#the lifestories of Skins | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alia-turin · 3 years

Note

Hey dear Alia!

How do you feel about a little prompt that displays Eredin's lifestory?Just a little one? 🥺 You did it justice when writing some stories about Caranthir and Imlerith as i am curious what's the deal with Eredin being The Eredin we all know and admire.😋

Hello anon, I know I have been sitting on that for more than two weeks but there were several ideas stewing in my brain. I think there is a lot of angles you can approach Eredin, there is just so much to him you can explore. I think I picked his soldierly side as I just enjoy writing stuff like that, I hope you do like it. Please check the warnings and if that is not your cup of tea do let me know, I won’t take offence, but I do want you to enjoy it and there are certainly other stories to be told.

Warning: Violence, death, graphic descriptions

AO3 Link

Eredin sat in his tent looking over maps trying to find the weak spot of the fortress. There wasn’t one, he knew it, staring at that map will not make an entrance for him, he had to fight. But fighting will lose him men, and losing men was not something he could afford right now. Not now.

“Any bright ideas?” Imlerith looked at him from the other side of the table, Eredin didn’t respond. He hated admitting defeat.

He remembered a time when he was younger, much younger. He wasn’t even of age then, just an arrogant boy with a talent. The throne room was filled with people, the king sitting, how mighty was Auberon then, Eredin could remember himself looking at the king and thinking that was how a king looked like. Eredin had walked through the throne room, people looking at him and nodding in approval, and why not he was to be the youngest general Aen Elle ever had. All these years of blood and sweat, his father making him sleep in the barracks like a common soldier had paid out. He walked to the throne and knelt, when he raised, he was Eredin, the youngest general they all had seen.

“I built that fortress.” he said in frustration. It was brilliant truly, it was not indestructible, everything could be destroyed even this pile of stone. But Eredin built it to withstand sieg for months.

“They will starve.” Imlerith added.

They would, but months from now. Eredin didn’t have months, he couldn’t be away from Tir na Li, not now.

“You want to storm it.” the only other man in the tent spoke. Aedan has been silent through the whole discussion, that wasn’t typical.

Like him, Aedan was one of the younger soldiers in their unit. Son of a common soldier he had talent for fight that could rival even Eredin’s. But where he was calm and cold, Aedan was fire, hard to control, never followed orders or at least not as they were given. They were opposite in almost everything, even the way they looked, Aedan’s golden hair versus Eredin’s raven, sapphire blue eyes versus Eredin’s emerald green. Somehow the man grew on him and he trusted him with his life. For hundreds of years now he had never allowed himself to relay on one person as much as he relied on Aedan an the man never disappointed.

“I say we wait.” Imlerith’s words made Eredin focus again at the task at hand. He knew that was the wise choice. He could win either way but why risk his men over few rebelling humans. Imlerith was right, but Eredin couldn’t wait. There was a bigger game for him and he was missing on it here.

“I agree. Let them starve.” Aedan, still unusually serious, added.

“One for waiting, one for starvation. Attack it is. We will storm at nightfall.” Eredin looked at his two most trusted men, Imlerith’s pale blue eyes were fixed on the map, Aendan’s were pinned somewhere behind Eredin. Unusually quiet. Neither of them protested, he knew both of them were against the idea, if he were them, he would be as well. He knew it was a bad idea, but he had to choose between his ambition and that fortress...were his men worth his ambition? They were. He would sacrifice his men now, so he can make it better for them tomorrow. “Aedan, you will scale the wall, from the sea. Pick fifteen men.”

The blonde just nodded. Both of his generals walked out of his tent in silence. Eredin was left alone, he had a few hours before the night covered the sky and it was full moon. Bad time for a surprise attack but he could not wait.

He kicked his boots off and undid his sword belt leaving it over the map. He needed to rest, but he could never sleep before battle. He did lie down on his bed, there was some strange comfort in camping beds. They were uncomfortable, small and your back hurt after sleeping in one for too long, but it was familiar.

Eredin never doubted himself, doubt was a feeling unfamiliar to him. He was the youngest general to ever fight for the Aen Elle and he was the leader of the Red Riders. He had made some bad decisions and some tough decisions, but today just couldn’t get out of his mind. He was about to storm a fortress, he knew it was a bad idea. He knew there was a better way to do it, but he couldn’t wait.

Years ago shortly after Lara was killed, he had come back from a hunt. Aedan and two of his other captains were with him. They had walked in the throne room, Auberon sitting in the throne, Avallac’h and Ge’els next to him. It was hard to shock Eredin, but he was shocked this time. He had been away for weeks and when he came back the king was a shell of a living thing. Eyes unfocused, skin pale, his body looked weak. Eredin had always had a dream, but nothing like this sight to make him want his dream to be reality. It wasn’t, however Auberon’s frail look that made him put his plans in motion, it was the look on his men’s faces. They all had seen Auberon before, he knew what they had seen, their strong and unfaltering leader. Now he was a ruin. The mages had failed them.

It wasn’t that moment when he had made his mind he wanted to be a king, but that was the moment that made him realise it wasn’t just his ambition he was fulfilling. The Aen Elle needed a strong leader, and Auberon was not that anymore. He had planted the seeds long before that and he continued planting them long after, but he had to be in Tir na Lia, not on the other end of the kingdom dealing with human rebels.

He watched as the masons worked on the cenotaphs, sounds of metal against stone filling the air, dull and grim. That was what was left of his most trusted men. Almost all of them were gone. Grey stone and white marble. He wasn’t sad and he wasn’t grieving. They got warrior’s deaths and that was all they could hope for. He was angry. Pointless deaths born of weakness and bad decisions. He wondered if the plan all along had been to deprive him from those he trusted the most.

“Ceiran had a child.” he had heard Aedan’s step behind him but the man had been standing in silence until now. It wasn’t just Eredin losing friends, it had been both of them. “I will look into it.”

Eredin nodded. When he took the crown no more of that. His men would die soldier’s deaths but it won’t be for nothing.

Eredin walked out of his tent and he found his way to where Aedan and his men were preparing. They were all ready to go, nobody wore armor, just normal dark clothes, no capes, no swords, only knives, their faces covered in dirt and charcoal, everything shiny from their clothes either covered or taken off.

“Let it be known that Eredin Bréacc Glas likes it the hard way.” Aedan pointed at the full moon.

“I will give you an hour to scale the cliffs and then another thirty minutes to get half of the fortress, after that the soldiers inside should be looking in the opposite direction, but not for long.” Eredin turned to Imlerith who had just joined, fully dressed in his armor. “Put the rest of the men on the ridge there, spread them, but make sure the archers have good range and visibility when the commotion starts, I need you on me.”

“What are you going to do?” Imlerith asked before he put his helmet on.

