#at this point all i have is my willingness to just never stop as long as i live because thats the only way for change to happen i think.. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hardly-an-escape · 7 months

Text

A Close Shave | Dream/Hob | 2150 words | Rated G

tags: retired!Dream, shaving, unmitigated yearning and longing, the pining is probably mutual but you only get Hob's POV

“Been meaning to ask," Hob says. "How are you feeling about... this?"

He gestures to his chin, the stubble there, and across the table, Dream slowly puts down his spoon. Even more slowly, he raises one hand to his own chin and runs the backs of his fingers along the newly-grown layer of hair there.

It’s been a little over a month, and by now Hob is used to the speed – or rather, lack thereof – with which Dream finds it necessary to live his freshly-human life. A month, since Dream had chosen to live, and chosen to live with Hob, taking over the spare room and filling it with books and soft cardigans and snacks as he learned his own likes and dislikes as Dream-the-human.

It still feels to Hob as though there’s a minor miracle sitting across the breakfast table, now thoughtfully fondling the brand-new beard on his chin.

“Ah,” Dream says eventually. “You mean this. The hair on my face. Yes, I have noticed it.”

“I’ve never seen you with a beard before,” Hob says neutrally.

“I suppose I never felt the need to manifest one when I visited the Waking World,” Dream says. He returns most of his attention to his oatmeal. It still requires some concentration, to hold the spoon steady; to make sure it reaches his mouth without spilling. Hob watches for a moment, impressed all over again with Dream’s willingness to try.

“Does it bother you, having one now?” he asks.

“Why would it bother me? It is a part of my body, is it not?”

Hob, wisely, refrains from mentioning the other body parts and functions – the sunburn, the stubbed toe, the sensations of hunger and dizziness and nausea, the need for sleep and to relieve himself – which have bothered Dream an inordinate amount over the past four weeks.

“But do you like it?” Hob presses gently. “I mean, one of the great things about being human is that it’s pretty easy to change our looks, generally speaking. Maybe not as easy as just… manifesting. But still. You get to choose what you look like, whether it’s a beard or clean-shaven, or, or pink hair. Or anything. Infinite variety.”

Dream puts his spoon down again and brings both hands up to his face. His palms cup either side of his chin and his long, narrow fingers stroke gently, from the downy hairs peppering his cheekbones, down into the hollows of his cheeks (not quite as gaunt as they used to be, Hob notes with a swell of gratitude), and then along the line of his chin to where it ends in a devastating little point.

In the morning light, with his face framed by those artistic fingers and a look of such solemn concentration on his features, he looks like a statue; a religious icon, perhaps, contemplative and blessed. His eyes are closed and his rosebud of a mouth is very pink and very slightly open.

Hob has to dig his fingernails into his own thigh to stop himself from reaching out and running his own fingers down Dream’s cheek, or brushing his thumb along that unfairly soft-looking bottom lip.

“Hm,” Dream says finally. “I do not think I dislike the beard. But equally, I am not sure that I like it. I am not sure that my face… feels like me.”

“Well,” Hob says. “You can shave it off, if you want. See if you feel more like yourself. I can – I can help you. Obviously.”

Obviously. Obviously. He supposes it is obvious – it must be – how desperately he wants to help Dream. How abject his desire to make this fragile, human life a little more bearable, in any small way he can.

“Yes,” says Dream. “I would… like that. Thank you.”

Hob drags a kitchen chair into the bathroom. Digs out his softest hand towel and wets it with hot water before wrapping it carefully around Dream’s face and neck. He chatters idly as he gathers his supplies: random recollections about his favorite Turkish bath in London, which had gone out of business during the Great War, and the Russian steambaths and Finnish saunas he’s seen during his travels.

He doesn’t use his old straight razor much anymore, preferring a good reusable safety razor for himself when he’s going clean shaven, but he’s always found a well-honed, old-fashioned cutthroat to be more comfortable when shaving someone else. And he keeps his razors, like any tool, in good condition whether he’s using it regularly or not; the mother-of-pearl handle is clean and polished, the joint moves smoothly, and the blade gleams.

Dream watches through hooded eyes as Hob strops the razor and mixes up the suds of shaving foam. He loads up the soft bristle brush before removing the towel and making sure Dream is positioned in front of the mirror.

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Hob says. “I’m going to start by just doing your neck and cheeks, clean up the edges a bit. You might like it more when it looks like an intentional beard, not just a couple weeks’ worth of shaggy growth. And if you’re still not feeling it, we’ll shave the rest. Sound okay?”

Dream nods, and Hob goes to work.

Touching Dream is – not difficult, not exactly. If anything, it’s too easy. Hob’s fingertips hunger for the soft brush of Dream’s skin, for the fluff of his dark hair, for his stubble and his slender hands and the little creases in the corners of his eyes. In those earliest mad days, when Dream hadn’t even been strong enough to walk on his own, Hob had manhandled him matter-of-factly. He’d helped him walk, and dress, and eat; taught him how the bathtub worked and washed his body, cheerfully ignoring the furious flush on Dream’s face at the indignity of needing to be cared for. They’d gotten through it.

He’s mature enough to admit to himself that he misses it, now that Dream has gained enough strength of body and mind to do it all for himself. There’s something so intimate about that contact with another person: about being needed in that particular intense way. It’s heady. The longing for it almost chokes him, sometimes, with how badly he wants it: to hoist Dream in his arms and cradle him against his chest. To wash his hair and rub him gently dry. To hold a cup of water or warm milk to those perfect lips.

But Hob, for all his faults, is trying so hard not to be an asshole these days. So he doesn’t touch Dream that way, now that it isn’t needed – now that he isn’t needed. No matter how much he might like to.

Until now.

Now, for just a moment, he lets himself indulge. Runs his hungry fingertips along the soft, vulnerable curves of Dream’s throat and the firmer lines of his jaw as he brushes on the shaving foam. Tips his head gently this way and that, revels guiltily in how biddable Dream is as he sits quietly in the chair.

Hob takes his time with the actual shaving, both out of caution (perhaps even a bit of terror, that he might inadvertently mark that precious skin) and out of a desire to linger over the experience for as long as he can get away with. Unfortunately, shaving just a person’s neck doesn’t really take that long, regardless of how carefully one does it. Within just a handful of minutes, he is carefully wiping the last spot of soap from the hollow of Dream’s throat and turning him fully toward the bathroom mirror.

“What do you think?” he asks.

Dream doesn’t answer right away. He turns his head from side to side, surveying his reflection. Then he tilts his chin up and runs his fingers down the newly-soft skin of his neck. Hob’s fingertips tingle. He knows the sensation Dream is experiencing, knows it intimately: the smoothness of the hairless skin, the slight tackiness of the moisturizer. Knows it from his own face, and from the faces of lovers over the decades, and even from poor, long-dead Robyn’s face, when he’d taught his son to shave.

He doesn’t say anything, and after a moment Dream meets his eye in the mirror.

“I think I would like to have the rest of it off,” he says. “If you would not mind…?”

“No problem,” says Hob softly.

They go through the whole ritual once more: the hot towel, mixing up the foam. Hob strops the razor again, just to be sure. This time he carefully rubs a little pre-shave oil into Dream’s beard to soften the hairs as much as possible, then covers his face with the thick foam.

“I don’t really know if the oil does much,” he admits, “but the last time I went for a proper shave at a barber’s, the bloke who did it swore by the stuff. I guess I’m a sucker for a good upsell. And it does smell nice.”

It takes much longer this time, of course. He finishes the first pass, wipes Dream’s face, lathers him again and goes for a second pass. He leaves Dream’s sideburns mostly alone, just taking them up enough to blend in with the hair falling shaggy over his ears – if Dream wants a haircut that will have to be another adventure, to a real barber or a salon, because Hob doesn’t trust himself with that kind of artistry, not where Dream is concerned.

He narrates as he goes, describing the best angle to hold the blade, how to gently pull the skin taut to avoid nicks, when to go with the grain of the hair and when to scrape against it. Reminiscing further on his favorite barbers and spas and on a broad history of facial hair and shaving. He is babbling a bit, he knows, but he tells himself it’s for educational purposes; that this kind of general knowledge could potentially serve Dream well as he navigates a new human life.

He’s certainly not talking in order to distract himself from the sensation of Dream’s skin and the soft sounds of Dream’s breath, or to stop himself from saying something much more revealing and embarrassing. Like how he wants to take care of Dream for the rest of time. Or how badly he wants to see if his skin is as soft all the way down as it is in the tender place just behind his ear. Or how fiercely grateful he is that Dream has chosen to live, to try, to be here, to sit in a kitchen chair and eat oatmeal, to sit in this bathroom and let Hob run his fingers down the line of his jaw, over and over, trying to memorize the feeling of every inch of skin he’s allowed to touch as he runs the razor over the valleys of Dream’s cheeks.

He will never run out of words to say to Dream – or words he wishes he could say – but eventually he does run out of skin to shave. At his direction, Dream leans over the sink and rinses his face with cold water, then gently pats in aftershave while Hob meticulously dries his razor and clears away the shaving tackle.

Then it’s quiet in the little bathroom for a long, long moment while Dream reexamines his face in the mirror.

“Well?” Hob says eventually, so low it’s almost a whisper. He allows himself one last touch. Drops his hand onto Dream’s shoulder and squeezes gently.

Dream makes eye contact in the mirror, and Hob is shocked by a swift bolt of recognition. Here, in front of him, is Dream – his Stranger, his centennial mystery – so different, so human, and yet, suddenly, so familiar. It could almost be 1489 again, save the electric lighting; his hair is nearly long enough, and the imperious pout is back on his lips.

And then he opens his mouth.

“Hob, I –” he trails off. Breathes. “I am me.”

Hob squeezes his shoulder again. “Of course you are.”

“No, you misunderstand. I – I recognize myself,” Dream says, unconsciously echoing Hob’s thoughts. “I see a man, and he looks like me.” He meets Hob’s eye in the mirror once again. “I – thank you.”

Dream’s eyes are, unaccountably, welling up with tears, as beautiful and delicate as the rest of him. Hob does the only thing he can think to do, which is to drop his chin to Dream’s shoulder, lay his own hairy cheek alongside Dream’s newly-smooth, freshly-scented face, wrap his arms around Dream’s bony chest, and hold him.

One of Dream’s hands comes up and wraps itself around Hob’s wrist, and they stay that way for a long time: Dream in the kitchen chair, in front of the bathroom mirror, and Hob behind him, holding him, crouched somewhat uncomfortably, but exactly where he wants to be.

---

this has been languishing in my drafts for absolute ages and I wish it hadn't taken me so ding dang long but it is what it is || this two cakes situation is inspired by @watercubebee's art and dedicated to her and @valeriianz 🎂🎂 || art, Kris's ficlet (plus part two)

read on AO3 >>>

#hello I am once again posting barely edited fics in the wee hours AS IS MY WONT #do you know how long I've had a tab open with the wikihow article on shaving with a straight razor?? it's been WEEKS #someday I will improve on my current writing speed of twelve words per day smh #my writing #dreamling #the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling

298 notes · View notes

dream0fschism · 1 year

Note

are your nsfw requests still open? if they are could you do one with könig and medic!reader? the rest is up to you

god i’m such a konig slut

i'm back, my darlings!

