#for all she can be a bit annoying

[ofbreathandflame-archive]

I'm actually really angry about this ngl:

This is why I don't believe fandom advocacy (i.e. arguing on behalf of a fictional character) necessarily equates to an actual conscious understanding of the topics at hand. Soft-blocking my blog and then making a follow-up in your own space discussing whatever problems you had in my post is one thing. I can respect that.

Reblogging my content and then immediately blocking me so that I can't see it -keeping my content on your blog (while misinterpreting everything I said) and enabling the rampant anon hate to funnel into my blog is an entirely different matter. And now I can't see anything, or even understand the arguments being thrown my way. That is incredibly disgusting fandom behavior - more so considering that I was speaking to a specific crowd that makes those arguments. And EVEN MORE, because my post was NOT an admonishment of the Darkling.

I made multiple points about oppression within oppression - I gave multiple examples of the ways it works with the dynamic between revolutionary characters and their relationships with people within the race/group (specifically women of color v. men of color; revolutionary v minor). I came from a primarily misogynoir angle - as I am a black woman. But the points were central and could be applied to any in a similar situation. And for the REAL WORLD IMPLICATION of my point to be ignored in favor of the fantasy element of the story is very heartbreaking and annoying. And very, very frustrating.

How are only implying real-world morals when we need to justify or sympathize with him? Like - I've seen so many comparisions to racism with Darkling and then none of the actual real world implication of what that may look like in a character. Like - think about Hoteps who oppose white supremacy only because they cannot participate. Racism is an ideology. Think of white feminism and how its opposition to patriarchy stems from the fact they cannot participate. Think of the way DV and abuse happens in minority homes as a result of racism. I really implore people to read Notes of a Native Son by James Baldwin. It talks about the inheritance of plight and how these manifest negatively in the household and creates trauma. And how we can reconcile (if ever) the anger and oppression with our own personhood.

I gave the reason I didn't like the *specific angle* of constantly sanitizing the Darkling's action in regards to two things (1) the other Grisha and (2) the comparison to real world racism. I believe the argument can be made, but not sustained. Because the world building is not strong enough to support it. I said this AGAIN specifically because I said that the Darkling's actions tend to be dismissed in regards to other Grisha. And it was why I made allusions to characters like Magneto and Kilmonger. I don't give a shit was anti darkling arguments are - I didn't make those claims.

There are problems with the Darkling situation - yes. That was my point. With both the character and writing. But my problem with fantasy racism is that the real world implications only become relevant when discussing a character and then everything (1) in opposition to the character and (2) outside the *acceptable* real world implications is just..ignored. I made a whole post talking about the way oppressed revolutionary men oftentimes parrot or assume oppressive ideologies toward those beneath them (i.e. women of color and minors) and allllllll of that was ignored for the sake of an argument I DID NOT MAKE about the Darkling.

That is the tragedy of his character - and it is in some parts well written and other parts not. That is the point.

[lilithofpenandbook]

Sometimes Severus comes up to Minerva. Right up behind her when she's busy. He'll stand there for a good minute as she works on marking assignments and cursing the boy's youthful energy and brilliant eyes- both of which directly responsible for his finishing his work in half the time it takes her.

"What is it, Severus?" Minerva sighs. Might as well get the obligatory nonsense over and done with, she was due a dose of Severus's antics by now (Merlin forbid he go more than three days without bothering her with nonsensical questions or infuriating wit).

"Am I ugly, Minerva?" he asked. Never there was a being with such innocence in their voice.

Minerva took a moment to take in a breath and silently call on all her patience and all her strength. "Yes, very." Her tone was blunter than the knives used to decorate at Halloween- an incident with some particularly idiotic third years had them ban anything sharper than the corners of a book during the Halloween celebrations.

Severus gasped as if stabbed. "What? Minerva, I thought we were friends!"

Minerva snorted. "Any time we interact, it's completely against my will."

"Minerva! you lie so shamelessly it shocks me." Severus made as if to swoon, a hand clutching the right of his chest.

"You must be shocked; your heart isn't where it should be."

Honestly, Minerva had to admire the fact that the insolent little kitten did not falter in his dramatics with her pointing out the key flaw in his act. If anything, he seemed to be encouraged.

"Ay! The pain of the shock, it has spread throughout my chest! Ah, I cannot breathe!" Severus swayed on his feet, leaning against the chair that Minerva was sitting in. "Oh, how your lie shocks me!"

"Well, then, you had better tell me what exactly I lied about," Minerva said briskly, "before you gasp all the air out of your skinny little lungs, laddie."

"You said," the boy said, a sudden glint in his eye and none of the apparent weakness, standing to face her and one of those long, delicate fingers pointed straight at her, "you said, that our interactions are without your will."

"That is no lie, what part of this looks like it's my will?" Minerva replied, knowing full well she wasn't going to appreciate the cheeky answer Severus had prepared for her.

"Why, the part where you remain for my company, mother," Severus replied, his voice light. "Surely, if you didn't want this, you would have, in your infinite wisdom, simply have employed your great power and assumed your famous feline form and just walked away from me."

Minerva fought her smile. His cheek was infuriating while his logic impeccable. "Perhaps I am simply conversing my energy, you arrogant wee rascal."

"You? Too lazy to avoid a nuisance?" Severus scoffed. "Minerva, you wound me. Don't you know how I know you? You've done much more to avoid the mildest of annoyances, do you truly think I believe that you are here against your will merely to converse your energy?"

Minerva let him see the flicker of a smile disgusted as a smirk, letting the bothersome raven have a little treat for his cleverness, hinting to him that he had essentially won this particular argument. "At my age you no longer have the patience to waste on annoyances. You learn to value your peace. You will understand that some day, I hope, little one."

"And if I die, my hair still black and my skin still smooth?"

Merlin, did the child have a turn towards the morbid. Minerva ignored the voice in her that told her that this would have been a retort of her own had she been in a similar conversation.

"Then you'll die a fool."

"A fool, perhaps, but my funeral will be the biggest," he replied, moving to sit on her desk and grabbing the biscuit jar. Minerva intercepted, lifting it from his grip and replacing it with a towel. His protests died in his confusion at the towel, and Minerva huffed and began to wipe his hands as if he was a child. She did not trust him to correctly clean his hands after handling goodness knows what when experimenting with his potions and she didn't care if he knew it.