“Negotiate.” everyone who heard that started laughing.

Hour and thirty minutes later Eredin, no armor, no sword, was walking to the fortress. One of his soldiers next to him, holding a while flag.

“Another step, pointy ears, and that arrow goes between your eyes.” a human from behind the walls shouted.

Eredin didn’t need to make another step, he needed to be right here, right now. He always rehearsed his plans in his head, multiple times looking for weaknesses. This whole plan was dangerous, but it was going to succeed even if it was just due to his sheer will. He was exactly where he needed to be, he built that place, he knew every stone and every brick, that was the place, not too far, not too close.

“My name is Eredin Bréacc Glas and I am here to negotiate with your leader.” He had to be confident it will go his way, otherwise all it took was one arrow, maybe two and that would be all for Eredin.

“We won’t surrender, pointy ears” another man shouted.

“Not here to negotiate that.” he paused. He had to win time, that is all he needed. He could see movement on the walls and more torches coming to the front. What did old poets say? There is no actual difference between bravery and stupidity? Someone must have seen Eredin in this very moment to say that. “I want to give you the fortress.” he could almost hear all the men behind the wall gasp in surprise and the mummers. Or maybe he was imagining it, after all it was very far.

“Well, gather your men and leave, butcher, no need to negotiate if we already have your fortress. We know who you are Eredin, General of the Red Riders.” it was the voice of the first human. Butcher wasn’t really a creative way to address him, but humans were not creative in general.

“No, but if I just withdraw my forces, someone else will come, someone more patient than I am. I want to negotiate, what are you going to give me, so an Aen Elle never bothers you.” as soon as he finished that he heard new noises, screams and shouts of surprise. Metal hitting metal and more humans shouting.

“Kill him!” a human screamed, but Eredin was already running to the fortress, his back hitting the wooden gates, the arrows couldn’t reach him here, but he hoped Imlerith moved his ass faster. Aedan had scaled the wall faster than he thought, which was good because there was only so much talk of defeat he could pretend without breaking the pretend. The man that was carrying the flag for him was on the ground, ten arrows sticking out of him.

One.

Imlerith and the rest of his men rushed at the gate under a storm of arrows. He could see some of his men falling, but most made it. Imlerith’s back hit the gate and he passed Eredin his sword belt.

Nobody spoke, his men’s shields were raised, but still allowed some well placed arrows to sneak. Eredin counted -

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven

Eight.

Aedan and his men were surely taking their sweet time.

Screams from inside, dull sound and the gate opened. Eredin rushed in but stepped to the side to talk to the soldier who had opened the gates for then. He had expected Aedan.

“Where is your captain?” he asked as he watched his army pour inside.

“He went to look for their leader.” the man answered as he pulled a sword from a dead body nearby and took it as his.

Eredin started running to where he knew the main hall was. Kill the leader and it will all be done. Aedan had the right idea, but the man had only a knife.

Some of his men followed him, he was cutting through everything that was human and stood in his way, his clothes soaked in blood as he was not wearing armor, his sword leaving a bloody trai behind him.

He reached the main hall, the doors were closed but it took him a kick to open them.

“Eredin!” a tall human from the other end of the room shouted. He was holding a severed head in his hand. “Your dog came sniffing.” the human threw the head and it rolled in Eredin’s feet.

Eredin looked down. The golden hair was a mess, Aedan’s face was oddly calm, but his bright blue eyes were turned into glass now. He could hear one of the men behind him choke and gag. It was just a moment but it felt like hours. That was disrespectful. He launched at the human, there were others in the room but he did not care. Aedan had a knife and no armor. The man had armor and a sword. Eredin didn’t have armor but he had his sword and that was planty.

The human was injured which made Eredin’s easy task even easier. Took him two moves to disarm him and then another one to get him on his knees.

“Size him.” Eredin ordered two of his men who had come closer. “And take his armor off.”

His men were not gentle, they tore the straps of his armor and pulled the gauntlets. Even without armor the man was still large for a human.

Eredin grabbed him by the throat and pushed him to a nearby table, with his free hand he reached for his knife and pushed it into the man’s wrist nailing it to the wood. The human screamed in agony.

“Knife.” Eredin ordered, someone passed him another one and he used it to nail the other wrist to the table.

When he finally looked at the room, his men had overpowered the humans, everyone else here was dead. Imlerith walked in his armor covered in blood. He looked at Aedan’s head and stepped around it carefully.

“There were women and children downstairs and we are bringing them to the courtyard.” Imlerith announced. “We also found a pyre, we could identify items from the garrison here, they put them to the sword and burned them.”

“Do you have family, human?” Eredin turned to the rebel leader. “I’m sure you do. You humans breed like cockroaches. Was it what provoked you to do that? You didn’t want your daughter or your son to serve us. To be a slave like you. You should have slit their throats in the crib before they grow up if you wanted mercy for them.” he turned to Imlerith. “Behead all of them, don’t care what you do with them before that.” The man on the table screamed this time not in pain it was frustration.

Eredin had not forgotten about him. He walked to where Aedan’s body was lying, his hand still gripping a knife. Eredin took the knife from the dead fingers, he wouldn’t need it anymore. He slowly walked to the man who had started struggling against the restrain, but pointless, Eredin dug the blades too deep and the pain was probably more than a human could take.

“Was it worth it human? Rebelling?” the man struggled and didn’t answer. Eredin smiled as he pushed the dip of Aedan’s knife in the man’s throat, feeling flesh and bone give in under his weight. The man tried to scream but he choked on his own blood instead. He stepped back and watched the man die in agony.

Eredin turned his gaze to Aedan’s severed head. His oldest friend. Hundreds of years fighting next to each other. Killed by a human rebell. Human, who somehow saw weakness in Aen Elle and decided that he could carve his piece of history. Tir na Lia desperately needed a change.

Nine

He watched the mason work on the marble over Aedan’s tomb. Dull chiseling, scratching the back of Eredin’s head.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Eredin didn’t need to turn to recognize Avallac’h’s voice behind him. “Auberon sends his gratitude.”

“Let me guess, he feels unwell?” he didn’t even turn to face the Sage. Avallac’h would do everything to defend the king.

“He is busy Eredin, humans rebelling is not our only problem.” there was annoyance in Crevan’s voice. “Was it necessary to kill all of them?”

“If you are soft on rebellion, Crevan, it grows.” Eredin knew Avallac’h wasn’t sentimental about the humans. It was about the fact that they disagreed on principle. He did not approve of Crevan’s methods nor the other way around. Auberon was growing weaker by the day, it was all a matter of the right moment now, however he had to figure out a way around Avallac’h as well.