PAIRING: König x f!reader

“I’m getting tired of seeing your hooded face, König.”

He never spoke much, a thing not uncommon for men in his field of work. Many preferred the comfortable air that the silence brought, enjoyed how it was such a stark contrast to the sounds of gunfire, explosions, screaming. It made your dingy, makeshift clinic a refreshing stop for most.

But the man in front of you had made trips to your room so frequently you’d figured he must have broken some kind of record. You’d treated gunshot wounds, minor burns, patched up his bloody knuckles countless times… there wasn’t an inch of skin you hadn’t laid your fingers upon. Each time you cared for his cuts or stab wounds, some of which hash-marked atop of old and stubborn scars, it was as if you gathered more intel about his personality otherwise untold.

König was a machine, dangerously dedicated to proving his worth - dangerous for the receiving party, of course - with a willingness to sacrifice as much of his flesh and blood as it takes. If necessary, he would nurse his own injuries, albeit terribly, in favour of granting himself an advantage or winning battles. You recall a few times in which you scolded him for his amateur efforts. “If you cauterise one more wound this terribly I’m going to refuse you of future treatment.”

Of course, he’d remained silent. But you swore you saw the slight crinkle in the skin around his eyes.

And in his dedication you couldn’t help but see a deep insecurity. Sometimes, but only on the rare occasion, he would show up barely alive. He would always be alone, never needing his comrades to waste their energy and strength on carrying him to safety. But you would always worry the most in these situations, when his skin was pale and cold and he still refused to remove his hood. “Anything below here, I can take care of myself,” he’d struggled to grumble out.

If he wasn’t so unbelievably skilled, you’d assume he had a death wish.

“I’m sure you’ve said that before,” he answered, the sudden sound of his accented voice gifting you with slight surprise.

“I suppose I’m running out of things to say,” you chuckle, continuing to swab at the dry blood clinging to the skin of his sternum. “And you’re just about running out of unmarked skin.”

“Mm, my gear does seem to be quite useless,” König nods. “Perhaps fighting naked wouldn’t make much of a difference.”

The harmless joke has heat creeping onto your cheeks, and you’re really baffled by your own brain because of it. As if you hadn’t seen ninety-percent of his body already.

“Perhaps not.”

"You are blushing," he notes. "Yet this isn't your first time you've rubbed at my bare skin."

The hand you had placed against him stilled momentarily as his point only intensified the bubbling heat in your face, swelling a ruby-red shade along each of your cheekbones. You continued your aid, with a strict refusal to allow your gaze anywhere else except for his wound.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," König breaks the short silence that followed.

You laugh dryly as your awkwardness fizzles away a little. "You're all finished."

König brushes a hand over the gauze, inspecting your work. When he says nothing, you stand on your feet and gather the used swabs, kicking your wheeled stool to the side to make your way to the bin.

Before the lid had even closed the trash behind it, you felt the warmth of his towering presence at your back. It startled you all the same, a sharp inhale sucking its way through your parted lips.

"I have to ask.. Do you like seeing what's beneath my gear?" He presses each of his long fingers into your shoulder as his hand cups over it.

"Isn't that question a little inappropriate..."

"If I'm crossing a line, then tell me to stop."

You open your mouth to reply, unsure of what exactly you'll say when the hand at your shoulder slowly begins to move. He's agonizingly slow, careful as he explores over the layer of your white button-up, and you feel utterly insane for being unable to use your words and put an end to it.

Instead, you stare blankly at the off-white wall in front of you and allow his hand to roam.

"Can I tell you something?" He asks, edging his hand to cup below your right breast. The touch causes you to lean into the tower of his body, a sudden tenderness and sensitivity wracking each nerve in your chest.

"I enjoy coming to see you," he continues, prompted by the way you relax against him. "In fact, I refuse to see anyone else when I'm injured."

It makes you cock an eyebrow. "I thought it was strange, just how often you needed medical attention. Were you slacking out there? Hoping to get injured so you could see me?"

König huffs out a dry laugh. "No. But part of me did want to be indebted to you."

Liar.

"Why?"

"Because I needed an excuse to give you exactly what you deserve."

You swallow a dryness in your throat, the hand on your breast gives a generous squeeze as you do so. You almost choke on your own saliva.

"If that's something you want..."

"And what do I deserve?" Though you feel as though you already know the answer, you ask anyway, subsequently causing a heavy pulse at within your heat.

"I'm much better with actions than words."

"They do speak louder, I suppose..."

König takes your response as agreement, the hand at your breast moving to dig desperately beneath one of the spaces between the buttons of your shirt. He finds purchase and, in one swift pull, violently rips open the shirt, each button clicking gently as they bounce against the tiled floor.

You open your mouth to scold him, to tell him that he owes you a new shirt pronto - but König is determined to waste no time as his hands are already tugging the band of your bra down to expose your tits.

"I've wanted to see these for a long time," he breathes, and you hear the tremble in his exhale as he does so. "So perfect."

It dawns on you that you must be an obsession of his, that he may be interested in you significantly more than you are in him. It's the only viable explanation for his reckless behaviour, and yet it still didn't make sense why he would risk his life even more than he already did just to be in your presence.

"I.. hope you realise I have no other shirt to wear," you say, inhaling sharply at the sensation of his hot, calloused fingers brushing circles into the shape of each of your nipples. "How am I going to leave this room?"

König tuts as his hands cage around the mounds of your chest and pulls you flush against him.

"Who said you're going to leave this room?"

The pit in your stomach spirals into a trench, and then König is lifting you, using the leverage of your weight against him, before you can even stutter out a response. His hands guide your body along like you're no heavier than a bag of rice, a true display of his unbeatable strength that sends your mind numb - reminds you of just who you're dealing with.

A ruthless, merciless killing machine.

When König settles onto the examination table, he makes sure that you're positioned perfectly onto the tautness of his giant thighs, and you finally win against the babbling, incoherent flurry of thoughts inside your skull and speak.

"This... Surely we're violating multiple codes of conduct.. protocols... I-"

König allows you to cut yourself off, relishes in the way you hiccup at the sensation of linen on skin as deft hands begin to slide up your skirt.

"We can stop," he suggests, halting the movement of his hands but continuing to brush his fingertips back and forth, so awfully close to the insides of your thighs.

You squeeze your eyes shut and drop your head to rest just below his shoulder. Every single horny neuron inside of your brain fires at you, reminds you of just how neglected you've been sexually, what the countless hours of constant shifts have denied you for so long. And then it dawns on you.

"König, we can't. I'm not on birth control."

The man laughs. Laughs. It's the first time you've ever heard such a soft, genuine sound escape his mouth. You feel a twitch below because of it, the heat between your legs only solidifying the way his display of amusement has made your want for him so much more intense.

"Love, I'm only interested in your pleasure."

And you know better than most that a man who prefers giving rather than receiving is a rare find.

It would be a tragic waste.

When you spread your legs unconsciously, your skirt ruffles up until it can't no more and König reacts accordingly to the invitation your cunt is giving to him. But he spends too much time massaging the sensitive skin between your thighs for your liking, and you lift your hips to encourage something more.

What you get is rather unexpected, and would be a little annoying if you weren't so drunk on your own arousal. König hooks a finger under the material covering your hip bone and jerks his wrist, tearing your panties with ease before moving to finish the job at the other side.

"Please," you murmur, eyes trained on the large hand between your legs. He shushes you, with a gentleness you didn't suspect he had in him.

"Quiet now," he hums out. "Let me show you how grateful I am to you."

You feel your clit screaming for pressure, but König's fingers seem to ignore the cry as he toys with the wetness around your hole. The sensation tickles slightly, until he's pressing his middle and ring fingers inside.

Immediately, your hands fly up to brace at the arm that begins to move, long fingers filling you enough to bring a whimper from you. It feels good, but not perfect, and the man seems to read your mind as he curls his digits to rub at your sensitive, spongy spot.

"Oh, fffuck," you sigh, digging the back of your head into him with more force and following with a series of guttural groans.

"Quiet," he scolds, a slight venom in his tone. "Or I'll have to stop."

"Don't," you almost growl with a buck of your hips.

You almost forget the other hand that rests over your left breast until it starts to knead and pull at the skin, almost miss the sound of König's pants as they ooze with arousal from behind his mask.

With only the sensation of König's palm brushing against it, your clit is desperately swollen. You're willing to look the other way when you feel yourself constricting around the now three fingers pumping in and out of you.

When he speaks, his movements don't falter.

"I'm going to stop, and when I do, I want you to lay on your back on this table. Understand?"

"Yes," you obey. You're pretty much putty in his hands at this point anyway.

And so you splay out on the cold metal of the table - which your white coat does nothing to protect you from - skirt bunched up around your hips, shirt ruined and ripped open and completely exposing your chest and belly.

"Lift your legs," he commands, hand ready to hold them in place as you do as you're told.

At the end of the table he stands, lanky arms reaching over to grasp each of your ankles as he slides you along the metal until the backs of your thighs butt against his own.

You feel uncomfortably aware of how exposed you are as he spreads your legs and examines the sight before him. His eyes are cold, fierce - akin to the eyes of a hunter eyeing its prey. Your body feels as cold as the surface beneath it underneath his stare.

König releases your ankles to let your heels rest at his shoulders as his hands begin a slow trail down and along your trembling thighs. Each of his thumbs hook around your corresponding hip bones, calloused fingers cupping in place at your lower back.

His baby blues eyes are considerably darkened to a shade of grey as they flick up to meet your own, and moments later the hem of his hood is brushing gently over your swollen slit.

You've never seen his face, but you've never wanted to more than you do now. His hold on you is intoxicating in a way that staggers your cognition, robs your brain of any chance of comprehension as you can only watch him lean further forward and dip until you can feel the heat of his breath against your cunt. His tongue is hot, completely saturated in his own saliva as it makes contact with your puffy clit. It snatches the breath from your lungs with violence, and when it starts to massage on and around the nerve you can only mewl and whine meekly.

König continues his watch on you the entire time, evidently enjoying the pained look that the struggle to keep quiet brings to your face.

You lift your hips into the onslaught of his mouth, and his grip around them becomes vice-like as he forces you into place and sucks harshly at your nub. This only serves to fuel your physical struggle under his pleasure more, and he grunts at your display of disobedience, lifting you higher until only your upper back and head touch the table.

The new position makes any movement too difficult for you, forces you to submit against him as he groans into the taste of your pussy. "König, I-God, I can't--" You flail your arms until they slump defeatedly back down to your sides, nails scratching at the frigid surface below you.

He manoeuvres his grip for comfort, lifting you further, until his forearms are encircling and squeezing around your waist and your calves hang over each of his shoulders.

