#suffering is not something to romanticize or support - it is misery | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

esther-dot · 2 years

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"The wind flapped her skirts up and bit at her bare legs with cold teeth. She could feel snowflakes melting on her cheeks." "Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover’s kisses, and melted on her cheeks. [ASOS; Sansa VII]". Its interesting that when she made snow WF, snowflakes were implying romantic tones. Later in same chapter snowflakes were associated with negativity as her aunt tried to killed her. Also her aunt implied that Vale isn't her home.

This is a really good observation because this is why we all come to radically different conclusions when interpreting the story, anon! I run into this problem a lot because martin uses things in different ways. To me, the key is to pay attention not to a single word, but the context of how it is used. For instance, it’s a common thing in movies and books for a thunderstorm to be ominous, to be the setting for grief, tragedy, violence, and yet, a gentle rain shower is used for levity, joy, a romantic moment. Both involve rain, but they communicate very different things.

Martin does this with fire. It’s life, it’s death, it kisses, it burns, depending on the scene it has a very different connotations, depending on the character it has a different meaning. He allows things to mean both, not one thing, so it’s rarely as simple as we might like. So, yes, snowflakes appear in both scenes, but what’s important is how Martin situates them and what he chooses to relate them to.

Just as rain can be used for different things, snow/snowflakes can. It isn’t enough to see how it’s used in one place, you have to see if the interpretation you develop for the one instance is supported or contradicted elsewhere if you’re claiming authorial intent. I actually did go through and start to compile thoughts about how snowflakes are used once, but I don’t have those notes rn, so it is something I will have to return to later.

However, there are several mentions of snowflakes melting on cheeks in an early Bran chapter in which Martin is very clear about his intention:

A light snow was falling. Bran could feel the flakes on his face, melting as they touched his skin like the gentlest of rains.

and

The joy Bran had felt at the ride was gone, melted away like the snowflakes on his face. Not so long ago, the thought of Robb calling the banners and riding off to war would have filled him with excitement, but now he felt only dread. "Can we go back now?" he asked. "I'm cold." (AGOT, Bran V)

and what Sansa suffers is a more dramatic version of this transition:

Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses, and melted on her cheeks. At the center of the garden, beside the statue of the weeping woman that lay broken and half-buried on the ground, she turned her face up to the sky and closed her eyes. She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips. It was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams. (ASOS, Sansa VII)

"The lady lay a-kissing, upon a mound of hay," Marillion was singing. Sansa twisted sideways, hysterical with fear, and one foot slipped out over the void. She screamed. "Hey-nonny, hey-nonny, hey-nonny-hey." The wind flapped her skirts up and bit at her bare legs with cold teeth. She could feel snowflakes melting on her cheeks. (ASOS, Sansa VII)

Melting snowflakes are tears and misery elsewhere:

The hour of the wolf found him still awake, wrapped in layers of heavy wool and greasy fur, walking yet another circuit of the inner walls, hoping to exhaust himself enough to sleep. His legs were caked with snow to the knee, his head and shoulders shrouded in white. On this stretch of the wall the wind was in his face, and melting snow ran down his cheeks like icy tears. (ADWD, A Ghost in Winterfell)

but they’re very romanticized later, and in conjunction with that “She could feel the snow on her lashes, taste it on her lips,” and this quote:

"You're not scared?"

The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart. "Let him be scared of me." The snowflakes were melting on her cheeks, but her hair was wrapped in a swirl of lace that Satin had found somewhere, and the snow had begun to collect there, giving her a frosty crown. Her cheeks were flushed and red, and her eyes sparkled.

"Winter's lady." Jon squeezed her hand. (ADWD, Jon X)

I think it’s undeniable that the first of Sansa’s snowflake quotes is not just dreamy and lovely but romantic and indicative of Sansa’s future.

The really familiar melting snowflakes imagery is Robb related. Arya, Sansa, and Jon each remember Robb with melting snowflakes in his hair. That particularly struck me with Jon because when he says goodbye to Sam, Martin uses a similar idea.

"So do you, Sam. Have a swift, safe voyage, and take care of her and Aemon and the child." The cold trickles on his face reminded Jon of the day he'd bid farewell to Robb at Winterfell, never knowing that it was for the last time. "And pull your hood up. The snowflakes are melting in your hair." (ADWD, Jon II)

When Martin repeats himself in different POVs or repurposes something this way, we know it’s deliberate so we can study that and come to conclusions about his intent. Jon’s last memory of Robb in his goodbye to Sam makes this so painful. 😭

So, yes, snowflakes are used in many ways which means we can’t just assign one meaning to them. We have to look at the descriptive words around them and where they’re melting etc. Sometimes they’re good, sometimes they’re bad, sometimes they’re representing familial love, sometimes more romantic, sometimes they’re joy, and sometimes they’re tears and grief etc.

Anyway, you’re right about Lysa’s comment!

"I don't want her here." Her aunt's eyes were shiny with tears. "Why did you bring her to the Vale, Petyr? This isn't her place. She doesn't belong here." (ASOS, Sansa VII)

I think this may be a moment when a villainous character is right. Sansa doesn’t belong there. She belongs in Winterfell.

