#what really matters the most is the idea of “i actually can do this” instead of it just being wishful thoughts
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that-ari-blogger · 2 days ago
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Where Do We Go Now? (Horde Prime)
The fifth season of She-Ra and the Princesses of Power begins on a pretty dire note. I’m not going to spoil the series in this introduction, so go watch the show if you don’t know what I mean, but suffice to say that this isn’t the best of circumstances.
Except, it’s not actually the worst of circumstances either. Things are bad, don’t get me wrong, but if you are really obtuse, you can see a balance emerge here, and I am nothing if not obtuse.
Let me explain.
Spoilers Ahead: (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, Star Wars Skeleton Crew)
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She-Ra is a story about escaping the cycle of abuse, most clearly exemplified by the horde, but also through Light Hope and Shadow Weaver. From a certain point of view, season five opens with that being accomplished.
Catra is on the other side of the galaxy to Shadow Weaver. She has lost that power that corrupted her, and she has a nominal friend in Glimmer.
For all intents and purposes, the Horde has been defeated. Hordak is no more, and this new enemy is so aesthetically and practically different from its predecessor that it doesn’t feel like the same thing at all.
Light Hope has been set free, She Ra no longer inhibits Adora or acts to control her, and she is showing incredible combat skill without it.
Those are the stated goals of the series and the thematic endpoints of every idea that the series was building up towards.
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If it wasn’t for Horde Prime, the series could have ended with the last season and been genuinely quite satisfying. The characters claw their way out of the tragedy, Glimmer was tragically lost, Catra couldn’t be saved.
Instead, the series kept on going and scaled itself up a bit. We suddenly see the full scope of everything, and despite their escape, our characters are still barreling towards tragedy. Breaking free didn’t matter, or at least wasn’t everything.
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I think that every season in this show has a different thematic angle to be read through. A different question to ask.
Season one, for example, asked “how do relationships change?” As such, the season spent a lot of time developing the history of Shadow Weaver and Micah, as well as the fall of Entrapta and of course the focus on Adora and Catra. But it also showed the gaining alliance of the Rebels in the context of the previous fall.
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In contrast, season four asked “what about everyone else?”
That’s why I pointedly avoided discussing Catra and Adora in detail. The season was about Glimmer and Light Hope and Perfuma and Scorpia. It was about everyone who was tangentially related to the main story but was being broken down because of it. Season four was a season concerned with collateral damage.
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Which brings us to season five, and to the question: “where do we go now?”
The events I mentioned at the start of this are only positive from a certain point of view. To everyone else they are either negative or simply different. Everything is up in the air, everything has changed.
Last season, the show wrapped up, and now we are on a different story entirely. We are in a different place in the galaxy, the villain is different in every way imaginable. We have a different arrangement of characters. We have a different genre aesthetic, moving from quirky fantasy to full science fiction
My reading of this season is that it is the hardest step of removing oneself from the cycle of abuse: deprogramming.
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The new Horde is aesthetically a modern or psuedo-modern cult, and the verb for breaking free from that is "deprogramming".
This is a story about what happens after someone escapes from that cycle of abuse in the physical sense, and suddenly has to resolve how they act. These are new situations that provide the characters with an opportunity to be whatever they want, and this is the story of those characters making those choices.
Put simply: “What do you want?”
Catra and Adora come into centre stage with mirrors of each other, specifically through their echoes of their previous deeds.
Both react to this new circumstance through changing next to nothing about themselves. They are on the path to redemption, sure, but neither seems to acknowledge that this is a wholly different situation.
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“The Horde's the Horde, even in space. As long as I'm of value to Horde Prime, I've got a place in this world. I can work my way up here, just like I did before.”
This gets pointed out in the story as an insane thing to say. But it highlights Catra’s mindset in a concise way to remind the audience and explain her to new viewers.
Catra’s life has been ruined by her desperation for power. She wants to be safe, but instead of seeking that out, she takes the feeling of safety instead, and she does that through clinging to power. I will stress that safety and the emotions associated with it are different things, and Catra’s actions are more in line with an addict looking for one more hit of that dopamine gained from feeling secure.
If she wanted to actually be safe, she would have left the Horde way back in episode two. But if all characters always did the logical thing, then the story wouldn't exist. This isn't a plot hole, it's a character beat.
The key here, as gets stated by Glimmer, is that the feeling of safety is hollow. That ignorance is going to get Catra killed or worse.
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Adora weilds a staff in this episode, which has two meanings. One, it's about as far from a sword in how it's used as possible. At least, far from a longsword like that of She-Ra, greatswords are a bit different. It's a different fighting style that has different strengths and weaknesses. But also, we've seen Adora wield a staff before. In episode one. When she was with the Horde.
Similarly, Adora is wrestling with the fallout of no-longer being She-Ra by falling further into her hero complex. She has to save everyone and will burn herself down to feel any warmth. She doesn’t sleep, and devotes herself to duty to take her mind off the situation.
The lesson she learns is that she is not alone, but there’s something else, and it’s the really small moment of the kid with the doll.
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The child is obviously enamoured with Adora, and they carry the doll of She-Ra because to them, the two people are one and the same. To them, Adora hasn’t lost anything. To them, that admiration hasn’t gone anywhere.
I will remind you of what we know about She-Ra. Most recently, the First Ones claimed that they chose Etheria because it had She-Ra. But earlier on in the series, Madam Razz said this:
“She-Ra was here long before your people arrived.”
Adora never heard this, as it was spoken to Mara, but the point stands for the audience. Adora hasn’t lost She-Ra, she has shaken off the thing that controlled that part of her life. Now she needs to learn to do it a different way.
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In other words, she needs to relearn how she interacts with the world. She needs to deprogram herself of everything the First Ones and the Horde taught her.
Speaking of deprogramming, this episode is named for it’s villain, and there’s something important to discuss about that.
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Star Wars: Skeleton Crew is a series about growing up and leaving your bubble. It is about preconceptions and imagination. It is about change.
Part of how it explores this theme is the villain, Jod Na Nawood.
Jod is introduced as a heroic mentour in the first cliff hanger of the episode. But for the rest of the series until his true motivations are revealed, he is the most obviously suspicious character in the series. To the point where the kids notice.
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There is a consistent thing with blue and red lighting in this series, in that everything keeps trying to shoot Jod in blue, but he keeps changing the scene or moving towards the red. For someone who's entire thing is helplessness and forced evil, he certainly makes a lot of bad decisions. Put simply, he is telling you the world is awful while actively removing any good in it. It's the childish excuse: "It's not my fault, it was like this when I found it." No. No it was not.
Obviously, this plays into that idea of not reading a book by its cover. But this is a character who keeps coming up with names and monikers, and who wears a mask at every opportunity. There is more to this man yet.
Then we get the final episode, and we get his backstory, and remarkably, he is wrong about everything.
He claims the galaxy is cruel and uncaring and that there are “a few pinpricks of light”, and yet everyone in the show has been kind to him except the people he actively did harm to. He caused his own misfortune, and people are still kind to him. The kids break him out of jail, their parents save them even at great personal cost. Jod Na Nawood is wrong, and the series ends by flooding him with light just to get the message across.
This is not a morally grey character. This is a villain with a cohesive backstory. Nuance and moral greyness are not the same thing.
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But here’s the key thing, Jod is a child who never grew up. He is forever trapped in a moment that the Galaxy isn’t anymore. He says the world is awful and then takes steps to make it worse, and that final shot of his defeat makes it abundantly clear.
Jude Law is hot, but he’s also an incredible actor. If you combine that with good cinematography, you get a moment where the camera looks directly at him as the light illuminates his expression, leaving nowhere to hide, and he looks like a scared child recovering from a tantrum. He looks about to cry. He looks like he's about to say "it's not fair".
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There's something to be said for the simplicity of Jod's design in comparison to the rest of Star Wars. Jaba is a slug gangster, Darth Vader has the hat and the cape, and Jod has the helmet. But when you take that away, which the show keeps doing, he's just some guy. He wears clothes that are slightly too big for him, and he has a big ol' gap over his chest. He's vulnerable.
Jod is not good at scheming, he got defeated by children. He’s not particularly charismatic, he lost his crew repeatedly. He’s not a good leader, see my previous point. He’s a traumatised child who refused to grow beyond that.
In that sense, he is a thematic opposite to the main characters. They represent hope (a new hope, you might say), and he represents stagnation. The series asks which idea will prevail, and Jod’s does not.
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In She-Ra, the villain is Horde prime, who acts as the symbol of isolation and lack of agency.
Everyone around him is a vessel for his will. He is another version of Shadow Weaver turning her victims into another version of herself. Horde Prime does that literally with the mind chips that will become more important later on in the series.
His interaction with Glimmer is all about confining her. He limits her magic, he shows her images he knows will break her. He messes with her free will.
He's also an eejit. Catra was willing to give him the weapon practically for free. But no, he took the extra effort because he wanted to feel powerful. He's petty and cruel, and he's blind. He's got so many eyes, but he can't see the easiest rout to his plan when it is handed to him on a platter.
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This has been a story so far about taking your own agency and being your own person, and Horde Prime is the person who says “no actually, you shouldn’t do that.”
His throne room is a vast emptiness, his power set is about embracing oblivion.
In that way, Horde Prime is a thematic opposite to the themes of the series. The story has been teaching our characters to be free, and Horde Prime tries to get them to surrender.
We will see which idea comes out on top.
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Final Thoughts
I want to talk about Shadow Weaver for a moment. This is a season that delves into redemption, and it offers that to everyone, Shadow Weaver included. We will see how that ends, but for the moment, there is an interesting dichotomy.
I think Shadow Weaver does care about Micah and Catra. She saves Micah’s life in this episode. But she doesn’t care enough to do anything about it. She doesn’t care enough to change her ways. Redemption is offered, and she doesn’t take it.
I think that sets up the concept rather well. Redemption is not just something that is offered, it is something that you have to take agency in. You have to redeem yourself. You can get help, and honey, you will need it. But, you have to do most of the work.
I think that makes Catra’s story a bit more impactful.
Next week, I will be looking at Launch, so stick around if that interests you.
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maliciousalice · 3 months ago
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Hear me out (or don't... it's fine I'm just venting and mean) yeah um I don't believe Chakotay was saved in Prod*gy s2.
#the 'time travel' makes no sense when you think on it. What happened to Prime Chakotay? He got killed they showed that.#At the end s1 Janeway finds an 'alternate chakotay in an alternate timeline' and that's the one they go and get#we saw the original get merc'd in the message. That ACTUALLY happened. Lmao.....#They didn't prevent THAT death because they didn't go to THAT Solum with the Infinity and stop it from happening#instead it was 'ALTERNATE#' implying other.#OG Chakotay wasn't taken over by the alternative one either nothing suggests that was the direction for him in s2#they didn't do anything like 'well you see chakotay because at the end of s2 when we converged timestreams you have merged with your other'#if they did want to recover the original from s1 then keep that clear instead of being convoluted dont use an alternate timeline wtf#instead the plot was focused on gywns stupid fucking paradox plot and her being fixed#chakotay was the one in a paradox too did that not matter nah dw about it he had to die for this outcome or someshit lmao why#In the extended message given to admiral janeway it shows him clearly getting left behind and surrounded. Sadly no one intervened.#I dont understand why they couldnt have just made s2 about his rescue alone IF they took their time it wouldnt be so difficult#to follow#above that the one they rescued was ruined by the 10 year gap so he wasn't 'saved' at all. God i hate s2 when you break it apart#I dunno the more i look at s2 Janeway and Chakotay the more upsetting it is. Janeway would NOT have settled for an imposter.#everyone going goo-goo gaa gaa over s2 but it's sloppy af imo and undermines a huge portion voyagers struggles#id really like them to flatly lay out their ideas because literally nothing ive heard explains the story or choices of s2 with conviction#instead it's oh clap for wesley or the new vulcan and other references yay#describe to me your timetravel clearly and i'll happily take a seat on it (there is still other crap stuff mind you)#this is the most repressed shit i my head i swear#im angry because s1 is so clearly mapped out to a brilliant degree and for whatever reason it's not in s2#i can see through it#insultingly people are eating it up and claiming it's better than ever nah dawg embarrassing#there are nice ideas inside s2 but they arent adequately rewarded#it doesnt compare to the timetravel in other trek because they kept it clear#i mean it could have been an interesting parallel to endgame but in the end janeway didnt even rescue him lmao they dropped her#why bother building up this mission only for her to give up and go 'i'll hand it over because im told to'. Janeway had fuck all this season#let alone settle for not fixing her own timeline and her own friends deadly circumstance dw just grab another one from the shelf i guess#the emotional fallout was absolutely missed because they didnt elaborate on anything. Plenty of show but no substance from the characters
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arvoze · 1 year ago
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we do a little trolling
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bi-writes · 3 months ago
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attached | ghost x f!reader
i have no idea what it is that binds us together. but it doesn't really matter.
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type: one-shot (8.4k)
cw: zombie apocalypse au, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dark!ghost, dark!reader, reader described as curvy/plus-sized + has hair long enough to braid, graphic depictions of violence + murder + gore, depictions of suicidal thoughts + intentions (no actual action), mentions of depression + sadness + loneliness, depictions of assault + harassment (not by ghost), horror movie vibes, unprotected piv, allusions to baby trapping, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving), 18+
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Death can be a curious thing. It used to be something definitive. Exact. It used to mean the end of something.