"König, please, fuck--"

The man hums into your heat, all but abusing your clit with the vibration that follows through the sound. You're forced to slap one hand over your mouth to muffle the repetition of cries falling from it. König's lucky, his hood seems to dull his grumbles of pure satisfaction that reverberate against you. But you still hear every bit of them.

Your body spasms when you come undone against König's relentless mouth, legs jittering with a force that wobbles your entire body against his own. His hold on you helps stabilise you through the orgasm, but your hands fail to suppress the desperate, hopeless wails you release from behind them.

"That was beautiful," you barely hear him say through the ringing in your ears. "But I'm not done, Doctor."

#konig x reader #konig x you #König x reader #König x you #konig smut #König smut #konig fanfiction #König fanfiction #König call of duty #konig mw2 #König mw2 #mw2 smut #mw2 fanfic #könig x fem reader

2K notes · View notes

artful-aries · 1 year

Note

Can I please have How they flirt headcanons for zhongli scaramoche and Childe? Thank you in advance 🤗

Hello hello!!! I have no excuse for taking so long to put out content other than my job killing me and getting distracted with oil painting

How They Flirt With You (Zhongli, Scaramouche, Childe)

Zhongli:

His flirting is as refined as osmanthus wine

He is very gentlemanly when he flirts; chaste, grazing touches, deep, meaningful looks, and his willingness to jump at your beck and call are very prevalent as he seeks to woo you

Zhongli wouldn’t overload you with compliments, that would make it seem like he only cares for your physical appearance or that he is too obsessive. When he does compliment you, it is pure poetry that falls from his lips

“Your eyes shine like the purest noctilucous jade. For all of the wonders of Teyvat, you are certainly the most captivating.”

He knows his compliments can come off pretty strong in their own right, which is why he keeps them to a minimum unless he is absolutely sure that you are okay with it

None of his flirtations would come across as needy or desperate, he is calm, cool, and collected as he effortlessly but respectfully flirts with you

Being as old as he is, he does not clam up when it comes to things of this nature, nor is he afraid of the possibility of rejection. It’s all part of the mortal experience that he wishes to see more of

The unfortunate part of Zhongli’s flirting is that he can be incredibly long winded and wind up telling you the whole history of processing silk flowers into usable fabric before he can think to stop himself

He tries to pay attention to what you’re interested in, but if a topic comes up that he’s knowledgeable about, he can’t help himself but to delve deep into the topic with you

It’s not that he’s trying to show off in a conceited way, but Zhongli does like showing you that he is knowledgeable and capable in a wide variety of subjects. He just has a hard time reigning himself in once he gets started.

If you decide to flirt back with him, his demeanor isn’t going to change much other than he’s going to have a soft smile permanently plastered to his face

The way you flirt amuses him, but it makes a warmth seep deep into his heart, and his hands tingle slightly as he practically eats up your flirtations

He wants nothing more than to kiss you in these moments, but Zhongli is going to bide his time and wait. Like stone, he knows his feelings are not subject to change for a long, long time, but mortals can be fickle with their affections. He wants to wait and see how serious you are about him before trying to take things to the next step

Scaramouche:

Chant “tsundere” in the mirror three times and Scaramouche will appear

When he starts developing a crush, he’s going to deny it to himself for a while. What use is a crush to him?

As the feelings only continue to grow as he’s around you, he has two options; avoid you, or bully you (these are clearly the only two rational options for when you have a crush on someone)

Scaramouche will attempt to avoid you first, going weeks meticulously avoiding you before he finally just gives up. It’s clearly not working for him, if anything, it’s making his thoughts of you worse

So, dropping back into your life like he never left in the first place, he starts bullying you

He never gets physical and doesn’t say absolutely horrendous things, but he will frequently imply that he thinks you’re an idiot or a weakling

You might genuinely think he just hates you, and rightfully so. Yet if you ever actually get genuinely upset with him, especially to the point of storming off or giving him the silent treatment, Scaramouche will internally panic

He won’t apologize, at least not outright, but it is very easy to see the shift in his demeanor. He makes sure that you’re in earshot to hear him say nice things about you to others, or he just sort of hangs around you as though he’s silently begging you to forgive him

When you do finally start talking to him again, he can’t help but feel a little giddy even though it makes him feel weak and pathetic

From there, his flirting actually begins, but he’s certainly no charmer. Scaramouche is still as abrasive and hard to get along with as ever, but he does random acts of kindness for you now. He’ll call you an idiot, but give you bundles of your favorite snack. He’ll scoff at you cooing over a cute cat, but will sneak a cat plush he made himself that looks just like the kitten you were cooing over the other day into your belongings

If you decide to flirt back, he’ll laugh and ask if you’re serious. When you confirm that you are in fact serious with your words, a blush will develop on his cheeks, and he will finally be rendered speechless instead of running his smart mouth

Childe:

This man is quite the tease, and it’s hard to tell when he’s just looking to get a reaction out of you or when he’s being genuine in his flirtations

He’s touchy to a fault. He sees no problem with hoisting you up randomly over his shoulder and carrying you off somewhere. The way you fluster and struggle against his hold his just so cute to him, you can’t expect him to behave when you give him such nice reactions

If you gave indication that you would genuinely start hating him for being so handsy, Childe would reign it in. As much fun as it is to push your buttons, he doesn’t want you to hate him

His touchiness doesn’t completely die, but it’s a lot more gentle and sweet, more like proper flirtation rather than borderline manhandling you

With his connections to Northland Bank, he likes to spoil you just a little bit with gifts. Nothing extravagant since you’re not dating yet, but just nice little sentimental things to show that he’s thinking of you even when he can’t pry himself away from his work

Childe also flirts by showing off, especially when it comes to fighting. He makes sure that the fight is never too dangerous or scary, but he wants you to see him absolutely decimate his enemies

It’s like he’s showing you how strong he is, that you can rely on him if you wanted to

That being said, he definitely gets a little cocky and gets himself hurt a time or two, but that just gives him an excuse to play up the injury a little so he can get you to tend to him

He will totally give you flirtatious winks and teasing remarks as you help him apply bandages to his bare torso, saying that surely you must have been dreaming of the day he got hurt so you could do this

This would be your chance to turn the tables on him and get him flustered. Shoot him a teasing remark back or let your hand ghost over the curves of his muscles and the man will turn as red as his hair

Childe loves a competition though, and will ramp up the flirty comments and gestures until you give up and walk out a blushing mess or you give in and finally kiss his stupid lips already

He knows that no matter which way things will turn out, it’ll be all the more thrilling for him

The Harbinger totally doesn’t mind staying in the flirting stage for a while; he almost likes the chase more than the reward. Almost.

640 notes · View notes

edenfenixblogs · 3 months

Text

"Night" is Free if You're an Audible Subscriber

A lot of people's only experience with learning about the Holocaust is Anne Frank's Diary or works of fiction.

Anyone speaking about i/p right now NEEDS to read this first person account of life in a concentration camp.

There is a right way and a wrong way to read this book.

The right way: Sit with the uncomfortable feeling that non-Jewish people did this to Jews. Not just Germans and not just Nazis. The European leaders who aligned with Hitler and fought with him did this. The Russians who distributed and popularized the antisemitic conspiracy theories which informed much of Europe's Jew hatred at the time did this. The neighbors who sat back and watched as government officials carted off people they knew and saw every day or shot them in the streets and buried them in mass graves. The ones who convinced themselves they were good people simply because they didn't pull the trigger or operate a gas chamber. The citizens of nations of the Allied powers who turned away Jewish refugees from Europe. The Nazi sympathizers in the US. The vast ,expansive hatred against Jews that prevented anyone from intervening on our behalf.

Sit with the fact that nobody intervened to protect Jews, ever. The Allied powers intervened to stop German expansionism, not to protect Jews. They did not fight in WWII to protect Jews. That any Jews survived at all is a miracle. The fact that the camps were liberated at all is a miracle. Because it wasn't a goal. It wasn't something that people were fighting to achieve. That's what people don't seem to understand.

Killing Jews WASN'T the thing that the Allied powers had a problem with.

Plenty of Americans and Europeans from Allied nations thought it sure was a shame that Hitler was so aggressively expansionist, because he had some great ideas about how to kill all those Jews.

And unless you're Jewish, there is the extremely uncomfortable but likely chance that someone you loved was pretty OK with killing my family.

Or, at the very least, that someone killing my family was not something they had the emotional capacity or willingness to engage with. Think about what that does to my trust for YOU. And if you don't think that someone you loved passed on that apathy and antisemitism to you, then you're naive.

The only correct way for a non-Jew to read this book is to sit with who they are as people and think about how they treat Jews and try to empathize with how this indescribable tragedy affected and continues to affect Jews worldwide.

If you have never read this book, I want you to think long and hard about how absolutely terrifying it is for Jewish people that, I, a Jewish woman, have to BEG non-Jews to read it. Because your education system failed you. And because Jews are afraid that YOUR BEHAVIOR WILL DO THIS TO US AGAIN.

The wrong way: Making this true memoir about living through an industrialized genocide about ANYTHING other than antisemitism and antisemitic apathy. You don't get to use it to draw parallels to other atrocities or wars or people. At least not during/while processing your first reading of this book. Why? Because until you sit with your own internalized antisemitism, where and who it came from, and are willing to confront your own hate toward us, then you are missing the point. The point is that people can convince themselves they are good and that they care about their fellow humans and they can have empathy for everyone except Jews. Sure, they might think it's sad that bad things keep happening to Jews. But it never really seems to be the priority, does it? It never seems to be a pressing enough issue to be worth addressing. There's always something more important happening.

That's antisemitic thinking too. You do, actually, need to prioritize dismantling your antisemitism in order to, you know, dismantle it. Just because you don't sit around daydreaming about Hitler doesn't mean you're not antisemitism. Ignoring us is part of your antisemitism--one of the most damaging and intrinsic parts of antisemitism actually. The Holocaust did not happen because most people hated Jew enough to kill us. The Holocaust happened because a bunch of people didn't care enough Jews to stop the people who DID want to harm us.

If you can't think of the last time you tried to unlearn something antisemitic within yourself, then people like you are why the Holocaust happened. If you have had to tune out Jewish pain because it feels like a "distraction," then people like you are why the Holocaust happened. If your reaction to reading this is to feel some kind of righteous anger that I've called you a bad person because you have proof you care about other people, then you are the kind of person who allowed the Holocaust to happen. And you're also wrong.

Because I'm not calling you a bad person. I'm calling you a flawed person who has the ability to fix a flaw that has the potential to harm others. I'm not asking you to care about other, non-Jewish, people. And I'm not asking you to STOP caring about the non-Jewish people you care about.

What I am saying is that claiming that you care about Jewish people is not the same as actually caring about us.

I'm asking you to sit and read this book and to remember that it is about JEWISH PAIN and a JEWISH TRAGEDY that happened to JEWISH PEOPLE. You need to actually devote time to caring about Jewish people, because society never taught you how to do that, and it has no infrastructure built to help you do that. Because antisemitism is baked into the infrastructure itself. Take the time. Read the book. Let Jewish pain be about Jewish people. Let us own our own tragedy. Do not take it from us to apply to other situations. ESPECIALLY not when the actual original situation was something that nobody cared about enough to prevent.

