period alone in the empty chapel, but the task to monitor the recovery of one poor soul her Sisters had saved fell squarely into her lap. Tauvane didn't falter in her prayers, however. She kept her head bowed, her eyes closed. The muted words flowed from her mouth like water from a spout. She knew the Halonian prayers better than anyone, for it had been ingrained in her mind since she was old enough to talk. "Ya have to wonder if the ice queen up above gives a fig about Her flock if all She does is plug Her ears."

Her eyebrow twitched, a sign of slight irritation. Tauvane rolled the rosary between her fingers, clasping the beads tighter. She heard a petulant sigh and shuffling, followed by a sharp wince. Tauvane let out an exasperated sigh before turning to face her fidgety companion. Pelleas scowled in discomfort as he massaged his lower back. Perhaps the stone pews were too uncomfortable for his battered body, but this was the first time Pelleas had been allowed outside his cell after five moons of confinement.

The spear of a fellow knight impaled his abdomen in the chaos of the ambush. Instead of wisecracking, Pelleas should thank the Fury for aiming the polearm slightly to the right so it would not sever his spine. Tauvane felt a slight twinge of pity for the man, nonetheless—slight.

"Come, you must return to your quarters for another healing session."

"Oh, joy, more manhandling," came a deadpanned response. Tauvane let the comment slide as she helped Pelleas into his wheelchair since he still couldn't walk a few fulms before growing exhausted. Tauvane noted how the muscles atrophied during his time bedridden, meaning he would have to rebuild strength in his legs to support his tall frame. Pelleas, usually cheeky enough to playfully fake aches and pains to get a rise out of his caretaker, was not up to it today. Exhaustion painted Pelleas' features and aged him considerably, his one good eye sunken and dark.

She wheeled him down cold, unassuming hallways and into the snow-covered cloister, making a note to go faster at risk of Pelleas catching sick. Tauvane made no effort to speak to her fellow Swordsisters who passed her by, for they would not turn their gazes to her and her charge. For all concerned, Pelleas was invisible, something to look past.

While not outright forbidden, it was rare for the Order of Saint Jehanne to take in male outsiders, but they wouldn't stay long. The vow of chastity was an unbreakable oath every Swordsister took to heart, but temptation lurked around every corner. To have a man housed underneath their roof for so long was a test sent from the Fury; would Her subjects endure this trial or be swayed by earthly cravings? Pelleas knew not the way of the Swordsisters, and he was as ignorant as a newborn. But even newborns need to be taught much like Tauvane had been.

The warmth from the fireplace kept away the chill from Pelleas' stone walls, his back exposed as he lay on his belly in bed. Tauvane's knowledge in conjury wouldn't be a cure-all, but it helped the man's pains during these long winter months. The tingle of aether weaving through Tauvane's hands set Pelleas' taut muscles underneath the ragged scar tissue at ease, and a sigh of relief broke the silence. Tauvane gave no outward reaction. She continued to provide aid as any good shepherd would do to their flock. But a flock of karakul can't speak.

"I can't stand the church."

Her fingers twitched. Tauvane lifted her gaze to rest on the back of Pelleas' blond head, his face obscured by his cool pillow. His words came out muffled, but the lingering contempt was plain.

"Does that include me, Ser Pelleas? I am but a cog in the greater design."

A mirthless snort came as a response.

"You're a cog, yeah. But not a well-oiled one."

"Why is that?"

Tauvane's neutral response elicited Pelleas to twist onto his back to stare at her. His green eye burned with resentment.

"Look at me, look at yourself. We risk our lives day in and day out for the blasted church filled with sniveling whoresons, fighting this war with no end. We are cogs in a machine, but there's no one operating the machinery. But that's besides the point I'm tryna make: why doesn't Halone send down Her bloody spears and kill the raving lot of snakes already? Why should I have to do all the hard work?"

Tauvane pinched her brows together; she didn't like the tone of voice Pelleas took. He would usually incite Tauvane with innocuous statements of blasphemy that would lead to ecclesiastical debate, but Tauvane never realized Pelleas held such resentment in his heart.

"I suggest you keep your voice down ere any judgment come upon you," she earned a scoff, "but to answer your question: yes, Halone could end the war with one fell swoop. But you and I, as Her congregation, are Her earthly soldiers tasked with preserving the land, and we must continue to show Her our unbending loyalty and spirit to fight. To suffer is to be closer to the Fury, and for you to suggest indolence is inaccurate and borderline heretical. We cannot rely on Halone to solve all of what ails us, for we would not be able to grow. You must have faith in Her, as She does you."

Tauvane's response was automatic and well-rehearsed, but it sounded halfhearted in her ears. Pelleas said nothing, but he didn't seem happy with the answer. Tauvane sighed and licked the dryness off her lips, sitting at the soldier's bedside for what felt like hours, the crackling fire acting like a ticking timepiece.

"I know it's difficult to grasp for someone lapsed in his faith, and you have indeed suffered great loss in your life to warrant your frustrations, but She loves even all wayward souls under Her domain. Volume eleven of the Seventy-two Articles of Halonic Polity says: 'Of the Fury's love all men will receive, and by the balance of Her spear will all be set free.'"