Thank you for the message! <3

(in reference to this post)

#ask dot

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grandhotelabyss · 3 years

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A few extracts from the leftist thinker of the hour. In his latest piece, he inveighs against an unrelated group of philosophers, political actors, and cultural traditions, using mostly guilt-by-association and ad-hominem attacks, with some puerile schoolyard epithets (e.g., “man-childs [sic],” “Boomer Theory”) thrown in, all in the name of what he calls “positive biopolitics,” defined, if the following vague jargon is a definition, as

inclusive, materialist, restorative, rationalist, based on a demystified image of the human species, anticipating a future different from the one prescribed by many cultural traditions. It accepts the evolutionary entanglement of mammals and viruses. It accepts death as part of life. It therefore accepts the responsibilities of medical knowledge to prevent and mitigate unjust deaths and misery as something quite different from the nativist immunization of one population of people from another. This includes not just rights to individual privacy but also social obligations to participate in an active, planetary biological commons.

Because “many cultural traditions” remain extant, it’s hard to see how we get from here to there, which makes this discourse little more than apologism for present arrangements: the corporate monopolies will, with the financial, legal, and coercive assistance of the state, manage us down to our atoms, and we will be obligated to participate whether we like it or not. Though our author makes a few faint-heartedly woke noises, his vision is, to repurpose his own argumentative tactics, fundamentally indistinguishable from neoreaction with its dream of hyperracist face tentacles—except that I suppose Land or Yarvin would allow for more dispersed authority centers, making their cyberpunk paradise, ironically, the less fascistic of the twinned accelerationisms.

From this unseemly polemic, one concludes that Hannah Arendt and Michel Foucault are essentially equivalent to Alex Jones and Marjorie Taylor Greene and that only a simplistic reactionary with a pathological attachment to “lost objects” could have any objection to “any artificial governing intervention in the biological condition of human society.” And I’m not Agamben: I don’t object a priori to any, but surely I may object a posteriori to some. See how his abstraction serves his case: he argues at the level of ideas and would probably dismiss any assessment of the actual forces in play (pharmaceutical giants, the U.S. security state, the CCP, Bezos, Gates, etc.) as “conspiracy theory.” (If the conservative’s attachment to “lost objects” is deluded, by the way, what should we call the radical’s investment in an imaginary and basically impossible future, that famous omelette they will never be able to prepare no matter how much albumen they spill?)

The personal slam against Illich is particularly grotesque. Leaving aside the expert class’s new conviction that only a Trumpist CHUD could possibly think medical interventions must be consensual, I know people who died of tumors they had treated in exactly the way doctors recommended—they died a few months later than they might have otherwise, in agonies they might have been spared, from costly and ineffectual treatments with severe side effects. There’s no cure, after all, for cancer, though I wonder how much cancer might be prevented if the biopolitical agents our author extols did not devote themselves to coating the entire planet in a shell of plastic. But I’m sure his endorsement elsewhere of “deep climate governance”—i.e., “You’ve used your heat ration for the winter, pleb!”—will solve this problem.

Note, too, the contradictions, flagrant in so swaggering an author. First he bizarrely and scornfully attributes to the soixante-huitards a belief in “subjective moral intentionality,” as if a bunch of Nietzscheans talking about the death of the author believed in any such Kantian thing. Then he delivers a moralistic little sermon on masks—wholly ignoring the actual disputed science on the topic—that only makes any sense at all if we subjectively recognize ourselves as moral agents rather than merely biological organisms. These intellectual misanthropes who insist we’re exactly the same as spores and houseflies always run aground on the same problem: if you’re saying it, and especially if you’re saying it to change people’s minds, then it can’t be true. Human exceptionalism, at least on this planet, is not an article of faith but an empirical fact. Marx certainly thought so—see “Alienated Labour” (1844), but then I suppose he was still a Romantic when he wrote that.

As for the wholesale dismissal of Romanticism, I suspect our polemicist hasn’t done the reading. There is no total “disgust with rationality and technology” in Wordsworth or Shelley or Emerson or Melville or Whitman—yes, comp-lit kids, you have to read the English and Americans as well as the French and Germans—only a complaint about their inability to coexist with other dispositions. I have no problem with rationality or technology, but believe their proper role is to serve us, not to master us. I would recommend Dialectic of Enlightenment (1947), but I imagine it comes pre-proscribed by our ardent technologist. And demystification? Please wake me if it’s ever anything other than a rival myth. “Humans are organic objects that should be managed by centralized power” is also a story, not a very good one. A better story, if our author will condescend to read a Romantic, is Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1818, 1831). Often interpreted as a warning about overweening science, it is also a caution—from a woman whose father, mother, husband, and friends were all left-wing radicals who made worse messes of their lives than Ivan Illich made of his—against what one critic memorably calls “Promethean Politics”:

By representing in her creature both the originating ideals and the brutal consequences of the French Revolution, Mary Shelley offered a powerful critique of the ideology of revolution. An abstract idea or cause (e.g. the perfecting of mankind), if not carefully developed within a supportive environment, can become an end that justifies any means, however cruel. As he worked to restore life where death had been, Victor Frankenstein never considered what suffering his freakish child might later endure.