No, now it's a beginning. Not a sweet beginning, but a beginning nonetheless. It turns a new tide. Reactivates cells that were once dead. Sparks nerves that used to be dormant, that used to be dark. It makes muscles move even when they aren't supposed to. Brain-dead, but still hungry.
He hasn't been able to understand the phenomenon quite yet. He's tried. He's picked up a few books and tried to do his own research, but it's difficult when there is no way for him to view the cellular structure of it all on a micro-level. He cannot see the way it grows or how it takes over. He hasn't been able to figure out what techniques it uses to keep a body awake even when the central organs no longer function the way they're supposed to. What keeps it moving? What keeps the feet running and the stomach hungry and the saliva warm?
Why is it that when he plunges his blade through its heart, it still kicks? The brain is its engine, as with his own body, but this is different. The brain runs even when it has lost its necessary components. Blood circulation, oxygen, the things it needs to thrive; but this state of being is not like his own. It doesn't need the same things it used to need because its purpose is not to keep a body running. Its purpose is to eat. To infect. And that is all.
He likes to play games these days. He has a lucky silver euro, one he pried off the dead body of someone that he hated. He spit on that body before raiding his pockets. He hated that fucking brute; he disgraced the style of wearing a mask by using a fucking t-shirt instead. Perhaps Austria is a beautiful country, but it certainly produced one of the most unlikable of men. He thinks even if the world was still right-side up, he would've killed him anyway. The only thing useful about him was that he was carrying a few extra magazines and this coin in his front pocket.
Every morning, when he wakes up, he makes whatever will happen that day a game. If the coin lands on heads, he gets to kill himself today. If it lands on tails, he has to endure 24 more hours before he can play again. The rules are simple. The game is easy. Everyone knows how to play it, but not everyone will like to win it.
Today, he decides to do something different. Today, he decides if he wins, he will wait another day. He has never won this game; he decides if he can't win it, he'll manipulate it until he gets what he wants.
It hits the table with a light clink. It rattles around in a few circles before settling, and when he leans back in his chair, he sighs. He knows what it will be even without looking, but he looks anyway. When he sees the carved outline of its face-side up, his eyes flash. He won.
He never wins.
Something is keeping him here. He chooses not to ask questions. There isn't anyone to ask anyways. No one answers when he speaks. He doesn't think there is anyone left to listen.
If someone would ask him why he doesn't just put the muzzle to his temple and pull the trigger, he would just say that it was because that was how the game is played. Those are the rules. He can't try unless that's what it tells him to do. There is no fun in cheating the game; it wouldn't be proper, it wouldn't be correct. It would be grounds for disqualification, and that just wouldn't do, not for him.
He has to do things the right way. Always. It's how you keep order in a world that has none left. It's how you maintain structure even without the lines drawn in the sand. This is the way things are done; God is not waiting at the end of a very long staircase, He is rattling that coin on the table and waiting for Ghost to take a peek.
He thinks it keeps landing on tails because perhaps God is tired of playing this game with him; Ghost has never been surprised. He will always be ready for disappointment. Giving a gift is no fun when the recipient simply receives it.
It landed on heads today. He won the game. He tried to play it differently, but someone won't let him.
There's snow on the ground this morning. It snowed all night, coating the ground in a few inches of powdery ice. He looks away from the window and back towards the mirror, continue to run the razor over his head. His blonde hair falls in clumps in the sink. He keeps it neat and short, close to the head, and then he does the same with his face. He cuts the stubble close, keeping his face clean, but it doesn't wipe away the rest of his face, the things he can't just cut away. The scars, the ridges, the skin that closed over wounds angry and white and uneven. He can see his teeth through the broken skin above his lip, the yellowing of them now that he only brushes them a few times a week with his lack of proper toothpaste, and he grimaces when he sees the new red spots of raised skin left behind from the dirty mask he wears now. He dips his toothbrush into his bottle of water before brushing, careful to scrub his gums properly before spitting into the sink.
When he finishes, he makes his way back into the bedroom to get dressed. He did the washing yesterday; he found a creek only half frozen over, and he made use of the bar soap he keeps and managed to clean off most of his clothes. He feels a little better slipping into his cargos now that they aren't drenched in sweat or dirt. He tucks a long-sleeve into his pants before putting a thick windbreaker on over it, but he finally feels complete once he slips his mask on over his face. In the mirror, he adjusts it, making the skull straight, and he blinks back at himself. The mask does more than just hide him from the dead.
It keeps the living walking a careful circle around him, and he wants to keep it that way. He hasn't spoken to a single person since it began. He stopped counting the days once his boots ran out of space for notches. Anyone he sees now, he scares them off with one look, or he puts them down before they can take a step closer to finding out if he's real or not.
He doesn't take chances. He has always had a special skill, being able to sniff out the bullshit before it begins. He leans into it now, and it isn't a bullet wasted if it stops the chaos before it can wind up.
He still wears his tactical gear. He can't part with it. His holsters have not failed him, still buckled around his thighs. His vest is still strapped on, and without it, he feels naked. He has long since discarded of the Union Jack patch on his chest; there is no king nor country anymore. They are colors in different shapes, and they mean nothing now; they were buried a long time ago.
His backpack feels light. He's running out of bullets, and he doesn't like how it feels. Nowadays, he has to go further and further to get what he needs, and recently, he's taken to picking up everything and simply moving to make the trips all the easier with no home to go back to.
It's not all that different to the life he had before. He never stayed in one place too long then either. He signed the shortest leases, and he would move once it was up, never lingering and never buying more things than he could carry in the back of his truck. His memories are in his head and nowhere else. He keeps no trinkets. He saves no pictures. There is nothing from the old life that needs to be brought into the new. He shifts between both lives, one foot in the past and one in the future, and he thinks that's what really makes him live up to his name.
He's a Ghost. A drifter. Standing between two places at the same time, not knowing which to stay in and which to leave. It would hurt, if he was really human inside, if he could feel anything at all.
But he's not. His insides are nothing but organic matter. His head is a clock, ticking, counting down, but he's not aware of when it runs out.
He digs the heel of his boot into the snow to gauge the depth. It barely comes up over his toes. He huffs a little before taking a peek at the map tucked into his vest. He had circled a place just north, a main street he is hoping will have a stash of things he will need.
Ammunition. Weapons. Food. Water. A new book, for fuck's sake, maybe a Sudoku puzzle that isn't already scribbled into.
The forest gives him cover, so he sticks to it. Out in the open, he would stick out, dressed in all black. He keeps to the trees, ducking under the leaves and trying not to leave too much of a track behind. He doesn't plan on staying in that cabin again, but if he must, he doesn't want anyone seeing a way to come back to it.
The one thing he does appreciate about this new place is the quiet. It lingers, and it's calm, and when he breathes, the world breathes back. He feels like he had always been telling everyone to shut up, but now, his voice hasn't been used in months. Even when he passes other people, he doesn't speak to them. If they don't spot him, he keeps to the shadows, and if they do, they don't see him for long enough to know what hit them.
It's a good stash. The store had been rifled through by now, but in the office, there had been a nice drawer filled with supplies. A few boxes of ammunition, a revolver, and a new blade to stick in one of his boots. He picks up some other odds and ends. Batteries. A roll of yarn. A small sewing kit. A few pens. His backpack feels a little heavier, and it's a weight he appreciates when he makes his way back outside.
He sticks to the alleyways as he searches for the roof over his head for the night. He decides the cabin he slept in last night was too close to the road; if anyone was driving or following it, they could find that place too easily, and he wouldn't be able to sleep another night comfortably there knowing this truth.
He finds himself veering off road just enough. It's fucking cold, freezing, and he's grateful to the mask for helping him keep it together as he ducks under the wind and keeps an eye out for any nearby landmarks. Sometimes, on slow days like this, he would sit on a ridge and kill infected for sport. Practice focusing his sight, calculating the wind, keep his mind in check by hitting his targets and ridding the world of another one of those things.
There are different kinds of hunters out today.
He hears them before he sees them. He knows what kind they are when he hears their laughter. Low and untamed, sloppy and fucking messy. They always are. These kind spoil their treasures. They eat their food until it makes them sick, and then they do it all over again. They never learn their lesson.
When he settles his rifle down along a fallen tree, he eyes them through his scope. There are two of them. Both are fattened, with dark hair and lazy eyes, and they look greasy. Their clothes are in ruins, and their packs are light, and Ghost figures that they look enough alike to be perhaps brothers, or maybe cousins. Their smiles are equally as sadistic. The taller one tugs something along, and when Ghost aims the scope down a little, he sees her.
Her.
He's dragging her by her legs. She's kicking, but it's hard for her to do much when her arms and legs are bound by mismatched bits of fabric and rope. She's crying, that much is clear, squirming as she spits and gargles around the gag in her mouth as she tries to break free. She has heart, but she isn’t a fighter. If she was, she would’ve realized her teeth could snap that fabric of her gag, and she would know that the knot they’ve tied succumbs easily to upwards pressure.
He follows them. They keep going, dragging you and laughing as they make it to a makeshift camp hidden amongst a clearing. There's a few tents set up, a small dip in the earth to hold a campfire, and when they settle on tree trunks to sit, the smaller one takes a blade and cuts your gag off, leaning over you with a low chuckle. They mean to maim and to take and then to kill, and you know this when you look into his eyes.
"Hello, darling."
"Bite me."
He laughs again, dropping onto his knees over you, but when he gets close enough, you sit up with what little strength you have and bite him along his ear. The cartilage rips, and you tear half his ear off, and then he's scrambling off of you, screaming, holding the side of his head as he rolls around in circles in the snow. He colors it red, and you snarl with satisfaction. Ghost takes a deep breath in and lets it out shakily. The look in your eyes–he can taste that, roll it around on his tongue. You did not clock the poorly-tied knots, but you do see opportunity, and you are the kind to take it.
"You bitch!"
Just as the taller one is about to get on top of you, Ghost decides he's seen enough. He closes one eye, lines up the sight, and he lets out a cool breath as he drops the both of them within a second of each other. They fall easy; a bullet clean through the back of their heads, and now they're finally quiet again. They will not get up, either.
Your lip trembles as you look towards the trees. You watch as the leaves rustle, and when you see a man emerge from the thick of them, you start to cry. You think maybe you're seeing things; you must be so dehydrated, so hungry, that a reaper has come for you, and you are much deader than you thought.
The reaper stares down at you curiously. He swings his rifle over his shoulder, tilting his head to the side as he bends, getting a blade out of his boot before he cuts the restraints that bind you. He doesn’t hesitate when he does this; he does not deem you enough of a threat to keep you bound.
You sit up slowly, wiping your face, and when you meet his eyes, you're surprised to see how human they are. They're dark, but alive, and he has blonde lashes and pale skin underneath. He covers himself, but you can still see him. There's a man under there, not a reaper.
Just a man.
I hate men.
You shake off the rest of the restraints, turning your wrists and ankles and flexing your muscles for good measure. When you realize you are nothing but a little shaken up, you look back up. He's still staring at you, hard eyes lowered in a glare as he looks you over. He's sizing you up, maybe, deciding what to do with you. You meet his eyes one more time before gathering the saliva into your mouth and spitting onto the floor. It's a garbled mess of blood, from the flesh you had severed from that man.
He blinks slowly at that, makes some decision that he doesn’t voice out loud, and then he starts to walk away.
You stand on shaky legs, taking it as your cue. You watch as he rips open the flimsy tents that those men had left behind, and he's already grabbing backpacks and rifling through them for goods. He already starts filling his own vest and backpack with the things he finds; some flashlights, fishing line, more food and ammunition. You follow him, moving to the other tent beside it and starting to grab their things and toss them outside. You get to your knees and open the packs, laying out what you find carefully. They have interesting materials in here, ones you associate with explosives. C4. Lighters. Batteries. Wiring. You clench your jaw when you pull out the last box in the bag.
Condoms.
Bunch of pricks.
He finds your discoveries useful. He opens up an empty pack he found and fills it to the brim with supplies. When he zips it up, your stomach drops when you think he might toss it over his shoulder and leave. It only sinks for a moment before he turns the backpack around, holding it up for you.
You pause for a little and think. It only takes a few seconds for you to decide to stand up and slip your arms through the straps.
When he walks again, you follow.
The sun is setting by the time you find somewhere to sleep, but it looks like luxury to you. A quaint little brick house tucked between the hills, a ways from the road and positively hidden. He spotted it through his scope a few hours ago, and he made a beeline for it. It's difficult to keep up with him; he has incredible stamina and the longest legs. He moves like a ghost, too quiet for his own good. You would never know from looking at him how stealthy he could be. For such a huge man, you would never notice him before he could get the drop on you. It makes you conscious of your own steps and how loud they are, and you try to mimic the way he moves as you keep walking.
You don't know why, but you think he must be very pleased with how quiet you've gotten. You don't know why that fact pleases you, too.
He makes you stay outside when you arrive. He pulls a small handgun out of his backpack, and he checks the chamber before handing it to you. He clicks his tongue, forcing your eyes on his, and he puts a finger to his mask-covered lips, telling you to keep quiet. You take the gun from him, pointing it at the ground and holding it at your side, and he touches a knuckle under your chin before he twists a silencer onto his own gun.
You watch with rapt attention as he clears the house. His movements are quick and calculated, and he keeps low to the ground. It's mesmerizing. Big and capable, one with the shadows. The only thing you see in the dark is the white of the skull over his face, and if you didn't know it was him, you would think that you have just seen God.