"Is that what you truly believe?"

Her response came a few seconds late, "Of course."

Pelleas worked himself into a sitting position, his good eye meeting Tauvane's steely gaze. He leaned in towards Tauvane's hidden ear, the scent reminiscent of petrichor filling her nose, and whispered:

"Don't kid yourself."

Tauvane recoiled, "Excuse me?"

"Admit it. You're just as bitter as I am. We're supposed to be Halone's children, but look at us: a filthy Brumerat with no future and a sinful halfling. She abandoned us. We got no seat at Her table. I know that line all too well, it's been smacked into me head since I was a child scrounging for food after me folks froze. We're all equal under Halone, yet the wolves at Her gates dressed in fine silks and gold keep me away. For people like me in the Brume, Halone couldn't give a rat's arse about us. If suffering is close to godliness, the whole of the Brume would be saints. If I spent my whole life in solitude like you, constantly praying, singing, and whipping myself, would that earn me a ticket into the Halls? Would I be good enough then?"

It was Tauvane's turn to say nothing. Her gaze wavered—she couldn't bear to look at Pelleas' intense expression any longer.

"You could say I've lapsed in my faith, but I have a hell of a good reason to. You didn't have to watch your parents hopelessly pray for safety in a blizzard, only to wake up the next morning and find them frozen stiff in each other's arms, or spend the rest of your life praying for relief only to be ignored. And what did the holy bitch do to stop it? Absolutely nothing. I spent half of my years screaming for a reason why She couldn't extend Her grace unto me, I have done nothing wrong to be forsaken. You never had to struggle like I did, you've been kept safe and secure in your castle walls here all your life. A privileged life in the bosom of the Fury. So forgive me if my faith calls for the sacrifice of what little I have left, but you don't know me. I'm not a mindless karakul being led off the ledge by the holy book like the rest of you. Call me a heretic if that makes you feel better."

Pelleas was calm as he spoke, but Tauvane could feel the undercurrent of rage in him, evident in how his shoulders hunched over and the low growl in his voice. She dropped her eyes down to her lap and picked at her cuticles in shame. Pelleas was right; she didn't know him at all... But it goes both ways.

"Forgive me for overstepping my bounds, I mean no offense. However, I must make it clear that I am not privileged. Yes, I am a halfling, but I am as much of a sinner to the Fury as anyone else. I was not blessed with a warm and happy home—far from it. My earliest memories are of the confines of my mother's living quarters amongst the servants of my father's house... his lawful wedded wife couldn't bear my presence. I wasn't wanted, I'm a karakul with no shepherd. I was born in the sin of my mother and shaped by my father's iniquity. Contrary to what you may think, I have no place anywhere, not even within the Order."

Pelleas straightened his posture and narrowed his eye, watching Tauvane coolly unpeel the layers of her troubled past like one would do an artichoke. The whole while, Tauvane kept her eyes on the miniature painting of Saint Jehanne hung on the back wall, her patron's humility reflected in the faded watercolors. She detached herself from the current conversation as to not show emotion, she was speaking as is Pelleas wasn't just a few ilms beside her.

"I was like you once. I prayed until my knees bled for salvation, I beat myself raw with reeds for confirmation that She loved me. The church teaches us that Halone loves Her people, so surely She would have boundless adoration for a helpless innocent who did not ask to be born, not if no one else would grant me the feeling of attachment. I have no friends here, they all believe me damned. I prayed for Halone to answer my calls and tell me that I was not a sinner, I have suffered many times for Her. But because of my wretchedness, I would have to endure a thousand hardships before She'll take notice." Tauvane gave a wry smile.

"As said in volume forty-one, the Parable of the Lost Karakul: "'Which of you men, if you had one hundred karakul, and lost one of them, wouldn't leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness, and go after the one that was lost, until he found it? When he has found it, he carries it on his shoulders, rejoicing. When he comes home, he calls together his friends, his family, and his neighbors, saying; 'Lo, rejoice with me, for I have found my karakul which was lost!' I tell you that even so there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents, than over ninety-nine righteous people who need no repentance.'" I read that passage every night before I went to sleep as a girl. I saw myself as that lost karakul, and Halone as the good shepherd who carried me home. I awaited the day where She would extend Her hand and wrest me from my suffering... that day hasn't come yet."

Tauvane drew in a deep breath, "My devotion to Halone is absolute, I was raised by the Order to honor Her. But my relationship with Her is strained, like a daughter towards her mother. Is it because of my birth that She refuses me? Does life not yet born pass Her keen judgment? For all my life, I have been told of my sin, about how much I need to repent. The price is a hefty sum, and I have already paid half of my life to the balance owed. But how much is enough?"

Silence hung over them for seconds, minutes, hours. The air felt thick, the walls closer than usual. Tauvane felt like she was being buried alive. In truth, only a few minutes passed. Tauvane returned to her senses to find Pelleas propped against the headboard of his bed, arms crossed with a serious countenance. She blinked once, then twice.