Mary Shelley’s middle-class gradualist liberal female politics—what Nancy Armstrong denounces as the domestic ideology of the English novel tout court—has its own dangers, and is nowadays complicit with the technocrats, as we hear “Think of the children!” used to justify every excess. Still, Frankenstein, with its gain-of-function experiment gone awry, remains a powerful vision of rampant radical technocracy, what may be unleashed on humanity when the quest to master what cannot be mastered meets its nemesis. Positive biopolitics, on the other hand, given its implicit endorsement of the powers that be and its emptily denunciatory rhetoric, is yet more evidence that we no longer have left-wing ideas in America but only “irritable mental gestures which seek to resemble ideas.”

#leftism #marxism #critical theory #philosophy #mary shelley #michael foucault #hannah arent #giorgio agamben #ivan illich #benjamin bratton

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mytwistedhome · 4 years

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Pomefiore and Ignihyde when they find out you have Anorexia

Trigger warning to anyone who suffers with an eating disorder!!

I decided to write these headcanons because I've been having a really tough two weeks, and thinking of the twst boys makes me happy...

I hope this can maybe bring comfort to someone else, or at least provide some bit of entertainment. My intention is not to cause harm or trigger anyone. That is the last thing I want.

Other dorms will be coming as well! I already started working on all of them, but I just haven’t finished them. They will most likely be posted the next time I have a bad day //

One more quick thing: I will be posting requests this week! I’ve already broken several promises that I made in regards to the time I’d post, and I feel horribly guilty. I’m sorry for the wait. I know I shouldn’t tell you to expect something on a certain day and then delay it for weeks. I should be honest about my efficiency, and I am sorry.

I'm also sorry for not responding to message (this applies to all my blogs...) I see them, but then forget about them, and then cower away because I feel like I'm already too late. I hope this little apology is enough to suffice... I'll apologize properly to every person when I find the courage. I know I shouldn't be doing this to people who've been kind to me just because I feel unwell. Please know that I am very sorry, and I'm trying to be more responsible and less careless to those around me.

💜

Vil Shoenheit

So that's why your skin is so dry and you have bags under your eyes

He scolds you at first. He believes that you’re starving to get a good figure, and he tries to inform you that doing so is unhealthy and that being malnourished actually makes a person quite ugly.

As if you haven’t already heard all this before

You try to tell him that you’re not doing this to look good. At least, not anymore. Sure, it started out as a way to lose weight, but it soon became an obsession much more meaningful than beauty or weight-loss.

He doesn’t understand. Why would you deliberately hurt yourself like that? Especially when you’re aware of all these negative outcomes?

Nevertheless, he is still very worried about you

He wouldn't normally concern himself with such a personal problem, but he would feel so guilty if he just stood back and watched you whither away

So, he does, indeed, go out of his way to try and help you

He finds a psychology book about eating disorders in the library, and he reads it in its entirety

He is... quite disturbed. He never imagined that you could be suffering so badly.

He's smart enough to realize that he, himself, can't do anything to make you better

He encourages you to seek professional help, and he even searches for phone numbers you can call and therapists/counselors close by of whom you can see

You are really touched by his efforts to find help, and you promise him that you will see one of the counselors he recommended

But... several weeks go by, and you haven't done anything

Vil grows furious. Don’t you want help!?

He takes your lack of seeking help rather personally... He went out of his way to provide with the things he felt that you really needed. Don’t you appreciate that? Don’t you care about yourself? What more do you want him to do?

You try to tell him that you don’t want him to do anything, that you’ll find help when you’re ready--

Vil isn’t buying that

What does “ready” mean, anyways? When you’re already in the grave?

He’s a bit harsh on you... He points out the patches of dry skin along your neck and chest, the way the hairs of your arms always stand on end from goosebumps, the metallic taste in your mouth...

Are you happy with those things? Do you really want to live this way?

You try and try to explain to him that it’s hard to get help and go back to eating normally

It spirals into an argument...

Vil is done with this. He did what he could and got you the resources you need to begin recovery. Once you decide to get help, he will be there for you. He will be there whenever you reach out for support, comfort, or care. But, until then, don’t talk to him about it. Don’t complain about your misery until you have sought proper help. It’s your fault at this point, isn’t it?

Rook Hunt

He had noticed that you were very quickly losing a lot of weight

He was concerned, but he never imagined that the problem could be something so serious

You're actually surprised with just how much he's concerned. You thought that if there was anyone to romanticize such a disease, it would be him

But he seems to know more than you thought about such disorders

He begs you to get professional help, and he is quite a bit more pushy and earnest than Vil is...

You try to explain to him that no doctor or therapist could ever help unless you were READY and WANTED to be helped

Well, he doesn't understand why you don't want help

He's pushing and pushing you... begging you to seek a professional

You get so frustrated that you turn and leave. He just doesn't understand!

And now Rook is even more distressed. How will he ever get through to you? How can he ever help you?