Understand this: If you're not Jewish, there is no way I can explain to you how painful it is to watch people be so invested in likening every terrible thing that happens to any other group of people to the Holocaust, when those same people never actually first tried caring about the Holocaust and the people it actually happened to.

#an eden original #elie wiesel #antisemitism #holocaust inversion #leftist antisemitism #shoah tw #holocaust tw #night

103 notes · View notes

five-flavor-soup · 5 months

Text

Why the endgame couples in A:TLA weren’t necessary: a frustrated ramble

Listen I’m a Zutara shipper through and through (developed after my second rewatch in 2013) but by Tui Agni and La am I glad that it never happened in canon?? Like Kataang and Maiko themselves already felt so rushed and almost out-of-nowhere and their canonisation added like nothing to the plot. Aang’s crush on Katara is a plot device; Zuko’s relationship with Mai at the start of S3 is a plot device. I can barely fathom how Zutara would’ve turned out and I also kinda don’t want to. Imagine Zuko and Katara kissing at the end of the series: it feels completely out of left field, doesn’t it? Knowing that who-ends-up-with-who was an argument in the writer’s room for almost all three seasons means that it could’ve happened.

It shouldn’t have. I don’t think the Kataang kiss or the Maiko romance-reunion should’ve happened either. It’s unnecessary to add—there’s just no need for it, and my nagging here isn’t because I like Zutara and I don’t like how Maiko and Kataang turned out. It’s because the ships and couples and whatever the fuck else are NOT, and should not, be the point of A:TLA—and the ‘couple gets together in the very last scene and all is well :)’ shot suggests that it is.

A:TLA, to me, tried to show the horrifying nature of war and all its victims: the harrowing poverty, the deep-rooted trauma, the bloody violence. I interpreted the most prominent message of A:TLA to be that what was happening during those 100 years is wrong, that war is wrong—it affects the humanity within people, affects what point we offer empathy and kindness, because horrific trauma and needless violence muddies it all up. Why would you hold out a hand for someone who would’ve murdered you if they had the chance? Why would you physically support someone who hurt you and those you care about deeply? Those of the other nations can barely scrounge up empathy for someone from the Fire Nation, because those of the Fire Nation present themselves as inhuman. Those of the Fire Nation can barely scrounge up empathy for someone from any of the other nations, because the Fire Nation presents them as inhuman. And A:TLA shows that all these people are human, good and bad and all of that in between, because that’s just what humanity is. Varied and morally grey.

THAT’S what the GAang learns. That’s what the people around them learn. It’s what Iroh, a war criminal in his own right, tries to teach every child and teen who he interacts with: not in a preachy way, but in a vague way that implies he’d rather have them figure it out themselves lest they interpret his direct teachings wrong. He got indoctrinated into this terrorising, imperialist regime from the day he was born and onwards and it took a personal loss — the death of his son during a siege Iroh himself was leading, a siege in which Iroh and Lu Ten were the aggressors — for him to start thinking that maybe it’s all wrong. Maybe what he was taught is wrong. And he doesn’t want these children to take as long as he did.

The GAang and their (teenage) enemies and small antagonists have all been touched by war, almost to the point of no return. None of the need for violence, the calm in the face of battle and death, the willingness to sacrifice innocents for a sliver of retribution, the extensive knowledge of How To Fight A Battle And Win—none these qualities that these children (!!) may or may not portray are ‘normal’ teenage behaviours. They simply have to have them, or they die or freeze. Their childhoods were stopped in their tracks early because of experiences no child should ever experience. Such is the reality of war. And yet, in spite of the hurt and harm, the GAang is still capable of kindness and empathy. That’s what it’s about.

To end the series with explicit romance — Sokka/Suki doesn’t count, their relationship is not as in-your-face as The Scenes — just feels wrong. Maybe with another season of development it could’ve worked far better (and less unexpected, especially since the previous one-on-one Kataang interaction was Katara getting cross with Aang for kissing her when she was confused; and the previous one-on-one Maiko interaction was Zuko locking Mai in a cell/out of the way and then leaving without looking back). But with the three seasons that we got, it feels odd that the romance is highlighted at the end—especially when Zuko was miserable with Mai (with her being the human representation of ‘close your eyes and pretend everything’s fine’), and there ALSO was a perfectly good ending scene with the GAang bickering right there. Right before the ending kiss.

Why end it like that, when the series isn’t about romance, but about familial and platonic love and love for humanity instead? Why not just hint towards getting (back) together? What’s the point of these confirmations other than ‘the hero gets the girl’ in both instances?

#atla critical #avatar: the last airbender #kataang critical #maiko critical #anti kataang #anti maiko #just to be safe #they should’ve been developed way more imo #they just felt rushed idk what to say #the gaang #atla #LOVE zutara. am endlessly glad it isn’t canon #atla meta #i suppose??#long post

110 notes · View notes

desire-mona · 2 months

Text

why i think richard cameron is Like That

the long awaited cam analysis post of sorts!!!

so to start off, let me acknowledge the obvious: CAMERON SUCKED FOR WHAT HE DID TO HIS FRIENDS. THAT WAS MEAN AND SHITTY OF HIM, HE DESERVED TO GET PUNCHED IN THE FACE AND HE DESERVED TO HAVE HIS FRIENDS STOP LIKING HIM. this post is just to paint a more nuanced picture of the motivations and reasoning behind his cam-ness. also i feel the need to address that my love for dylan kussman HEAVILY influences my opinion on cameron, so please keep that in find when u read this. if my bias shows at any point then feel free to offer your perspective, odds are i'll find a way to agree :3

lets start at the very beginning of the movie, his first appearance with the tradition banner. this obviously wasn't anything i rly thought of in depth on my first watch, but on my second watch i was like oh Hm.

tradition, of course, is a BIG aspect of welton that the movie repeatedly emphasises, drawing lots of attention to how nothing changes. i find cam holding the tradition banner especially interesting in relativity to neil holding the excellence banner specifically. cam very clearly tries his best to embody the rules of welton (more on this later) and very rarely deviates from those rules, although he does on occasion (again - more on this later.) but despite his attempts to be the manifestation of those values are never met with any praise, unlike neil. that's not to say that neil isn't deserving of that praise though, absolutely he is deserving, but in terms of academics specifically, cam's pretty up there too! this part doesnt exactly tie in directly with the rest of the post, but just thought id point it out first to add a layer to the rest of my thoughts.

how i view cam's character arc is something that's framed in a way thats not supposed to be viewed as an arc, i suppose (interesting considering the tradition thing hm). of course thats inaccurate as he does in fact have in arc, it just small in relation to the more forefront-ed poets. and it makes him ultimately less likeable, so.

during a majority of the movie (pre neil death) cam is known as the guy who doesnt like to break rules, that much is obvious, but in the end he still does with the dead poets society. now the reasoning behind that isnt actually touched on in a direct way, so there are a few different ways you can view that. i'll touch on a few different reasonings that me, @pencileraser1, and @good--merits-accumulated came up with.

my reasoning - i see cam's willingness to break the rules as cam holding his friends' idea of him on a high pedestal, constantly taking into consideration what they think. not wanting his friends to consider him a loser or boring in any way, he joins despite the anxiety surrounding being caught. not without fuss though, he does still outwardly talk about how this isnt something they should be doing. all this and yet he does in fact join, AND he doesnt rat anyone out for a majority of the movie (even after the call from god dealio!!!) fomo, basically.

nick's reasoning (found in this post) - he just wanted his friends to be safe!!! joining to (in my view) keep them in line in terms of safety as well as. i guess. provide the reminder of the consequences i suppose?? nick im opening up the floor to u if u wanna delve into this point more cuz ur definitely able to provide better reasoning n such. if asking nick to talk abt things was a full time job.

tristan's reasoning (discussed in dms) - cam's need for authority. tristan brought up a very good headcanon/ theory/ something or other that cam is the type to need constant direction or authority, and i totally agree! (reason for that will - again - come up later.) now this culminates in a couple different ways. 1) most obviously, adhereing (ehh) to the rules of welton, and 2) his relationship with the rest of the poets. due to the size of the welton student body, a lack of individual direction from teachers and staff is almost inevitable. so to fill that gap, he adheres to his friends' """"""rules"""""", and joins the poets. floor is open to you as well if you'd like to elaborate further, tristan :3

my thoughts of cam being super focused on his friends' idea of him actually started as a bit. i believe i made a hc post about smoking weed?? maybe?? and said something along the lines of "cam would smoke even if he doesnt want to, not cuz of peer pressure from his friends but more of a self imposed peer pressure. thinking its rude/ cringe/ uncool to turn down smthn like this bc all the rest of the guys r doing it." but after a rewatch of the scene in dps where theyre all walking outside, it started having some merit in my mind! in that scene, keating does a sort of imitation of cameron when he first starts to walk, something like "am i doing this right?", "am i walking weird?", etc. (paraphrasing ofc.) so i sort of took that aspect and applied it to other parts of his character and found out that oh, this actually kinda makes sense!

speaking of keating and his lessons, lets talk carpe diem.

now my interpretation of cam is that he doesn't exactly *want* to apply carpe diem in his life, seeing it as an antithesis of the welton values. only joining the poets for the reasons mentioned above. however, he does indeed apply it in my eyes, but more as a fucked up reversal and dickish version which eventually ends up in him deservedly getting punched. now is this how keating intended him to interpret carpe diem? ehhhhhhhhhhhhh,, it's complicated, let's talk about the context a bit.

this part is more theorising than anything, so take it with a few grains of salt if u wish.

cam quite obviously is a pretty big stickler for the rules, which i believe is a result of outside influence. id like to thank @lovech1ld for reminding me of this! cam's parents/ grandparents/ guardians are noticably older than the other poets, which, in my eyes, makes a heavy emphasis on following the rules make a lot more sense (respect your elders type shit.) so this, combined with the inherent fear of authority that most of the boys seem to have, makes him a chronic rule follower. but it goes further than that, after these ideas have been pushed for so long, i feel that cameron's started to mix up his own personal morals and values with the morals and values of welton, viewing those two things as one in the same. here's where that starts to muddy things up in terms of carpe diem.

i interpret cam's finking AS his application of carpe diem in his life, but as more of a subconscious choice. now you may be thinking "hey. mona. what?" and i UNDERSTAND! but here's my reasoning behind that. as i mentioned/ theorised before, cam has a very high opinion of his friends' idea of him, but this does eventually change after neil's passing. his subconscious carpe diem application, to put it into proper words, was a way to stick up for himself and his beliefs despite what all his friends think. again, being brought about by neils death, since he didn't choose to rat anyone out when the opportunity first presented itself during the call from god assembly. and i dont think cam sticking up for himself is inherently a bad thing!! but! since cam's idea of his morals are so clouded by welton's, this isn't actually sticking up for himself, this is just being a tattletale.