"My apologies, I fear I got too ahead of myself. What I said to you is confidential—do not say a word of this to anyone."

The dour look was soon replaced with a playful smirk stretching across his lips, "I would not think it, my fair lady."

Tauvane felt the irritation rise in her throat. She started to say something but quickly clamped her mouth shut. All she could do was shake her head at the snicker she received.

"Enough idle talk. The hour grows late, and I must return to my duties."

"Leaving so soon?" Pelleas pouted, "We were just beginning to bond over our shared disgust for organized religion."

"I'll bring you your supper in a moment. Good day, Ser Pelleas."

Tauvane ignored his last comment in favor of leaving the room, her stride unbroken as she closed the heavy door behind her. In that short moment in the emptiness of the hallway, she allowed herself to double over as it felt like the air had been forced out of her chest. The words that fell out of her mouth began to sink in.

I didn't mean any of that. O 'lone, the almighty heritor of ice, please forgive your humble servant, nothing I said was true.

Tauvane repeated that like a mantra. Why did she do that? To let herself grow so vulnerable to an outsider, a man with loose morals, it settled like a rock in her stomach. Pelleas' soul may not be saved in his final hours, but Tauvane would not be easily swayed.

She let Pelleas know her weak points, and he exploited them to his advantage to spread heretical ideals. Yes. That's the story she'll tell to the Reverend Mother if word gets out about their conversation. Tauvane let go of the doubt in her heart a long time ago through ardent prayer, she's above that now. She knows the Fury would not lead her astray; She loves even a poor sinner like Tauvane unconditionally.

She does.

She doesn't.

Tauvane shook her head as if to rid herself of the niggling worm in the back of her head, a worm that tells only lies. She'll have to show penance for her lack of faith later, a proper mea culpa. The scabbed scars on her back began to itch in protest, but she ignored it.

#inbox #oneiroy #this uh. got away from me. over 2k words jesus christ #lots of mentions of karakul in this one #tauvane and pelleas bonding. not directly related to the prompt but it deals with their complicated relationship with the church + halone #plus their actual relationship with each other wasn't the best in the beginning #that counts as strained right #q.#writings.

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kamomie · 9 months

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I really tried to do a more general commentary on Q!Foolish, but it does focus more so on the recent happenings OTL

Quick note, I’m working with the information we have as of July 30, so things might change and my views and interpretation of q!Foolish might not hold next month LOL

TL; DR

Q!Foolish is a complex character, who doesn’t fully understand consequences in relation to other people, largely because he is unable(currently, might change) and unwilling to view issues from another person’s perspective. He’s self-centered and it’s starting to become a problem for himself and others. This is not to discredit his good sides, which I also touch on, though a little less because this got long just talking about the first part. At the very end I list a few of his traits I don’t touch on in the main text, but I feel deserves to be pointed out too.

Now let’s start! Long read ahead!

One of my key takes on q!Foolish, is his inability to fully understand consequences, while simultaneously being aware of the possibility of consequences, but simply choosing not to engage with those ideas and thoughts. This is because he has a self-centered view, and so when he does think about consequences, he thinks about it regarding himself, and not others. Now, self-centeredness isn’t bad, as I’ve stated before, however it becomes a problem when it starts actively hurting others.

Him arresting q!Tazercraft shows this. While he has sporadically shown a bit of worry for them, he’s largely unbothered. He seems aware that there will be consequences, but it seems like he doesn’t quite understand the severity. Add to it that his focus is still on himself, “It’ll be a lonely path” he says, as if it’s somehow unreasonable for his friends to be angry with him after this betrayal. He simply lacks interpersonal understanding regarding these sorts of negative situations. He seems unable and unwilling to see it from another perspective.

This is not to say he’s completely unaware of others, he’s shown plenty of times that he does have interpersonal skills and understanding. One example being that he understood that people wouldn’t take kindly to his actual reasoning for agreeing to help the federation arrest q!Tazercraft, and so he lied and gave a reason most islanders would agree with and understand. But, again, this is one of the instances where he fails to factor in the possible consequences of his words, because if the truth comes out, people are likely to get angry at him for lying on top of his other actions. There won’t be a possible redeeming in the others saying, “well, at least he was honest with us”, that’s already been blown.

Another example of him ending up being aware of how others might feel, is when he got killed by Pomme. He perfectly knows not wearing armor puts him at risk, and he knows that when he instigates a playfight, there is always a risk one might get downed. However, he simply doesn’t care about the risk, to him it’s just whatever, he can easily brush it off and laugh at it, because to him it’s not a big deal. In this instance however, he becomes aware of how Pomme feels, and so he reassures her. This is an example of him realizing that his actions caused another person to do something that they felt bad about and ending up holding himself accountable for what happened by reassuring Pomme. This, however, seems to be more of an exception to the rule.

Either way, q!Foolish is so sure of himself, that it rarely occurs to him that he might be the issue or that others might not see things his way. And as I’ve said, when it does occur to him, he shuts that line of thinking down. It’s very evident when he talks about his work with the federation, that his focus is entirely on how it’ll affect him, and not how it’ll affect everyone around him. It seems that to him their reactions would be the problem, and not that it’s his actions they’re reacting to.