"Aye, and how did you figure that?" she asked.

"Surely if I die young, I shall be the first. Therefore you all will be part of the funeral-"

"What makes you think I would want to attend your funeral, you little rascal?" She let go of his hands, almost satisfied that they weren't contaminated.

Severus ignored her and instead took a biscuit from the jar. "You will all be there, therefore I will have the biggest funeral. If I die old, you all shall be gone, so my funeral will be the smallest."

Minerva tried not to think of how depressing that sounded, how lonely it seemed. For a brief moment she felt guilty for being so old and he so young. She involuntarily could see him in her mind's eye, going through their funerals until he stood alone. She and the others- Rolanda, Pomona, Poppy, even Fillus and Hagrid- they were all of an age, weren't they? They could expect their lives to reach the end around the same time, surely? Severus was but a child next to them, he'd stand alone one day.

Minerva tried to ignore the ache in her chest at the thought of him standing alone. Merlin, no. He was far too young. No.

"You truly are besotted with the morbid and the miserable, you melanchonic masochist," she said, her tone just a trifle too sharp to be a simple retort.

Severus paused, swallowing the biscuit. Then he answered. "Ah, but the morbid is much more fascinating, the forbidden has a certain thrill, dear mother." His voice was a little softer, and his fingers, slightly coated in crumbs, were gentle when he tapped her forehead. He was sorry he upset her.

"You and your thrills," Minerva scolded, "yet you cannot even eat a biscuit without making a mess of yourself." Yet even as she spoke, the hand that she used to swipe the crumbs away, was gentle, almost tender, in its movement. She had quite forgiven him.

How could she remain angry? At this boy who looked at her with a scowl of indignation yet whose deep, dark eyes twinkled with mischief and cleverness and brilliance, who stood taller than her, yes, yet was far more delicate in his build than she had ever been, whose hair was as dark as hers had been in her youth, carelessly falling across his forehead. No, she could not remain angry.

If only he had been in Gryffindor, perhaps then she would have noticed him sooner. Or rather, if only her eyes didn't only open for her Gryffindors. How this boy could ever look at her without resentment and anger, she didn't know. Then again, he had been so incredibly isolated and lonely, was it any wonder he let go of his rightful grudges and instead accepted her friendship?

Minerva blinked as if soot from the fireplace got in her eyes. She didn't want him to notice the tears that almost inevitably formed whenever she thought about him. Who would have thought that she'd cry so much for the little devil?

"I'll leave you to your work, dear mother," Severus said cheerfully, hopping off her desk.

"Aye, after you've cleared out my biscuit jar, you villain" Minerva grumbled, looking into the empty jar. Severus shrugged.

"You ought to see it as a compliment towards your taste, really," Severus said. "But I see I have taken the last of your patience"- for indeed, Minerva looked ready to strangle him- "so I shall take my leave. Good night, my good Headmistress, and may you have peace in the silver embrace of the moon!"

And with a laughing twinkle in his eye and a boyish bow, Severus Snape left the room.

Minerva sighed. She wasn't sure if it was out of relief, or because she may have felt some sorrow at his departure.

The door opened again, and a rather meek Severus poked his head in.

"Er, Minerva?" he asked.

"Yes, Severus?"

"Er." Severus stepped in, looking away from her, walking with the awkward gait of a newborn foal, and the nervousness of a deer. "Er, Minerva?"

"Yes, Severus?"

"Am I really ugly, mother?" His voice was a whisper. His raven hair curtained his face, hiding his shame at asking such a pathetic question, and his fingers picked at one of the cuticles of a nail.

Minerva smiled, and walked to him. Softly she brushed the boy's hair out of his face and gently tucked it behind his ear.

"Only as long as you let yourself believe it, dear heart."

[witchtwig]

I don't have a complete thought for this yet, but it is interesting that in episode 5 before she says that ghosts have unfinished business, Lilia states that "emotion ties them to this plane"--

Agatha died during an incredibly emotional moment, crying as she kissed the woman she had been fleeing from for years. Agatha who has so many unpacked, unprocessed emotions as she's avoided really sitting with them for years. She hid behind the Darkhold to be invulnerable.

I really think that's like an interesting thread to explore with her as a ghost for a potential season 2. Not just mentoring Billy and fulfilling that part of her that has always wanted to raise a protege in a way she never was. But also maybe unlike this first season where in a lot of ways it was Agatha's Avoidant All Along, we actually get to see her unpack some things (which I would imagine largely revolve around Nicky and even moreso Rio (given she began to process a little bit around Nicky in the first season)).

[good-beanswrites]

If you're still taking requests, could I ask for Futa finding our that Yuno was lying about getting beaten up in her first interrogation?

You sure can 👀👀👀👀 Omg, I'm a fake 02-03 fan, how have I never thought about that moment before? I assumed he'd know eventually, but for someone who's so honest (and likely already has issues with a disloyal friend group) an actual confession would be so painful... Thank you so much for the request, it reminded me how much I loved writing these two ;--;

“I can’t believe it!” Fuuta laid across Yuno’s bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I can’t fucking believe it!”

“Ooh~ is this about Shidou-san?” Yuno stepped out of a pair of shoes, grabbing another. She walked back and forth with accessories she’d requested or borrowed from the others. After scrutinizing them in the mirror, she’d try on something else. 

“Of course it is! Why aren’t you freaking out about this?”

It was a rhetorical question, she knew. This was one of those times Fuuta wasn’t really listening to anything except the rant in his own head. It could be annoying, but between him and Mahiru, Yuno actually enjoyed the chance to sit back and let someone else take over the conversation. 

“He comes out of his interrogation, casually laughing about the warden being young and kicking him, then expects us to be okay with it? That makes four out of five interrogations someone got hurt! It’s a good thing I showed them they can’t fuck with someone like me, eh? But a pushover like Shidou gets abused and laughs! Argh!” 

Fuuta sat up suddenly, trying to find somewhere to put his anger. He caught Yuno’s eye through the mirror. “There’s no way this is legal, locking us up with some violence-crazed warden! You know what I just keep thinking about, every day?”

Yuno gave a small “hm?” knowing he’d tell her anyway. She turned her eyes away, pretending to fix the ribbon in her hair. It was becoming less and less enjoyable to sit back and let him talk, this time. She was starting to see where this conversation would end. She knew what she needed to do.