He looked back at Aedan’s tomb and all the other statues and graves of Red Riders and soldiers who had died. Some of them had good deaths, some of them had avoidable deaths but most recently all of them had deaths that could have been avoided with better leadership. He was going to fix that. The Aen Elle would be the force to be feared, again, not a dying race of old men and women.

#eredin breacc glas #the witcher #the witcher 3: wild hunt #aen elle #wild hunt #my writing

45 notes · View notes

breakdownsbuttlights · 3 years

Note

Um, hello from Russia!

Just want to say that your blog inspired me so much! When I had troubles in my life and I feel myself anxious and lonely I read your blog. Swear I can feel by my skin this cosy and calm atmosphere of family life that you're created by writing Dratchet's lifestory. Sometimes I even dreams about a parents like them (mostly about granpa Ratchet, lol).

I want as many people as possible has an able to know about their story and your blog (I mean some of those russians users who has troubles with translation).

Wish you many happy moments and a good luck. We're all waiting for your new arts&story✨

(Sorry for my bad english, I just managed to present my admirations by your works correctly ^^')

Hi back from Canada, and thank you so much for your kind words! I am so happy to hear that this blog cheers you up. I think Dratchet is a comfort ship for a lot of people, and it’s an honour and a pleasure to provide content for it. (Amidst a lot of nonsense about long johns and butt flaps.) Thank you again, and I hope you continue to enjoy what you see here :)

#anon

57 notes · View notes

ghostvibin · 3 years

Text

@interxstitial

“i died on my birthday.”

it comes out of nowhere, just out of the blue. although they’re alone here, his voice sounds infinitely small. a mere whisper even in the pervasive silence. which makes sense, though, considering their voices no longer have bodies. they’re just.. here, and not, all at once. like the artefacts, fossils, and pristine portraits in this museum, they’re all memories of varying degrees of importance. some are worth remembering more than others, but they all catch eyes and curiosity at some point. jiwon wonders if he, too, is worth any amount of attention.

“we were heading home after dinner. dad was driving, mom beside him. my sister and i were singing along to the radio in the back seat. ‘becoming alone’ by byun jinsub. i still remember all the lyrics.” he pauses for a few beats, floats a little higher to inspect a whale skeleton, then dips past a pair of open, massive jaws to travel through its ribs. “none of us saw it coming.”

blinding lights, screeching tyres. the harsh crunch of metal, and someone screams. jiwon hadn’t felt a thing before finding himself stood at the side of the road, staring at the scene. his mother had cried and cried, all the way to the hospital, all the way home, all week, all month. and jiwon cried with her, screaming mama, i’m here!, but she couldn’t hear him. no one could.

“they were probably just messing with me, but one of the older ghosts said that i’ll forget how i died. that everyone does, eventually.” floating back to the ground, jiwon twiddles his thumbs and stares for a long while. the silence seems to last forever, but the night remains inky black beyond the museum’s lofty windows. just as the stars glimmer, the city shines equally as bright. “do you still remember..?”

that was something completely unexpected. the two had just been exploring a whale skeleton, but vesper had only been tagging along, floating to and fro around jiwon as he, too, looks around and phases through the ribs. it always amuses him how new jiwon is the whole ghost thing, but it’s pretty.. adorable. vesper’s top at tilts to the side just as he tilts his head and stops mid air as he tries to collect the information he was suddenly being given. vesper is not one to pry upon someone’s past, albeit he could easily do so being one of the many and top ghosts that have been around this world, but there’s no fun in simply reading one’s journey, one’s life. not when you can tell someone really doesn’t want to share it. it’s not out of respect, it’s just plain boring.

or, well, in his case with jiwon ... it is out of respect.

odd. vesper thinks, continuing to float around before settling himself on a rib, eyes gazing at the inside of the whale that’s already rotting, like a witling flower, there’s no more hope for this one, death had come to take its victim (even of the animal kingdom) touched it, yet vesper can feel all the war scars left on the rotting skin. before they decided to travel deeper. what catches vesper off guard that makes him immediately float back down to meet with jiwon is his question. does he still remember? it’s been eons ago, so it feels. he looks at jiwon before turning away briefly, top hat now tilting forward to shield his amber eyes that flow in spite of his being.

it takes vesper a bit, wondering how he can piece everything together in his lifestory from beginning to end without much detail. his forte, leaving everyone confused and questioning this and that. but karma had soon met its victim the minute vesper floated about, toyed with the men that it’d be fun to pick and choose random individuals from the street, especially one named vesper kim. it wasn’t just any random pick and choose, they had been following him since day one of being introduced in the neighborhood. rumours of children being pulled from their very own yard were not rumours but the truths. then vesper gazes at jiwon, a distant smile on his face before turning his head to meet jiwon’s gaze.

“of course i do, you never forget your killer.”

#interexstitial #au : a ghost with a tophat #me: i will not write too much #muse: u thot wrong #me: i played myself its fine #HELLO GHOST VES POPPED IN TO SAY IT'S MY TURN TO SHINE #IT'S FINE ALSKDFJKSD #are they about to embark on a journey to learning each other's past?#alsjdfklsd i love them so much #i love all our aus #it's fine everything's great #36 AUs hello??? sdkjfkljdfldf #i hope this is okay ;w;

3 notes · View notes

kleml · 4 years

Text

Geralt’s Curse

Title: Geralt’s curse

Ship: implied OMP/Geralt

Prompt day: 3 Curse, 1 Ostracism

Medium: Netflix, Books

Warnings: verbal abuse

Summary: My take on book Geralt's lifestory, as if he'd look like Henry Cavill his own life. Blaviken is based on the books too (where I'd say Renfri was kinda just as evil as Stregobor).

Timeline is all wrong, witchers are not hated per se, Kaer Morhen still stands.

Geralt is around 30 during Blaviken.

Word count: 2698

Author’s notes: Planned as crack, turned out more serious. Please criticize :)

@geraltwhumpweek

...

They loved to call him pretty.

Other wolves.

People in the villages.

Partners he took to bed, smiling and tracing his face features.

And as much as it should have been great to be considered beautiful, it was a big obstacle in his life.

All the kids brought to Kaer Morhen underwent the Trials. Trials of Grasses took place as soon as they got strong enough.

From the "before" Geralt remembered lots of food. That it was nice and cozy to sleep among the other kids, even though many kicked under the blankets or snored, catching runny nose in the cold castle corridors. He remembered there were many of them, so many they had huge kid tables, and that they were washed in groups by adults who promised to cut their hair if they continue to complain about the process.

He remembered thinking his mom will return and take him back. Same did the others, telling stories about their parents. How they loved them and read stories to put them to bed.

It was a blur.

Geralt didn't remember much.