This part is not entirely confirmed canon! But if we assume q!Foolish to be some sort of immortal, then to me, he gives off this sort of young immortal vibe, that’s a bit arrogant, as if he sees himself above whatever could happen. Like, obviously he’s gonna be fine, right? While also a bit unknowing and uncaring about other people. Kinda like “You’re just dumb if you don’t agree with me/understand me LOL”, not meaning to be malicious, but coming across as entirely unsympathetic.

Anyway, this is why I hope he gets forced to face the consequences for this traitor arc. I so badly want to see him handle something where the harm was done to others and not to himself, because he can easily brush off the consequences of his actions that harmed himself, but it might surprise him that he can’t brush off the hurt he caused q!Tazercraft.

Another interesting aspect of q!Foolish is his whole “I’m just a silly little guy!” thing. I think he does this for two main reasons, enjoyment of life and unpredictability / getting underestimated. Let’s start with enjoyment of life. Q!Foolish wants to enjoy life, be silly and see where things take him. His easygoing nature can be seen in how quickly he forgives people, how he generally acts, his attitude towards armor and dungeons. It can also be seen in his parenting, as he seems to be one of the more easygoing parents.

Now, I’m not team bad parent q!Foolish- Largely, I think he does great parenting Leo, however his easygoing nature does occasionally create less than safe situations. as an example, when he does dungeons with eggs, his easygoing nature paired with his silliness, will often manifest in him seemingly not taking the eggs safety seriously. He’ll ask the eggs to protect him and send them headfirst into danger, because he fully believes it’s the best way to live and that nothing bad will happen. Add to this that often when he’s with eggs other than his own daughter, he wipes his hands clean of responsibility. “If anything were to happen, it’s not my fault”, is an iteration of what he’ll say. This is not to say he doesn’t care; I’d say, the eggs probably bring out some of his best sides. I think the reason why he doesn’t want responsibility for them, is because it’s one of the instances where is aware of just how terrible the consequences would be to lose them.

But his easygoing nature and silliness also lets the eggs have fun, in a way that they often don’t get to with their parents. Q!Foolish will start playfights with eggs and let them beat him and kill him, all in good fun. He’ll encourage them to do waterdrops and to try things out for themselves.

It also often extend to the other Islanders, they often have a lot of fun with q!Foolish. It’s especially noticeable when q!Bad spends time with him, those two can get really silly with each other and it’s honestly so funny to watch.

Now let’s talk about the unpredictability and getting underestimated. I don’t think q!Foolish is stupid, I do however think he overestimates himself and how well he can handle certain situations. But I think a part of his overt silliness is a way for others to underestimate him. It’s a way for him to feel in control of his narrative. It also creates an air of unpredictability, as it can be difficult to tell when he’s being serious. This is also a part of why people allow his pro-federation tendencies, because surely, he wouldn’t seriously sell them out for a cloud or whatever he fancies in the moment? This unpredictability also serves as a an out for him. He can simply say “Well I’ve always been like this, it’s your fault for trusting me?”, meanwhile he’s been benefiting from this trust and care he’s received from his friends.

The reason I say q!Foolish overestimates himself, is because I think he’s started to realize he’s being manipulated by the federation, however, he thinks that because of this knowledge he has the upper hand, but I think he’s actually playing right into the federations hands. And it’s the same with the other islanders, he thinks he has the upper hand by being deceitful and lying about Richas, and that it means he can deal with whatever comes his way. He just fails to realize that if anything slips out and if he continues this path, the floor will crumble beneath his feet.

Other traits I’ve observed from Q!Foolish:

-Acceptance. He’s shown many times he’s a live and let live type of guy, which ties into his general self-centeredness, because to him doing something others might not agree with, doesn’t matter if he isn’t the victim.

-Adventurous. Q!Foolish, likes going on adventures and trying new things. Not afraid to do something new.

-Hardworking. He’s proven many times with his builds that he’s hardworking.

-Loyal. However, it’s reserved solely for his closest family, Vegetta and Leo.

-Patient. I touched on it a bit above but wanted to add a little something onto it. His patience at the start of the qsmp was slightly above average, after Leo’s arrival, it’s only gotten better.

-Charming. Q!Foolish has a lot of charm, and it helps him tremendously, both gaining friends and staying out of trouble.

-Friendly. Almost always friendly and approachable.

-Perfectionist. Again, ties in with his building skills, he’s very meticulous with his builds and want them to be as perfect as possible, though he’s not overly perfectionist, he’s able to recognize when he’s building something for the first time it might not be perfect, but instead uses it as a learning experience.

-Procrastinator. Often ties in with being a perfectionist, because it requires a lot of focus and so you might stop for a while to catch a break.