“I just keep thinking, what are we going to do about Mahiru?”

“What do you mean?”

She was met with a dumbfounded look. 

“We can’t just let her go in there by herself! Haruka and Shidou have some size and strength on Es, so like a coward they only showed a bit of force. But they know you and Muu were much smaller and weaker, so they really took it out on you both. I mean, I could hear Muu crying during her interrogation, and she came out still sniffling. Whatever the hell happened, it can’t be good. Just think of what’ll happen to Mahiru if we leave her alone in there! I’ve started thinking about what we can do.”

She laughed, picking up a headband. “Fuuta, you can’t do anything. It’s not like you’d be able to break in during the interrogation. I’m sure Mahiru-san will be just fine.”

“You can’t be sure, in a place like this. I’ve been thinking about this! I was even talking to Kotoko, and we think it’s possible to sneak in beforehand.”

“And if you get caught? What if you get Mahiru-san in more trouble?”

It was all she could think to say. She knew the truth had to come out eventually, but if there was a chance she could calm Fuuta down and avoid a fight altogether, she’d take it. Yuno wasn’t afraid of him. However, just because he was all bark and no bite didn’t make his bite any easier to handle. If she was putting the pieces together correctly, it still did end up killing someone…

Instead of slowing down, his face lit up with even more intensity. He leapt to his feet, appearing behind Yuno in the mirror. “See, that’s where my backup plan comes in! We’ll get the others involved. An interrogation will be the perfect time to stage a riot because –”

“Oh, Fuuta.”

“– I mean it! How are they and that stupid rabbit going to stop all of us, huh? It’s high time we stood up to this injustice! Give that brat a taste of their own medicine –”

“Just, listen for a second.”

“– We won’t use any violence or anything! Unlike them, we’re above that. Just give them a good scare, and demand that they –”

“Fuuta.”

“What?” He sounded exasperated, but paused to let her speak. She hadn’t raised her voice; he was learning to tell when she was serious.

“There’s... something I need to tell you.” Her tone made it clear that this would be a pretty weighty confession. Annoyance flashed across his face, like is now really the time for this? 

Yuno turned to face him. She reached for his hands, knowing the wonders a bit of physical contact can do. Fuuta just rolled his eyes as he tore his hands away. She was constantly reminded that her usual tricks didn’t work on him. She also reminded herself, however, that it was a relief. She didn’t feel like holding hands now.

“I… I wasn’t honest about my interrogation. Es didn’t touch me. They were actually really calm, and we had a good conversation. They didn’t want the others to hear that and just walk all over them, so I promised to tell the story they came up with. I heard Muu talking, and she didn’t face any violence either. She was just scared.”

“You – she – what?” Fuuta sputtered on his words. His face turned a few shades redder than it already had been in his excitement.

“The lie wasn’t supposed to be a big deal, or drag out this long. Definitely not to the point of inspiring a prison riot, oh god. I felt bad that you even went after Es because of it–”

“Yeah!” His voice rose. “I stood up to them for you! I coulda gotten punished for that!”

“No, Es knew why you did it, so I’m sure they never would have –”

“You can’t be sure!” He turned to pace the cell, emotion leaking out in sudden pitches in his voice, or a hand jerking up in wild gestures. “So when were you planning on telling me? Or were you just going to lie to my face for another few months?”  She could see the gears turning in his head – all the arguments and comebacks and insults he was formulating. “And what else have you been lying to me about?” 

That’s when she noticed that the look in his eyes wasn’t one of rage. Nor was the blood in his cheeks. Though he was indeed angry, he was also dealing with the embarrassing truth of being lied to for months.

“I haven’t lied about anything else,” she assured him. She bowed her head. “And I won’t. I’m so sorry. It was supposed to be something quick that everyone forgot about. Once they had their interrogation and had their own impression of the warden, no one would think about it.”

“You expect me to believe a shitty excuse like that? Why would we all just forget?”

“Fuuta…” She smiled sadly. “Everyone did forget. You’re the only one who still talks about it. You’re the only one who’s done anything in response. I felt so guilty you’d put yourself out like that, for me, someone you barely met.” 

Yuno paused. She hadn’t meant to use any flattery to steer the conversation. She was supposed to just tell him the truth and leave it at that.

But this wasn’t flattery. She was still speaking the truth. “Everyone else did exactly what I expected, except you. You stood up for me. I don’t take that lightly, okay? I’m grateful.”

Fuuta’s eyes burned with more fury. He jabbed a pointing finger at her.

“You’re right!” 

“...eh?”

“Those bastards didn’t do a single thing! They heard a young girl got abused and they just let it happen? They tried laughing it off? How dare they!” He whirled around. “Oh, I’m gonna give them a –”

Yuno grabbed the back of his uniform “You aren’t going to do anything. If you get everyone riled up now, it’ll be for nothing, remember? But you can’t tell. I still promised Es I’d keep their secret through the first trial.”

“Tch, you don’t owe them shit.”

“If you tell, you’ll get me in trouble. Please.” She let go of him. “Can I trust you with this?”

He kept his back to her. “You didn’t before.”

“You’re right.” She wasn’t the type to waffle around with excuses.

She started putting away her things. It was almost mealtime, and she didn’t have the heart to continue, anyway. Through the mirror, she watched Fuuta hang around the doorway. His expression shifted through emotions that Yuno couldn’t quite put her finger on. All his fire was fizzling out.

“Just… you swear it won’t happen again?” 

“I swear.”

Fuuta nodded. Then, a grin. “And you swear I can tell them off after this trial ends?”

She returned the smirk. “One promise at a time, ’kay?”