The white hair, the heightened senses, quickened reaction and constant hunger - all of it came after the Trials. But he was sure his face stayed the same. His hands looked just as they looked before too, and the scars on his knees were still there, even though he wasn't sure how he got them. He also didn't feel like he himself changed in any way.

When he lost all memories so terrible his mind couldn't stand to keep them.

When common big beds became smaller, and suddenly there was only a handful of them sitting at the table.

When they made them eat sickening mushrooms and drink strange juice before they were allowed to eat normal food.

When he started his life as a witcher.

And it wasn't all bad. There was a lot of training. They learned how to fight, how to survive, how to recover. They studied all the creatures big and small, writing, reading and some manners.

He was ten, when he woke up with hair gone all white at the roots, paler skin and sense of smell so sharp his head got dizzy.

Some teachers treated them harshly. Others knew how to make studying exciting.

Autumns were the best time of the year. Traveling wolves returned home, bringing sweets and stories, laughter and tons of food, more than Kaer Morhen's fields and gardens could ever provide.

It wasn't until he turned fourteen that he got called pretty for the first time.

Extra Trials meant he had to be better. Meant he was better at many things, mastering challenges faster than others. It was all fun and games until the other

boys started to hate him for it.

"Ksemir! Hold your stance! You're doing it again!"

They were sparring with training blades, circling each other in the yard. Geralt huffed his hair that started falling out of the tail onto his face, and waited while the teacher explained things again.

"You cannot do that. You just cant, you don't have enough speed nor strength to pull it off. You should be staring less at the adults' training. Concentrate on what I'm telling you. Hey! Are you even listening?"

Ksemir was, indeed, staring at older wolves, dancing with proper swords further from them. Varin, the second fencing instructor who prepared to the Trial of Medallion, screamed at them every single time they made a mistake, and Geralt silently wished to stay fourteen for a little longer. Vesemir was on the Path this year, taking his time off teaching, and they had a replacement, Lestek. He was trying to kick some sense into Ksemir, but failed because of young age and compassion.

"Geralt did it but a minute ago!" another boy screamed. It was Ivur. Geralt didn't like Ivur and Ivur didn't like him back.

"You're not listening again. Geralt is faster, he can do that without getting hit. For the rest of you, it's too risky, hence, don't fucking do it!" Lestek was getting angry.

Geralt raised an eyebrow to Ivur and shrugged.

"Why is he always so fucking special?!"

"I'm not special, you just suck at fencing," Geralt got offended.

"Oh excuse me, and you suck at making potions. Do you think you'll stay this pretty long if you don't know how to treat your wounds?" Ksemir pointed back.

"What?" Geralt knew he looked fine, but what it had to do with anything? Why call him that as an insult?

"He's not gonna be a witcher, he's gonna be a whore like his mother. Look, he even grew his hair like a girl," Ivur jumped over and tried to jerk the tail Geralt's been growing for several years to be more like Vesemir. Vesemir was swell and ladies liked him a lot.

"Kids, shut up! What are you even talking about? Ivur, sit back!"

Geralt didn't pay any attention to that, stretching out to hit Ivur in the face.

It was ugly and quick. Ivur managed to rip off some of Geralt’s hair and received a slap across his cheek and nose.

"Look, he even fights like a girl!" Ivur cried out with a nosebleed.

Geralt got even angrier. And his head hurt. He threw his blade without looking in the direction of Ksemir and rushed away, heading to the tower.

"Geralt, come back at once. You're grounded!"

"Fuck off!"

Maybe he was pretty. Maybe he was special. He didn’t ask for that, nor he asked to be grouped with Ivur and Ksemir today.

Eskel said Ivur was jealous because he himself was ugly as shit, and his mother actually was a whore. Eskel also told Geralt he did sometimes act like he was better than all of them.

It took him time to think it over - during the punishment was as good as ever. He decided he wanted to be not only better, but the best. Learn potions. Learn to braid his hair so no one would be able to touch it. Learn to fight so good no one will ever get in his reach.

Felix got back the next autumn. They had sex on the very night he returned, and it was so much better than jerking off alone. Felix kissed him and fucked him and called him pretty. And Geralt didn't mind, because Felix was beautiful too. He maybe fell in love with him, lighting up with a smile every time he spotted familiar red hair in the halls, and that love lived in him for several years. They stilled called him pretty and special. Felix rubbed his nose over Geralt’s neck and asked “so what?”

"You'll make it. They trained you well, didn't they?" Felix said, and Geralt believed him.

Trial of Medallion only left four of them alive. Ivur died. Geralt didn't feel sorry.

They started to study signs after that, their medallions humming on their chests warm and pleasant. Eskel suddenly turned out genius at it.

Geralt forgot about potions and started to spend more time in the library, reading Monster books and History. He copied the stories about knights on their writing classes. Kaer Morhen only had so many books in the library because witchers wrote them themselves, page after page. Geralt did it well enough they even let him copy a small bestiary with drawings.

He trained more. Got good enough they let him enter their annual fighting contest, with witchers of all ages competing in front of others. He had learned enough potion recipes to survive. How to help wounded people and wounded witchers. Funnily, he also got excellent at scything, making sure Kaer Morhen's horses always had enough grass for the winter.

The first time he's been to a contract with a mentor, it went well. The first time he went to clean a wyvern in the mountains, he came back with not a drop of blood.

When he turned seventeen, Geralt met Felix. He had no idea why they never spoke before. Felix was five years older and has already spent his first year on the Path. They spent evenings on the castle walls, talking about everything, starting with the stars and ending with the upcoming Trial.

He could not make a Quen just as steady as Eskel's, but his Heliotrope worked well, and it's not like there were many bruxas out there.

With a newly chosen name (sadly not the one he wished for), he was ready. Or so he thought. Because aldermen had different opinion.

"Alderman Mislaw? You've written you have harpies nesting nearby. I can..."

"Do they have girl witchers too, now? Get out of my sight! Thank god a normal witcher already took care of them."

Maybe he had to break his nose of something.

"Sorry, what?"

"I'm here about your contract. It says you have a wraith. I can help."

"Sorry, boy, I guess I wasn't clear enough. Get the hell out of here."

"But it's a wraith. You need a witcher for that, I know how to deal with them. You are the contract issuer, right?"

"And a witcher we'll wait for. You are no witcher."

"I am! You see my medallion?"

"I don't care who they give those to these days, but you look younger than my son, and he's fifteen. Get out and stop wasting my fucking time."

The son was taller than Geralt and had a small beard. At fifteen. Kids these days...

"I've killed a cockatrice just a mile away from here. Is there a reward for it?"

"A cockatrice?"

"Skoffin? Kurolishek? I don't know how you call it, but it's there, too big to carry here. I have its feathers and claws with me, if we could just walk..."