#qsmp #q!foolish #qsmp commentary #q!foolish commentary #i love him but he needs to realize you can't play on both sides in a war #long post #mentioned #q!bbh #q!tazercraft #this is not perfect and i'm not entirely sure i'm happy with some of my wordings #but i feel like i got my points across #I'm so interested in seeing where this arc leads #i'm serious when i say long read #it's about 2 a4 pages long lmao

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nocinovae · 1 month

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I have many feelings on the situation around abuse and power dynamics and assault that are coming to light at the moment. For the most part I feel that other peoples rage and statements are worded better. Though I had some thoughts and as someone who enjoyed psychoanalyzing fictional characters I have some realizations about c!Wilbur that I think some people will appreciate. Other than that Support and Listen to Victim. Don’t Put Streamers on Pedestals.

I hate how much I and so many people loved c!Wilbur for being a morally flawed traumatized mentally ill character.

The type of villain to enjoy in media but in a “I like them as a bad person. They fill the role they were written for very well.”

We took them as a “this is a bad person to enjoy through media” character. He showed the experience of how trauma and mental illness can effect relationship and morals.

I felt like I could take him as a caricature, an exaggerated form of many of my own insecurities and dark parts of myself.

BUT NO All c!Wilbur was was a self insert character of the writer’s desire for control and power over the people around him. Same with any of his other “characters” that we all thought were meant to be satire dark comedy of disgusting men in the world.

And he let us all believe this. It’s ironic the way he literally had his self insert pity oc kill himself after not having his apology accepted for all the harm he caused. How he was so distraught with having to actually work for redeeming himself more than just his words that his actions that he thought would resolved that was killing himself for a second time.

All the nuance and grey area I loved saw in c!Wilbur has been destroyed with the truth we all now see in William Gold. And that goes for so all of his artwork.

At least with this new lense on the artist we can take another view of his art and see deeper into the truth of What a Disgusting Piece of Shit this man is.

#suicide mention #tw suicide ment #believe victims #support victims #wilbur soot is an abuser #Wilbur soot #dsmp #dreamsmp #c!wilbur #William gold #dsmp media literacy #dsmp character analysis #media literacy #I’m sorry if I word any of this weird or rambly #I am mentally disabled and have brain fog so if there’s anything worded bad or insensitively I apologize #I do enjoy that there are people who have decided to OCify c! & q!Wilbur #just maybe be more critical of what parts you keep based on the new information on the writer’s character and probable intention #semi vent #I am angry

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golnarghorbani · 1 year

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Anyway in honour of the death of Gen Q, RIP to my main girlies 🤍

Daniela Nuñez, love of my life. Girlbossing around the place and being hot while doing it. Having to deal with shit exes, shit friends and a shit Dad but still remaining pure of heart.

Tasha Williams being the only one to bring me real, true joy in this last season. Having a smile and laugh I could watch on loop for hours. She will ALWAYS be a legend.

And finally, Golnar Ghorbani herself. Ignoring the character assassination that took place for her exit, she was that special little something something that had us all in a chokehold. A character with so much love and life and power and softness, she deserved a better ending

#Honourable mentions: Angie‚ Season 1 Bette‚ and Alice (sometimes)#tlwgq #the l word generation q #the l word #dani nunez #gigi ghorbani #tasha williams

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genuinebozo · 8 months

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I don't watch/read all that much stuff, but the way one piece presents queer character is very special to me (the most important person on earth, btw)

Because it feels like in media written by straight/cis authors there's two ways queer characters are presented: Vague enough to keep your ratings up but just present justtt enough to get you goodie points, or very blatant but with very little nuance.

While the second option isn't that bad, It makes me so happy that one piece bypasses these choices almost entirely by having characters that are simultaneously very queer and very proud, while also having their exact identity vague.

I love being able to project onto a character, and it's just so easy with characters like Bonclay, you can easily justify plenty of things about his identity-- He could be bi gender, non binary, cis gay who does drag, or just plain ol' GNC, but no matter what he is he is queer.

Oda definitely isn't perfect at writing LGBT+ characters, but god do i connect more to Bonclay and Ivankov than I do most other queers written by non-queer authors.

#Sorry if this is ramble-y #And that's not even to mention the near-cannon characters like Nami #I love her so much #q word #just for the sheer amount of it i used LMAO #one piece #op #rambles #I am also 15 so uhhhhhhhh forgive me if my worldview isnt very broad

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kyouka-supremacy · 2 years

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Every day I thank Beast for making what was an already complex and multilayered relationship an even more complex and multilayered relationship

The layers it adds to the sskk dynamics... How much they have in common... Helping to distinguish what of their behavior was shaped by their upbringing and what wasn't and instead is part of their nature... And most importantly how they would have literally loved each other if it hadn't been for the circumstances. They would have clicked at the first encounter. They would have affably chatted like they were longtime friends. They would have sympathized with the other and genuinely enjoyed the other's presence. AND ALL OF THIS IS CANON

Tbh I think Beast's main theme is that Atsushi and Akutagawa love each other and that any grudge they hold against the other is the consequence of the society they live in no I don't take criticism. What hits hardest - really, hardest - is the fact that even while fighting in Beast, they knew the other had no fault. They knew the other was just doing what they had to do, and it couldn't be any other way. They would have done the same thing in their place, and in a way they were doing exactly that, because their positions - fighting for their little sisters' lives - were nearly identical. As paradoxical as it may sound, even while fighting, they were sympathizing one with the other. The most beautiful yet cruel difference between Beast and canon is that while in canon they fight against each other because there's a difference in their ideals / goals, and can't understand the other's motivations, in Beast they do have such knowledge, they do understand and even go as far as to relate to the other's motivations, yet because of cruel fate they can't evade fighting - despite they would rather not to!!!! Despite actually saying they're sorry for what they're doing!!!! - because the circumstances compelled them to kill each other, a destiny they can't escape. And it's so tragic, and it's so beautiful, and it shows how deeply connected they are, and how much they're made for each other.