[autistic-katara]

icl i would be at least a little happy with almost any ending for stranger things but one thing that would ruin all of it would be an epilogue (of a decade or more later)

[pallases]

quite pleasantly surprised by wicked movie but i Will say we were robbed of elphaba leaning in close to glinda saying “come with me to the emerald city” followed by glinda’s “i’ve always wanted to see the emerald city” while looking deep into her eyes arms around her shoulders twirling elphaba’s hair

[holland-vosijk-antari]

massive lack of sleep-induced ramble incoming:

been thinking more about the bonds between antari (from reading the telepathy between holland and ojka while osaron is in them) which makes me think about if the antari could telepathically communicate. firstly, holland would chose to Not Do That.... i can imagine a young kell who has learnt in a book that antari are meant to be able to talk across a bond and so he tries it and gets no response, he wonders if its him doing it incorrectly or if he's not strong enough yet so he keeps trying until eventually giving up. holland is very glad when he gives up because he would be trying to close his mind to the suffering he is experiencing only to be brought back to the surface by a small eager voice in his head saying "hello :) can you hear me?" and he knows if he responds whether it be kindly or harshly he will never have peace from it

on the other hand though, during agos before kell knows that lila is antari he thinks of her so often that she hers his voie in her head, lila of course has her suspicions that she may be antari but has no idea that such a connection is possible, so she considers these thoughts that sound alarmingly like kell as just a lingering attachment to him that she's desperately tried to sever. when they do figure it out though, people question how those two pirates (ahem, privateers) seem to always know what the other is thinking or what the other is about to do...

[sarucane]

Do we just keep telling the same story forever? Meta on OFMD S1E7 "This is Happening"

In this S1E7, two characters--Ed and Jim--have to answer a simple question: Am I ready to tell a diferent story?

At the start of the episode, Ed's framing his time on Stede's ship as "sitting idle." He's thinking about preparing for the next adventure, whatever that may be--the next chapter in a story he knows and understands. Because there are rules. A ship has only one captain.

When Stede tries to prove that Ed can tell the next chapter in that story without leaving the Revenge, Ed is pretty unapologetic in his disdain. But he does come along, even while moaning and complaining.

And Stede's just trying to tell the same story, too. What he imagines a pirate's tale is supposed to be, not what it actually is. He doesn't recognize the difference between nonsense and truth, he's so caught up in "entertaining" Ed that he doesn't realize he needs to feed Ed.

But in fairness to Stede, Ed has a poor grip on what he really wants as well. When he fantasizes as he flirts with Stede, he's not imagining a swashbuckling adventure. He's imagining opening a restaurant. He's half in his old life, and half out.

Lucius, the unemotional observer, figures all this out of course.

He sees that Ed is absolutely very receptive to Stede, and that Stede is crazy about Ed. But Ed is caught up in who he's been, without seriously considering how to move forward in this story he's in now. So Lucius confronts Ed. He points out that Ed's story as it is going now ends one way: pain and loneliness. And he asks if Ed wants that.

Stede didn't want Ed to leave, so he told a story about treasure hunting. And Ed doesn't want to leave and be alone again, so he tells the story too. And by telling that story together, Ed and Stede find their way to the same place: beginning a new chapter. Imagining a life they can live together, without devaluing or overwriting anything that came before.

It sounds nice, although it's shallow (Ed's not going to be happy as a pirate, Stede is bad at telling this pirate's story and he'll never be a successful traditional pirate). But it's still a hopeful story, because they're still moving forward. Right on the edge of telling a different story.

And resolving in the opposite direction is Jim's plot. Jim's story is relentlessly upbeat and funny in this ep, but it's a tragedy through and through. Jim, like Ed, is half in their old life and half out. Has been with Olu for more than a year, without actually doing anything, while keeping him at a distance.

And it turns out they were "raised by a nun to be a killing machine." That Nana projected all her own trauma and righteousness onto Jim, and passed cruel judgement when Jim says that they already killed "the only one that matters." When Jim suggests that they might have moved on, and be ready to tell another story.

Jim regresses in this episode. They let Olu walk away instead of telling a new story with him, one where he's their family. They take the petrified orange as a sign that they should go back to being who Nana told them they were, to being obsessed with revenge. But really, it's more like a warning of what they'll become if they cling to the same old story.

It's sad. And it's a painful foreshadowing of what awaits Ed and Stede when they falter on the path forward, when they think their past defines their future. When they tell someone else's story, instead of their own.

[brutal-nemesis]

ok siiince you asked for requests for demon boy castys… the tongue cut out + gag seemed like such an adorable situation for him <33

Giving you that and a little extra because I wanted More Whump 💕

←Previous - Castys & Terror AU Masterlist - Castys Masterlist - Next→

Ingredients: manhandling, a lot of unsexy noncon touching, slight dehumanization, partial nudity

Castys wasn’t sure if he slept at all that night, but after what felt like an eternity, Neteri reappeared wearing different clothes under her white coat.

“Good morning, Castys!” She sat on one of the stools from last night and motioned for him to do the same. “Get up, I’ve got wonderful news to share!” 

Castys opened his mouth to retort, but he found he couldn’t form the words. His tongue was still…he looked away, swallowing, and sat up while remaining on the floor. 

“You’re going to have to start listening to me, you know. Because,” she broke out into an excited smile, “I get to keep you!” Upon seeing Castys’s glare, she just laughed. “I figured you wouldn’t be excited, but trust me,” she held up a finger, “you’ll be much better off in my hands than if you were sold as a pet to some bored aristocrat. I’m sure they’d beat that personality right out of you, and I don’t plan on doing anything of the sort. As long as you cooperate with my experiments, you’re free to be yourself. You can even hate me as much as you like!” Castys raised an eyebrow at her final statement. He’d see about that.

After rummaging in her bag for a moment, she pulled out a little silver medal and moved to crouch next to him on the ground. “Hold still now,” she ordered as she started to bring it towards his neck. Castys wasn’t sure what was happening at first, but after a moment, it clicked, and he decided he’d rather not listen, leaning back. Neteri just sighed. “You’re not off to a very good start.” Well, it’s not like he wanted to be.

Suddenly, Neteri changed tactics, shoving him down on his back and straddling his waist before he could try to sit up, pinning his arms down with a knee on each elbow. Castys cried out, the wounds on his back from the whip lighting up in pain, and that combined with her full weight on him kept him from moving. He bared his teeth as her hand came closer, daring her to get within range, but she just curled her other hand in his hair, yanking it back and keeping his head firmly in place. Great. He was once again powerless against this tiny lady, forced to keep still as she attached that dumb little tag to the collar and sealed the metal shut with the same spell that kept him from taking it off.

“There,” she said once it was on. She tapped the tag, cold against his throat. “Property of Neteri Crozien. Whether you like it or not. Now,” she grabbed his chin, “are you going to let me put some new restraints on you or should I call the guards to manhandle you? Your resistance is pointless and only delaying the inevitable, exactly like every other time. Just nod if you’re going to cooperate.”