But God isn't real. Apparently ghosts are.
He is back outside in less than ten minutes, nodding his head at you. You take it as your cue to come towards him, and you hand him the gun back when you pass him. You go into the house and immediately start to light some of the candles scattered around. You set your backpack down, rubbing your shoulders out, and you take a seat on the couch.
It hits you then, the gravity of it all. Men are your captors, and then they are your savior. They'll never leave you alone. They'll never let you go. You were ruled by their iron fist in a previous life, and you will endure their wrath in this new one.
You start to cry. It's the first sound you've made since screaming. You cover your face with your hands, and you don't know why you feel safe enough to cry, but you do, and it comes out of you fast.
He tilts his head to the side as he watches you. It's a strange thing to see something so...alive. He's used to only seeing things moving that can't speak back to him. If he does see things alive, he puts them down as if they are rabid dogs.
He can't find it in himself to kill you. Something is so odd about it. About you.
Everything about today seems more than coincidence. He won the game today. And then he found you.
When he tries the sink in the bathroom, he's surprised to find it working. He grabs a bowl and fills it with water, and when he comes back into the living room, you are staring at one of the flickering candles blankly, shivering. You have stopped crying, but your face is still wet with fat, lingering tears.
It looks like you've been hit by a brick wall. Your hair is matted in places, in tangles. It’s in desperate need of a cut. It's stuck to your face around the perimeter, caked by sweat and mud and dried blood. Your clothes are in ruins; you wear a ripped jumper, thin jeans, and the soles of your boots are starting to fray and come off, and he can see where you've tried to mend them unsuccessfully with duct tape. You wear no jewelry, and your fingernails need to be cut. Those men have left marks on you, but those will fade.
He kneels in front of where you sit on the couch. Using a threadbare cloth, he dips it into the water and raises it to your face. You show no resistance. You let him wipe your face off, the tears, the dirt, the blood. It stains the cloth ugly, but you can't look at anything else except for his eyes.
They're so dark. Brown, like bark, like honey. You haven't spoken a word to him yet, but the silence is sort of bliss. All you can hear is the drip of the water when he rings out the cloth.
He helped you. He didn't have to. He could've kept walking, but he stayed with you. He didn't leave you. He could've walked away again, but he let you follow.
He isn't a good man. You know that. Anyone who has lasted this long isn't a good person. You've done the same. You've let it take you, once or twice, let the snarl in the back of your throat guide your hand. You've let the voices fester, let them eat at the acid in your stomach until they begged for more, and you won't admit it, but it felt good. Felt good to protect yourself. To rid the earth of something terrible. To say no.
He must understand that. He's decorated in its essence, the one of understanding, the one that says I know what it's like to take matters into your own hands, and he did it with you, too.
He's doing it now, cleaning you up, and you don't know him, or his face, or his name, but you'll try hard to give it back. To give him something. To tell him you are worthy and not useless. It doesn't show today, how far you've come, but you'll try.
"Thank you," you finally whisper. He's dragging the cloth over your bottom lip, and he blinks rapidly, as if a bit startled by hearing your voice. When you speak again, it's to tell him your name, and he thinks for a few moments before continuing, wiping under your jaw.
He doesn't sleep that night. He stares out the window, like a guard dog, and he lets the soft breaths of your sleep keep him awake.
The gas lighter on the stove still works. It takes a match to light it properly, but when the fire starts, you take some of the soup cans from your pack and make breakfast.
Your smile when he comes into the kitchen nearly blinds him. You look more rested than yesterday, and you ladle some soup into a bowl for him, setting it down at the table. He notices the two bowls, his and yours, and he notices that his bowl has more food.
It is then that he decides to keep you.
What he doesn't know is that you've decided the same. The world has thrown you the way out. A man, built like a bear, happy finger on the trigger and capable of getting you out of harm's way. You need to convince him that you are worthy. You need to convince him that you are valuable. A keepsake.
Men are what start wars, not what end them. Men are the cause of chaos and destruction, it is prevalent throughout history, and it is why you are here now, in a place that doesn’t exist, where people don’t breathe the same air anymore. A man thought himself correct, but he was wrong, and he didn’t listen when someone told him otherwise. They are the ones that take advantage of your vulnerability, and instead of trying to understand it, they use it to get what they want.
You can do the same.
You start by mending his clothes. He's laid some out to dry after washing, and you notice the tears in his shirts. When he comes back a little while later, with dinner hanging off his shoulder, you are seated on the couch, feet tucked under you, with a needle in your hand as you sew up one of his shirts.
You've bathed, found new clothes, warmer ones, and your hair is braided and off your face. He hates to say he prefers you a little dirty, but he likes this, too. A natural beauty. A soft face.
You make a real dinner that night. There's canned vegetables that you try to spruce up with the spices you find in the cupboards, but the real meal is the venison you're served. He butchers it outside like a professional, and he sears it on the stove with a perfect touch. When he feeds you that first bite, your mouth explodes with flavor. Your belly is full that evening, and when he blows out the candles for bed, he eats you out in the dark of the corner bedroom.
He's not sloppy like you thought he might be. Not overeager. He's easy with it, casual. Big hunk of a man smothered between your thighs, and he laves his tongue through your folds like his very own personal dessert. He drinks straight from the source, holy water spilling sweet between his teeth, and when he gets his tongue inside of you and holds it there, you nearly leave earth for somewhere else. You come like that, too, his filthy mouth sucking on your clit before he's slipping that tongue in you again, and you mewl against the bed as he tucks his hand under your ass and spreads you wider.
He tells you his name a few nights later. He doesn't speak, not ever, but when you're crying around his thick fingers, he whispers it against your ear.
"'s Simon," he growls, and you know what he means by that. He wants you to say it while you bounce on his fingers, when you rut against his thigh. He wants you to say his name when you're coming undone riding his face, when you're wetting his mask with your pussy and making him choke on your cum. Such a wet, sweet girl you are, and sometimes he skips wash day for his mask so he can shove it into his mouth and pant around it and taste you while he fucks his own fist.
It's insanity, he thinks, as he's cleaning his rifle. The idea of traditional. But it's what befallen him, what he sees all around him, and he tucks his index finger into a hole too small to pinch himself just to make sure he isn't living a dream. You're in the kitchen, mending more clothes, something warm boiling on the stove. There were seeds in the greenhouse, and you're saving them to plant in the spring, so for now, you make do with canned goods and whatever Simon hunts for during the day. You found books in the attic, and you read them at night, head in Simon's lap as he plays with your hair or rubs your sore ankles or cuts your nails. You're the only one that ever speaks; he hasn't said a word to you except for telling you his name, and you're content to be the only one that uses their voice.
He always listens. You told him one time that you loved the shade of green that the trees wore, and he came back one day with a sweatshirt of the same color for you. He noticed you trying to mend those terrible boots, and he found a new pair for you, your size this time, barely worn and fit for winter. He brings lots of things for you; books, clothes, even rocks sometimes, when he just thinks he found one that you might like.
You do like them. You have started filling a small bowl with the ones he brings, and he notices you rifling through it sometimes, just looking at them, and it makes his chest swell with pride.
Like giving a treat to a dog. Like giving him a fucking bone.
He teaches you how to shoot. You know how to pull a trigger, but that’s the extent of your expertise. He teaches you how to stand, how to turn the safety on and off, how to hold the gun between two hands so not even his own can take it away from you. He makes sounds when you please him. Hums low, lets out a soft breath, sucks in the air through his teeth. You can’t see his face, but the way he looks at you when you fire a bullet and knock bottles off their ledges, it warms you, all the way down your spine, reaching your toes. You want him to keep looking at you this way, so you try hard, and he notices.
You’ll never be what he is, but the small victories are what have him chubbing up in his cargos and falling asleep between your thighs. You give, and he takes, and he keeps coming back for more.
He teaches you that distance is your strength. You aren’t like him; you aren’t built like a brick house, you won’t be bigger than a lot of your opponents. You need to keep them away from you, however you can. He makes you good with that gun because it’s your best chance, but in the even that you lose it or you run out of bullets, he shows you how to aim a hatchet so that the blade always lines up between someone’s shoulders.
The way you listen makes him salivate. The way you blink up at him and say yes, Simon and take his orders, it makes it difficult to keep away from you. 
Today marks two months in the house tucked on the hill. Simon hunts, and you cook, and you live in some sick, twisted housewife fantasy at the end of the fucking world. Simon provides, and you keep, and when the box of condoms falls out of your backpack one day, you glance at Simon for just a moment before he's on you.
It's animal, that first time. He tackles you practically onto the carpet of the living room, and he props you up onto your elbows and only pulls down your jeans enough that he can fit his cock between your thighs. You hear the tear of the condom wrapping, and then he's laying over your back, sinking to the base, cock nestled inside of you as he grips your throat gently and fucks you into the carpet. Poor beast, he's definitely going to need his knees massaged after this, but you can't think about that much when you're taking the fattest cock of your entire life and trying to survive underneath him. It's that fine line between pleasure and pain that you're desperate for, and you pull threads out of the carpet as you try to hang on and take it like a good girl.
You can hear his voice. It's low, and subtle, but he grunts with each agonizing thrust, hips snapping against your ass as he fucks you back onto him over and over and over again.
It's primal. Nasty. You wish he wasn't wearing a condom, you want him to be in your skin, you want him to fill you until you're full, let it spill over, and then do it all over again. You want him to bite into your throat and tear, and you want him to eat you and then put you back together, and then do it again and again and again.
"So big," you gasp, and he falters at that. You recognize it, the need for praise, and you latch onto it with claws and stay there. I need him to stay here with me. "So good...so good t-to me, Simon–"
He groans. It's music.
Keep me. Keep me. Keep me.
"Simon, please–" You scratch at his arm, not satisfied until you feel blood. When you break the skin, he laughs, a breathless laugh that has your eyes rolling back in your head as he shoves your face into the carpet and mounts you like a fucking horse. The deep slap, slap, slap of skin is enough to send you away, send you home, your mind foggy as your pussy squeezes him for all he's worth. The slick of the condom is pleasant, but you want it raw. You want every part of him carved into you, and you arch your back, suck him in, whine and cry and beg for him to just, "please, Simon, I need it, I need it."
"Need wot?"
The sound of his voice is whiplash. He hisses when he sinks deep, staying there, holding you at a sharp angle so he can knead your ass and watch it bounce back on him. He sucks on his teeth, and there's drool slipping out of your mouth. That accent, his voice, like velvet, from deep within his chest. You want to hear more of it.
"Be a man," you gasp. "Be a man, and fuck me."
He doesn't see the desperate look on your face when he slips out of you. He doesn't see the relief that washes over you when you hear the condom come off, latex crumbling as he tosses it, but he feels the warmth of your pretty pussy when he sinks back in, skin to skin, and feels you clench for dear fucking life.
"Fuckin' Christ," Simon groans, and you reach back for him, gripping his arms, forcing him to fall over on top of you. He settles with his elbows on either side of your head, and you bow your back and grip the carpet again as he fucks into you nice and slow, deep, fat head leaking precum and making you cry because finally, yes, please, this is it, what I want, I'll have you forever.
You're so pretty. Even in his past life, Simon never got to have anything pretty. He was too ugly, too big, too awkward. Any woman of good faith stayed 100 yards away, as if his mere presence was a warning alarm, some invisible radius that kept them away from him. He always thought it was for the better. He always thought good riddance, they shouldn't have me, I shouldn't have anyone. Not when only days before, he had tortured a Russian militant until he had no teeth and hung his severed fingers on twine around his own neck.
But you won't run away. He's given you opportunity. He's left the cottage and staked out the outside just to watch you, and all he sees is you moving between windows, shaking out the dust from old blankets and washing the dishes. All he sees is you sewing his clothes and cooking his food, and when he comes back inside, all he sees is your smile and your face and your pretty mouth that falls open when he makes you come all over his hand.
Now it's the end of the world, and he lets a coin flip decide whether or not he lives or dies. And even when he flips it now, it never agrees. When he asks to die, the coin tells him no. When he asks to live, it’s always interrupted by you.
Yes, it tells him. Yes, yes, yes, because it's been keeping him here, because it knows, because it saw, because he couldn't see both sides of the coin, but he can see it now, plain as day, and she's underneath him now, letting him inside, and she's begging him to come and to fill her up, and she's crying because he's such a big man, and she wants him everywhere and always and all at once, and Simon is nothing if he isn't an insatiable bastard that can finally be fucking selfish.
The way you say his name could make him move mountains. That soft breath you take. The falter of your voice. The whine. The world has gone quiet, but he'll make a new one, and he will leave it at your feet for you to step on or pick up.
Whichever you choose. You can do no wrong.
When he comes, he moans. Into your ear, he lets you hear him, lets you bask in his pleasure as he spurts hot inside of you, hauling you a little higher on your knees so he can make sure you come, too. He gives you the palm of his hand to grind on, fucking into you at the same time, humming deep when he feels you squeeze around him and shatter like glass.
He takes his mask off for the first time that night. You see his face, all of it, not just glimpses when he lifts it to eat or to drink, you see the whole thing. He has a terrible looking face. Something only a mother could love. Too old of scars to be from this new life. They slash across his brow, across his cheeks. He has a jagged nose, and the skin around his lips had been reconstructed poorly from however they had been slit.
He's a terrifying piece of flesh. He is surprised when you lean in and kiss him. He's even more surprised when you kick off your jeans, turn over, and fuck him again.