#Sskk brainrot at only 1:27 am cause I'm trying (and failing apparently) to go to sleep early tonight #atsushi nakajima #ryūnosuke akutagawa #sskk #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd beast #bsd analysis #paradoxical... Is that a word #It's commonly used in my language but it sounds quite gross in English 😔😔#mine #q.#While t/p/n was all about fighting / defeating destiny bsd is a lot about having a fixed fate and being unable to win one's destiny #and I think about that a lot #T/p/n and bsd are narrative opposites in ways I can never begin to tell.#I made a graph about it some time ago and it's a 1428×3750 long image lmao (it's a lot)#Edit: I feel like I'm mentioning t/p/n a lot these days. This is just coincidental I swear this is a bsd blog ahah #T/p/n is good though

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lilbirdblu · 4 months

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i understand it's a smart strategy [and one that is allowed] but i honestly hate how its become the meta to turn in global contracts right before the server closes

#i cant really put into words why it annoys me so much #its hard to explain #it just does #but this will be my only post about it #gl to geese pandas squirrels and raccoons o7 #ALSO #ive mostly been watching q and roier today but have the p1 members mentioned this tactic to their teams [aside from tubbo]#and how its likely the other teams will use it

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momota-kaiharem · 2 years

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man i am sorry but i have to say it. i’ve seen way too many people complain about gay/bi kaito, calling it “turning a homophobe gay” and i just have to fucking say. i am SO HAPPY FOR YOU, that you were raised in a home where you never once-- never once had a homophobic or misguided thought, where you were never once told “this is the way things are, boys are with girls and vice versa”, where you never once heard a slur used by someone who can’t reclaim it-- i am SO HAPPY, that you grew up in a home where you weren’t being sent messages about people who are “other” and weren’t forced to repress your self expression and romantic orientation so much that you yourself were convinced it wasn’t real. you are so unbelievably lucky, that for you, in your universe, all gay people are and have always been totally accepting of the world around them-- that in the world that YOU live in, it’s impossible for a queer person to grow up not knowing who they are, stifling themself, until they’re finally in a place where it’s safe enough for them to come out.

i am so, fucking happy for you. but that is not the world that i live in nor is that the world that many, many many queer people live in-- and so when we write kaito with internalised homophobia, when we depict kaito loving boys and men and exploring his gender identity and discovering who he is... that is healing to us. that is breaking barriers and learning about ourselves and others. but i really am happy for you, that you don’t understand why such a thing needs to exist.

#kaito momota #momota kaito #homophobia mention #q word #internalised homophobia #ask to tag

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sealrock · 2 months

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SCOLDED.

ask meme

cw: depiction of corporal punishment

(ty for the ask @abalathia!)

The unnatural humidity clung to his hair as he sat by the riverbed. His clothes unpleasantly stuck against his skin, meaning he would have to take a long bath afterward. The now lonely moon peeked through the canopy every now and then, its white glow illuminating an old pipe held between shaky hands. The trees were silent. He scratched at the still-healing tattoo near his cheek. The evening song of cicadas, crickets, and toads grew louder as the minutes passed. Thirsty mosquitos bit into Achille's bare arms and exposed lower legs with vigor, leaving behind swelling welts as he contemplated in solitude.

No one's around to see me, it's ok.

Everyone else's doing it.

Nel and Nilo'ya keep making fun of me. They call me a bloody altar boy. They piss me off sometimes.

If this was so bad, why do adults smoke it? Seems to be pretty good, I'd imagine.

A warm summer night such as this, especially deep within the southern parts of the Shroud, should be spent listening to bard tales around campfires with friends and family—on any other day and not in the aftermath of an apocalypse, not hidden away in the thicket of the forest alone... Alone. That's how Achille spends most of his nights recently. His foster father, Chiron, began working evening shifts at the mines after they moved to Boughbury roughly a few moons ago to escape the permanent winter that fell upon the lands when Dalamud fell. But Boughbury was not home—home was up north, in the crisp, open space of Coerthas. Besides his two only friends, Achille hated Boughbury—and the feeling's mutual with the older locals.

Chiron wasn't due home until late into the night. Achille was independent enough to make his meals and look after the cottage, and Chiron trusted him not to make a mess of things now that he was older. Achille had his chores to keep him busy—clean Talona's pen, feed Talona, scrub the floors, wash and fold the laundry, and inventory the food stores. But menial tasks led to boredom, which quickly led to mischief, and Achille found himself leaving the relative safety of his home to partake in youthful disobedience—such as drinking, stealing, and smoking.