Did he want to get manhandled again? Not particularly. He’d had more than enough of being grabbed and held still while chains were taken off and put on. And it’s not like he was resisting out of pride or something stupid, he just fought back when it was something he really didn’t want to happen. Which was most things in the past couple days, but, hey, if new restraints meant he got to leave this boring-ass cell, he was okay with it. Her grip on his hair had loosened enough to allow him a small nod, so he gave one, praying she’d get the fuck off of him now.

Neteri smiled brightly at his cooperation. “Great! Although,” she got off of him and stood, thinking, “maybe just stay laying down. I don’t really trust you not to try and run at the moment, so just roll on your stomach and I’ll take the chains off.” Castys sighed in annoyance but complied, gritting his teeth as his weight went from his injured back to his burned chest. The cold stone floor felt a little good on it, at least, but it was a small consolation as he watched Neteri walk back over with a key and a coil of rope. 

She squatted down and-fuck, that was a knee on his back, not her full weight but enough to make him gasp in pain. Paying him no mind, Neteri unlocked the manacles around his wrists, and he could barely enjoy the feeling of not having anything around them for a moment, just wishing she’d tie him up and get the fuck off of his back. It didn’t feel like she was going particularly slow as she pulled his arms behind him and wound the rope around his wrists, but the seconds still dragged by at an agonizing pace. 

Finally, she finished tying the knot and took her knee off of his back as she stood. “There we go!” Castys just groaned, rolling on his side. “Oh, stop being so dramatic. It’s not like I was hurting you.” Castys’s glare deepened, and he awkwardly used his bound hands to pull up the back of his shirt enough to expose the bandages wrapped around his torso. Neteri’s jaw dropped slightly, and she just stared at him for a second before worry took over her features.

“I…I’m so sorry I…I completely forgot. That you were hurt. I wouldn’t have done that if I remembered.” Her head hung slightly. “I’m really sorry, Castys.” Her apology seemed genuine, but how the fuck did she forget he got whipped and branded yesterday? She looked back at him again. “Let’s just hurry and get you to your new home so I can heal you up, okay?” Wait, new home? She was taking him somewhere else? At first the idea was scary, but then Castys remembered that he’d never particularly loved living in the castle, so whatever. It was probably just going to be a different prison cell, anyway.

With ridiculous difficulty and a lot of groaning in pain, he managed to sit up, using his elbows to help him do it since his hands were kind of useless. By the time that was done, Neteri was standing above him with…a chain? He was already tied up what the fu-no. No fucking way. He growled as her hands moved towards his neck, baring his teeth once more.

“Seriously, Castys? You said you weren’t a dog yesterday, but you sure are acting like one.” Yeah, sure, whatever, but since he couldn’t fucking talk, he was forced to resort to other means of protest. He honestly wasn’t entirely sure where the growling came from himself, and, yeah, it was a little animalistic, but that didn’t mean he deserved to get put on a leash. “This is happening either way, so just give it up already.” Her hand was moving closer, closer, the clasp at the end of the chain open, ready to-

Once again, instinct took over, and before he knew it, his teeth were buried in the flesh of her hand.

Neteri cried out, jerking her hand back and dropping the leash. “Lyte! Seriously?!” She winced as she dabbed the wounds with what smelled like the stingy liquid from yesterday and used her magic to close them up, during which Castys couldn’t help but smile smugly. Once she was done healing, she pulled on her leather gloves and grabbed a couple rolls of bandages from her bag. “I figured you were going to be difficult to keep in line, but this is just ridiculous.” Castys took pride in being ridiculous, so he’d take the compliment. What he didn’t want to take were the consequences of his actions, but he was a little bit helpless at the moment, so there wasn’t much he could do as Neteri shoved a wad of bandages in his mouth and tied a strip around his head to keep him from spitting it out.

“There. You’re just about the only person who’d need to be gagged when they can’t talk.” Castys just looked away, feeling his face grow hot as she clipped the leash to the collar. She gave it a tug, but he didn’t budge. Now he was just resisting out of spite. Neteri’s expression grew even more frustrated, and it looked like she was about to say something before she stopped herself and took a deep breath, calming herself down. She crouched down to look Castys in the eye.

“Look, I’ve been going about this the wrong way. I hurt you when I didn’t mean to, so I’m not going to punish you for biting me. We’ll just call it even.” She paused and held up a finger. “The gag stays until we reach our destination, though. Just for safety’s sake. But I’ll tell you something about my plans for you. If you come with me, you’ll have a tongue again by the end of tomorrow. Does that sound good?” 

Castys could be stupid and stubborn and petty and shake his head and sit here and then end up getting dragged off to wherever, or he could just suck it the fuck up and get the ability to complain back. Complaining would be nice...After weighing his options he nodded, and Neteri broke into a smile. “Good. Let’s go, then.” She helped him stand, and she seemed to do her best not to pull on the leash as they walked along. Soon enough, they had reached the teleportation stone, and Castys…he couldn’t help but be a little excited to leave this stupid place. He knew he was a fucking prisoner now, but he was basically a prisoner in his old life, too, minus the chains and plus a comfy bed. 

At least he was going somewhere else.

The other palace was pretty cool, at least, the short glimpses he got before he was pulled into the lower levels, down halls and through doors until they arrived at his lame little prison cell. It did have a bed, though, so that was an upgrade. And a private bathroom?! Why did the prison cells in his family’s dungeon have to suck so much ass? He only spent two nights there, but still. If he was ever in charge of a dungeon, he would make sure it was at least a little comfy in case he got thrown in there.

Neteri clamped a manacle around his ankle, which was whatever, because that meant she untied his wrists and took that stupid leash off. And then, true to her word, she healed his wounds. The brand scarred, of course, which was…the symbol was kind of cool, but since it meant he was “property” or whatever he wasn’t too excited about it being on his chest for the rest of his life. At least shirts existed.

After that was done, Neteri instructed him to clean himself off and left him alone for a bit. He wandered into the bathroom, chain clinking with every step, and paused in front of the mirror. He looked pretty much the same as always, just a little more tired and blood-covered than usual. Oh, and the stupid collar around his neck. Neteri was fucking delusional, it didn’t look the slightest bit “cute” on him, it just looked…He didn’t want to see it anymore.