he did provide other reasoning for doing so to the poets of course, so lets talk a bit about that too. he says something along the lines of "i did it for neil" and "this is what he wouldve wanted" which is obviously bullshit, objectively. but i don't think he saw it that way, i think he genuinely believed thats what he thought neil would've wanted, as stupid of him as that was. obviously thats not what he wouldve wanted AT ALL, and why he actually thought that is FAR beyond me. but i really dont think he wouldve turned anyone in if he didnt genuinely believe it, especially considering the fact that he was PART of the dead poets. even if he was the one to confess, im sure he likely got punished as well. (which also couldve been what he wanted? tristan this is an opening to also discuss catholic cam on here bc ur reasonings for that were INCREDIBLE.)

on top of this, i really dont think that cam actually understood the weight of what turning in everyone would do. now i will say right away, hes not dumb, he knew that keating would be fired and charlie would be expelled, and that alone should've turned him away if he really wanted to honor neil. as i said before we started, he absolutely deserved to be punched and lose his friends, that was a dick move that ended up ruining two lives for a long long time, if not forever.

but.

due to him grieving, his rules = morals shtick, and fear of authority, i think he turned in the poets without giving actual, proper thought into what the consequences of that would be. which manifests itself both in the film with the final scene.

in the last scene where all of the boys stand on the desk, we see multiple shots of cam looking around and looking at everyone standing. and we (or at least i) can definitely see some sort of consideration to join them!!! he of course doesnt, and ends up choosing to sit, looking QUITE ashamed. this too can he interpreted a couple ways, either as him being embarrassed that his peers are doing this, or as him wanting to join them but knowing that he was the reason keating was fired. knowing that it would be incredibly disingenuous, even if he stood as a way to sort of apologise to keating + the poets for what he did and show that he regrets his actions, he stayed seated. and was so. so. mad at himself for it.

now i don't remember where i heard this so im not sure how to go about fact checking, but i believe the choice to keep cam seated was ultimately dylan kussman's?????? but dont take my word as gospel in terms of that, i very well could be wrong.

BUT! this gives me an opportunity to talk abt how much i love dylan kussman!!!!! nick vocalised the thought before i was able to in one of his posts, but considering the fact that i agree wholeheartedly, i'll reiterate it. i see rsl and ethan hawke constantly be praised (deservedly!) for their understanding of the inner workings of their characters, especially reflected in the desk set scene. and while YES ABSOLUTELY, i think dylan needs this praise as well. dylan was the PERFECT casting choice for cameron and i will shout that from the rooftops until my voice goes hoarse. so so so many of his little mannerisms, facial expressions, ways of speaking, soooo many etceteras are just so. so. CAMERON! even the most comprehensive directorial choices cant top an actor's inherent understanding of a character and reflection of that in their performance. good god! i think my new dream in life is to ask dylan about how he came about properly embodying cameron and his process in doing so.

anyway

with my dylan fanfare over, that about wraps up my thoughts on cam in terms of the film itself. HOWEVER. i have lots and lots of thoughts after a long convo with tristan about certain headcanons and post-canon theories and whatever. will probably touch on those but i dont really have my thoughts properly collected enough, so that wont be until later.

as per usual with these types of posts, everyone else is welcome to add any input they may have. cam is one of my fav things to talk abt in terms of dps so i will eat up every single little thing. thank u for reading!!!!

#desire mona #WOO MAN #this took a while #but we're done!! finally!!!#dead poets society #richard cameron #dylan kussman #banger

54 notes · View notes

bonefall · 4 months

Note

Struggling to find posts u've made in the past about Stoneclaw, but I love her sm. Definitely one of my BB Blorbos

I don't think I've ever put together a particular thingie on her, she's a beloved background character who tends to show up on her own in various places. Like when I talked about sign, before making the deafness guide!

BB!Stoneclaw is a gray-and-gold tortie, and the sister of Thrushwing. They come from one of the field guides, where it's revealed the two of them were sitting their vigil on the night that ShadowClan drove WindClan out of their home. In canon, Thrushwing is the survivor, but for BB, we all just kinda liked Stoneclaw's name more than Thrushwing's, so I decided to hit him with the Woman Beam.

On the night of the WindClan Massacre, Stoneclaw and Thrushwing were sitting vigil.

Daughters of Flytail and Eagleswoop, and grandkits of Tallstar himself. They were a promising young pair.

Before they even knew what hit them, they heard Brokenstar's yowl.

A squadron burst from the shadows, sliced Thrushwing's throat open, and smashed Stoneclaw's head to the ground

ShadowClan wasn't showing mercy, survivors were incidental. Their goal was to kill as many cats as possible.

Stoneclaw was dazed for a few seconds, going limp, but when she came to she leapt right back into the fray. She watched the rest of her family fold.

Tangleburr and her squadron went right for her father, Flytail, out of revenge for Lizardstripe, mobbing him and pulling him down

Eagleswoop just had a stroke of bad luck, failed to dodge, and was killed like prey

It was a horrific night, and what was once a large family was decimated to a couple of cats. She lost auncles, both parents, and her sister in one fell swoop.

Injured and aching, Stoneclaw said nothing as WindClan escaped the scene. The other survivors took it as a sign of great honor from the young warrior; that she had upheld her vow to the bitter end, even after losing so much.

But it lasted long after that night. The vigil has never truly 'ended' in her mind, so her vow of silence hasn't either.

Unfortunately, WindClan gets rough shake after rough shake from this point on, and she barely has a chance to heal in the constant barrage of violence and aggression. Between Nightstar's invasion, TigerClan, the BloodClan battle, the destruction of the White Hart woods, the Great Journey, and the Civil War... things only really started settling down years into her life, during Po3.

During the Civil War, Stoneclaw was actually ideologically aligned with Mudclaw, but took Onestar's side. She wanted to believe that Tallstar was lied to, but... she knew her grandfather better than anyone. Once the shock wore off, she had to face the horrible truth that he made a sudden, naiive decision.

It didn't take her long to stop regretting her choice, though. Her feelings are complicated, but her line too far is Mudclaw's willingness to attack his Clanmates.

Had she taken his side, she would have gone into battle with her future mate as a target. She doesn't think about it-- dismissing that she ever could have made such a choice.

Her internal monologue is a lot more afraid, frustrated, and exhausted than other cats would guess it is. Her actions don't match her thoughts.

She's hardworking, always trying to make her Clanmates comfortable, frets over her friends and family endlessly. Pair this with WindClan's assumption that her selective mutism is a "vow of silence," and most cats see her as an "ideal warrior." Someone kits should look up to and aspire to be.

She got into a relationship with Snapstorm waaaay too quickly; but luckily, Snapstorm is a really good mate.

After everything she'd been through, Snapstorm's cheerful, easygoing attitude was soothing and attractive. Snapstorm just had to say, "Hi Stoneclaw! Mice to see you around!" and then hand her a mouse for lunch and it was all over

Snapstorm was a BloodClan trader who joined along with Brushblaze, and one of the targets of the Civil War. She's a bit flighty and doesn't always think through everything she says, and doesn't worry about much either.

Their oldest kit is Buzzardclaw, who takes after Snapstorm a lot. So far I also gave them Crouchfoot in a later litter, but I've been thinking about giving them a bunch more.

The oldest litter was definitely accidental.

But not unwelcome. They both responded to it enthusiastically, Stoneclaw because she suddenly felt like she would have a big family again, and Snapstorm because she loves kids and just wanted to be a parent one day.

As mentioned before, they got into their mateship very quickly. They made each other happy and that's the whole reason.

Unfortunately, they would start seeing the difficulties of their personalities clashing while raising kittens. Which I just find FASCINATING which is honestly kinda why I want to throw more kits at them (not to mention how small WindClan is, padding is super appreciated)

See, Stoneclaw is dealing from serious CPTSD. Her mutism is NOT a vow. She can't speak and it's frustrating to her.

At the same time, watching the very helpful tail-signals that WindClan uses to communicate across the distant moor reminds her of battle signals, like she had to deal with during the fights with TigerClan. It's triggering, and that's ALSO stressful.

She's also lost so, so much of her family within the span of a few years, and is dealing with attachment issues as a result. Especially to that first litter, which she would be terrified of losing.

This makes an individual who can't communicate, but is desperate to. She hasn't been able to work well in groups for years, and unlike a more solitary cat like Willowclaw, this is not the result of a choice.

Snapstorm, being an outsider, is the first and only cat to not treat her behavior like... well, some kind of solemn vow to be "respected."

And that means a lot to Stoneclaw. Even if she was poetic, these are complicated feelings which would be hard to describe.

And Snapstorm is a sweetheart, but, she is putting a lot of effort into this relationship. She's not really great at focusing on one thing for too long, and a bit "forgetful" in the way that details go missing for a while until they come back later.

So sometimes an important bit of info slips her mind, or she misses a social cue and makes a joke that's a bit gruesome, or the fact that Clanmew is her second language rears up and she forgets words or translates a Townmew idiom directly and it Does Not Work.

While all this is happening, especially with the early litter, Stoneclaw is being a helicopter parent. Too worried to give her kits the freedom they need to develop, and Snapstorm is both trying to be a good parent and a good mate.

I'm fond of the idea that when Buzzardkit was very little, Stoneclaw was the Mi. But as she started to realize that her fear of losing him was hurting both of them, Snapstorm started taking over as Mi.

I think their dynamic is interesting. I like the idea of each litter ending up having a different upbringing, because of the state of their parents each time. Stone's also going to be sticking around for a very long time; definitely the last survivor of the WindClan Massacre, by many years. It's nice to think she's eventually surrounded by kits and grandkits, growing up in a better world than she did, even if it's not without its problems.

She's also going to start using Pawspeak, being one of its foundational members after developing a little friendship with SkyClan's Fallowfern. It's cathartic to her, finally feeling like there's a new context for WindClan's old tail signs, being used to communicate in a language rather than just be used for battle and hunting.

Stoneclaw is one of my personal little BB blorbos that I think about a lot. It's fun having conflicts like this going on in the background.

#BB!Stoneclaw #Holding her like a potato #I Just Think She's Neat #Better Bones AU #BB!WindClan #BB!Snapstorm

131 notes · View notes

nanfrost · 4 months

Text

A dive into Vertin's core aspect of her character and it's impact through the story: Part 1

This would be a character analysis with mix of speculations, headcannons and eventually just straight up heading to fanfiction levels territory, so if you were expecting a more cannon analysis, you have been warned.

With that said however, for those who are still interested, welcome to my insanity! This was something that I have been working with a friend of mine who you may or may not know as @acesw for the past week, and we are finally satisfied with it enough to post it! A lot of the ideas that are present in this came from them, while I offer my own interpretations and expanding on those very ideas through my writing. Without them, this analysis likely will have never come to fruition, so I can't be thankful enough for having them go on this journey with me, and also to just have as a good friend. Go check them out, they have really neat ideas and is a genuinely creative and artful person!

Now with that outta the way, time for the main event you are have been waiting for, our one and only beloved Timekeeper herself, and the emotional roller coaster that we have prepared for her. Please do enjoy.