Achille considered robbery immoral, and drinking dulled the senses. He tried a mug of ale once, it was disgusting. His peers, those he tried to integrate with, would hurl all kinds of names at him for his perceived self-righteousness, and Achille would respond with harsher insults and physical violence. But Chiron raised Achille with concrete morals and beliefs, like a true monk he once was. Chiron refused to indulge in these activities; to indulge in the base excesses of man would be to sever the connection to the Destroyer. He raised Achille to follow the same beliefs: he must never drink, smoke, or use violence for the sake of violence. Chiron had broken the creeds in the past, and he toiled every day to make up for it.

Unfortunately, this would make Achille the target of social pressure; as the new kid on the proverbial block, Achille was an outsider looking in. Nel and Nilo'ya, fellow outcasts in the tumult hierarchy of adolescents, saw Achille as a kindred soul. They, too, followed the rules set by their elders... When they were being watched, of course. Nilo'ya, a rambunctious Keeper boy with a blinding smile, gave Achille the initiative after snatching his grandpa's smoking pipe and tobacco for Achille to try out.

While Nilo'ya tends to snort the stuff as dried snuff, he considered this to be "too easy" and that "the reward must equal the risk." Achille was reluctant at first, but after watching Nilo'ya make smoke rings as effortlessly as he skipped stones across the water, Achille was quick to change his mind. Alongside Nel, a lively Duskwight girl as tall as Chiron, they taught Achille the know-how of pipe smoking. His heart hammered in his chest with excitement, but Achille's stomach rolled with anxiety. He drew in a few deep breaths to steady his hands; Nilo'ya would cry if he were to drop his grandpa's pipe into the water and lose it. From his front pocket came out a tiny pouch of fresh tobacco; it reminded Achille of mulch.

As instructed, Achille carefully packed the bowl with at least three pinches and packed it down with his thumb. He tested the draw once, twice—it was just right. All that was left to do was light it. He took a glance behind his shoulders on the off chance there was someone nearby who could spot him. He had walked a suitable distance away from the village, and no one besides his friends knew about this particular spot in the woods. It's now or never.

He clutched the mouthpiece between his teeth as he struck the match, watching the flame sway in the light breeze of the night. His hand was still trembling as he watched the flame dance across the top layer of tobacco. He could hear Nel in his ear telling him not to inhale the smoke as soon as it hit his tongue, just let the vapors roll around in his mouth before he released. Nilo'ya said to draw in small puffs to keep the embers lit, or else he would have to relight. Achille blew out the smoke slowly. It disappeared into the night air.

Achille took another draw, and before he knew it, he was smoking as if he'd done so for years. The flavor was something to get used to, however. It had a bitter taste as it sat on his tongue, and it almost put Achille in the mind of Gysahl greens. How did Achille know what Gysahl greens tasted like? He ate some on a dare once; he had to clean up the vomit before Chiron came home.

Thankfully, Achille didn't get hit with a sudden wave of nausea. The tobacco, or at least the thrill of smoking, calmed his nerves and settled his stomach. Achille couldn't find any reason not to smoke now that he was doing it, displeasing taste aside. But, like all things, Achille would get too bold and disregard consequences. Thinking himself a master, he drew in a deeper puff he wasn't ready for. The smoke reached past his mouth, slithered deep into his chest, and burned his insides. Achille dropped the pipe as a coughing fit overcame him, his eyes stinging with tears the more he hacked and wheezed up the smoke, his throat crackling from the dryness. Desperate for relief, Achille took a few gulps of river water, careful not to let the pipe roll away from where it fell into his lap.

"Who goes there?"

Achille nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice—he knew that voice. He tried to speak, but his throat was still raw. A flurry of coughs spilled from his lips instead, thus making the voice come closer to his location. In his blurred vision, Achille could make out a large and dark figure in the low light, and it carried a small ball of light that swung from left to right with every footstep. Achille rubbed at his eyes to see Chiron standing before him, confused and shocked to find him sitting here in the dark. Soot and dirt dusted Chiron's clothes, and the lamp he carried cast a deep shadow across his face, revealing a drained appearance.

"Achille? Seven hells, what in the world are you doing out here this late at night?"

Achille couldn't answer. His foster father must've got off early, of all the nights. He could feel his face burn from embarrassment, his ears drooping from being found out. Achille tried to hide the pipe from sight, but he couldn't conceal the lingering stench of tobacco.

Chiron sniffed at the air. He narrowed his eyes, "What are you clutching?"

Achille hummed in ignorance. Chiron set his jaw.

"Show me. Now."

Chiron's tone of voice was something not to argue back to. Achille had only heard it a few times in his life, and he could count on one hand how many instances Chiron was this cross with him. Unable to talk his way out of this situation, Achille shamefully gave the pipe over to the now greatly disappointed man before him. Chiron's shoulders sagged as he inhaled a steady breath, his nostrils flaring and eyebrows pinched. Achille awkwardly rubbed at his neck, his mind flailing to find an excuse, an apology perhaps. But no amount of pious posturing would make up for this latest act of rebellion.