Now, every time he sees you, he looks at you with such sorrow

He sadly remarks upon how your beauty is fading... and how he fears that your life may be fading as well

Your heart aches to hear such sincere worry... Your chest feels tighter than it normally does as you crumble with guilt

You promise yourself you'll get better... Just so you won't have to see Rook with a horribly sad expression whenever he passes you

You start eating more in front of him to ease his worry, which does work a little bit

You add about 400 more calories to your usual intake--enough so that your "recovery" becomes visible through the way you bounce with energy

But you stay up late at night, running laps and doing situps to burn off some of that intake

And you keep losing weight

In fact, it's worse now because your body is aching from the unfamiliar intake and exercise...

Well, at least you look better

At least you have Rook fooled

Or so you think. It'll only be a matter of weeks before he catches onto your schemes and grows so distressed once again

He tries to sit you down and have a talk with you... He just really wants you to get help

Epel Felmier

Poor Epel finds out after he witnesses you collapsing in the middle of the hallway when no one else is around

He panics and rushes to your side, trying to see what is wrong and how he can help you

You blacked out for several seconds, which is why you collapsed, but even though you have your vision back, everything is still very cloudy and you are too weak to stand up

This makes Epel panic even more

You try to calm him down, despite your weakness

"it's okay, Epel...! Just get me something to eat. Please, I need something to eat. Hurry!"

He is a bit confused, but he does what you say, and he rushes off to find you some food

While he is gone, you try to stand, but to no avail. Your stomach aches with hunger and you are cold all over. Your body just feels so miserable

He rushes back to you with an apple and places his hands on your shoulders in concern as you quickly eat it down

That apple... It's the best thing you've ever tasted, but it's gone too quickly, and your mouth waters for more as the last bites slide down your throat

Although it was small, it still gives your body such a blissful burst of energy. All your senses are ignited now that you have finally eaten something after such a long fast, and your head is hurting far less

You stand up and smile at Epel, thanking him graciously before turning to leave

Uuuhhhhh.... What was that?

You suddenly collapse on the ground and then are all better after eating a simple apple?

No way is Epel going to let you go just like that. He holds you back, demanding an explanation, for it surely seems you know quite a bit about this bizarre thing that just happened

You try to tell him it's nothing, just a strange thing that happened this one time

Well, then, how did you know how to fix it by eating something?

You quickly lie and tell him you get dizzy sometimes and fall due to low blood sugar

Well, now your story is inconsistent

He presses you for the truth, growing rather angry

His harsh tone begins to scare you, and you tell him... You tell him that, sometimes, you go days without eating, and it of course causes you to grow so weary that you faint

You watch as all the frustration quickly rushes away from Epel's face, leaving his eyes wide and mouth hanging open in shock

"That... That's really unhealthy..."

Oh, great. Not this speech again

But, it actually isn't a lecture about how this is such a "dangerous diet"

Instead, Epel pours out all his concern with a sad look upon his face

He knows that he can't do much, but he assures you that you can come to him if ever things become too tough to handle

You're touched by his offer, and you thank him for his understanding

But, now, everytime he's around, he watches you with care to see if you're doing alright and to make sure you don't fall over again

You hadn't expected him to worry this much...

If Epel ever thinks that things are getting out of hand, he will likely go behind your back to someone who can help for your sake

💙

Idia Shroud

He really wishes that he hadn't found out because now he can't stop worrying

This is the kind of thing that would just be easier to ignore and shut away from his mind

But how could he possibly ignore something as serious as this?

He keeps telling himself that this isn't supposed to be his issue

But... It is his issue, isn't it? If you ended up dying and he knew all along about your suffering yet did nothing to help, than that would mean that he aided in your death, right?

He's really starting to panic. He doesn't what you dead. Not at all

But... What is he supposed to do???

He calms himself down and tries to think

Perhaps if he built you a mechanical body that didn't need food this whole thing would seize to be a problem...

No, bad idea

Well, that will be his last resort if nothing else works...

He messages you and tries to plead with you to please just eat and take care of yourself...

You message back, explaining to him that it really isn't that simple

He decides to ask why you're doing this, and he tries to show through his words how much he really cares

You feel comfortable enough in telling him some of the reasons why you think you started, and why it's now so hard to stop and all you want is to continue with it...

Idia is happy that you were able to open up to him this much, but what is he really supposed to do with this information? He's no therapist...

Well, being vulnerable with you emotions and talking about the problem is at least one step in the right direction, isn't it?

Idia continues to try to be a source of comfort for you, while also encouraging you to seek proper help

Ortho Shroud

Oh, no... He can’t help you with this, can he?

Why can’t he help you? Why won’t you get better?

Surely nii-san programmed him with something that could help you...

Right...?

RIGHT!?

Why aren’t you better?

Why are you doing this to yourself!?

Ortho is a mess... so distressed. He can’t understand--he doesn’t have the capacity to understand such a disorder, and he is so frustrated that nothing he does is helping!

And he does everything

He exhausts himself trying to “fix your mind”

His eyes are wide, yellow irises shaking with misery

Knowing that you are willingly hurting yourself actually traumatizes him...