The mantra that sounds like mine repeats in his head over and over. He feels it, deep, warm and beating under his ribs alongside his heart that hasn't moved in a long while.
He found you in those woods, kicking amongst predators, and he took you home with him. Picked you up like a stray, fed you, clothed you, and now you've stayed. For a moment, he thought it wasn't real. Thought your full belly is what kept you here, the warm house. He didn't mind pretending, but he figured it wouldn't last.
He doesn't think that anymore. Not with the way you kiss his severed face. You nuzzle into it, cup his cheeks, and he finds it agony when you pull away.
He hovers now. In whatever room you are in, Simon must also be in it. If he leaves, he makes you board the doors, and you are only allowed to open them if he knocks in his special way. He tested you once, came back earlier than expected, and he was so pleased you did not open the door to his casual knock and only the special one that he made you come one, two, three times with your thighs locked around his face.
A terrible thing happens.
Not to you.
You're searching the greenhouse. Hoping to find some flower pots for the herb seeds you found, you're rummaging through the cabinets beside it. Your gun is sitting away from you, and although Simon would chastise you for this, you feel safe here, and it doesn't bother you.
It flings itself at you. It cries, what used to be a teenage girl, reaching for you because it wants a chunk of your softness, of the life you pump into the muscles that keep you running. You're protected by all the clothes you wear for the weather, and it is slow because of the cold freezing their rigid, dead bones, but it does not lessen the hunger, the fight, the determination to eat and spread.
Before it can bite, the back of its head explodes. You close your mouth and shut your eyes as rancid brain matter splatters the white snow and you, and it is wrenched off of you immediately. Simon stands there, his pistol in hand, and you have never seen him quite so angry as he is right now.
His eyes are wild. He heaves under that tact vest, breathing hard, and his grip on the handgun shakes, so much that he has to shove it back into the holster at his thigh and lean over to pick you up off the ground.
He jostles you. Growls. Is nearly an animal himself as he shoves you up against the glass of the greenhouse and snarls.
"Wot the fuck is wrong with ya?!" Simon snaps. "Is y'r fuckin' head on?!"
It's so quiet in your head even as he yells. Your eyes tear, but not because you're upset. You reach out and cup his face gently, and he stops. Stops talking, just watches, just looks at you as he bends and leans his forehead against yours and squeezes you to his chest.
What is this thing you have? What have you become? What innate thing has festered between you? He’s gripping the edge of the glass so hard, you hear it crack under his hand. There is some kind of sick sense of devotion among you. Some kind of responsibility. He’s angry because something under his tongue tasted bitter when he saw you struggling. It won’t be this easy. He won’t make it this easy. If he doesn’t get to die, then neither do you, and he will make sure of that, because that is the only way this game can remain fair.
You never wander to the greenhouse again. He makes you promise (lest he wastes his cum between your thighs instead of inside you, that's it, promise me).
Another terrible thing happens.
Not to you.
They're wanderers. When they knock at the door, they don't use Simon's special knock, so you don't open it. Instead, you blow out the candles and hide, peeking at them from the fogged window in the attic.
They are men (you aren't surprised, they seem to be the only thing that survives nature's heavy hand). Cold. Shivering. One of them is bleeding, you can see it from the blood trail he leaves in the snow that seeps from somewhere under the hem of his jeans. The one uninjured tries to force his way through the door, but Simon added more deadbolts to it, and it doesn't give under his weak attempts. You trade your handgun for the rifle, aiming it at them. If they get through the door, maybe you can draw them back out, keep them away from the house.
You try to stay quiet, but the healthier one uses his body and a log of wood to get through. They're desperate, desperate enough to not care that breaking through the door cuts him severely, splits through his jacket. The second man limps behind him, getting inside, and you decide to put the rifle back.
You will stay quiet until Simon gets back. Your strength is not being a bulldozer, so you'll hide until he can be that for you. You steady your breathing; even if they make it to the attic, you won't go quietly. You tried that last time, and if it wasn't for Simon, you'd surely be naked and dead in that clearing that you were dragged to.
This time, if you go, you will take someone with you at least. Severed ears are not enough. You will not make them artists, you will make them forgettable and unrecognizable, and you will give back what they give you tenfold. Even if it kills you.
It takes them all night before they finally make it to the attic. They eat your food and take showers in your bathroom and stink up the living room, you can hear them. And when their bellies are full and their minds wander, you dread the pull of the attic door as he wrenches it open and the ladder falls.
You manage to kill one as he drags you out from the corner. He latches onto your ankle, and as he pulls, you put your finger on the trigger of your handgun, and you put one right between his eyes. The other takes advantage of your moment of pause, turning you over onto your stomach so hard the gun flies across the attic from your hand. He tosses you down from the attic, and you land on your side in the hallway, and you cry as you get to your elbows and crawl, trying to get to your feet, but he's larger than you.
He catches you in the kitchen. Slams you over the kitchen counter, using his weight to pin you down, but Simon taught you better than that. He taught you not to give in. He taught you not to give up. You think about him when your fingers find the discarded fork on the counter and you drive it right through his fucking eye.
You don't stop. You don't let his cries keep you from bringing your arm down again. And again. And again. You make his face your blank canvas, and you paint it with your anger. For every man that ever touched you. For every man that ever thought himself worthy to have you. For every man that tried to make your body his prize, you poke a thousand holes in him, and you scream with him as you do it until he can't scream anymore.
You're holding the fork and standing over him when Simon comes home. His handgun drawn, silent as he makes his way in, his body visibly relaxing when he sees you. He glances at the man at your feet, still alive, gurgling there, choking on his own blood as he tries to breathe through the holes that are scattered across his face and neck. You meet his eyes, and you smile. It's uncanny to do it now, but you are happy to see him.
"There's..." You sniffle, wiping your face with your sleeve. "There's another i-in the attic."
You don’t get to see him smile under the mask. You don’t hear the near purr that leaves him as he climbs the ladder and sees the perfect place you’ve left your mark. He’d frame it if it wouldn’t rot.
You twirl the fork in your hand before going to the sink, dropping it in there, and you close your eyes as you listen to Simon's footsteps as he goes into the attic. It takes him a little less than an hour to get the bodies out the back door, and when he comes back inside, you're already wiping up the floor in the kitchen.
There's nothing to talk about. This is normal. This is just another day. Tomorrow, you might have to do it again, and you'll still cook dinner after sunset and clean the kitchen like you're doing now and sit Simon on the edge of the bathtub and cut his hair.
Simon found chocolate on his trip today, and you make cake with it. You sit in his lap under the candlelight, and you feed each other, bite by bite, and you giggle when Simon gets it all over his lips.
You kiss him to clean it off, and then you reach for another bite of cake. There's some measure of satisfaction you feel when your tongue finds the dent in the fork prongs from when you used it earlier. The chocolate tastes better somehow. Sweeter.
You catch him in the morning, limbs tangled with yours under the sheets, flipping a coin. You smooth a hand over his thick chest, along his pudgy stomach, and you watch with him as the coin lands on the bedside table, falling flat.
It comes up tails.
He decides then that he doesn't have to flip it anymore. It's pointless. He asked for answers, and he got one.
You were not luck. You were fate. And because of it, the coin will always land the same way.
His thoughts are interrupted when you reach for the coin. You twirl it between your fingers, thinking. He doesn't see what you see, but that's okay. Maybe he'll let you play now. Some other game, a better one.
Heads or tails, win or lose, alive or dead. Either way, you are attached. Woven together, thread by thread. There are no vows to say in this new place, but you aren't tested by the same kinds of things. There is no law to keep two people together, no governing power of men that say if left is truly left and that right is really right.
You are drawn together by shared experiences. The same trauma. You won't leave each other not because you said you wouldn't leave, but because there is no one else in the world that has seen the same things you have seen and has done the same things you have done. There is no one else in the world that will forgive you for what you had to do to survive. That will love you not just in spite of it, but because of it, because you did what was necessary, and you are here now to learn a lesson and not suffer its consequences.
It's just a game. If you win, he wins. If you lose, he loses. If you're alive, he's alive.
And if you're dead, then he must be, too.
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0alix0 · 3 months ago
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Rook's backgrounds make no sense or gatekeeping is good, actually
It's didn't sit well with me ever since bioware admitted that all 6 background for Rook can be played by any race you choose
Looking back at Origins it's clear why most of the backgrounds were race-specific. Not only it provided a better understanding of the separate cultures (you wouldn't really understand what dwarfs are about if you were able to play as a surface dwarf commoner) it also established the rules of the world (elves are opressed, you can't become a queen/king cuz the nobles will riot, humans colonize them and inforce their religion and rules on everyone, dwarfs are considered weird)
Now, looking at the veilguard, I can't help but ask:
How can a fully grown dalish with vallaslin be a crow? They buy slaves as a way to get more assassins, usually elves, children, so they could easier ruin their psyche. why the hell would a dalish stand for it?
How can a qunari be a Gray Warden? Wardens don't discriminate, sure, but this far, we haven't even heard of a qunari warden. Rook should be a legend, Rook should be questioned at actually being a warden by NPCs, OR sit in some Warden outpost and being studied by their mages, because no one actually knows how Blight and joining might work with Kossith body instead of running around with Varric.
Veiljumpers were organized by dalish, right? Then why in the world would a human be allowed to join? How and why did they change their minds to accept literally anyone, even if it's a potential threat/thief(Morrigan)/zealot/etc..?
How can a dwarf, someone who isn't even connected to the fade be a Veiljumper?
How can a dwarf be a part of the Mourn Watch? A Mortalitasi, an exclusively MAGE order? What can they even do?? Preform a non magical mummifications with herbs and salts like Egyptians did? Sweep the mausoleum? Be some sort of a funeral organizer/lawyer/genealogist? That could've been really interesting if only the game actually bothered to say anything about it. It did not
"Well it's up to your headcanons!" then why make the backgrounds in the first place??? They don't matter anyway!
I mean, obviously it was just a way to promote the game to older fans. Look, the backstories! The thing you've been craving for is back in game! Only they forgot what actually made them so great. The most important part. They mattered, they created a basis for my character. They gave them families, connections. They changed the way my character is perceived (elves in general) and what they can do plotwise (become a monarch/paragon).
I don't fucking care if 3-5 NPCs might have some additional dialogues for me, cuz they don't matter anyway. I don't even know these people, i never met them before, my character did, but I didn't. And now I don't care enough to know. like, i'm playing as a mourn watcher, but before going to Nevarra i barely knew anything about them, and what i know now is still rather surface level shit
Let alone the fact that all the backgrounds are practically the same. You pissed off some influencial people by doing good and was send away. Bravo.
........if this post gets one like I'm writing my own ideas for DA4 protagonist's backgrounds
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grison-in-space · 5 months ago
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Has Biden actually done anything at all? There's evidence going around and I think it's compelling, the alternate to voting is instead doing actual social work and participating in protests and organizing political action, which is a good idea i think
1) Yes. Inarguably this has been the most effective progressive domestic administration since I have been alive, and I'm in my thirties. What in the fuck are you talking about? It's not perfect, but it's better than we've seen in fifty years: Obama tried, but Democratic Congressional organization was just not yet used to working with a completely obstructionist GOP Congress in the wake of the tea party.
Even in terms of foreign policy, this is also pretty much as good as US involvement gets. Sorry. Our foreign policy has been shaped by monsters for decades, and that's even without dealing with our huge and active branch of Christian doom cultists. There ain't a candidate in the world that could stop the entire accumulated momentum of geopolitics with a snap of the finger, and I'm not really willing to pretend that Biden is particularly notable for not managing to fix Israel/Palestine relations.
2) In your own words, anon, what precisely does organizing political action entail without participating in the political process? Do you think that abstaining from the part of the gig where you, the citizen, get to say which official gets the job somehow makes your opinions matter more to your elected public officials? Have you ever organized to get so much as a municipal one-time library project budget expanded? Are you perhaps only skilled at political argument with people who already agree with you on the Internet?
What is your leverage, and could it reasonably be described as "extortion" or "blackmail" or "political corruption?" Because those are pretty much the only things on the table that can work more effectively to drive an elected official than a disciplined coalition of political allies (who can be purchased with, you guessed it, votes) or a reliable bloc of voter support. Your vote matters less than the ones you bring with you, sure. Do you think that not voting yourself somehow helps people organize to drive more votes? Have you perhaps replaced your complex reasoning skills with a rapidly dying jellyfish?
3) Holy passive vagueness, Batman! "Evidence is going around." What a masterpiece of a sentence! How it suggests everything while providing nothing! What evidence? Who collected it? Who is talking about the evidence "going around?" Who is listening? How many of them are there? What did they think before? The more I think, the more questions I have, and damn if they ain't predisposing me to be even less charitable.
Like, this is so catastrophically poorly supported that I have to confess that I not only believe this is probably an ask in bad faith (i.e. by someone who is expecting to piss me off or otherwise engage with me adversarially, probably spammed to a whole host of blogs at once with no expectation of response) but I actively hope that it is. The alternative is to have to grapple with the reality that some people are so uncomfortable with the responsibility of moral agency that they're willing to release useful levers of legal and social power just so that they never do anything problematic with that power. Much better, of course, to wash one's hands of anything that might have the stink of responsibility clinging to it. Might fall from the membership of the Elect if you actually get yourself all muddy by doing things, I reckon.