"You say you killed our skoffin? Sorry lad, don't believe you. He's a tough one, our skoffin. And you should better go ask for a place in a brothel. All better than to try and portray a witcher. Feathers, huh. I can take those from my chicken and say I killed a skoffin too!"

He had to buy a horse. Absolutely had to. Or get better knives, suitable for ripping off cockatrices' heads.

It took time, but he got there. Started to be recognised around Kaedwin. Used connections other witchers had, spreading their tale about people the same way people talked about them. Geralt had a good reputation and almost felt he became a bit of a knight from those tales he loved once.

And Blaviken stayed that way. Even with the massacre that happened on the market, people were safe. Stregobor left, Renfri was dead as well as her henchmen. People will bury them, clean the blood off the streets, forget it ever happened and live their life in peace, as earlier.

But it all changed so much after Blaviken. So much he never thought it could.

Blaviken used to be a nice place. A place with friends, with good folk who were friendly on the streets and treated wounded witchers well. Caldemeyn, the alderman, knew him thanks to several contracts and always made sure he had a place to stay. It was a peaceful town. No serious monsters around.

There were no real monsters in the world. Only the ones created by humans and humans themselves.

Geralt trailed away, deeply affected by the turn of events. He didn't care about Stregobor's fate. He didn't care that Caldemeyn despised what he had done. But Renfri, the Shrike, and her choices... He only had himself to blame, really. Blame the hope, the belief he had in people. He trusted her to leave town, trusted her to step back and be reasonable. And now he had blood all over his hands, hers and of those murderers, she brought with her.

It wasn't his fault. She had her chance to leave. She was the once making the wrong decision.

Roach got left in a nearby village. He walked there, buried in his thoughts, happy that all the potions and possessions were there, and that he had a paper about that donkey will be returned with him. Getting problems in the village as well would have been a nightmare.

It felt like a dream. The cozy evening they had a night before with alderman and his wife, Marilka asking stupid questions five-year-olds asked. The sex. The morning, the realization.

Snow was late this year, so he made it in time. The castle met him with familiar noise, hugs, warm bathhouse, cellars full of grain and wine, and children, jumping around in excitement. His story about what happened only got one reaction: advice to stay the fuck away from humans, Geralt, when will you learn. It was home, warm evenings, the silence of the land covered in snow and nights not so silent. When the spring came, he almost forgot about it, pushed far enough away not to think.

Eskel, Emir and Geralt left together. They took a contract together too, taking care of a huge and mad troll near Ard Carraigh, and split up, deciding to meet in several months in Tridam, to make a run for Kovir with its never-ending gold.

It was a good year. Until Geralt got to Tridam, as planned.

Roach, his good old Roach, smelled familiar and grounding. Geralt explained the donkey cart situation, thought about everything for a moment, collected his stuff and rode away, now to Holopole instead of Yspaden. After Blaviken, he wanted to spend the winter home.

The nickname followed him from a town to town. Ironically, he was now known as a Butcher in the northern part of Nothern kingdoms, the areas surrounding Kaer Morhen. In Temeria, Lyria and Cintra people didn't care much. Maybe Vesemir was right all those years ago, and saying he was from Rivia was indeed a good choice. He now spent most of his time further and further from home, avoiding the villages who's managed to learn the word of mouth. Only fifteen years later he passed by Blaviken, heading up to Kovir. Rode his horse cautiously and listened carefully to people murmuring around.

"Geralt! You're here too. Come over, join. Lech, this is Geralt, Geralt, Lech is a genius in gwent. You need to play with him. I lost twice already, and his cards aren't even good! Come."

It was good to see Emir again. The Path was lonely, but with other witchers around, it was easy to feel included. Normal.

Lech was already drunk and sent Geralt a wink.

"How bout strip gwent?"

Geralt smiled, unsure of what to answer. He set his saddlebags down, planning to sit down next to Emir on the bench, when someone pushed him forward. The push was strong enough that the table shattered, making Emir's ale fall on the floor.

"What the fuck," Geralt muttered and turned around.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing? I payed for that!" Emir raised to stand.

"We don’t want him here."

"What do you mean?" Geralt held Emir's shoulder.

"I mean, we don't want your kind here!" the man, who appeared sober and pissed, spit on the ground between them. It attracted attention and the tavern turned almost silent, deafening after the noise it usually produced.

"What do you mean, our kind?" Emir has met some witcher-haters, but he wasn't in the mood.

"I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to him," the man pointed to Geralt. "He killed half a village in Blaviken. Everybody knows that. A witcher with white hair. He's a monster! A butcher!" the man screamed.

The murmur around got louder.

"Hey, it's my brother you're talking about! Geralt is a decent man!"

"But I haven't... I killed the Shrike. Blaviken was safe," Geralt muttered.

"I've heard that too!" a woman from the crowd screamed suddenly. "My son was there, he helped to bury the bodies. It was a massacre!"

One by one, food started to hit them. The man pushed Geralt again, and suddenly the whole tavern became a pitfall. Geralt grabbed his bags and squished through to the exit door, followed by Emir screaming out blusters back. They had to run to their horses, axiing them and as many people around as they could, and abandoned the Tridam on full gallop, hearing the screams thrown their way.

"This is the Butcher of Blaviken," the village boy whispered to a girl who looked like his sister.

"Are you sure?" the girl whispered back.

"Yes. It's him. White hair, you see, pale as a witcher, and the two swords."

The girl's eyes went round as she blushed.

"Oh. I just didn't expect him to be so pretty."

Geralt hid his smile by lowering his head. Well, maybe it wasn't a curse after all.

There was a man standing behind him with a determined look on his face.

#geraltwhumpweek #he's not really suffering here #but i tried #pretty geralt #kaer morhen #or at least some descriptions of it #hard witcher fate #lol #did i really write this

11 notes · View notes

asksavel · 10 months

Text

How the ships started. ovo

So I started planning this blog back in '14. I only had the three relationships planned since I had already decided to use the Incarnate system to display different relationship archetypes: Familial, platonic, working relationship, and romantic. For Lucky and Farrow, I decided pretty early on that they'd end up as a found family, since that happens to be my favourite trope.

Originally, I didn't intend to spend much time on the romance side of things, but eventually it became fun! Levas was also open for potential ships outside the blog, but Solavi stole him, lol.