Background context:

Vertin is an incredibly interesting and compelling character in many ways. Her ability to care for other people to a great extent whether she knows them for long or not. Her compassion for everyone around her, her empathy, her willingness to open her heart and listen to others when it matters. All these traits make up who Vertin is as a character and is a large part of why so many people fall in love with her and the story; to not only see more of her but to see where her story will go.

However, there is one part of her character that stands out the most to us, a core aspect of her character that makes up most, if not all her major decisions in the story up until this point, and will be the main subject of this entire analysis.

And that is Vertin's incredible sense of selflessness.

From going out of her way to save Regulus and not let her be forced to be taken in by the Foundation. Her attempts at getting through to Schneider, to understanding and showing her immense compassion even in the heat of moments. Choosing to stay behind in the Walden to fend off the Manus while the others escaped, and most crucial of all, her conscious decision to bury all her trauma inside herself to prevent others from worrying about her. Hell, even her entire motive and drive to seek the truth about the Storm and a way to stop it stems from her desire for freedom and the future of everyone.

All of this is in some way driven by Vertin's selfless nature, always prioritizing the sake of others above herself, to the point of risking her own life if it means she could protect those around her.

She's someone who will go out of her way to connect with others, even when knowing that the pain of losing them will never fade away, to give them comfort and help them if she can no matter what.

It is an incredibly beautiful part of what makes Vertin such a compelling, lovable, and admirable character and person, but at the same time, it also represents Vertin's biggest issue about herself.

That Vertin isn’t just selfless, she is selfless to a fault.

Vertin will prioritize saving everyone above herself, or rather, she would prioritize and save everyone but herself. For Vertin intrinsically has no sense of self-value nor self-worth; in other words, she has no self identity, for her entire life is valued based on other people, not herself. This can bring a lot of self-conflict, as well as possibly even harming others when reaching a point where every step taken is crucial.

And this serious of posts will detail and explore this aspect of her, its ramifications upon the character, and to not only show the ugliest and most painful parts of it, but to also show a path that Vertin might possibly take in the story to confront this part of herself somehow. In other words: welcome to Vertin's suffering builds character arc.

What can we tell from canon?

Where do we start seeing the decision making? We already start seeing them in the first 2 chapters. In summary:

Chapter 1 - Vertin continuously is left with decisions that she has to make on the fly, starting from deciding to try to see if Regulus can survive the storm and choosing to stay behind the Walden and risk getting harmed by the Manus Vindictae for the sake of her team as well as helping Schneider.

Chapter 2 - Vertin finds herself having to choose between keeping her silence and “joining” the Manus, and when she initially refuses, Arcana has her answer questions that bring unsatisfactory answers, leading her to harm Schneider. But when she does say she’ll join, she is first tasked and eventually manipulated to “kill” her.

Now, that’s all fine and dandy and does communicate that she is a very altruistic person and a selfless individual, but how is any of that bad or problematic? How does that correlate to her not having any sense of self-worth? Chapter 1’s ending is the first instance we get to see just how far Vertin’s selflessness goes, by her decision of staying behind to grant Sonetto and the others time to escape. Because of Vertin’s sacrificial play, Druvis and the majority of Manus didn’t pursue Sonetto's crew as aggressive as they would have, giving them time to properly make their runaway. Not only that, but both her and Schneider were kept alive, albeit captive.

There, Vertin’s selflessness is shown in a good light, being an admirable trait of hers that was crucial in progressing the story. This is the only instance in the story so far that has highlighted this trait of hers in a positive light, which is then contrasted by what happens in chapter 2.

Here, that aspect of hers that so far has been so boldly displayed as a good thing; saving Regulus and her team, is now flipped on its head, showing us that sometimes, being selfless simply isn't enough.

Vertin was put into a situation where she needed to make a choice, to either join Manus or reject their offer. When she chose the latter, Schneider was put into danger. And as each question Arcana asked piled on to her and the pressure started to rise further, Vertin went back on her words, choosing to stay with them.

This is so she could ensure Schneider’s survival, a selfless choice she makes for the sake of a person she had barely known. It was also here where Vertin’s naivety blinds her of the situation she was in.

That no matter what she chose, Schneider wasn't going to make it out of this.

Schneider had already betrayed them, but even before that, she never truly believed in them in the first place, only soaking up to them for her own personal goals. She was the one who lied to Manus about her identity, to pretend to play along with them until she bided her time, and now she was captured right in their hands.

It doesn’t take much for one to come to the conclusion that Schneider was a dead woman walking.

Yet, Vertin did not see this. For her view of the world even at this point was too naive, warped by her own perception and belief. A belief that by giving herself up, by throwing her own agency away will somehow lead to other people’s lives improving. That somehow, someway, by disregarding her own safety, the safety of others will be secured.

Vertin is living in a highly warped perception of the world, thinking and believing that if she alone suffers, no one else has to.

Green Oranges serves as a reality check to Vertin, albeit one that Vertin was unfortunately in too much emotional distress to properly realised.

However, it’s important to note that the game was rigged from the start. Regardless of what Vertin would have chosen, Schneider was going to “die” there either way. So although we witnessed the consequences of Vertin’s selfless choice, it would be unfair to call it her fault. So for now, this chapter only serves as a warning to Vertin.

That even if her selflessness is admirable and has paid the way to many good results, her complete lack of care for herself is not, and is leading her to believe in a false image of the world. A flaw that she will continue to neglect until it becomes far too late to remedy.

Chapter 3 and 4 are the harder ones to allocate, mostly because Vertin isn’t the main focus and rarely appears in the story at all except for flashbacks or dreams. But it still serves a very important role in giving us another facet of this character trait that Vertin exhibits.

That this selflessness of hers doesn’t just affect her, but also the relationships she has with the people around her, and specifically, her crew and Sonetto.

We were told that before Vertin was put to sleep, she had acted relatively the same as she always was, carrying out her duties until she was forced to be sedated and put into the coma we saw her at the start of Chapter 3. We knew that Vertin had set up plans in the form of Lilya and the bill she made with Madam Z, but this was something that wouldn’t be known by us or the other characters until much later.

For the entirety of her time spent before the events of 3 and 4, Vertin kept herself closed off, ensuring that she wouldn’t worry her new friends and even more so, Sonetto. But as a consequence, this results in nobody truly knowing what Vertin was thinking or trying to do prior to going comatose.

Sonetto, Vertin’s closest companion, someone who knows Vertin the longest and has been with her the most, wasn’t even privy to what Vertin’s plans were. She was left struggling to figure out what she should do to help Vertin, while also battling her own inner turmoil.

Druvis, Sotheby, Regulus, APPle, all of them were also victims of this. They had no idea what Vertin was planning, nor was even given any hints; they were left to their own devices and in turn, the influence of the Foundation. Vertin may have tried to help them by not getting them involved with the Foundation matters, but this ironically only led to them being drawn into the organisation because of their desire of wanting to help Vertin.

If Madam Z hadn’t come in to give Druvis the push she needed, Constantine likely would have gotten things to go her way. If it wasn’t for the collective efforts of Z and Vertin’s crew and so many others, Vertin likely wouldn’t have been freed.

These two chapters showcase the loyalty and trust that her friends have in Vertin, but it also highlights the issue of Vertin always trying to hide things away, to always keep herself emotionally closed. Even if she had good intentions, it still led to less than favourable outcomes that could have very well ended badly for all of them had things gone differently.

With that, we have gotten a rough understanding of Vertin’s character up until this point. Vertin’s selflessness can be an good thing to posses, but because of her disregard of her own well-being and her naive belief that only she needs to make sacrifices for the good of everyone, it is ultimately an unhealthy outlet for Vertin’s way of coping with her trauma. Not just internally, but externally as well.

From here on, I will be diving into my own personal headcanon of where the direction of the story might go, with the purpose of having Vertin’s character be pushed slowly towards a breaking point that will force her to confront this very part of herself, and perhaps, come out learning something from it all.

Speculation: Vertin’s breaking point

Before we get into it however, there is one thing that must be noted here so that the events that will transpire would make more sense.

That being how exactly could the story push Vertin’s character to her limit, when she herself is a naturally strong and composed person? It’s quite simple really, in fact, the answer was already given to us all the way back in Chapter 2.

Vertin’s one crucial weakness that even she might not even realise, that being her overwhelming compassion for those she cares about.

Throughout chapter 1 and 2, we have seen how Vertin deals with stress. How she is able to mentally process the situation around her in a logical and composed manner, allowing her to come to the best possible solution in a short time without letting her emotions run rampant.

And during her confrontation with Arcana, she continues to showcase her composure when faced with a difficult situation and choices. That is until Arcana began to shift her hostility towards Schneider, and we start to see the cracks forming at her surface.

Vertin is capable of dealing with high stress situations, however, when that situation involves other people, especially those she has come to know or care about, this mask of calmness starts to slip as she reveals how she truly feels.

That Vertin cares too much to see other people get hurt, knowing she can do something about it.

But this wasn’t enough, Vertin might be faltering, but she still tries to keep a calm level head, even when each question gets more and more personal for her. But it was okay, so long as she answered truthfully and picked their side, things will “somehow” work out.

This dream is then shattered by Arcana’s mission given to her; to kill the girl she had chosen to save by throwing her agency away.

Here, the mask falters even more as Vertin slips further into emotional distress. This is the rare time, and really one of the only times you get to see Vertin raise her voice, far from her monotone voice she always has. It was getting to her.

This is then exacerbated from her shooting Schneider. Even if it was not by choice, Vertin was still the one who pulled the trigger, the one that held the gun against Schneider, and the one that killed her; a girl who she had come to care a great deal about in such a short time.

Here, the mask completely falls as Vertin expresses just how much this breaks her heart. The only instance in the game where Vertin ever shed a tear for something or someone.

So it’s clear now that the biggest strength to her character that Vertin has; her love and compassion for others, is also her biggest weakness. A weakness that can be exploited and used to push Vertin past and even beyond her breaking point.

So let’s do just that.

The narrative will go like this: Vertin and her crew are tasked on an important mission of some kind, where they are given more control and permission to decide and do more so long as Vertin is the one making those choices. This puts Vertin into a position of power much higher than she usually assumes, which will first add a layer of stress over her as she carries out her mission.

Then, the story will sprinkle in a variety of different decisions that Vertin has to make, some big and some small. All of them have some kind of effect on the people around her or their situation. This further adds stress to the girl, now having to juggle the responsibilities of making the difficult choices and decisions that no one else can, because she was their leader, the one assigned to do the job.

At first, things do start to look better as her crew tries their best to assist her, and the situation starts to look more promising. It would be here where a wrench would be thrown, completely sending the whole mission into disarray.

Something completely unexpected occurs, causing chaos and mayhem to follow suit. Vertin tries to assert the situation and find a way to stabilise the people, her crew doing their best to help. However, in their task of ensuring the situation doesn’t derail any further, her crew subsequently split off from her, leaving the girl alone to her own devices.

Here, we begin the start of Vertin’s downfall.