He can't wrap his head around such an awful mental illness. To him, it looks as though you're really trying to harm, hurt, and even kill yourself by your own accord

Something must be wrong with your brain, but he just doesn't know what!

The poor child is so upset. He's panicked and worried sick

And now you feel even worse

Sorry for ending on such a horrible note... I was originally going to have all the dorms, so Diasomnia would’ve come and saved the day, but I just didn’t finish them.

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fanfic-phoenix · 3 years

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Merry Christmas, Mr Holmes!

Read on AO3

If my dear Holmes thought to look from his chemistry table to my writing desk and ask which narrative I have chosen to record today, I have no doubt that I would - quite quickly - find my pen confiscated and my scrawlings confined to the deepest centre of the fire currently engaged in a losing battle against the winter weather on the other side of the room. Fortunately for us, however, Holmes is not - has never been - in the habit of reading these little accounts of our adventures until they are already published. Unless, of course, I present them to him ahead of time for consultation or clarification.

(This is not, I must stress, a common occurrence. I have no wish to hear my romanticism and truly, dear boy, some most grievous exaggerations so thoroughly lampooned.)

I am confident, therefore, that it shall survive to reach the desk of my publisher at The Strand.

The year was 1881. The year, as some readers may recall, that I began my acquaintanceship with Holmes, and we investigated the mystery committed to the written word as A Study in Scarlet.

It was now December. A thick blanket of snow had enveloped the rooftops and streets of our fair city, falling in swirling flurries that, while perfectly pretty to look at, had trapped me inside for quite some time. I did not dare venture out onto the icy pavements, and the dreadful chill had seeped deep into my bones. I judged it altogether too treacherous for my still-temperamental wounds.

Holmes, to my immense surprise and, I confess, immense pleasure, had noticed my discomfort immediately. He did not speak of it; instead, he piled blankets onto my armchair whenever he thought I wouldn’t notice, play-acting ignorance when I looked at him askance, likely assuming I would suspect Mrs Hudson. I elected to let it be, not wishing to embarrass him, even as I treasured this first glance of the great heart he concealed behind his great mind.

He, himself, seemed to enjoy the season far more, scurrying about the flat like a veritable whirlwind, bundled in slippers and two dressing gowns, even as his fingers reddened and stiffened in the cold. I had expected him to fall into one of his black moods, given the lack of problems brought to him for investigation, but instead, he exhibited the same all-consuming energy I had thought only existed when he was on the scent. He left and returned to Baker Street at odd hours but, when I politely enquired as to whether he had found a case, after all, he explained that he was only running some errands.

“Nothing for you to worry about, old boy,” he said with a jovial smile, and so I endeavoured to put it out of my mind.

It was only as we inched closer to the day itself that I came to realise the cause of this…

Well.

One cannot really call it giddiness - to do so would, I fear, be rather uncharitable. It was far too restrained, far too refined, to be referred to with such a childish term. It was certainly, however, a great, almost overwhelming, excitement. A bright thrum of vitality that lit him from the inside outwards, ‘til it shone out from his grey eyes like a candle. Truthfully, I am almost ashamed of how long it took me to realise. I can only blame the cold weather for dulling my senses, and even that is a rather dubious excuse. However, as 221B acquired in quick succession a wreath, bountiful holly, and a huge pile of cards (from former clients, he told me) that Holmes took infinite pains in trying to arrange around his desk and room, I did catch on.

“Holmes,” I started, only to lose my nerve and beat a hasty retreat to the pages of my well-thumbed novel. It seemed ridiculous to admit aloud that I had never considered him the kind of man to celebrate such a holiday when I had known him for so short a time - even if it did sometimes seem as if we had known each other for far longer.

He looked up from the card he was writing. I would discover, years later, that this was the annual card to his brother Mycroft, who never responded and, indeed, always seemed slightly irritated by the display of sentiment, much to my dear friend’s amusement. (I never did learn whether the annoyance was genuine or, as I somewhat suspected, simply Mycroft’s secret way of entertaining his younger brother.)

In a moment, he knew what I had been about to say and chuckled softly. I felt myself flush.

“Ah, my dear Watson,” he said, not in the least offended, which was a great relief. “I admit, I am not exactly fond of celebrations. Parties and dinners, for example, are not at all to my taste-” he wrinkled his nose, here, and I choked on a laugh- “and the holiday the criminals of London appear determined to take is most certainly irritating, though, no doubt, it is to the greater good. However, I have always been rather fond of Christmas. After all…”

He trailed into silence and never revealed what was after all. I gather he was about to make some mention of his parents or childhood, which he rarely does - and, at that point, had never done. I moved quickly on.

“I am only glad to see you happy, my friend,” I told him, and it was most certainly the truth. I had only seen, by that time, one or two instances of those dreadful black moods that can fall upon him like a stormcloud, and already I had learned to hate them. Already, I had resolved never to leave him alone in them, lest he resort to the cocaine or, as I feared most, seek a more permanent end to his misery. He protested only once against that decision, weakly, and when I reiterated my intentions, I saw the relief in his eyes.

(Thank God, the moods come less these days. Thank God, his suffering is much reduced.)