Once he was clean and dressed in some slightly comfier clothes, Castys tried out his new bed. It was nowhere near as nice as his old one, but it was way better than the floor, so he’d take it. Just as he was drifting off to sleep, Neteri poked him in the face.

“I’m back, Castys, get up and take your shirt off.” Castys sat up, but didn’t take his shirt off, instead just crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. His wounds were healed, so what the hell did she need it off for? “Come on, I’m just going to examine you and take some measurements. Nothing painful, I promise.” Not painful, sure, but probably still not pleasant. Even so, he didn’t really have much choice but to listen, so he pulled off his shirt and stood, hoping this wouldn’t involve too much touching.

His hopes were in vain.

It started off fine, her measuring his height and a few other things with a strip of leather, but then she started running her hands all over him, poking at him, moving him this way and that. He couldn’t help but flinch every time since he hated being touched, and Neteri was clearly getting annoyed by it. His full-body recoil after she ran a hand down his spine was the final straw. Wordlessly, she clamped a manacle around one of his wrists before shoving him down onto the bed. He tried to stand back up, but she basically fucking tackled him, pinning him down on his back for the second time today. And, to top it all off, she managed to loop the chain around the top of the cot before cuffing his other wrist, leaving him pretty much helpless.

“I wouldn’t have to do this if you’d just kept still,” Neteri sighed, seeing his frustration. Well, it was a little fucking hard to be still when someone who’s basically a stranger is running their hands all over your bare skin. He considered trying to kick her, but she’d probably just chain him up more and keep going, and he’d rather this bullshit just be over with already.

Being chained down on his back somehow made this infinitely worse. There was nowhere to run, nothing he could do, Neteri looming over him as she put her hands all over him, touching his chest, his brand, squeezing his arms, grabbing his chin, pulling at his eyelids, gloves on now, hands in his mouth, poking at the stump of his tongue, feeling his teeth, gripping his hair to turn his head from side to side, his skin was crawling, crawling, his muscles tense, breaths coming short, fast, he just wanted her to get off stop touching him examining him taking notes reducing him down to just numbers just a body not a person not someone who got boundaries or personal space no just someone who gets touched and touched and touched-

“Castys! Hey, hey, just breathe.” Neteri was standing over him now, fiddling with the cuffs on his wrists, releasing him. Castys hadn’t even realized he was hyperventilating, but he tried his best to calm down as he scrambled to the other end of the bed, as far away from her as he could get. Neteri watched him sadly. “I…I was making you uncomfortable, wasn’t I? I’m sorry, I just thought you were trying to be a nuisance.” No shit he was fucking uncomfortable, how the hell did she misread that?! At least she looked upset by this, but it was way too late for that. Castys still felt like there were bugs crawling all over him, and he could feel his heart pounding out of his chest. 

Neteri reached out a hand in a misguided attempt to comfort him, but after seeing how Castys flinched and bared his teeth, she backed off. “Okay, okay, I’ll leave you alone. Well, I’ll go get you something to eat, and then I’ll leave you alone. Until tomorrow, and then you’ll have a tongue again and you can complain all you want and yell at me, okay?” Castys would rather never have to see her stupid face ever again, but that’s not how this was gonna work, so he just nodded silently, not relaxing until she’d left the room. 

He almost wanted to take a shower again, just to wash the feeling of her hands off, but it was starting to subside, so he just pulled his shirt back on and hid under the covers. What was that, exactly? He knew he didn’t like being touched, and he’d never let anyone do it remotely that much, so maybe being touched for so long in such an invasive way had been too overwhelming. Castys had thought he’d be a little tougher than this, since the thought of pain didn’t really scare him, but apparently being pinned down and touched was too much for him? Kind of…pathetic. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if he could talk, protest, fight back a little bit with his words. Maybe he’d be okay once he could talk again.

He just hoped Neteri wasn’t lying about giving him his tongue back.

Castys Cult: @as-a-matter-of-whump​ @blackrosesandwhump @fanmanga1357-blog​​ @thehopelessopus​ @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@hearse-song​ @muddy-swamp-bitch @whumpasaurus101 @yet-another-heathen​​ @galaxywhump​ 

@starnight-whump​ @his-unspoken-words​ @misspelledwitch​ @suspicious-whumping-egg​ @pumpkin-spice-whump 

@painsandconfusion @i-can-even-burn-salad​​ @befuddled-calico-whump​ @whumpinggrounds​ @whump-queen​

@whumpedydump

[keeps-ache]

sigh. i think i just do not like dogs very much lol

[esteemed-excellency]

Fun idea: Hiram ended up here when he had a soul again, trying to take a parabolan shortcut to the Deviless' house. The RHQ thought it was about time for him to fully feel the consequences of his actions. Not that it changed anything. Soulless or not, he's still a loyal knight.

[random-chaos-and-stuff]

Silly Game Time: Who are the protagonists of two stories you really enjoy? (could be from any media: movies, shows, novels, games, comics, etc.) (yes, OCs count) AND which of them is better with animals?

You know what? I’m feeling particularly dragony today, so I’m going with Lady Trent from A Natural History of Dragons, and Princess Cimorene from the Enchanted Forest Chronicles. And though I love Cimorene a lot, and do think she’d be good with animals, Lady Trent wins, as she is a naturalist and has to actively care for and study the dragons she has, as well as the fact that she loved animals when she was younger too, and with all the time she puts into her work I feel like she would have to be good with animals. It’s shown in the books too that she’s overall pretty good with animals, especially the dragons she studies.