Now without her crew or Sonetto’s help, Vertin is now forced into a situation where she needs to continuously make quick and decisive actions on the fly, all to ensure that things are kept as stable as possible. This leads to her going out and helping as many people as she can, trying to resolve as many issues as possible by herself so that others can focus on their safety.

However, not every situation can be resolved peacefully nor gracefully.

Gradually, Vertin is faced with more and more difficult choices, ones that require her to choose one side or the other with escalating stakes and tension. No matter what she chooses however, people still get hurt, lives are still put in danger. And Vertin, being the girl that she is, can’t bear to see it happen.

So she tries to find ways to choose both, to save both parties so long as she can help it. Even if it meant having to risk her own safety, Vertin cannot bear to choose one and let the others perish. She can’t allow that to happen.

So she gives herself up to the task of saving people. To abandon her own safety and subsequently her own agency in order to ensure that others will live. So that everyone can make it out even if she doesn’t.

If only she is the casualty in all this, it is the result that Vertin can accept, a result that Vertin can be at peace with.

What she doesn’t realise, or perhaps she isn’t willing to see is that she’s forcing herself into a corner. By placing so much emphasis on saving, by abandoning her own safety and subsequently her own position of power, Vertin has left a chain of command with no real leader, and the situation starts falling into chaos.

But she can’t see it, Vertin isn’t able to recognize this because she’s so intensely focused on the people around her who are suffering right that moment. Her composure is slipping, as she watches as people’s lives are being destroyed and perished rapidly before her eyes, and she can’t seem to make it better no matter how far she keeps going. This only furthers her careless act of selflessness, forgoing more and more of her own life until it was the last thing on her mind.

Eventually, things reach a boiling point where Vertin, alone, is faced with an obstacle that directly threatens her life and countless others. She now faces a choice, whether to prioritise her own safety over the lives of dozens of people, some strangers, some whose faces have grown familiar to her, or throw her life away again with the blinding hope that things will work out.

If she chooses to run, choose to save herself, Vertin can never live with herself. For a girl like her, who has made it her life to save anyone she can, and so running away can never be an option for her. So naturally, without a second thought, Vertin chooses to throw her life away in exchange of saving everyone’s lives.

A decision that will haunt the girl for the rest of her life.

By the time Vertin awakes, she finds that she is still alive, unscathed at that. But only a moment passes before Vertin notices the countless bodies of those that died, and the destruction that was wrought about around her. At first, she was confused, then the memories started to flood in.

The memories of the moment she chose to throw her life away, chose to give herself up for the sake of others. And in that instance, someone did the same for her, pushing her out of death’s way as they sacrificed themselves for her. Someone she personally knew and cared about.

In the end, Vertin faces the result of her sacrifice; nothing but lifeless corpses, an utter wasteland filled with bodies with no souls left in them; and she alone survives.

But she might as well be dead, life completely leaving her quickly dulling eyes, a single thought consuming her mind.

This was her fault.

She chose to give her life away, to disregard her own leadership, her role and her worth all for the sake of others.

Because she was too selfless, too kind to ever let herself bear the guilt and burden of letting innocent people die when she could have saved them. And she thought that by sacrificing herself, she can do just that.

She never accounted for the fact that someone would save her.

That someone would prioritise her life over countless others, to choose to sacrifice themselves for someone like her. To give their life for Vertin.

Vertin kneels, her arms and hands shaking as her eyes froze still. She can’t bear to look at the scene before her, her stomach rising to her chest.

For she has finally seen the reality of the world around her, finally acknowledges something she has willingly and selfishly ignored for all this time.

Vertin has always had some level of survivor's guilt within her. Starting from the breakaway incident, Vertin had likely always felt how unfair and cruel it was that only she got to live, when she was the one that was responsible for leading them here.

Sure, the kids went with her because they desired the same thing, but it was she who led them, she who gave them the spark of desire to want to venture out, and because of her, they were all gone.

Vertin has been carrying that guilt ever since, always masking it under layers and layers of self-imposed composure; a way to protect herself from the pain of the past, but as a way to stop people from getting too close to her, because she is afraid that something similar might happen again if that was the case. That if she were to let people know her, to get to care about her, that they too will suffer because of their involvements with her.

But Vertin was too kind, too good, too compassionate. Even when she emotionally distances herself from others, people still flock to her because they see just how kind she is.

Because even when she doesn’t show it, the girl cared enough to go out of her way to save them, so of course they would be grateful to her, of course they would feel immense gratitude and appreciation for her. Of course they would choose her as their leader and follow her.

And of course, one of them would throw their life away to save hers.

Vertin had abandoned all self-importance or self-value, believing that she, the lone survivor of a terrible tragedy, the one who shouldn’t have lived for the sins that she had committed; deserved no such thing. That someone like her should not dare to believe she had value, when all she had done was cause death to those she cared about. That was what she had believed in, what she had convinced herself to believe in.

Because of that, she ignored the signs. She ignored the warnings given to her by others, the warning that if she keeps going down this path of self-annihilation, that eventually she will be met with a fate much worse than death.

In her selfless attempt to save everyone and everything, she had selfishly taken away the people’s chance to save her. To save the girl who had suffered far too much and who had helped even more, even when she can’t see past her own warped perception of herself.

And now she is facing the consequences of that. She is now looking at the results of her blindness, the carnage that was her willful ignorance to herself and to others, and the irony of being the only one left alive through it all once more.

In the past, she was an unwilling player on a chess board designed for her to lose. Now, she was the girl who gave up her own King for the all her pieces, and in return, she lost everything.

Vertin facing this, her composure long since lost, finally breaks.

She slumps onto the floor, her body and mind utterly overwhelmed with every facet of emotions she could conjure within the darkest pit of her stomach, all while drenched in the blood of the people she was supposed to save.

The blood of people who knew her, who admired and respected her, who cared for her, who saw her as a friend, who saw her as family. All of them suffered at her hands, at her own selfish choice to forsake her life because she saw no other way; because she perceived that there was no other way.

And she can't bear all that guilt. All the pain and unprocessed trauma she had buried inside her now finally comes bubbling out of her, completely suffocating the girl. That lack of self-value that she harbours now replaced with unending resentment and pure unbridled self-hatred. Something she had always carried inside her that only got worse over time, and now, it finally had an excuse to be let out.

An existence that had done nothing but wrought pain and death to everyone it ever cared about. An existence that so readily throws its life away at the slightest of inconvenience, never caring about what others think about them, for they were too blinded in their own suicidal nature to ever think that they deserved to be cared about.

Vertin truly believes that she does not deserve to be cared about. She truly believes that she is the worst of the worst, an willfully ignorant murderer, so blinded by their own vision of the world that they refuse to see the reality as what it is. And now, they're paying their just price for it, a price they should have paid long ago.

Vertin knew better than anyone, that she was nothing but a murderer.

Part 2

#reverse 1999 #re1999 #r1999 #vertin #writing #speculation #borderline fanfiction #speculative fiction #angst #extreme angst #vertin's one long tiring day #oh Vertin my sweet rainy child #suffering builds so much character #oh god this is too much suffering for one sweet girl to go through #unhealthy way of coping with trauma #even more trauma #it gets dark very quickly #alternative timeline #headcannons

66 notes · View notes

broodwolf221 · 8 months

Text

triple checks it's the right blog this time...

so I'm having a p shitty week and I'm gonna cope by talking abt my meta for solas, mostly in terms of his personality and behavior. I have a LOT of meta abt his past and nature and future but that's... another post, lmao

some of his key and/or most interesting characteristics:

kind

selfish

reserved

arrogant

empathetic

detached

now, let's dig into these

kind: he clearly and consistently wants people to be happy or to alleviate their suffering. he's glad the inquisition helps refugees, he's glad (dialogue, not approval iirc) when you take the time to find the apostate supply caches in the hinterlands, he makes a point of connecting with every single companion, even ones who regularly degrade him. and in trespasser, he goes to extreme lengths to keep southern thedas from falling to the qun, because he wants the people - those he knows and those he doesn't - to be happy and at relative peace.

this is one of the most remarkable things he does imo, bc if he'd just let the situation develop, he'd have an absolutely clear path to achieving his goals. yes, he'd need to get the anchor another way, but that's hardly impossible. what matters is that by stopping the war, he gives the inquisition/inquisitor clearance to pursue him without distraction, while also arguably giving the qunari the ability to focus on strengthening the veil, bc i cant imagine the viddasala and her people were the only ones of all qunari to have/know of that goal

selfish: if romancing lavellan, he understands one aspect of his selfishness, because it's a relationship he should have shut down HARD. but his feelings are real... and he selfishly gives in to them, even knowing he'll break their heart. he does try to pull away, he does eventually break up with lavellan, but by then the damage is done. even the offer to remove their vallaslin is selfish in its way - he's trying to give them a piece of the truth, but instead delivers a cruelty and leaves them whether they accept or deny his offer.

but he's selfish in another important way, too: he's convinced of his own perspective. he thinks bc he literally knows more (which, yeah, tbf he does), that his pov holds more weight. he's willing to change the world bc of his guilt about it ofc, but also bc he's - selfishly, self-centered - convinced that he's RIGHT to do so. he's not traditionally selfish - in many ways he's selfless, overwhelmingly willing to sacrifice all his own chances at happiness and peace in order to restore the world - but his selfishness (which ties in with his arrogance) is shown in his self-conviction.

he makes excuses, but honestly? he could have told the inquisitor who and what he was. he could have done that! he could ask for help reconnecting the fade with the waking world. dreadwolf could be about the inquisition gathering together myriad experts and looking for ways to do it that aren't destructive. but he's so assured that his path is the right one, the only one.

and it's... a complicated selfishness, too, because part of it is that he feels like he deserves to be punished. he thinks he needs to walk this path alone not bc the inquisitor is incapable, but because 1) He Knows What's Right, and 2) He Deserves To Suffer (to alleviate his guilt about his "sins" - which is selfish in a complicated and roundabout way)

reserved: the superficial aspect of this is obvious: he's lying about his identity. but he's also reserved as part of his core character - according to him, he used to be reckless, quick to fight. I think his reserve is something he grew into, a willingness to play the long game, an understanding that information given can never be taken away. it leads to other things - a hesitance to trust, for example - but it's just a part of him now. I think even if he found someone to be 100% open with, he'd STILL be reserved by nature

arrogant: my man is an arrogant ass, no denying it. ofc he knows so much more about history than those around him, but he's also so willing to fight about it, to condescend, to trivialize. when he realizes he has a genuinely receptive audience his tone changes, so I think a lot of this stems from defensiveness and a deep familiarity with needing to justify his every expressed opinion, but... he's still an ass. his conversation with a dalish inquisitor at haven? yikes.

he's also regularly convinced that his interpretations are the correct ones. like wrt my recent post about the mages after Faded For Her, I have to assume that he thinks the inquisitor sparing them demonstrates disdain for the inherent value of spirits and their sentience, even if the real reason is a lot more complicated. he jumps to conclusions and states them like facts and it takes a lot for him to begin to deconstruct them

empathetic: this ties in with his kindness ofc, but its worth a unique mention. he is incredibly empathetic. he cares about what happens to people, to spirits, even to your enemies in a way - he talks with bull about how he doesn't like to relish his victories in combat because the people he kills could have been something else, someone else. he cares about wolves (I WONDER WHY... but also like, him being fen'harel doesn't mean he HAS to care about wolves, but he does, bc he cares about animals, too), he cares about the farmers being attacked by wolves, he cares about the refugees, he's understanding towards speaker anais and the cult that grew up around the rifts... he not only cares, he understands where people are coming from, regardless of who they are or how they behave

detached: this one lessens somewhat over the course of the game, but he's deeply, fundamentally detached to the world he woke up in and the people who inhabit it. its a little ironic when u look at his kindness and empathy, but it doesn't negate his detachment. i tend to think of him as seeing everything through a fog, feeling like he's not really there at least as much as he feels like everyone else is not really there.

not joking or exaggerating, he must have such terrible trouble with disassociation/derealization. ive seen people bring up excellent points wrt this that i dont feel a need to rehash, but suffice to say: while he still cares, everything he experiences is at a remove. this stems from shock, trauma, guilt, fear, and profound culture shock.