Christmas Eve dawned and, as I spent the day attempting to write the first - or was it second? - draft of our first adventure with limited success and unending frustration, Holmes spent much of it out and about, though he did pop in every so often to glance over my shoulder and offer his opinions, most of them exasperated and exasperating, though tempered with a small smile.

(Perhaps I had exaggerated too much Holmes’ propensity for criticism. As you shall see, dear reader, though he does love a good grumble, he has always ultimately been supportive.)

(And he reads every single one. Without fail.)

The evening drew in, and Holmes looked me over with glee in his eyes as I hobbled over to my armchair, settling myself in with yet another mysterious blanket added to my already substantial nest. I had intended to go to bed rather earlier, craving the comfort of thick covers and a warming-pan, but something in Holmes’ air stopped me ascending the stairs and, as he smiled, I was glad for it.

“My dear fellow,” he said - almost chirped, in fact. “Will you be prevailed upon to share yet another late night with me?”

“Of course, Holmes,” said I.

He expressed his gratitude heartily, though I was sure he hadn’t had any doubts as to my answer when he asked. I was, however, most curious about his purpose. However excitable he was, and however lacking his common knowledge appeared, I was not deluded into thinking he wished to wait up for Father Christmas, though the image most certainly amused me.

He did not explain on his own accord - of course, he never does, even now - so I was compelled to ask, “Why? Are you expecting trouble?”

“By no means,” he said, a little distracted as he flitted from his chair to the window, peering through the curtains onto white London streets. “But your company is always welcome and our visitors, I believe, have become very fond of you, very quickly.”

He flashed me a small, fond look, and I do not think I flatter myself to presume that his visitors were not the only ones.

“Who are they, then?” I asked, leaning forward a little in my seat, resting upon my stick. (I was not, and am not, in the habit of using my stick indoors, but those first few winters were hard, and sometimes one must bow to the inevitable.)

Holmes practically beamed, squeezing his hands together as he hurried from his perch on the sill to his desk, grabbing a purse and sack which he concealed behind his chair, before throwing himself into the seat. “A surprise,” he announced, voice low like a secret, “or, so they think. But I, dear Watson, have a surprise for them!”

Then, schooling his face into a frown, he arranged himself into his typical position for a good brood, his pipe firmly between his teeth. If I had not just borne witness to his joy, I should have judged him to be in the grip of some tremendous fit of pique.

I quirked an eyebrow at him and he flapped his hand at me, shushing me even as his eyes flashed with mischief. I consented to hold my tongue and he settled back into his seat, sending a long stream of smoke into the air and staring disconsolately at the ceiling.

The door burst open with nary a knock in warning, admitting a rabble of noisy, boisterous boys. I recognised them at once: Holmes’ Baker Street Irregulars, who fell into an unruly kind of order behind Wiggins. Holmes sighed thunderously, a plume of smoke following, and plucked the pipe from his lips. His pale hand fell lazily towards the carpet as he turned his head, oh so slowly, to face them. “Wiggins,” he said sternly, with just a hint of exhaustion. “Have I not warned you about disturbing my landlady?”

Wiggins looked anxiously. I shrugged, attempting a reassuring smile.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Mr ‘olmes,” he said, ducking his chin.

Holmes always did his level best to spare people the brunt of his tempers, and most especially the Irregulars - “They’re just boys!” he told me one evening. “They’re too young for that kind of bile.” - but they still knew something of the irritability that could precede the worst of his depression. Wiggins’ nervousness was well justified.

“We just thought,” he continued, gesturing to the rest of the boys, many of whom had started to shift anxiously, “that we’d come wi’ the blessings o’ the season an’ such, seeing how it’s Christmas, sir.”

“Is that so?” Holmes’ brow furrowed magnificently. He has the remarkable ability to evoke the memory of the most terrifying professor any boy has ever encountered. One cannot help but quail beneath his piercing gaze, even if one is unaware of the strength of his equally remarkable right hook.

“Yessir,” Wiggins went on valiantly. “Point o’ fact, sir, some of the young’uns brought some cards for you.” He held up the offering: a brown paper parcel, tied up in string, placed cautiously onto the nearby table.

Alas! Poor Holmes! Great actor he may be, but he could hardly be expected to maintain the pretence in the face of such sentiment. A poorer job I have never seen of him before or since. The terrible scowl dissolved into the picture of utter shock - silvery eyes wide, dark brows high, sharp jaw lax - before he lept up, smiling tremulously.

“Oh,” he said softly, “my dear boys.” We could see him fight desperately for control over himself as he gripped every sticky hand tight and shook it well. He swallowed tightly. “My dear boys, you are invaluable, positively wonderful, and most very welcome here, even if we do vex Mrs Hudson so.”

The boys grinned back at him. Wiggins caught my eye and smirked in a way that said he knew I’d been in on it, but that he forgave me. Luckily for Wiggins, he was such a cheerful, reliable, decent lad that I’d forgive him his impertinence in return.

“You must forgive me,” Holmes said. “I thought to have a little fun with you - play Scrooge, you see - but you caught me by surprise, and I find myself impatient.”