[batsplat]

Batsplat, I am not into tennis exactly but this year I have been exposed to a lot of Tennis meta, per se. I love reading through your tennis posts they reveal such a rich human side to a sport, esp the agassi sampras post. Wanted to ask, if you have read Infinite Jest and what you think of it. Additionally, do you see any parallels between motorcycle racing and tennis? Fundamentally different sports, but still crazy in their unique ways. Keep posting, many hugs!!

hugs back to you anon, really am very pleased that post has struck a chord... going to put a pin in the infinite jest half of the ask because I recently got another ask about that book and want to organise my thoughts a bit more. tldr I have a lot of fondness for the thing. I actually reckon being invested in tennis is a bit of a cheat code where that book is concerned, like it kind of gives you something to immediately latch onto... dfw has a reputation for being the writer about tennis - and he does capture something of the soul of the sport, both in IJ and in his essays. in IJ, he makes it feel claustrophobic and inescapable, like a curse of the blood. as it should be. there are many descriptions of the sport itself I love, ways it is integrated into the narrative, the meanings that are extracted from it... I'm not sure there's a concise way to talk about IJ and if anything that feels like it'd be against the spirit of the book, so for now I'll leave you with this: dfw knew ball, but his taste in tennis left much to be desired. religious experience my ass

anyhow, let's transition to the other half of the ask with an IJ quote chosen completely at random

'We're all on each other's food chain. All of us. It's an individual sport. Welcome to the meaning of individual. We're each deeply alone here. It's what we all have in common, this aloneness.’

on tennis and motorcycle racing - I think I do have a bit of a problem in answering this question in that those disciplines are the only two individual sports I have followed closely for a long period. (I suppose f1 is edging itself into that conversation, but that at least is relatively closely related to motogp.) so there is a bit of a 'getting a lot of boss baby vibes' issue here in that... things I feel are similar between the two of them might be equally present in croquet or skimboarding. but, well, I can only talk about what I know. I think they can both be quite lonely sports, though tennis is lonelier. motogp can be circumstantially lonely, tennis is so in its soul. this is because competing in a tennis match is such a fundamentally lonely experience in a way I'm not sure any other sport replicates. motogp is loud - tennis is defined by its silences. motogp is defined by its action while tennis lives and breathes in the negative space. the connection between ball and racquet is infinitesimally brief... the time between points stretches out as a void. a tennis match is a thing of many rhythms, superficially reliable, yet the experience of living through a match eats away at your perception of time. the match is provided structures by its units, wherein each can feel like it lasts a split second or a decade. motogp is fierce and noisy and full of life. tennis is empty

I think you can probably draw numerous fairly trite parallels between the two - the emphasis on one-vs-one duels, for instance, albeit a non-negotiable element of tennis in a way it isn't for motogp. different virtues and tropes represented by different athletes... offensive, defensive, the wild talent, the cunning mastermind, the tenacious and the feeble and the limited and the all-rounder - archetypes of a sort that recur even when the exact way they express their archetypal nature varies between sports. perhaps even a fanbase that neurotically oscillates between yearning for drama and hounding almost anyone who supplies it. there's some ways in which I have to follow the two sports completely differently... for instance, I am far more sensitive to injuries in tennis and tend to get peeved when anyone competes with injury - one of my least favourite things about federer (amongst some sturdy competition) was how big a virtue he made of never having retired from a match, and how it influenced the generations to come. I mostly stand by the same principle when it comes to motogp, but it does force you to readjust your idea of what kind of an injury is acceptable to compete with. (obviously to some extent this is just practicality - I'm sure plenty of tennis players would love to try and compete with broken ankles, but that sort of thing just physically isn't possible in tennis.) motogp is considerably less stressful to follow because of how concentrated it is. there's nothing quite like the death by a thousand cuts that experiencing a drawn-out defeat in tennis inflicts on you

but none of that is particularly interesting or insightful. I actually think following tennis has given me a pretty good grasp of sports psychology because, not to brag, tennis is kind of the sport for understanding derangement. I'm not talking in terms of pure drama - unfortunately, motogp is miles ahead of us on that front. but in terms of actually understanding the intricacies of how competition fucks with the brain... motogp is so macro, races are building blocks of entire seasons, your results in march help determine your standings in november. it's also a lot more mysterious - I can't read as much into motogp results as I can into tennis, not just because of my personal level of expertise but also for the simple fact that there are far more hidden performance variables in motogp, mainly related to machinery. when I talk about how 'clutch' a player is in tennis, I can show you actual numbers to describe what I'm talking about that I can pull up for any player (unlike for instance stats relating solely to title contenders) and have a pretty big sample size and can be used to meaningfully draw conclusions. a big reason why tennis is considered the mental torture sport is because of its unambiguously deeply fucked up scoring system, making use of the units of 'point' and 'game' and 'set' within a single match to ensure that all your effort can be repeatedly rendered meaningless in numerous ways. what this does help us with in analysis terms is that not every point is 'equal' - they might be in literal terms, but the stakes vary drastically. which affects the amount of pressure you are under and what type of pressure it is. to use a very basic example, one measure of 'clutch' performance might be how a player competes in tiebreaks, given that they are inherently higher pressure situations where you can compare those points to the baseline of all the other points. tennis and motogp (+ motorsports more broadly) are kind of on the opposite ends of the spectrum in terms of how many raw numbers like that you will have at your disposal - with plenty of other ball sports like basketball or football or baseball slotting in somewhere in the middle

and what this DOES help you with is that if you are a proper student of tennis... y'know. you'll probably have a slightly more refined understanding of how mentality in sports works. more than just sorting every athlete into two categories of 'mentally strong' and 'choker', which is how a lot of discussion can read. even on platforms theoretically interested in serious sports analysis. how pressure affects competitors... so many motorsport discussions feel oddly naive to the basic concept that competitors may handle pressure completely differently if they are ahead or if they are behind. sometimes you hear motorsports reporting treat mentality as completely irrelevant, outright say that people should stop focusing on psychological factors... which is just not the kind of thinking you get away with in tennis

that being said, the real lesson tennis can teach you is if anything the very opposite: often, performing better under pressure is only very loosely correlated to mental strength. this is a bit of a bugbear of mine so if I've posted this before my apologies, I always have a version of this rant in my brain and genuinely cannot recall if I've put it on here before but... look. say you have two tennis players in a match. say each player is winning roughly 50% of the points, both players managing to drive up their side of the scoreboard. but say that one player, player A has to take a lot more risk to do so - and is aiming for about half a metre inside the baseline in every point. say the other one, player B, can aim for a way more comfortable metre inside the baseline. now say you get to a pressure situation, a tiebreak. tension rises, the muscles get tight, it's harder to swing through the ball... let's say that both of them are suddenly more likely to misfire - and that in every third shot, they will miss their target by over half a metre. even if the pressure has the exact same effect on both of them, player A will end up making more mistakes than player B - and they will be doing so disproportionately in the tiebreak, a high pressure situation. which means that on paper, they are less clutch than player B, even though in reality they have both been affected to the same extent by the pressure of the situation. one simply was always operating with a bigger margin of error, which suddenly became more noticeable in the pressure situation