Next munday, I hope, stay tuned for how the rest of the ships happened. :P

#munday #the lifestories of skins #ooc

54 notes · View notes

icythot-bakuhoe-blog · 5 years

Text

Matchup for @poisoinedhope! 💕

@poisoinedhope : Gosh I´m sooo hyped up!! Can I pls have a student/ romantic match up? I am a straight, ambivert and observant female. I have brown, curly hair and dark brown eyes. I might seem athletic, but I am waay to unsporty-unless it´s a competition, than I get really competitive. I am more of the intuition type, knowing that the first instinct is usual the one to go with.Being the eldest of three formed me, so my protective side is always on, paired with a cold stare that stops anyone to even look at those under my wing. If looks could only kill, y´know xD I love writing and reading! I get so invested, that I start screaming or talking with whatever book I´m reading^^ SO yeah, despite being calm and collected, I can and I will scream louder than anyone else without any effort. I never had any realtionship, so I don´t really know what to expect of those? Despite being the cool and collected one in my group of friends, I seem to be the most innocent one? I tend to get really clingy and once I know the real you and allowed you to know me, well then, good job. ´cause I stuck with you till the end! But I can be resentful and trust me, it will last a lifetime if not correctly apologized to me. It seems that I can´t stop helping those in need and even tho I don´t want to, I can´t stop from aiding those little weaklings. I guess it´s because of my older sibling instincts? Don´t know. I try not to reveal to much at first, but it seems like everyone else doesn´t mind, ´cause they always tell me their whole lifestory! It can be a blessing and a curse at the same time. Typical capricorn here. Ohh can I also get a quirk match up???

Sure thing hun! Coming right up! I hope you enjoy and have an amazing day! 💕💗

For your romantic matchup, I ship you with Iida Tenya! 👓

WHY YOU’D WORK

You and Iida share a similar energy that would transfer over well into a relationship! Your observation and intuitive nature would pair well with his intellect, leaving you two to have interesting discussions that would never peter out. With this, it’d lead to a good understanding of each other—especially how you both share a protective nature and would do anything you can to help those in need. Iida is one to be very enthusiastic, hyperactive, and intense. This would pair well with your calm and level headed demeanor. All-in-all, the two of you would be one of the power couples in UA.

HEADCANONS

👓 People often view the two of you as the mom and dad of the Dekusquad, both protective and parental in aura, causing you to be the ones to look over the rest. It’s something you’ll be teased about from time to time, but both of you take it in stride.

👓 Being invested in learning new things, Iida would share your love of books. Though he may not always read the same genre as you do, it’s something he can find himself invested in and discussing with you often. Some of your dates include lounging at the library and reading, occasionally talking about what you’ve found and making suggestions for the other to try.

👓 Seeing you interact with books the way you do always amused Iida to no end. Especially when you start to scream at the books. He can’t help but find it a bit hilarious, always cracking a smile on his face. Though, if you’re at a library he may try and quiet you down a bit, just to avoid the two of you getting kicked out.

👓 One day Tenya came across you in the middle of one of your writing sessions, and couldn’t help but want to join in. He was very intrigued about the whole concept and wanted to learn more. Nowadays, you’ll show him your writing and he’ll provide praise and constructive criticism, wanting to help you improve as best as he can. However, that doesn’t go to say he doesn’t love what you already write—he can read your work for hours.

👓 Though it may not always seem like it, Iida can have his own bouts of competitiveness that allow you two to engage in quite the competition. Depending on what you’re doing, there are times where you’re both on par with the other—other times one triumphs. Either way, it’s all in good fun and you two never take it out of hand. However, if Iida sees you competing with someone else, he’ll always be your biggest cheerleader on the sidelines.

👓 Iida isn’t one to have any qualms over your clingy nature, finding your company to be enjoyable and liking to spend his free time at your side. You give him a sense of comfort and joy, and he always feels better in your presence.

👓 With neither of you being in a relationship until now, it’s a bit awkward at first. However, after gaining a collective amount of advice from friends, it becomes more comfortable. Often times you guys try out new things together to see what works, and soon find a rhythm that you find is best.

COMPATIBILITY — 93%

HONORABLE MENTION:

Shouto Todoroki !!

For your quirk matchup, I pair you with Written Reality! ✏️

ABOUT THE QUIRK

Anything hand written onto a piece of paper or any surface can be pulled and animated into a physical object or being. These words can be used in various ways, such as methods of travel, tools, or even weapons! Depending on the word, specific qualities and characteristics will be associated with them as well. For example, if you were to write out the word “hammer” the word would materialize made out of such tool.

STRENGTHS

✏️ No word is limited! As long as you have a medium to write and a surface to write on, including your own skin if you wish, the words can be brought to life!

✏️ Elements, beings, and other concepts are able to be used.

✏️ There is no limit to what median is used as to how the word is brought to life! It can range from pen to crayon, to even spray paint!

✏️ This isn’t limited to symbols, musical notes, and singular letters either!

✏️ Depending on what word you bring about, it can be used for close or long distance combat.

✏️ With enough practice, you may even be able to expand this to small drawings as well! Though, they’ll turn out in a way that resembles the artistic ability used to make it to the t.

WEAKNESSES

✏️ In order to animate the word, the spelling must be precise and accurate. If not, there’s a possibility for major backfire as consequence.

✏️ You must always have a median of which to write on and a surface for the ability to work, if not you are basically powerless.

✏️ Being material based, and not able to manifest your own materials, gaining what you need might be costly.

✏️ You must know the language of the word that you’re attempting to animate. Just knowing one word in another language won’t allow it to work, you must understand the full tongue.

✏️ Depending on what you may use, the word may not be able to hold form or you may not be immune to the effects. For example, if you animate the word fire, you will burn yourself if you touch it.

✏️ You have little to no control on the size of the word, or how heavy it may be. If it’s something such as bricks, the word will be manifested as how logically it could be spelled using normal sized bricks, and in turn be as heavy.

Either way, have fun with your new quirk~! 💖

#sprite writes!#bnha matchups #iida tenya #iida matchup #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #romantic matchup #quirk matchup #iida x reader #bnha x reader

9 notes · View notes

redorblue · 5 years

Text

The ministry of utmost happiness, by Arundhati Roy

I’ve talked about this book with my book club, and I’ve heard from a lot of people that this book is hard to get into. On the one hand, I understand - if you’re not familiar with the setting and the Urdu vocabulary (like me) it can get confusing, and the amount of names and places and people doesn’t help. But as I’ve been emphatically telling all those people: it is so, so worth it. Yes, it can feel overwhelming sometimes, but you’ll be rewarded with stories (intentional plural) that are as beautiful as they’re heartbreaking, with characters that feel alive and enigmatic at the same time, and (probably) with a whole new picture of modern day India. You obviously can’t expect to learn everything there is to know about a country and a people as big as that from one book - and a fictional one at that - but it provided me with a whole lot of starting points to do my own research. Plus, it’s one of those rare books that leave me with wide eyes and more emotions than my shriveled heart can deal with, so excuse my enthusiasm - both intellectual and emotional.