I don't even believe that voting is the only lever we have when it comes to our elected officials or that votes are necessary to secure change, and I am certainly not talking about the presidential ticket alone when I talk voting. What I do believe is two things: one, that voting is a potential lever of power on the emergent chaos of the society in which we live. And two, that anyone telling me to leave a lever of power on the ground without a damn good reason is either incompetent, malicious, or both.
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drdemonprince · 2 years ago
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In a piece for The New Inquiry from back in 2017, George Dust states that when queer people complain about there being a top shortage, what they really mean is “nobody is fucking me the way I want, and I have no agency in that.” Alongside co-authors Billy-Ray Belcourt and Kay Gabriel, Dust suggests that many queer people align themselves with a passive or “bottom” position because they believe that role will absolve them of the guilt of really wanting things. They present themselves as what they believe to be the sexual party with zero power; the receiver, the accepter of action rather than its cause.
This position is drawn in contrast to the bottom-identified person’s idea of a top: the one who approaches, the person with hungers and desires, the person who decides which sexual activities will happen and how intense they will get. The top, from this perspective, is the stronger, more capable, more dangerous person. They’re the only one who can ever be guilty of intruding or harming somebody else. This power is scary, but it’s also compelling.
Dust calls this fantastical version of a top a “brute” — and they are the most cartoonish stereotype of what it means in society to be a man. Because it’s a cartoonish stereotype, no human actually lives up to it — and we’d probably revile a person even if they could.
Though queer people know we are harmed by the gender binary and heteronormativity and all the social scripts those things force upon us, its biases are still embossed on our brains. Without meaning to, we reproduce tired gender stereotypes in our relationships. And so we see expressing a sexual want as masculine, and being masculine as being more capable of violence and coercive control, and thus bad. We see failing to communicate one’s desires openly as desirably feminine, as well as a sign of blamelessness and purity — because on some level we still feel it is wrong to have desires.
But this entire worldview is a complete lie. Desire is not evil. Expressing attraction is not a violation. Failing to express oneself can be just as dangerous as not listening to someone else’s limits. Women can be abusive. Bottoms can sexually assault. No matter our gender, presentation, or sexual role, we are each capable of harm. And the only way to make a safe, mutually pleasurable sexual encounter happen is by going after it, actively, and communicating from a position of inner strength.
So how do you do that, if society’s been telling you all your life that you’re meant to date by acting like a deer passively snapping twigs in the woods, waiting for some hunter to hear you, and pursue you? (That really is dating advice that Evangelical Christian counselors give to women, if you can believe it).
By not fixating so much on what you’re doing or not doing to draw other people toward you, and instead thinking in terms of what you want and what you observe beyond yourself.
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wishful-seeker · 1 year ago
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Tips on how to avoid being unintentionally ableist
1. When a disabled person says they cannot do something, and you wish to offer solutions, do not make a solution that involves them powering through pain, or something thats not accessible to the disabled.
Example:
Disabled person: "washing dishes hurts too much and i cannot do it."
Abled person: "what if you did one dish at a time throughout the day?"
This statement is not respecting that this disabled person just said they "can't". Always respect that. No matter how simple the task would be for you.
Disabled person:" i think ill use plastic silverware so i don't make dishes."
Abled person: "plastic is bad for the environment!"
This statement shuts down the most accessible and disabled friendly option that this disabled person can actually do because of the abled persons personal beliefs. This is not helpful, and ableist.
Better yet, instead of offering solutions, ask them directly "is there anything you need that you do not have that would help you do this?" This allows the disabled person to think about what would work, and they will always have a better idea of what would work than you do.
To add on to this, when we say we have no more energy to solve a problem or do a task, or change our lifestyle, we mean it.
2. If you feel discomfort when a disabled person is talking about their health, good and bad, that is ableist. Your discomfort is coming from a place that deams disabled peoples very existence as a bad thing and you need to fix that.
For example:
Disabled person:" this week has been rough pain wise, ive been through a lot, felt like my body was on fire. Lucky i got new meds though and i think they're helping!"
Abled person: "can we talk about something else, this is a bummer."
Disabled people should be able to exist freely without worrying about your personal comfort. Do you really think its appropriate to tell someone in constant pain that their life is making YOU uncomfortable?
3. Do not treat disabled people as tragedies, do not romanticize their old life or put their current one down.
For example:
Disabled person: "yeah my life is pretty difficult sometimes, ive lost a lot but i still have happy moments."
Abled person: "it makes me so sad to see what disabled people go through :(. You used to love rock climbing and running, i would love to see you move around more again."
This statement is putting more value on the disabled persons abled past, and ignoring their life as a whole.
4. Do not avoid speaking to disabled people because it hurts to see your loved one disabled.
For example: my grandmother avoids conversations with me because it hurts her to see me in pain. While she has good intentions it leaves me being unable to be close to her. This is very isolating to the disabled.
5. Do not stop inviting your disabled friend/loved one out even if they are never well enough to attend. Unless we specifically ask you to stop asking if we can go out, good chances are we want to know you still care because again, disability is very isolating.
6. When a disabled person says certain things in their health have gotten better or worse, do not challenge this because you don't see a difference.
For example:
Disabled person: "yeah things are getting a little better"
Abled person sees disabled person using their wheelchair like usual: "i thought you said you were getting better?"
Better and worse are usually small changes only the disabled experience, its not like abled people healing from a broken arm. Better to a disabled person could mean they can stand for 10 more minutes.
7. Do not expect disabled people to ever be abled again, and again, do not put more value on an abled life.
For example:
Disabled person:"I have been using a wheelchair for 2 years."
Abled person: "oh you're young, im sure you'll be walking around in no time!"
This statement invalidates and ignores the disabled persons current life by hoping they get a more abled bodied life. Its fine to hope disabled people get better, but you don't get to decide what better looks like.
Hope this helps, stay punk.
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sos717 · 10 days ago
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Yes, Im Back
Here it is you guys, this is going to be the clearest and most simple explanation I’ve done so far of manifestation and your identity as conciousness and what that means for experience & the world unfolding. Don’t worry if you’re new to this, this will help!
THIS IS A MASSIVE POST, TAKE YOUR TIME AND GRAB SOME WATER, YOUR ABOUT TO CHANGE YOUR LIFE 😉🤭🤭
————————————————————
So around 7 years ago I started stepping into the world of what people typically call manifestation. I went down the rabbit hole of Subliminals, Law of Attraction, Law of assumption, NonDuality and finally to where I am now, the unlabeled.
I want to preface by saying, I have been through an unimaginable amount of turmoil, and growth while on my journey to understanding reality and the way the world appears.
I’ve spent all of my time from back to when I first found out about this side of reality, to today while I’m writing this post, constantly looking at a multiplicity of teachings and teachers to figure it out, except until the very end. I really want you to know this because it’s very important to not brush this off as if it’s not possible for you, as if you have to adapt a technique or secret. This isn’t something that’s to be exhausting. With that being said, let’s move forward.
We all want things, we all have ideas of a life we hope to live, we want to fill it with all the experiences and specific details that match our taste. But this is actually, where the problem begins.
The way manifestation is taught is inherently wrong, I’ve fully stopped watching and consuming content that has anything to do with manifesting all together, because no matter what it is, Law of assumption, Law of attraction, all of the other ideologies that promise your desires, they all have a fundamental flaw, identity.
They usually all entail a similarity: methods, techniques, specific things you can do and ways you can act to make an outcome happen. All the while throwing in a random “because you’re the god of your reality”. And instead of focusing on the phrases that relate to the center of all of it, YOU, it’s simply just brushed past.
And not just the typical “your source”, “your operant power”, “you are the manifestation,
We get it but wtf does that actually mean, and why should you care??? Well, let’s get into this, because once you start from point A, everything else makes sense.
What all these teachings of the world get wrong is the idea that you can want things and desire, as source. Fundamentally this is a paradox, you can’t exist in desire and want if you are the source of reality. It’s not to say you aren’t, but it’s to say, you don’t ACTUALLY want and desire, but the illusion of being separate from the world is what makes you want and desire.
Let’s break the illusion.
Ask yourself this for me. “Am I aware”.
The answer will always be yes. Undeniably. And no matter how many times you repeat this, the answer is always yes, no matter a feeling, no matter a pleasant or unpleasant experience in the world, no matter any circumstance, you will always say yes.
Why is this so important to explore?
Because you are able to see from direct experience what source is.
When you asked yourself that question, did you notice something weird that happened? It’s almost like everything paused for a split second and your attention went somewhere to find the answer, and a response came from there. Look closer, ask yourself the question again, and this time try to find where the answer is coming from.
You’ll find that it comes out of nowhere, and if you try to trace it as far back as you can, to even before you answer yes, there this empty space of knowing that the answer conjures in.
This is consciousness. This is you.
Whether you name it consciousness/awarness or knowing, it doesn’t matter, it’s all interchangeable. But the important thing to note is, this thing doesn’t ever go anywhere. That is your true identity, the starting point of all ideas, the starting point to anything that can possibly be known. Every decision is from here, every expression comes from here, everything leads back to knowing. When there is emotion, it is known, when there is idea, it is known.
You being able to know that you are aware comes from this. This is the unseeable, the thing that can’t be perceived in any way, this is origin, its source, and its you. Take a shot at it, try to see what knowing looks like, its weight, its shape, its color, its dimensions, what its favorite color is, what it doesn’t like or does like. You’ll be left with nothing, as in no descriptions, but definitely knowing that there is a presence there that never goes away. Now try finding its name, its age, its skin color, its voice. You cant, and yet, from this very nothingness comes your undeniable answer that you exist and you are aware of your existence.
You don’t need and feelings to know, you dont need sight, sound, and sense of perception, you don’t even need to acknowledge the body in any way, but you know you “are”.
At some point when there were no worlds and universes, there was an unseeable, dimensionless plane from what everything came from, does this sound familiar? Before there were things, there was no-thing, a presence yes, but no objects. And from this, reality was expressed, but source can’t go away, the fundamental key to everything there is today, has to remain, or else everything else would not exist.
Concouisness is what you are. And it IS the origin.
Now how tf do you live you dream life???
By understanding that the world is also just an expression of source, conciousness/you.
I need you to understand something that I thing we can all agree on, if everything has one source, it would only make sense for everything to be the extension of that thing that gives it life. The world is no different, and trust me I know this without a reasonable doubt. I’ve spent closer to a decade trying to figure this out. Everything exists in/on the field of consciousness/you.
I need you to trust me, because no matter how far you have been in your journey and how tiring it might have been like it was for me, I promise you, this is worth it all.
Step away from the ideas of wanting and needing, put on your neutrality glasses and perceive the world as 2 simple things, conciousness and conscious expression. These are the only 2 things that drive experience itself.
Understanding that you are source, more things become clear. Where do all the stories of all the unfavorable problems in your life activate from? Where does the idea of good events activate from? Where is it that any form of knowing come from, you. Whether it’s about struggling with money, or about someone loving you, the story or ideas, conjure from you.
We already know that we are conciousness, but now let’s acknowledge the second mosy important part, reality begins at us, draw yourself into something that you don’t really like, something you’d like to change, now notice where it activates from.
From knowing. Knowing the idea or story is its creation
Now when we see it casually, as just another thougt about something the world is showing us we brush it off and move on with our day, until we have to face that thing, but, what if this was actually in reverse?
Because if everything is an expression of source, doesn’t that mean the world is too? It would have to be. Doesn’t that mean, anything registered by the senses has to abide by its source? And doesn’t that mean, that the world is not truly something of its own will?
The short answer is yes absolutely. And I can tell you, this is it. THIS WILL BE VERY F$&#*NG IMPORTANT.
Admitting to the idea that there is one source for everything is literally acknowledging that everything can only show up IN ACCORDANCE AND RESPECT TO WHATEVER ITS SOURCE IS.
THIS MEANS, the the world is a PROJECTION of source, IT DOES NOT STAND ALONE. It does not OPERATE ON ITS OWN.
The world is the projection of consciousness.
Following me??
Like a hologram, like a school projector QUITE LITERALLY a projection.
From us, an infinite array of stories and ideas come, and they only become activate or exist if we allow them to, if we give permission to this thing to exist.
That story that you’ve had about SP (Specific Person) or Money or Success, has always been activated by you. TELL ME WHERE ELSE IT STARTS. You can literally even prove this to yourself right now. WHERE DOES THE STORY BEGIN.
And because the world is just an expression/extension of its source (YOU) it is ONLY GOING TO BE WHAT SOURCE IS. Because it is source, just with senses and perception. It is coming face to face with what you are aware of.
The way the world shows and all of its details are projections of whatever you decide to activate. How do you activate something? BY KNOWING IT.
How do you know “red apple” ? By knowing it. That is the origin for this idea. And you can run this test for every single story you play on loop, find its source, it will always be you.
Now, for the important steps moving forward. Stop treating this like an on and off switch, truly stop caring about a feeling, stop letting yourself get so swayed out of understanding your identity as the source, do NOT give up this beautiful opprotunity just because it seems or feels different.
You’ve been taught for so long that the world has to be struggle, so that’s all you know, you’ve been told that things don’t always come easy, this is all you know, take the time, take the days and weeks you need to break out of this useless cycle of exhaustion and understand who you are as source
Do not double down on doubts, double down on the truth, regardless of how you feel, take your time to feel, take your time to be, but never allow yourself to slip back into the brainwashing of the world.
Moving forward you need to understand the world objectively, not with the ideas of wants and desire, but for what it is. Source can’t want, you turn it into desire by creating a sense of divide for yourself. You pretend the world is something to change, drop this. You pretend that the body is all you are, drop it, you pretend that there has to be more to this but knowing, DROPKICK this into the damn ground.