"Achille," Chiron started, voice low, "I raised you better than this. I've tolerated your behavior because I can understand what it's like; becoming a man in this world, especially the world we have now, is not easy. A boy's coming-of-age is full of many trials. But this crosses a line that I cannot accept. You have disrespected me, my rules, and my teachings. We monks must keep our bodies and minds unclouded, and we must be diligent in our pursuit to become one with the Destroyer. You have used our techniques for petty squabbles and disregarded our truths as fiction. It's dishonorable."

"But Baba, it wasn't me, it was-"

"Not," Chiron's eyes grew dark with rage, making Achille shrink back, "another word. You will go home, and you will wash off this taint... And you will prepare the salt."

Achille's eyes grew wide in fear. He shook his head in a panic as he began to plead and beg, but Chiron grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and ordered him to walk. Achille only experienced this punishment once when he was younger; he acted particularly ornery one day and said something he shouldn't have. Punishment was swift—kneel in a line of salt until his kneecaps bled. The monks in Ala Mhigo used this against new initiates to fortify their resolve, a type of thick salt that could cut through flesh. But Achille broke down after ten minutes in tears and wails. It was an experience he wouldn't forget for as long as he lived.

The second time around was worse. Achille had done what Chiron requested: he washed away the stench and prepared the salt. The whole while, he willed himself not to cry. His fifteenth nameday was approaching, and men did not cry. Chiron sat at the kitchen table, his face stoic and hands clasped on top of the wood surface. Dressed in his smallclothes, Achille stared down at the salt before he lowered himself on top. The pressure from his weight allowed the sharp salt to pierce the skin almost immediately.

Achille bit down on his tongue to keep from crying out. His back stayed rod straight, and his hands were clenched so hard his knuckles turned white. His face started to turn scarlet from the pain, but he kept his eyes on Chiron with an unwavering stare.

"I hate to make you do this," Chiron had a tinge of guilt in his voice now, "but you know the rules, my son. You must endure it, embrace the pain."

My son. Spoken with the unconditional love of a parent. They weren't related by blood, but Chiron never saw Achille as anything else.

Achille wanted to cry. The more the crystallized salt dug into his bleeding wounds, the more Achille's resolve shrank. He felt himself double over, his nail-bruised palms flying out to keep him from falling facefirst into the hardwood. The fringe of his red hair kept his watery eyes hidden, but the tremble of his shoulders gave him away. The sob that threatened to spill from his lips caught in his throat; it was getting harder to keep his composure.

The dam finally broke when Achille adjusted his legs to keep the numbness away—the overwhelming pain was too much. His forehead met the planks of the floor as he wailed, tears and snot and drool staining the wood. Achille lost track of how long he stayed on the floor, but he wanted it to end. He screamed himself raw:

"Make it stop, Baba! Make it stop! Please!"

Before he knew it, Chiron lifted Achille into a tight hug, the air of the room cutting into his bleeding wounds. He openly sobbed into Chiron's shoulder much like he used to do as a child—he still was a child. Chiron shushed his sobs as he walked to the bathroom to clean and treat the wounds.

"You're alright... You're alright, my son. It's over, it's all over."

Achille continued to cry, breathless and wracked with exhaustion. He felt Chiron's hand card through his hair, making Achille curl into his chest in shame. Chiron held him close; he said nothing for a long while until he whispered:

"You may think me cruel and even hate me for this now. This seems fun for your friends, and you think I'm being too hard on you. But please understand, my son, I made a promise to someone when I found you: I promised to keep you safe. Don't give in to the temptations of man, for you will be lost. I wouldn't be able to live with myself watching you go down the path of wickedness. You will overcome this, I have no doubt."

Achille had calmed to sniffles as he listened, his eyes swollen and face splotchy. His head throbbed. He let the words of his foster father—nay, his father, sink in. He didn't have the energy to talk.

"Everything will come together in the end. I'll be right here with you. I love you, son."

Achille felt his heart stutter. He swallowed back tears and buried his face into the fabric of Chiron's work shirt. His words were muffled and small, but the message was clear.

"... I love you, too, Baba."

#inbox #abalathia #a glimpse into achille's teenaged years with this one and his relationship with his dad. it wasn't the best during this period #but they got better over time. achille was dealing with stuff as most teenagers would #like i mentioned once before: achille got into a lot of trouble before he eventually ran off to ul'dah (probably when he was 18/19)#he was straying from the path so chiron had to set the record straight more than once. but this is the only time he truly got angry #so it may be extreme to some but so would any parent's reaction to finding out their kid has done something wrong #chiron had lost one son (during the rebellion mind you). he doesn't want that to happen again either way #chiron basically lives a straight edge lifestyle. it's why achille never drinks or smokes as an adult #it may be the sleep deprivation talking bc icr but i don't think achille has ever said a curse word in his life #moral of the story: smoking is bad stay in school #writings.#q.

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