One of the complaints I’ve heard about this book from people who have actually made it through the first ten pages is that the narrative structure is confusing. Again, yes, I see your point, but I think there’s a reason why the story is so episodic, with narrators appearing out of the blue and mentioning people and events that only get explained much later. Somewhere towards the end of the book (in my paperback version it’s on page 436) Tilo writes a poem that in my opinion is the key to understanding the fractured nature of the book:

“How to tell a shattered story? By slowly becoming everybody. No. By slowly becoming everything.”

The book isn’t coherent in the conventional, easily detectable sense of the word because the story isn’t. It can’t be, what with all the different conflicts and catastrophes and bigotry that it sometimes barely touches upon and sometimes elaborates a bit more. In fiction, we’re used to the characters having smaller social circles than we do: less family, less friends, rarely colleagues, barely any of the everyday acquaintances that most of us just have, without knowing where exactly they came from or any intention of deepening them. One of the three focal characters in this book is a bit like that (although that’s intentional and meant to make a point about her personality), but the other two, to whom belong the most confusing parts of the book have the huge social circle that comes with living in one place for a long time, especially when one of them has a rather colorful personality. Point is, it’s normal that seen from the outside, people’s lives aren’t coherent or easily understandable because they’re suffused with context that doesn’t always get an explanation when it’s handy because sometimes there isn’t one, or it leads to another story that leads to another that leads to yet another... Because in the end, no one is an island, we’re just not used to seeing it in fiction.

The same goes for the conflicts that are touched upon here. There’s rarely an easy explanation or black-and-white sides to be taken (which is not to say that the book doesn’t take sides, because it clearly does, but it shines a light on different views on an issue), and if real-life conflicts don’t work that way, why should a literary representation of one be any different? If you give it enough time to affect enough people, it automatically becomes a “shattered story”, and the only way to make any sense of it at all is by allowing the narrative to adapt to that - to become fractured and messy and told from the eyes of people who come with their own lifestory and everything that entails. Long story short, I think the structure of the book makes a necessary point about the story it tells, adds to its lifelikeness and doesn’t even need to be that confusing - you just have to let it unfold in front of your eyes without getting hung up on every single name you don’t recognize.

Another complaint I’ve heard is that the characters are not relatable, or that they don’t feel like fully developed human beings, and here’s where my sympathy stops. It’s true that there’s rarely any interior monologue or other kind of explanation that explicitly tells you why has done this or said that, but I don’t think it needs to. Through pretty neutral accounts of events and backstory it gives you enough clues to at least make educated guesses (otherwise known as interpretation) about a character’s choices, and to deduct important tenets of their personality. It might not be as satisfying sometimes because you never get the ultimate proof that you guessed right, but where’s the fun in having it all served to you on a silver platter? I think that’s exactly the reason why so many people don’t like main characters - you’re too deep inside their heads, too aware of their logical flaws and mental loops and repetitive insecurities. It’s much more fun if the author leaves a bit of space for the readers to fill in thought processes, and Arundhati Roy leaves a lot of space for that. There’s a lot to unpack here, and I’d love to write about so many of the characters in there, but this has already gotten longer than I thought, so I’ll only talk about my two favourites, Musa and Tilo.

I feel like I have a better grasp on Musa’s character (and also, I fell for him. Hard.), so I’ll start with him. On the surface, his life appears to be nothing but a string of tragedies, with him as a simple vehicle that the author uses to tell us about how fucked up the situation in Kashmir is. After all, he was pretty much forced into the underground after Amrik Singh made him his newest source of entertainment, and “underground” in this context means that he’ll have to join the rebellion. But I think that is a very superficial view on his character. For me, the two defining aspects of his personality are his sense of justice and his bond to the people and the valley of Kashmir. Sure, he could have fled to some faraway place in India, or elsewhere, kept his head down and hoped that Amrik Singh’s network doesn’t stretch that far. That wouldn’t have been easy, but theoretically doable. In reality, however, going someplace else wasn’t really an option. He’s tried that already with studying in Delhi, and even though he obviously knew how bad the situation was back home, he still chose to return after he graduated because he doesn’t want to live anywhere else. He loves Kashmir and his people with all his heart. So the underground it is - because he can’t bear the injustices done to them, because he owes it to his daughter to be brave, because he can’t run away from his grief and this might be the only way to work through it.

And it takes a toll on him, of course it does. It’s heartbreaking how both he and Tilo remark on how he has become less substantial (smudged, as Tilo calls it) than he used to be, which is such an on-point metaphor for what being in a war (and a pretty hopeless guerilla war at that) does to a person. But in his thought processes and his interactions with Tilo (and briefly with Garson Hobart - I can’t remember his real name for the life of me) show that he’s - maybe not the same person as before, but a person, a complete human being, which is a lot more that what you usually get. I mean, let’s face it: he’s a Muslim in a rebel organisation, which is more than enough to get you labels such as terrorist, fanatic, extremist etc. I was a bit afraid that someone in my book club would call him that, because my reaction would have probably got me banned from the book shop. There are so many instances where you can see how kind a heart he has, how intelligent he is, how caring - and yes, also how much he suffers from seeing his people suffer and how he puts everything he has into make it right, but what’s important here is that it’s not his only defining feature.

(This is the point where I realised that this post was definitely going to be too long. So I split it, with more in-depth analysis of Musa - or rather getting my feelings for him off my chest - here.)

Tilo, on the other hand, is not as easy to grasp because she is presented to the reader as she presents herself to the world - stoic, not exactly talkative, very hard to reach. A lot of that has got to do with how she grew up, in an environment heavily influenced by racism, classism and prudery where her mother felt like the only way she could raise her daughter was to pretend they weren’t biologically related and then adopting her. I guess you could say that such an arrangement is better than growing up in an orphanage, and it could have been a lot less damaging if her mother wasn’t so very concerned about her public image, or so demanding, controlling and condescending. But she was, and the effect that had on Tilo is obvious - she’s someone who “lives in a country of her own skin”, the borders (seemingly) closed off. It’s not that she can’t care for people; it’s obvious that she’s loved Musa for a long time, and that she came to care deeply for Naga and Dr. Azad Bhartiya, even before she adopts Miss Jebeen the Second and moves in with Anjum. Rather, her issue seems to be that she has trouble accepting other people’s feelings towards her and getting attached to anyone. It’s why, for example, her marriage to Naga didn’t work (who, on a sidenote, really got treated unfairly in Garson Hobart’s POV), why she didn’t want to go through with the pregnancy when she came back from Kashmir, or why she didn’t even break things off properly with Naga and just... floated out of his life. To be fair, his family’s racism towards her didn’t help either because I’m pretty sure it stung her more than she let on, but her behaviour fits her overall pattern in interacting with people, so I don’t think that was the main issue.