This all is very simple. Everything being the expression of source is only projecting what source (You) are. The world is a direct projection of conscious activity. Whatever is know is given permission to exist, it’s given life. It’s created. THIS. IS. IT.
Whether it be blue butterflies, getting a free coffee, or changing your eye color, it all is just knowing. And this isn’t something that turns off. This is reality, this is you. Start noticing the random things the world shows up as when you were just thinking about it the other day or a few hours ago. It is not a coincidence I assure you.
That friend you were thinking about calling you? Yeah.
That song you were thinking about suddenly popping up? Yeah
That “problem” you were thinking about suddenly reappearing? Yeah
It is all the same, yes it will take getting used to, but please understand me when I say this, it took me a painful amount of time and effort to finally see this as the truth, the amount of months I’ve spent isolating from content and other teachings allowed me to take ONLY personal experience, I tested it day in day out and this IS it.
Currently I expand my comfort on how seamless existing is, and I can assure you, if I can come to this conclusion, you 100% can because it has NOT been easy for me, and it almost didn’t want to accept it. But the moment I did, and kept seeing it to be true time and time again, I knew I had to go fully in.
You create the idea of wanting by doing this.
“I really want Sp to text me”
This is what you’ve given permission to exist, this is now activated, it now is conscious activity, and because the world is source projected with senses the world IS this.
You treat it like an absolute, but when it comes to something like this:
“Sp loves texting me”
You treat it as effort, and something to do and wait on. Now tell me, does that make sense? Does the idea of waiting, wanting, desiring, changing, even make sense with the knowledge you have up to this point? Nope.
You need to understand. The world is not a story, it’s projection, and it can only be projecting you. Stop turning to the world as if it can make statements, as if it’s feeding you ideas, when you’re the one activating them. You NEVER actually change the world, it’s you that activates a new idea. THATS IT. It exists because you know it. A feeling cannot stop you from knowing, the world cannot stop you from knowing, ONLY YOU can stop yourself from activating a story. A story can’t exist if it isn’t known.
So, don’t you think it’s about time you see past the illusion of wanting and see for yourself what you are?
Don’t you think it’s time, to wake up.
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i-am-hungry-24-7 · 8 months ago
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[Ghost crashed into a car before he parked ours] - Mafia!TF141*F!Reader
Summary: You sigh when it's the fifth time someone fights in your poor tea shop this month. You just open it two months ago, in an area ruled by mafia called '141'. Maybe you should find their boss and give them money or what to stop the bullshit keeps happening in your shop. (well, here they come)
Mafia!TF141*F!Reader
Chapter 1 Chapter 2
To your surprise, Kyle, or Gaz – the model-like man introduced himself as – is such a considerate person with a nice sense of humor, at least compared to Soap or Ghost. 
That day you trapped yourself in the predicament with John, he seemed to sense your embarrassment, hence he just handed his boss a backup shirt without making fun of you like his boss, so you have a lot of time for the man. 
Like now, he’s sitting and sharing a plate of biscuits with you, enjoying a tranquil tea time accompanied by the pleasant smell of Earl Grey.
“You don’t have jobs to do today?” You raise your cup and ask, before taking another sip and watch Kyle finish his bite and reply.
 “Ghost’s in charge of dealing with the enemy today.” 
“Ehmm, okay” You refuse to figure out what ‘dealing’ means “What about others?"
"I killed mine yesterday.” 
Okay, you truly don’t mean this, but let’s just end this topic and move on. With a few biscuits down to your stomach, brainwashing yourself to forget what you heard seconds before with the sweetness, and buying you some time to come up with a better subject, you open your mouth again.
“Every time one of you comes here, you just scare all my customers away.”
“Isn’t that better?” 
“I need customers to earn money, Kyle.”
“You have us to pay you.” He points at the badge pasted on your wall. Of course, you’re not the one who put it on, you rather read the military smut out in front of all British than do it, but if you try to take it off, Soap will put a new one back, so in the end you just compromised and let him claim your shop publicly.
“This place isn’t only served for you guys.”
“It isn’t?” 
Is it possible to refute when Kyle flashes you a smile that you almost get blind and start wondering if he can replace himself as your lights and save you the electricity bill? Maybe counting this as one of Kyle’s humor will be better than explaining. All required is to ignore the evil glints in his majestic brown eyes while he questions you.
But even though Kyle said he doesn’t have work today, he doesn’t stay long after he finishes his tea.
“Gotta head back to help the boss.” He grins as he turns the knob and waves you goodbye.
What’s weird is that   after Kyle leaves your shop, customers start flooding back. Many of them are familiars of the shop, as you’re sure they’re 141’s lackeys too.
You remember them see you as one of the henchmen… Although they're not as afraid as when they first visit the shop because of your hospitable attitude, you can still sense the attentiveness in their demeanor.
No matter what, you’re going to figure out what’s  actually  happening.
“Hey, you.” You walk to one of the minions' sides. “Mind to tell me about why you guys always disappear when Gaz or Ghost or others come here?”
“We…” The guy’s eyes avert, shooting his friend a glance for help “It’s just a coincidence.”
“Coincidence?” Raising your eyebrow, you lower your voice to make it  menacing 
“It  really  is, ma’am, nothing to bother with the Sirs.”
“Show me, they must have sent some messages to inform you guys, right? Let me take a look, or I will…” You will what?  Actually,  you have no idea what you can do to these guys that can lift you  up  and throw you into a trash bin like a shot “Wait a second.”
Quickly running back to your kitchen, you come back with your most intimidating weapon – 
“Or I will hit you with my pan!” You wiggle your arm as a threat.
“…” 
They don’t look scared of the pan for a tiny bit. Wait, you should take your kitchen knife instead, who the fuck will pick a pan? You idiot.
yet to your satisfaction, they still fish out their phone and let you have it, and you don’t waste any time as you open the texting app.
‘Announcement: Boss will arrive at the tea shop in 10 minutes, clear the shop immediately.’
So they  really  are scaring your customers off. Give the phone back to the poor guy with pity in your eyes, you bring him a few more biscuits.
You’re strolling through the aisles in the shop. You’re out of flour and sugar, and every Wednesday the groceries are on sale. You never miss these chances to build up savings.
What a nice shopping trip. Quiet, leisure, just enjoying your own time, picking up different brands of cereal and calculating which is cheaper like a competent broken adult. Things never go wrong when you’re alone.
“Hey lass!”
Well, you’re kidding, things go south too quickly. The voice’s too familiar. It must be a hallucination.
“Lass? Bonnie?”
 Don’t look back, keep walking. It’s not the detergent man with a stupid chicken crest yelling at you.
“HEY!” A hand pats you on your shoulder and makes you jump. Sighing internally and prey there won’t be any trouble caused by the man, you turn around and face him.
“Oh, Soap, Hi.” Shit, looks like you just can’t have a break from these men. “I didn’t hear you.”
“Even though the nan outside tells me te shut the fok up?”
“Yes.” you shamelessly admit, pro tip to confront people without shame “Why are you here by the way, Soap?”
“Oh, we’re in need of some things, so Ghost pulled off during our way home.”
You take a glimpse at his basket. A rope, a roll of duct tape, and a knife. 
They must be going on a picnic. Yes, don’t overthink. The rope is for securing the tent, the duct tape is for concealing the holes on it. Knife? they surely will need it when cutting apples.
The image of Ghost slaughtering… peeling apple you mean, with Soap and Gaz playing red light green light and John napping in the tent is so vivid in your mind that you need to restrain the laugh with a clear of your throat before you grunt in affirmation and restart your steps.
With Soap depriving you of your last respite, you choose to grab what you need and head to the counter. All you want is to get home, have a nice shower, and lie on the bed reading the new fic you found last night.
“Do ye need help?” He watches you shove the products in your bag, but 5 huge cartons of milk are too heavy for your weak limbs, you can feel your arms trembling under your attempt.
“It’s okay, my car’s near the door. I can carry this myself.” Again, cheekiness works every time. You don’t care about strangers staring at you struggling with the bag and exit the supermarket in a crab way, as long as it can bring you back into peace faster, and you almost tear up when you see your car, the white of it is like the lighthouse in the atramentous night.
Hey, but you don’t remember your car has a goddamn huge dent at its boot.
“Oh yeah, forgot to tell ye. Ghost crashed into a car before he parked ours, and he’s contemplating whether he should kidnap the driver when they come back and make them shut up, or just kill them.” Soap looks at you stopping in despair as he recognizes what you’re looking at. “So it’s your car aye?”
You don’t answer him, you just watch Ghost materialize from the Shadow beside your car and give you a nod.
Fuck your life.
a/n: ty for reading :D have a nice day/night!
Car -1, Peaceful night -1
tag list :D - @blackhawkfanatic @nexthyperfix @danielle143 @goodbyegh0st @reaperxxxxzz @kaoyamamegami @imyprice @cod-z @poppingaround @live-for-fluff @masterstr0ke @mall0ww
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nattikay · 4 months ago
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Neteyam's first birthday!
Language notes under the cut:
so, the third panel there: Jake doesn't forget what day it is, he just has no idea how to express "May 28th" in Na'vi, so he switches to English.
The Na'vi of course don't traditionally use the 12-month calendar we have here on Earth. However, there is a way to express such dates in the language...mostly, I suspect, for the convenience of us nerdy fans who want to talk about our humany matters in Na'vi lol, but I believe the in-universe explanation is that they learned about it from Grace and only really use the terms if they need to talk in sky people timetables for whatever reason.
Because it's a borrowed concept, the terms are quite literal descriptions: "month" is vospxì, which is short for vosìpxì zìsìtä, literally meaning "one-twelfth of a year". To name specific months, you just add their number: May is therefore vospxìmrr, essentially "one-twelfth-of-the-year number five".
As for the day, that's actually a little trickier because Na'vi counts in base 8, not base 10. Instead of thinking of this number as two-tens-plus-eight like we do, they'd think of it as three-eights-plus-four: pxevosìng. Unless you're very good at math (which I am not lol), these decimal-to-octal conversions can be really hard to keep track of/calculate on the fly even before you try to start applying the Na'vi vocabulary!
All that to say, "May 28th" in Na'vi would be something along the lines of trr apxevosìve vospxìmrrä - 28th day of May, or most literally, "28th day of one-twelfth-of-the-year number 5".
...yeah, I don't blame Jake for just switching back to English for this 😅
on a much smaller note, I am not 100% certain that the adverb nìpxi can be used in this sense of "exactly/precisely", but I asked around among some other speakers and they generally agree that it's the best option available so I'm gonna roll with it. If it turns out to be wrong, well, I can always fall back on the "it's Jake" excuse lol
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ms-demeanor · 5 months ago
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Okay THANK YOU for saying “your body craves what it needs” is bs because that felt like bs this whole time.
Like you don’t need more sugar if you crave sweets that is NOT what that means. Sugar is a food that people crave because it tastes good/sugar I think is an addictive food??
Idk it just felt like people making excuses when they’re supposed to be trying to eat a little healthier (healthier, not low cal, not low fat or keto or whatever. Diets are bs but craving sweets does not mean sugar is healthy thing for your body rn)
People crave sugar because it tastes good, which is not a bad thing, and there is an evolutionary reason that sugar and fat taste good to us. Carbs are your body's favorite thing because it is SUPER easy for your body to break them down into useful molecules.
I'm not a fan of the idea that any foods are addictive and I'm skeptical of models that suggest "refined food addiction" is a thing with a measurable, real-world impact; there's a lot of debate in that area of nutrition science and to me it kind of seems like the tools people use to track food addiction aren't really examining the addictiveness of specific foods, but are decent screening tools for people who have compulsive behaviors around food (for instance, one group of people who the Yale Food Addiction Scale has repeatedly been demonstrated to be REALLY good at identifying is people with anorexia).
But your body needs sugar all the time, whether that's in the form of complex carbohydrates that get broken down into simple sugars by your body, or simple sugars that you stir into your tea that then gets sent to your cells as energy. If your diet doesn't have enough sugar in it, your body has a processes to turn non-sugars into sugar so that it can use the sugar (gluconeogenesis!). Sugar is unambiguously good for you in the way that fat is unambiguously good for you. You need sugar to survive and it's not a bad thing if you want to have a cookie or a soda or some candy, and again - your craving probably isn't telling you that you're deficient in a specific micro or macronutrient, but I still think that you should listen to your craving.
Like, I don't know how much you know about psychotherapy but the attitude that a lot of diet-focused discussion takes toward cravings reminds me of cognitive behavioral therapy. "When you crave chocolate, no you don't! Don't think about the chocolate, you actually probably need starch or sugar or something, let's redirect that into having a banana, or some frozen berries, or some spinach. Point away from the unhealthy craving and into the healthy replacement, or, better yet, ignore the craving. Mind over matter. You choose how you act."
(I actually think "X craving means that I want Y food so I shall replace it with Z, which is similar" "craving salt means that I am dehydrated and need electrolytes so instead of potato chips I'll have some soup" is how this goes most of the time. I think this is a diet culture thing, not a food positivity thing.)
And you know what I think that's a garbage way to look at both food and emotions.