#solas #solas dragon age #this is fine to rb/comment on #but if ur an ass to me or abt him #im gonna block u bc im p sick of it #he does bad things and has bad aspects - but that makes him an interesting and dynamic character #and a good antagonist #i'd say sry for the wall of text but a) im not and b) it's why i made this blog :)#and when i say dont be an ass abt him #i dont mean u cant disagree with me or dislike him #meta #broodmeta

85 notes · View notes

barkhoffman · 6 months

Note

What are some of your Hoffman and Angelina headcanons as they were growing up when they were younger?

hoo boy so basically I decided to make my headcanons angsty for no reason other than I wanted to lmfao

they come from an abusive household, and Mark assigned himself as Angelina's protector, since he IS the big brother and all

their parents are alcoholic deadbeats (Mark never wanted to end up like them, but after Angelina died, he couldn't keep himself from the bar), along with some drug addiction (gives him an extra distaste for Amanda and willingness to put drug addicts in traps when he meets up with John)

the point being, Mark essentially had to raise both himself and Angelina. he's the kind of big brother who would have tea parties if she wanted (with chipped little plastic cups from the thrift shop whenever they scrounged up enough money to take a trip there), who would beat up her bullies even if he wasn't confident or brave, and yet as they got older, they'd swap places a bit. Angelina turning into the type who'd proudly march up to the counter at McDonald's and say "he ASKED for NO PICKLES" while introverted Mark just put his head down behind her, embarrassed but happy to have helped raise such a strong young woman

when she was little, he'd pour her extra cereal and tell her "big brothers don't need to eat as much as little sisters." when she had nightmares, he'd sneak some of the air freshener their parents used to cover the scent of weed and spray it all around her room to "poison the monsters." on her first day of school, she clung to him and cried and refused to let go, and he felt so bad when he had to walk away and get to his own class.

eventually their dad got arrested for something and ended up shanked in prison for being a cunt, and their mom od'd later, shoving Mark and Angelina into the foster care system. they'd get shuffled around a bit until landing on one family, the Acombs, which Angelina would grow closer to than Mark (due to him being older and closer to moving out by the time they wound up there).

the Acombs were an old couple who spent their whole lives trying and failing to conceive. they didn't have much luck with fostering until Angelina and Mark showed up. Mark never much connected with them, but when Mr. Acomb was diagnosed with cancer, Angelina was quick to ask to be legally adopted by them, so that they could be a somewhat happy family for the short time he had left. Mrs. Acomb, while delighted with her new daughter, would succumb to a death of heartbreak not long after her husband passed.

and so, Angelina is the only family Mark has. different surnames, but an intertwined history, where she was the princess and he was her knight in shining armor. unfortunately, he couldn't stop her from getting together with a man all too similar to their abusive father, any more than he could stop himself from hitting the bottle after it ended the way it did.

I made it even more depressing again sorry

#I can't help myself I think #as if this entire writeup isn't a ball of depression #Saw #Sawposting #Mark Hoffman #Angelina Acomb #ask tag #anonymous

54 notes · View notes

susitseart · 9 months

Text

Tear apart.

Into small pieces.

Or it seems like your intention, my dear life.

But blaming life alone is not fair. Because we are the ones who often push ourselves to our limits.

Of course, there are many needs in our lives that strive us forward. We need livinghood to feed ourselves and our families. Willingness to fight, to survive in the cruel race of life.

These reasons are easy to explain. But beyond that, we may also want something else. We may crave acceptance and love. From ourselves and from others.

And those can feel like something we need to earn.

That's why we either give our everything. Or if we can't, we would rather not give anything. Because who would love someone who isn't good enough?

That's why we push ourselves to our limits. That's why we create a pack of faceless beasts for ourselves.

To tear us apart. Little by little.

And it may be a long time before we realize how torn we really are. How much tearing hurts us. For we, who want to always do our best, want to deny the shame of our pain and exhaustion until our last breath.

Never mind about pain or exhaustion. Because we are happy. And above all, grateful. For everything we've achieved. And we must be worthy of all that we have achieved.

That's why we endure. That's why we do better and more.

Until the thought of being torn apart. About ending the pain and getting out might start to feel like a comforting thought.

That's why. Before that point. We should stop.

To stop, and forget our doing just for the sake of better and more. And instead, we should remember where we started everything. That what's really important to us.

This way we can begin to seek our balance. Our balance where we're not giving up anything. But where we live a life where both performance and rest support each other.

After which the faceless beasts won't bite us so bad anymore.

It all starts from stopping.

It can be difficult.

But still, it's vital to us.

Are you being torn apart too?

I am, too often. And I'm looking for a balance. And I hope I'll find it someday.

#art #illustration #dark art #horror art #wolf art #susitse.art #wolf #stress #mental health #mental health awareness #deep thoughts #writing

83 notes · View notes

blood-teeth · 1 year

Text

05.19.23

howdy everyone! it's been a long time since i've done one of these. also this is going to be a long post, so if you're like "i'm not reading allthat but stay safe tho" im sorry in advance.

i was going to wait until the two year anniversary of TMITAWH to post this, but i've been getting more and more asks about the status of this game, why it's on lockdown, when it's coming back, etc. largely, i've been dodging these questions or answering them with a vague "oh, i'm working on it!" which is very much the truth. just, not the entirety of it.

the truth is this: the story is done.

the real truth is this:

actually, before i get into that, i wanted to mention something else. i know i've waxed poetry over and over again and maybe it's getting annoying to hear it - so i'm very sorry - but it really is important to me to mention this because it's the motivation and the life-force behind everything that i do on this blog. i wanted to say thank you. i remember typing up the intro post to TMITAWH after getting the second COVID shot, delirious, but bolstered by a fever that had rendered me brave. i've been writing this story since 2019, i had the vision, the characters, the aesthetics and the understanding and i wanted to desperately to share. i never expected the level of support and love from so many of you. i've never had people genuinely vested in my worlds or characters. i remember getting the first comment about the prologue and slamming my computer shut and freaking out. i cried when i got my first ask telling me how much they'd love it, despite the small amount of content. the fever may have given me the courage to post it, but y'all gave me the courage to continue. and that means more to me than anything means to me in this world. for two whole years!! you've dealt with my wildly out of pocket thoughts, long absences, and have continued to show your willingness to continue the exercise in patience. i dont have people in real life that would do that for me. so thank you, thank you for being here, thank you for caring, thank you for the sweet comments. i wasn't lying when i said that i keep most asks unanswered because i go back and read them, hold the words close to my chest, and convince myself that i can do what i want to do when it comes to storytelling. thank you. forever and always. i know this feels maybe so much like im baring my soul, but i think it's important. TMITAWH saved my life. I mean that in every understanding, with the breadths and depths of my soul. I mean that with all the fibers and cells and atoms that make up me. This story saved my life. it's important to me that you know that in so many ways you all did, too.

so much of the reason i've been sitting on this is honestly mostly fear. it's choking me now as i write this. i'm scared of y'alls reaction, i'm scared of potentially disappointing anyone, and i'm scared of people just being overall pissed off. which i would get! this is not why the majority of you are following me. i'm asking for grace, for understanding, for mercy.

so, the real truth is this:

Tell Me If There's A Way Home is complete. there's a beginning, of sort, a middle, an end. but, it is not complete in the way you might expect an IF to be complete.

this is, simply, because Tell Me If There's A Way Home has been re-written and re-formatted into a novel.

over this past year, i was struggling with the story. things had along the way stopped making sense. this WAS the story i wanted to tell, i knew what had to happen in order to get the whole point of it across. is it better to get back what you've lost, what does it look like when you do get it back? but there was something that wasn't working. i could force the scenes, have The Traveler spend time with Cain in his little house talking about his past, or provide the option to explore the peaks of a mountain looking for a legend of old. i could do all this. but it was all wrong. the story had become corrupted along the way and the vision of it that i held onto so desperately was fading into obscurity.

so i opened a new word document and just wrote. i wrote for a whole year, and the story unveiled itself to be in the way i believe it was always supposed to. i understand so much more of this story than i did two years ago. sitting at 90k words, book 1 is officially done. it's essentially the same story you all had read, but different somehow. more than it ever could have been in an IF format. there are the characters you love. there's cain. there's silas. alice of course. there's the traveler as *her* own character. and there's the reverie. but the reverie is no longer Ezio/Elena. it's just elena now. its beautiful, gorgeous elena with her quick smile and hemlock eyes and her memories.

what happens now?

i'll be spending the next few months making the book as perfect as i can make it. i've been working through the rough draft - or alpha draft- and then i will ask some people to see if they want to read draft 2, draft 3 , draft 4. however many drafts it takes until i feel as though i can do no more. after this, i'll query agents and pray to god that in the hellscape publishing is in right now that im offered representation. after this, i'll pray to god that an editor likes the book enough to want to work with me on it. after this, i'll pray to god that a publishing house likes the book enough to buy it, put in on shelves. there's going to be a lot of praying to god. a lot of luck. so i think it'll be a while before anybody gets to hold the book in their hands, but god i hope y'all get to. i really hope you get to. more than that. i hope you want to.

after all of this, i'll be working on book 2. i already have the title. i already have the first chapter. i know exactly what happens and how.

i know there's maybe some confusion, so please feel free to send me asks about it. i will happily and gladly answer what i can and discuss it.

i'm so so sorry for the long post. this all felt important to mention and it felt important to be transparent with y'all. this was becoming a secret too hard to keep and i'm glad that i dont have to anymore. i hope you're not mad, disappointed, etc. that would really suck ass. i hope you're excited, maybe. i hope you're curious.

anyway. thank you for getting this far, if you did. thank you. i love you. i'll talk to you soon <3

#Tell Me If There's A Way Home #Tell Me If There's A Way Home update #tmitawh #tmitawh update #i feel sickkkkkk #and nervous #ahhhhhhhh #AHHHHH #please ignore the spelling errors #my computer is on her last legs #keyboard functionality is taking a huge shit

93 notes · View notes