“Impatient, sir?”

He clapped his hands together in a rhapsody of joy. His hands were never still in those days, when we were young and unsure and he was always so terribly nervous, though he hid it well. He was constant in his fidgeting, his examining, his twitching and grabbing, his peeling of plasters and scratching at acid scars. It mellowed, somewhat, after his return - or rather, after the nightmares faded. Sometimes I wonder if, even then, he was, consciously or not, aware of the spider that lurked in the shadows, and that it frightened him.

Or perhaps it was only the insecurity of youth.

He presented the sack first, lifting it with the deceptive strength of his wiry arms, and from it, he pressed into each pair of grubby hands a perfectly round orange. Then, as they thanked him, he grinned brightly and darted away towards the purse, and handed them all a shiny shilling to match.

“There,” he said, satisfied as if he had solved a triple locked-door murder. (Perhaps I will, one day, be able to commit that singular case to paper.) “That is a decent present, is it not? I thought to buy some nuts, too, but I feared they might go cold before you arrived - and, besides, I am not sure there are enough in London to feed you all!” He laughed - one sharp, bright chuckle - at his own joke, and they laughed along with him. “Would you care for some tea, instead? I am sure we can ask Mrs Hudson for some - she would forgive your presence, I think. It is Christmas after all.”

The boys shook their heads decidedly.

“No?” He flicked me a look, no doubt aware that nearly all the boys were more than a little frightened of our dear landlady and her broom. “Well, you may at least stay and warm yourselves a while. The fire is hot enough, I trust.”

Wiggins surveyed his ranks and nodded. “Thanks, sir,” he said. “‘S mighty cold out there.”

The boys assembled themselves on the rug before the hearth, huddling close to the fire, and Holmes watched them a little longer, observed by no one but myself, the lines of concentration that so often aged him softening slightly.

Then he shook himself and took up the package of cards they had brought, walking over to my side. He sat awkwardly on the arm of my seat - “Forgive the intrusion, Watson.” - as he unwrapped them carefully. He removed each by turn, holding them where I could see them, too, without straining my shoulder to reach or taxing my leg to stand, so we could look them over together. (Once again, I was touched by his care.)

Each card was hand-drawn, bright and colourful, with messages carefully written in various levels of legibility - though, perhaps, as a doctor, I have little room to talk. Some were addressed only to Holmes, whilst some included a missive for myself, also. And, from one brave lad, a quick note for Mrs Hudson, which Holmes pointed out delightedly. We came too soon to the end of the pile and he returned them to the paper. I knew they would soon find pride of place around the flat and later, no doubt, a place in his fantastic filing system.

I expected him to move, then. It couldn’t have been comfortable for him, sitting as he was on such a narrow surface. But, to my surprise, he instead let out a quiet sigh, and I felt his arm come around my shoulders. I almost jumped - he is not a man typically given to physical affection, and ‘til that moment, we had never exchanged more than a particularly enthusiastic handshake, save that first meeting where he dragged me over to his work station by my coat sleeve, an incident he later confessed to being rather embarrassed over.

I peered up at his pale face; he looked not at me or the boys, but the window. His throat had started to bob once more and his eyes were shining, though he did not allow himself to cry.

Cautiously, I reached up and patted his hand that lay on my uninjured shoulder. He startled, ever so slightly, but smiled at me.

“Are they not extraordinary, Watson?”

I saw once more the shimmer in his eyes. “They most certainly are.”

“I could not afford to give them a decent gift in previous years,” he admitted quietly, the slightest of shadows falling over him. “It was poor reward for their service, I think. I can only hope this redeems it.”

His uncertainty was dreadful to see, and I tripped over myself to alleviate it, giving his fingers a quick squeeze. “My dear Holmes, I assure you, you have treated them wonderfully. No one can doubt your regard for them.”

The shadows lingered a touch longer before he pulled me to his side in a brief, slightly awkward, greatly impulsive embrace, after which he bounded immediately off in the direction of his violin. I watched, slightly stunned, as he ran his hands over the strings, almost a caress, and struck up the first notes of We Wish You Merry Christmas. The Irregulars let out a riotous cry and joined in with a burst of song, young Simpson standing to conduct them to peals of laughter.

He ran through what must have been his whole repertoire of Christmas songs, and when he was done they begged for more, so he played them all again. Occasionally, if the song was not too complex, he would sing too, a pleasant baritone providing lilting harmonies. My voice is nothing remarkable - it is a little hoarse and gruff - but they would not be satisfied until I joined in, so I began quietly and was soon swept up with them, tapping a light beat into the floor with my stick.

I felt Holmes’ eyes on me as I sang and laughed with the children. He was smiling - for a moment, I thought he was simply transported away by the music as he so often was, before I caught his gaze flying over my wounds and the unnatural thinness brought on by my illness. I realised for the first time that my sudden collapses into ill health - especially following that first case - had frightened Holmes more than he let on. I realised how much he wanted me to be well, and happy, and singing.

I realised for the first time that Holmes was - honestly, despite his greatness and my shortcomings - my friend.