When I'm craving ice cream it's not because I've been mostly vegetarian for a week and am low on dietary cholesterol (AN IMPORTANT NUTRIENT. Don't be scared of consuming some cholesterol), I'm craving ice cream because sugar and fat taste good. So instead of trying to pretend that I'm getting "what I need" from a piece of salmon the size of a deck of cards with no salt and some lemon squeezed on top, I'm going to scoop out a moderate portion of ice cream and eat it while focusing on how much I enjoy it. And I'm going to do that instead of sitting down with a pint and a spoon while I'm stressed at work and eating something that tastes good to distract from the fact that work is stressful. (And sometimes it's fine to sit down with a pint and a spoon but I will say that's generally best not to do while you're in the middle of something stressful)
And if you want to relate that back to therapy I see this as more of the DBT approach. I've accepted that I want ice cream so I'm going to eat it in an intentional way and enjoy it instead of eating so much that I don't want dinner, or that it makes me feel sick, or that I eat it without noticing it because I'm using it as a distraction instead of a snack.
I'm not trying to shut down the negative emotion or shun the "bad" food, I'm accepting that I have that emotion and I'm working this neutral food into my day so that I'll feel good tomorrow and won't get heartburn overnight.
So I see that you're trying to be kind of anti diet culture here, but I don't think people need excuses to eat sugar, and I actually think that making excuses to eat it is significantly less healthy than just eating the sugar (which, again, is unambiguously healthy to eat as part of a varied, filling, nutritious diet). It seems like you may have internalized some ideas about sugar that are not great even if you are trying to separate from diet culture.
Nobody is ever going to eat a diet so healthy and nutritionally complete that they don't want candy or cake or cookies sometimes. Food is not only fuel, it is entertainment and culture and comfort and distraction and celebration and a million other things, but it is not bad. I don't think there's a single universally bad food out there, or any food that never belongs as part of someone's diet (unless it's something you're allergic to - I don't care if you're craving peanuts, do not eat peanuts if you have a peanut allergy).
So it's okay to make sugar, you don't need to make excuses. It's okay to eat sugar if you're craving sugar, even if that's not what your body "needs". But also sometimes a craving is your body saying "I'm hungry and this sounds good, please feed me" even if you're not a finely-tuned spectrometer that's craving blueberries pie because you actually need antioxidants from the blueberries (you're not a finely tuned spectrometer, you don't need the antioxidants from the blueberries, it's perfectly fine to just eat a slice of pie).
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bitternanami · 11 months ago
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something i think is really interesting about dungeon meshi is the cast's respective views on food as the story progresses. the way many adventurers get through the dungeon is to eat when they Must, but mostly rely on healing magic to keep going when they're tired or beaten down. death is something you can buy your way out of, here.
having these lower stakes when it comes to running yourself too hard has made a lot of people in this setting kind of devalue food and what it does for you.
im not all the way through the manga yet, but so far i really like how it goes about debunking that mindset.
long post under the cut, cw explicit discussion of disordered eating. textual depiction of unhealthy methods of dealing with it. please be cautious!
it seems like to most folks, food is either a decadent luxury, like when the governor offers mr tance a feast as a show of power and wealth, (although he is the only one who actually eats in that scene as he talks about his ambitions);
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[id: the governor and mr. tance talk politics and hierarchies, while the governor eats from a bowl. mr. tance's meal is not visible behind a speech bubble.
"so you believe the sorceror is an elf?" he asks.
"i can't say with absolute certainty," mr. tance replies, "but the spells are not ones dwarves and humans typically use." /end id]
like the painted-royal feasts laios tries to partake in that never actually nourish him...
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[id: laios, fresh out of the living painting feast, surprisedly holding his grumbling stomach /end id]
or, to the working class, it's pretty much exclusively fuel. i'm thinking about the scene where kabru's party, ostensibly intended to be our view into how adventuring Typically goes for most people, is shown preparing to go to the dungeon by like. walking up to someone and ordering 'a weeks' worth of rations.' purely functional.
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[id: kabru enters a store, and the merchant says "welcome!"
kabru says "i need a week's worth of rations for six, and two days' worth of water."
"sure thing." the merchant then reaches behind him and grabs a large cube-shaped package, wrapped in nondescript cloth and tied in place. it thumps onto the counter in front of them both. /end id]
when kabru hands mickbell his food for the trip, he complains about how heavy it is on his back. it's a necessary liability.
we also see chilchuck, in an early chapter where there isn't much food to go around, grumbling about how he used to be better at not noticing when he was hungry. he's frustrated that he's more attuned to his bodily needs, now that he's starting to fill them with regularity.
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[id: chilchuck, the only one awake, sits in his bedroll and glares at the timekeeping-candle burning down in front of him while he listens to his stomach growl. moving to find his canteen and fill himself with water instead, he thinks to himself, "my stomach has gotten weaker. i used to be able to go two days without food." /end id]
(like im not even gonna lie this is a big mood. the healing process is really really annoying)
even laios, early on, working out the logistics of going back for falin, considers his expenses and ultimately the thing he decides to save money on is their food supply. like, even the guy most invested in eating as an experience kind of just assumes he will Figure It Out. its what hes eating, not how hes eating it that matters to him at that point.
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[id: marcille looks down at the ingredients they've gathered, the walking mushroom and the scorpion in an unappetizing heap on the ground, and asks laios "so how exactly do we eat them?"
he responds "let's just cook them, like normal." /end id]
but its here that senshi introduces the idea of food as art and as healing. its exciting and its fascinating for laios, getting to taste the creatures hes been reading about and fighting, but i dont think it would ever really help him feel full if not for this.
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[id: three panels of laios tasting the scorpion hotpot, looking stunned, and then excitedly telling senshi "delicious!"
senshi matches his energy, asking "isn't it? isn't it?" /end id]
pictured: guy who had resigned himself to kind of just doing his best rediscovers the joy in something tasting really fucking good
what they did last time isnt going to work. falin is gone, and constantly anesthetizing their pain and healing through their weakness is no longer a realistic option for the party. in order to make it through they must all relearn how to eat well, one by one and as a group over and over again, because its either that or nothing.
one of my favorite depictions of this idea thus far is when marcille is seriously low on health and mana, and both of these problems are mitigated by taking care of herself, and trying to get iron and protein
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[id: marcille, looking sickly, wakes to laios saying, "marcille, marcille, can you sit up? we've got something nice for you."
she watches senshi grill pieces of kelpie liver on a low fire, while laios ties a bib around her neck. /end id]
and drinking a bunch of dead water spirits. she gets the idea, she's supposed to get in nutrients and it'll help her feel better, but in aiming for the quick, inefficient fix, namely chugging that shit down like she heard it was good to Stay Hydrated and decided that would be the thing that fixes her,
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[id: marcille throws back a cup of boiled undine-water, her face red. laios asks, "do you really need to drink it that fast?"
she gasps out "...the magical energy stored in nature spirits is actually quite hard to absorb. even if you drink a lot, the majority of it is excreted without being absorbed," and takes another drink. "that's why i need to drink as much as i can."
laios says weakly "you'll get water poisoning," but marcille only stops when senshi puts a hand on her shoulder and says,
"it's easier to absorb nutrients if ye digest them with food. that's a fundamental rule of nutrition."
marcille says, "senshi..." contemplative
and he holds out a bowl of tentuclus and a thumbs up. "let's get cooking!" /end id]
she doesn't immediately realize the answer is that she needs more than that. she's been working hard. she needs care, and she needs nourishment.
once she gets that, though, she makes her boiled water into a stew, and she works to make that stew as good as she can, and everyone can have some.
because in dungeon meshi, to feed yourself or allow yourself to be fed is treated as performing a kindness for yourself. food is what propels you, but there is also an art and a joy inherent to the process of making it; in the way you feel when you've had enough to eat.
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[id: senshi watches as chilchuck and marcille eat and excitedly hash out plans.
"i've got a good feeling about this! maybe it'll work out!" chilchuck says
marcille responds, "well it's easier to feel optimistic on a full stomach!"
senshi smiles, proud. /end id]
^^^ i want to put this image on my wall
when you're working through disordered eating habits, you really do have to keep learning this shit. (in my experience, learning about cooking is one of the best ways to do so.)
i'll have to see if my thesis holds up as i continue, but i think one of the reasons the portrayal here resonates with me so hard is that ryoko kui puts most of her characters at eye level with me on this. they're all working at it, too. the text and i are both commiserating, and encouraging each other, 'have some more, you'll feel better.'
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oddballwriter · 11 months ago
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Calling Them your Husband
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Warnings: nothing really 
Author’s Snip: I just wanted to make some tooth-rotting fluff so enjoy
I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.
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Steven Grant
When you call him your husband, it was originally a joke, sort of
Your friend called you while you were out doing errands with Steven and they asked what you were doing, to which you said "I'm out with my husband getting stuff done."
Steven just blushes and does that goofy little smile he does because he's never heard you say that but now he wants to hear it all the time now
You guys are in a long committed relationship together and you two have been living together for some time now but he's been too anxious to ask about possibly getting married some day. Not knowing if that's something you want or if you just want to cohabitate as a couple instead
But now that he heard you refer to him as your husband (even if it was a little joke) he wants to marry you in a heartbeat so that you can actually call him your husband and he can call you his wife/husband/spouse
He just thinks about it the whole day but doesn't say anything to see if you will call him that again in case pointing it out will cause you to stop. He is a bit more affectionate though, sneaking in a pick on the cheek or something and secretly making goo-goo eyes at you
When you get home and you aren't in range of seeing it Steven starts looking up engagement rings and prices to see which one would look nice on you and try and save up money
Steven also starts to subtly, at least as subtle as he can be, ask you about if you want to get married someday
He's such a dork though, bless his soul, in his brain he's just kicking his feet and giggling. He's looking at prices for venues and planners already.
Marc Spector
Marc has it in him to get married, we know that
But in his mind he doesn't really see himself as "husband material". He thinks that he's got too much baggage that you'd have to deal with if you were married
He acts like you two haven't been living together and splitting the bills and stuff, which is sometimes what marriage is, in the most domestic way possible
To him, he can't really see himself being able to do the whole marriage thing all over again
That was until some drunk creep was hitting on you while you and him were on a date and you told the guy "I'm with my husband" which warded that guy off
For some reason you calling him your husband while you locked your arm with his just washed those feelings of doubt out. Something about it just made him feel so confident
Like "Yeah I'm their husband! Back off!"
After that Marc was more open with himself about the idea of letting that title back into his life and getting to call you his spouse too
He more so likes the ability to call you his spouse. Possessiveness is in him and by god does getting to call you his spouse feed it
Marc will ask about the idea of marriage sometime after that just to see if you like it
If you want to get married then he's on board. But if you think cohabitating suits you better then he's fine with that too
So long as you're there together and you love him then he's content and happy
Jake Lockley
Damn right he's your husband
Honestly ever since you two got serious with your relationship, became committed to each other, and moved in he's just been like "We are married now" in his head
He's never said that out loud but he knows that the feeling is there with you too
It wasn't until you semi-jokingly called him your husband when some girls were checking him out and you huffed and puffed about it
"What's the matter? I wasn't flirting back." "Well, excuse me for not wanting some giggling college girls to be eyeing up my husband."
And that just... made him feel something, in his heart and in his pants
No but seriously. After that night cohabitating and acting like a married couple wasn't enough. He needs to put a ring on you and vice versa
He will go down to town hall and get those damn papers and buy the rings right now
Jake was originally just going to wait until you said that you wanted to get officially married, but he just can't anymore
In the morning you guys are going to buy rings, get the papers filled out, and planning the wedding
He's got the wedding planner on speed dial and a house with a picket fence in the nice part of town ready to go, just say "I do" please
Honestly at this point he never wants to hear his name come out of your mouth ever again. To you, it's either "hun" "hunny" "dear" or "sweetheart"
Light of his life, air in his lungs, fire in his loins
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Taglist: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction
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azrielsshadows42 · 1 month ago
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Azriel SFW alphabet
This has been sitting incomplete in my drafts since March so... idk.
Warnings: I don't think there is any other than some self-deprecating, correct me if I'm wrong, unedited
A = Affectionate (how affectionate is he)
Now let's get this straight, this male LOVES you with every fibre of his body and soul, if you need affection he is there in seconds, he is super observant, so you don't even have to ask, he has at least one small shadow that follows you around to make sure you are alright. Whether you just need to hold his hand or you need him to hold you through the night, he has no problems fulfilling your requirements.
When he needs affection however... is another story, he will almost never ask for it, he doesn't want to bother you, and no matter how many times you tell him it's not a bother he will always feel like he is being a burden to you. You will need to learn how to read him better than anyone because he will not make it easy for you.
B = Best friend (what would he be like as a best friend, how does the friendship start?)
He would be an amazing best friend, always knows when you are feeling down and how to cheer you up, it takes a while but once you are close enough the friendly teasing is hilarious. you would definitely have some inside jokes just between the two of you.
At first it would be him only interacting with you when necessary, he will be as polite as possible cause he doesn't want you to be scared of him but he also doesn't really want to spend a lot of time with you 1) Because he has trust issues and is wary of you, it is kind of his job and 2) Because he doesn't want to corrupt you.
C = Cuddles (does he like to cuddle; how does he cuddle?)
Azriel will completely deny it if anyone asks him but... he actually really likes cuddles, this man is so touch starved he NEEDS skin to skin contact. He is perfectly content to just lay with you in the evenings after dinner, admiring your beauty. And while he trains extremely diligently, he secretly loves when he has a good reason not to train so he can wake up next to and actually have a proper breakfast together instead of just leaving a note with promises to see you later.