this is obviously an extremely simplified understanding of tennis and it's never going to be as straightforward as that. the point however is that a lot of what people think is mentality ends up being down to technique. good technique isn't just effective - it's repeatable. it's all about optimisation, right... it's even the little things, like how much your technique asks you to use *force* - there are different muscle movements that are going to be affected in different ways by stress. if your motion always looks the same, then it's more likely you'll be able to repeat it under pressure - if you tend to hit the ball wildly differently each time, then however well you are doing it, quite likely that's going to be tougher to do under pressure. good technique is replicable even under pressure, but having good technique is obviously in itself not reflective of mental strength. in tennis, it is critical how much margin of error players have - both in terms of where they literally aim in shots, and in terms of how much a small deficit in absolute performance will spell relative catastrophe

and again. all of this is extremely basic. but it does feel like... how do I put this diplomatically. sometimes it doesn't feel like everyone's on the same page even with this basic stuff. because at the end of the day, it's going to roughly be the same situation in motogp, right? champions are seen as particularly clutch versus competitors who aren't champions... and sure, there probably is an element of mental strength to becoming a champion (though often that will also be in terms of macro career arcs, key choices and so on, not just performance in the moment) but it's not going to be that simple... because better riders are operating with a bigger margin of error. if you assume that every crash in every pressure situation is a uniform case of choking, then, y'know, this is bad analysis. fans are entitled to their bad analysis, but that doesn't make it any less bad. there is a tendency to just assume that the best athletes are the mentally strongest, rather than just blessed with a wider window of performance, and it can be. slightly galling. icl this a bit of a theme in a lot of the stuff I write, if you know to look for it lol (e.g. here)

reading the passage back it's... well. a bit funny. any tennis fan familiar with my history as a tennis fan will immediately recognise what match traumatised me so thoroughly I still see its shadow everywhere I look. sports, don't you love it

obviously there are more contemporary examples you could pick up on, but this is incidentally something that slightly ticks me off when people discuss valentino's rivals. like, with all love to casey, it is a lot easier to be 'mentally strong' and 'not broken' and bounce back from psychological torture when you have enough talent in your index finger to disrupt the orbit of a small moon. no shit he had better chances of rebuilding his confidence than some of his precursors. the game's rigged! always has been

none of this is to say that mentality doesn't matter in sports, which would be a bizarre stance for me to take. if player A and B had the exact same margin of error in their shots, one of them would still play that tiebreak better - and that's the clutch factor. it's just often harder to tease out than you might think, even in a sport with so many numbers at the tips of your fingers. sometimes you're just not going to be able to tell from the outside at all. that's the loneliness, right - constantly observed, but fundamentally unknowable. and of course, there's far more to get into here... given that tennis does demand more engagement from the outset in matters of psychology. it is a sport that is all about interaction, where every choice you make preempts the choices you believe your opponent is about to make - it's all psychology, all the time. motogp brings the macro dramatics in its rivalries (or, well, one guy did anyway), but tennis provides far more tools to understand said dramatics... it cannot help you understand motorcycle racing, but it can help you understand its psychology. but I think I'll leave it there lol. idk if these are really the parallels this ask was looking for, it's just really how I think about the two. obviously I'm biased in that I think tennis is the most important sport in existence, just like mr wallace. every bit of motogp analysis I write is inevitably shaped by my experiences with tennis, which probably also limits me in some ways. but, y'know. it is what it is. it should also be said that most tennis fans don't understand shit about sports psychology either. we persevere

anyway. yeah. for the parallels between the two. main takeaway - like I said, the game's rigged. always has been

incidentally, here's a passage of IJ I was thinking about recently

Bodies bodies everywhere. A tennis ball is the ultimate body, kid. We're coming to the crux of what I have to try to impart to you before we get out there and start actuating this fearsome potential of yours. Jim, a tennis ball is the ultimate body. Perfectly round. Even distribution of mass. But empty inside, utterly, a vacuum. Susceptible to whim, spin, to force — used well or poorly. It will reflect your own character. Characterless itself. Pure potential. Have a look at a ball. Get a ball from the cheap green plastic laundry basket of old used balls I keep there by the propane torches and use to practice the occasional serve, Jimbo. Attaboy. Now look at the ball. Heft it. Feel the weight. Here, I'll… tear the ball. . . open. Whew. See? Nothing in there but evacuated air that smells like a kind of rubber hell. Empty. Pure potential. Notice I tore it open along the seam. It's a body. You'll learn to treat it with consideration, son, some might say a kind of love, and it will open for you, do your bidding, be at your beck and soft lover's call. The thing truly great players with hale bodies who overshadow all others have is a way with the ball that's called, and keep in mind the garage door and broiler, touch. Touch the ball. Now that's … that's the touch of a player right there.

cutting it off there... obviously dfw being dfw, this paragraph continues another dozen odd pages. (I say this with fondness; unsurprisingly the parts of the book about jim and his father are some of my absolute favourite.) maybe you can guess why I was thinking about it... motogp worships its machinery - tennis has no such affection for the tools of its trade. even when we philosophise the body of the ball, all we can truly access is its emptiness. a ball is like a body because it is empty... that's the illness of a mind touched by tennis right there

[nonsensechemicals]

crying whenever i talk about Cookie9 because all my friends have these interesting and unique theories on them while i take everything too literally and they all just stare at me like “dude… uuugh we r TIRED” <-they dont actually say this they are very kind to me but i can Feel It

[the-busy-ghost]

Me normally: Let people love what they love

Me, after a Test Match Special commentator expresses their belief that the new All Creatures Great and Small is somehow "better" than the 1978 version: This is pure insanity and TMS can no longer be trusted on anything, how can they even be trusted to know about cricket, do they have no TASTE

[camellcat]

WTFFF I thought thirteen would be my new girl crush love of my life heart eyes wife you-came-after-twelve-you-must-be-better-than-they're-all-saying bbygirl and then I had to sit down and watch as she told a man who (if he were not a murderer, of course) literally every regeneration before her would've LOVED and FULLY SUPPORTED that "the systems aren't the problem. how people use and exploit the system, that's the problem. people like you" </33333 !?!?