It’s probably also why her post-university relationship with Musa works so well. They’re both aren’t controlling people, they trust that the other would never hurt them intentionally and they know that their communication works well enough that long-time separation doesn’t shake the foundations of their relationship. It’s a very unique bond they share, one that doesn’t go away from one of them marrying someone else and sleeping with them, even loving them, as Musa did with his wive Arifa. They know what they have, wherever they live and whatever they do. That’s another aspect I loved about the book: it never pits the two women in Musa’s life, Arifa and Tilo, against each other. Not even Tilo is jealous when she learns of Arifa’s existence, she simply trusts that if Musa loved Arifa, Arifa must have been a remarkable person. This is a testament to Tilo’s magnanimity - just because you have attachment issues yourself doesn’t mean that you’d automatically be okay with the person you love starting a family with someone else.

But Tilo knows that she’s not that person (at least not at that point), and although she worries a lot about Musa, she knows that a conventional happily ever after wouldn’t work for them. On the one hand because Musa is so tied up in Kashmir’s struggle for independence - which Tilo wholeheartedly supports - that she would never ask him to give it all up to live a life of safety with her (another thing about Tilo I deeply appreciate). But on the other hand I’m pretty sure it also wouldn’t work for Tilo herself. She’s too aimless, too far away to go through with the whole getting married, settling down, having kids etc. shtick. She needs this kind of open relationship that leaves her her space, that gives her a kind of attachment she can bear. It’s mainly emotional, and the few times a year it gets physical, as in being in the same room, it happens mostly because she decided to come back to Kashmir, with the exception of the few times Musa comes to Delhi. I do think that from her side, things might have been different if Musa had lived longer (after Tilo adopts the baby and moves in with Anjum), but on his side things would still have been the same, and I firmly believe that she’d have stayed true to herself and not asked him to walk away from his cause for her.

Which leads me to the question that has made me reread almost the entire book as soon as I was done the first time: Why did Tilo and Musa break up after university? It’s never said explicitly, but I’m pretty sure that he asked her to marry him, in all probability also to come back to Kashmir with him, and she said no and that was that. I still haven’t found an answer in the text (see, this is what I mean by interpretation being both fun and frustrating), but I have a theory. I think that his belonging, his rootedness in a family, a people and a region, was too much for her, who has never been made to feel like she belonged anywhere, was accepted and appreciated anywhere. In that situation, it wasn’t enough that she loved him and he loved and accepted and appreciated her, because in real life, the love of one man doesn’t magically fix every single one of your issues, even if it is the love of your life. So she refused him. And he, honorable person that he is, didn’t press the issue, stayed true to himself and went back to Kashmir. Where they met again years later, under unimaginably sad circumstances, to rekindle, in their own way, one of my all time favourite fictional romantic relationships.

#the ministry of utmost happiness #arundhati roy #book review #2019 #books

4 notes · View notes

notsosilentsister · 6 years

Text

Small Talk (II)

I generally like learning about people. In my experience, deliberately deep conversation starters (”Do you believe in God?” “Do you think all parents have a favourite?” “Do you believe in the existence of free will?”) just aren't a particularly promising way to go about it. I mean, I could probably talk about lots of these things quite easily - I'm an opinionated person who doesn't mind sounding like a fool on occasion when my opinion turns out to be not that well-founded after all. But that's me, and other people may feel put on the spot when asked about something they might not already have a carefully considered, precisely worded answer for. And sometimes, the circumstances just might not allow for doing the topic justice. Do I believe in God? It's complicated! I just don't think I could give a satisfying answer in the space of sharing a bus ride, or during a dinner party where we just met. It would probably result in a lot of hemming and hawing on my part, and then an attempt at giving you my whole lifestory for context, and finally a conclusion that would leave me with the feeling I just gave you a completely inaccurate impression, painfully reminding me of the limitations of langugage and the ultimate futility of any yearning for human connection. Can be interesting, but I have to be in the mood for it. My idea of fun is certainly something else. And that's me talking about something I have actually thought about quite a bit! For many people forming communicable opinions about topics more complicated than the weather requires a certain peace of mind and leisure they don't always have, and then you asking them to show their work can trigger unpleasant memories of school. Or maybe it reminds them of happier times when they were better informed about stuff, and makes them feel bad about the turn their life has taken. Sometimes you just want to relax, and then that sort of stuff can really spoil the mood. I try to be more careful about what I say, partly because I'm afraid people won't like me, yes. But the more important reason is that I don't want to accidentially make someone feel bad just for my entertainment. Take for instance "Do you believe most parents have a favourite child?" What a minefield! I would never raise that topic without at least a bit of a clue wether the other person is actually comfortable talking about family. What if _they_ were the disfavoured child and are still struggling with the impact of the trauma? It might be healing to talk about it - to a therapist, or a trusted friend, maybe - but perhaps not at the whims of a stranger, when you were looking forward to a fun evening rather than facing your demons. There are certain conversations you want to be mentally prepared for. But, you might argue, triggers can be so arbitrary! You could never possibly avoid them all. Surely, the more important skill is to drop the issue fast enough when you accidentially hit one. I like to think you would handle it gracefully when people just brush off your prompts and change the topic. But I don't know you, so I can't be sure. So there's that moment of tension - will they let it go? Will I have to justify myself? Already, the mood is less relaxed. And then there's the fun thing where some people interpret an unwilligness to engage in a topic as some intellectual deficiency, a lack of perspective, a sign of defeat. I don't know you, how should I know you aren't one of them? Eg. I no longer talk about feminism with any guy I just met - there's too much of a chance they find something debatable, and these debates are always more exhausting for me than for them (because I've got skin in the game, and they don't, or at least never to the same degree). I'll shoot the topic down, and they'll let it go, fine, but often with an air of "of course you wouldn't dare to face my superior reasoning". Sometimes the mere way in which some people approach a topic that feels like life or death to me as if it were a fun cause for idle speculation can hurt like a slap in the face. If you start with typical small talk stuff, you might still accidentially hit on something that makes me uncomfortable - again, triggers can be arbitrary - but at least you made some gesture that you tried to minimize the risk, so I'll feel more safe to believe it was truly an accident when it happens after all. People stick to typical small talk topics for a start, because they don't want to launch a difficult conversation, when it's not the right place and time for it. I think it's important and often enriching to have some difficult conversations once in a while. But I've made the experience that you will learn more, if you're patient enough for them to come up organically. And it's generally more worthwile to have these conversations with people who've already given some evidence they'll engage in good faith. Life is short, talking about the important stuff is exhausting, and people like to use their energies wisely.

#small talk #there's no short cut #I mean there are but i think they're often shady

4 notes · View notes