Once again will adamantly deny it if asked but his favourite way to cuddle is spooning, he likes to be the big spoon, he loves having his arms wrapped around you along with his wings for extra warmth because he knows you love it, just for that extra reassurance that you are safe and haven't disappeared. He could be convinced to be little spoon for a night if you really wanted it, but it would take some pleading.
D = Domestic (Does he want to settle down, how good is he at cooking and cleaning?)
So, I feel like Azriel would absolutely love the idea of settling down, in concept but would be really scared to do so, not because he's unsure of his feelings for you, no not at all, he loves you wholeheartedly sometimes a bit too much he'd be scared because he thinks you might change your mind. That he isn't good enough or he'll taint your innocence what innocence? It will definitely be a few years, maybe even decades before he is certain you won't leave him for someone "better". And even then, he will need reassurance.
Now when it comes to cleaning, this man is over the top, everything is immaculate, there is not a speck of dust to be found.... ever.
But you see with cooking... I don't know, I feel like it could go both ways, he's either stupidly good at it like, bro??? Where did you learn this? Truly Gordon Ramsey level cuisine. Or... he doesn't know what he's doing, at all. He'll try, he will most definitely try to have you come back to a lovely home cooked meal whenever he has the chance to but... it doesn't always ever come out the way he intends it to. But it's the thought that counts and you really can see the effort he put into it.
E = Ending (if he had to break up with you, how would he do it)
There is only one way (other than unfaithfulness) that he will break up with you, and that is if he feels that you, being with him, is putting you in too much danger. This man has waited 500 years for his mate or anyone to love him as wholly as you do, and ending your relationship will absolutely break him. He'll do it very respectfully and considerately, he will seem composed, yet not cold-hearted, but once he's behind closed doors and he is 1000% sure NOBODY can hear him, there will be tears streaming down his face and the only thing keeping him from going back on it is the knowledge that you are safer this way. His shadows try desperately to console him but nothing they do works, only you could calm him once he's at this point.
F = Fiancé (how does he feel about commitment? How quick would he want to get married?)
He has some commitment issues, the idea is daunting to him but he wouldn't be unfaithful to you, even if it would save his life. He would want to wait a few years before sealing the deal, he wants to know you, your soul, every sweet thought and dark desire, he wants to know everything.
G = Gentle (how gentle is he, physically and emotionally?)
Azriel is all about light touches that leave you wanting more, brushes against your arm with his own, light hand holding, small stolen looks across the room, just the sweetest thing. He tries his very best to hide any emotions he might have that would upset you, very aware of whatever emotional state you're in especially when you don't, needs some help to remember that he is allowed to have negative emotions and doesn't have to be ok 24/7.
H = Hugs (does he like hugs? How often would he hug you? What are his hugs like?)
Azriel doesn't mind hugs, if you hug him, he won't stop you and he will sometimes initiate them but, he's more inclined to other methods of affection; forehead kisses, cheek kisses, hand kisses, small adoring whispers in your ear, more kisses, longing looks, did I mention kisses?
However, when he does hug you, it's usually from behind so he has an opening for neck kisses or when he's just come back from a long mission and needs you in his arms.
I = I love you (who is the first to say, "I love you"?)
You. Definitely you, if you don't say it, the relationship is never happening. He will wait for you to spell it out, and even then, he isn't sure, like: you kiss him on the lips, stare lovingly at him, shyly say goodnight and he'd be like, she could have meant that as a friend, right?
Cauldron save this male; he is in Jude Duarte level denial.
J = Jealousy (How jealous is he?)
On the outside, not at all, very calm, collected, the most you'll see is a clenched jaw, or his hand might twitch toward Truth-Teller. Unless you show signs of discomfort, he will let you be.
On the inside? The leash on his anger is being pulled, and it has been pulled tight. There is no room for give on it. It is so taught that if a bird landed on it, it would snap. Whoever is in range should fucking run. And whoever it is aimed at should write their will and pray.
K = Kisses (What are his kisses like?)
Like I've mentioned previously, he loves giving you little pecks at random points of the day. However, when you're alone and he is just looking at you, and that wave of adoration hits him... he just can't help kissing you slow.
L = Little ones (How is he around kids?/Does he want any?)
Az gets really awkward around most kids, he tries not to get too close to them. He gets over this when it comes to kids he spends alot of time with, namely his nephew, Nyx.
Azriel is really scared to have kids, and at first he is completely convinced that he doesn't want any, though with the right person, He'll have kids, and he loves them more than the world itself. He resigns from his position as spymaster to fully commit to his family, he's got enough money, and he never looks back.
M = Morning (How are Mornings spent with him?)
Most days he is already training with Cassian before you wake up, but every Saturday, he has a slow morning wit you, or you'll wake to breakfast in bed.
N = Night (How are nights spent with him?)
Some nights you shower together, and it's sweet and wholesome, you do your skin routine and he'll watch with a smile fro the door way. You even manage to rope him into a nightly face mask later into your relationship.
He says goodnight with a million kisses all over, pulling the blanket over the both of you and pulls you in close, holding you no matter how much you move around in your sleep. If you're a sleep walker, no you're not.
O = Open (When does he start revealing things about himself? Is it all at once or bit by bit?)
Bit by bit for sure. Every small thing you learn about him is earned, there is no volunteering of information. You have to extract the lore, have to practically drag him kicking and screaming into emotional intimacy. There are no flood gates. It is a tap that never runs, only leaks slightly. It takes ages to get to everything that happened to him, but it is worth the wait. It always will be.
P = Patience (How easily angered is he?)
For you, infinite patience, he will explain and re-explain a topic as many times as you need. He just comes back from going out while it's that time of the year and you say you need/want something else again, no worries, he'll go out and get it for you, as well as being ready for you to say you forgot to tell him you wanted something when he gets back and go out again.
You are allowed to do things that no one else could do and walk out alive, like pranking him, and I don't mean something that Cassian would do, like hide a weapon of his, I mean like:
Azriel walks into the room while everyone is chatting. You immediately notice his presence yelling his name in excitement, heads turn toward him. Cassian spits out his drink, Rhysand's mouth falls open, Feyre gasps, Mor's eyes widen, even Nesta raises a brow. It takes a moment, then the shock wears off, and Cassian bursts out laughing.
"What happened to your hair?!"
Azriel's brow furrows. "What do you mean?" He could see you desperately trying to hold in your laughter, but failed, and sunk to the floor, not able to breathe from how hard you were laughing. He could see Rhysand also fighting it off, but his face cracked, and he to, joined in, Feyre and Mor were not far behind.
"What? What is wrong with my hair?" Nobody could pause their hysterics long enough to say something. He stood in confusion until Amren, the only one who wasn't laughing at all said "It's bright blue, boy" that for some reason unleashed a new wave of giggles and Nesta cracked a smile.
He looked to the mirror hung in the hall, seeing that his hair was indeed a pastel blue, with flecks of purple near the ends. The truth was, he knew his hair would be an unusual colour today, his shadows had caught you buying the magic hair-dye, but he let you swap out his shampoo, as to not spoil your fun.
Even if he hadn't known, the look on your face said everything. "You are lucky I love you" he said, shaking his head and sighing, your smile only broadened at his words, your arms flung around his mid-section and face nuzzled in his chest. "I love you too"
Q = Quizzes (How much does he remember things about you? Does he remember everything in passing or does he forget everything?)
Little secret, Az is actually quite forgetful, when it comes to dates like your anniversary or the inner circle's birthdays (Including his own) he cannot remember it for the life of him. Luckily, his shadows give him reminders but when it comes to the details, like your coffee order, preferred foods, general likes and dislikes, it's like he has a separate compartment of his brain allocated to only you with unlimited space.
"How did you know I liked (Input song name here)"
"I remember you humming it when I walked into the room"
"When? I forgot about this song."
Short pause
"Eight years ago? Give or take."
R = Remember (What is his favourite moment in your relationship?)
If you ask him, he'll probably say when you said 'I love you' for the first time, or that time you woke up after a peaceful night, just looking at him with love but really, it was when he was pissed at Rhys and Cassian for disregarding his dislike of the Illyrians because they wanted him to 'embrace his culture'.
Rhys had sent him to go talk with Devlon and a number of other camp lords when they both had the afternoon completely free, spending it with their mates as if he didn't have a mate too.
After he got back, he had gone straight to you, and you had listened to him while combing your fingers through his hair. He had finally dragged himself downstairs to give Rhysand the news on the camps with you following behind him a few paces.
You waited outside the door, Azriel had opened it, about to leave when Rhys said he also wanted the report of some other mission by tomorrow morning. Azriel didn't even say anything, he'd just sighed and a muscle in his jaw ticked, then Rhysand had made some comment about his attitude, it was spoken with a light tone, but you had had it with his crap.
You had started berating him, yelling, really laying on it, not even letting him get a word in. Not that he could, he was too stunned.
Cassian had made the grave mistake of seeing what the commotion was. You brought him into it. Both Rhys and Cass had to just take it like children being scolded for taking an extra cookie. Neither would meet your eyes when you were done.
You grabbed Azriels hand, pulling him along as you stormed out. Once rounding the corner, you winnowed both you and Azriel to your house muttering under your breath. The only words he actually caught was "Fuck them" before you pulled him into bed and you simply cuddled for the rest of the night and well into the morning.
S = Security (How protective is he? How would he protect you? How would he like to be protected?)
Az is your personal body guard and the shadows are the surveillance cameras. No one in Velaris is safer.
He needs no physical protection, he needs emotional protection. He needs you to guard his heart like a dragon guarding treasure. He needs you to occasionally remind him to stand up for himself against Rhysand and Cassian because he deserves good things too.
T = Try (How much effort does he put into dates/anniversaries/etc?)
In the beginning, he is trying to impress you, to convey how much he feels for you through the dates as he struggles to articulate the enormity of his love. Like booking out theaters, really fancy dinners, picnics with way too much food and so on it's honestly overwhelming.
He eventually dials it back, finding a good balance of well thought out but not OTT (Over The Top). Every once in a while though, he'll still do an extra something.
U = Ugly (What is a bad habit of his?)
His tendency to shrink into himself when he's in pain, to ignore his needs, to put what he wants on the back burner to focus on everyone else.
V = Vanity (How concerned is he with his looks?)
See, the massive injustice of Azriel is that he barely gives 2 shit's, as long as he looks somewhat presentable, he couldn't be bothered to do anything more.
He wears the same thing every day, washes his face, combs hair, and he's ready.
He is blessed with effortless beauty.
W = Whole (Would he feel incomplete without you?)
He always felt incomplete, before he met you, there was a hole, after he met you, that hole was slowly filled up with your laugh, smile, and touch. If he had to lose you, that hole would be ten times as large and gaping, because the entire foundation of his very being went with you.
X = Xtra (A random head cannon for them)
He likes hiding little things like your keys or glasses (If you have them) so that when you ask "Azriel, have you seen my {fill in the blank}" he can stand there with said object in hand and give it to you, all so you'll give him that little smile and a kiss on the cheek.
Y = Yuck (What is something he wouldn't like either in a partner or in general?)
He can handle pretty much anything. There isn't much that could actually detour him from someone he truly loves. He puts up with Rhysand and Cassian every day for cauldrons' sake, but the one thing that is necessary is silence.
Not all the time, and he loves talking to you more than anyone else, but sometimes, after a long, hard mission, talking and general conversation is not something he's up for.
He just needs a quiet night where you're just next to each other, not speaking or anything just, existing.
Z = Zzz (What are his sleep habits?)
Whenever he collapses is entirely up to the mother... unless his ultimate weakness coaxes him into something more regular. If you just so happened to ask him to come to bed early, or asked him to be in bed by 11:00 at the latest because you struggle to sleep without him, and with the puppy eyes and pouty face too, well... how could he resist? He can't go after you have fallen asleep because you hold on to him, he can't just leave in the middle of the night, you'd be cold, and when you inevitably request that he stay an extra 5 minutes, those papers on his desk just have to wait, his mate is more important.
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oshikiri-toru · 5 months ago
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I'm a strong believer in Soap & Ghost not wanting kids and not really caring to "start a family," but I do love the idea of them taking in the older neighborhood kids.
They don't foster or adopt, too lazy to jump through all the legal hoops and unending paperwork, but they'll have the troubled children on the block come in for dinner almost every night. Kids whose parents couldn't give a damn about them, already gave up on them, or are too tired to actually parent.
They let them help with house work and pay them so they know what it's like to earn instead of steal, they'll invite them to parties to know what it's like to have community, and they'll show up to their games or plays to let them know someone will always be proud.
Teens are always in and out of their houses, knowing it's always a soft place to land, knowing Soap and Ghost don't already see them as lost causes. Knowing if they have a bad trip or get badly hurt that they won't get in trouble or screamed at, they'll get help.
It helps that they both understand the kids, lost and alone in a world that doesn't give a damn. Sometimes they have heart-to-hearts, let the kids cry until they can't anymore. Other times they teach them how to properly swing at a punching bag to healthily release their anger. Occasionally they'll actually fight the kids just to show them they aren't as tough as they think before teaching them better ways to settle conflict.
Most importantly, they show the kids that no matter how fucked up your life is, how hard things get, or how much it feels like it's all ending, it'll always end up okay. They'll grow up, make a life for themselves, find people who care about them, and can help make the world a better place so the next generations of kids will feel a little less like they did.
They'll never have kids of their own, but they sure as hell look out for the kids in their lives.
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