I cannot say how long our little concert went on, but by the time the boys were sent on their way home, darkness had fallen, broken only by the gas lamps and the glow of stars shining down. Holmes extracted from each of them a promise to be careful as they went.

They giggled at him, rolling their eyes even as they nodded dutifully, a few even throwing in a salute and “sir-yes-sir!”. He swatted at them, fairly chasing them out the door, curmudgeon to the end, but we all saw the gleam of mirth in his eyes. They called out cheerfully as they went.

“Merry Christmas, Mr Holmes! Merry Christmas, Dr Watson!” And that one brave lad again: “Merry Christmas, Mrs Hudson!”

My companion was in high spirits for the dregs of the evening, humming as he poured us each a brandy before bed. He offered me his arm up the stairs, waving off with ease any embarrassment on my part (“Come now, Watson, there’s no shame in a little help!”) before retreating to his own room with the intention - for once! - of true sleep.

Christmas morning we were greeted with a wonderful breakfast from Mrs Hudson, which we insisted she stay and share. She fussed a little about propriety before consenting. She ate well, joining in our chatter and - when Holmes showed it to her, laughing silently in that singular way of his - we saw that she smiled at the card from the young Irregular, though she tutted a little at the presumption.

“I have tried,” he said with a theatrical sigh, “to explain to the boys that they need not fear you unless they neglect to wash before they come in. Alas! It is in vain. They remain perfectly terrified.”

“Likely following your example,” I put in, a little slyly, remembering the panic that followed Holmes’ last failed experiment and the burn upon the table.

Holmes gasped at me, thoroughly and comically betrayed, and Mrs Hudson threw back her head with a great laugh. “As they should, sirs!” she cackled. “As they should!”

She left, still smiling, with the empty tray, though not before stoking the fire with a little tut that we shouldn’t let it get so low. Holmes retreated to his room with a last huff but returned before I had a chance to worry that I had really offended him, clutching a small package and being altogether too exuberant to be angry.

“Here,” he said, thrusting it towards me so quickly he almost smacked me with it. He blushed, looking down abashed, but I only laughed, easing myself out of the chair to take it, a little gingerly.

I looked it over for a moment, wondering if I might employ his methods to guess - or, since he detests the word, deduce - what it was.

Unfortunately, all I could gather was that he was rather impatient to see my reaction. I unwrapped it quickly, snickering at him.

Nestled within was a fine silver fountain pen, embossed with my initials.

“Holmes,” I said, before my breath caught in my throat. I ran my fingers over the cursive letters. “Thank you.”

“It is nothing,” he said, but I caught his pleased look before it was hidden away. “I only thought that if you insist upon writing that dratted tale of yours, you might at least have a decent pen to do it with.”

(If any amongst the readership is interested, it is still, after all these years, that very decent pen with which I write these dratted tales of mine.)

“Now,” I said, hobbling over to my desk where his gift was waiting. He followed, saving me the trip back, and I pressed a parcel into his hands. “There you are, my friend.”

My gift to Holmes had been long agonised over, especially as I, foreseeing the difficulties of the December weather, decided to purchase it early. I had known him for less than a year and, though I suspected that I already knew him better than most, and was certain that the reverse was true, I had no clue what to get him.

I thought first of a new pipe, or perhaps some tobacco, but no. They seemed so impersonal!

Perhaps a dressing gown? Lord knew it would get some use. But he already had two good ones, his first- and second-best, plus a third for emergencies. Perhaps he had even more that I was yet to see! (For the record: yes, he did.)

For a while, I considered some of those sensation novels he read so voraciously, before I realised that I had no way of knowing which he had read already, nor which he’d be interested in. I similarly dismissed the idea of providing something for his experiments. Though I had some scientific knowledge courtesy of my profession, it was not as specialised as his, and the likelihood was that I would choose wrongly.

If I had known him better, I would have worried far less, as I would have known that, despite his great powers of deduction and reasoning, he never fails to be taken aback by a present. (It is a strange thing, I think, for one so confident in every other aspect of life to be so completely uncertain of others’ regard for him.)

I did not, however, know him better. Therefore, I did the best I could. I procured for him a mystery. I trawled pawn shops and secondhand curiosity stores for things I knew he would like well enough for their own sakes, but with the added charm of wear and tear from which he could deduce the habits of their previous owners.

He opened it, and his face brightened like the Christmas tree I am certain we only narrowly avoided by virtue of 221B being a touch too small for it.

“My dear Watson,” he said, after a long silence where he studied each item intently, his face inscrutable. “No one has ever cared to know me so well as you. My friend-” His fingers tightened their hold on the package and he held it closer to his chest. “I cannot express to you my gratitude.”

I did not think he thanked me only for the gift.

“It was no trouble,” I told him. “Indeed, it is my honour to know you, and to count you amongst my friends.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came to hand. He swallowed convulsively, still as a statue, before he placed aside the box and tore off his dressing gown in a flurry of activity, hurrying to the coat stand.

“If the cold does not trouble you too badly, Watson,” he managed, tugging on his hat, “would you care to join me on a walk?”

I stood as quickly as I could grabbing my coat stick. “Of course, Holmes,” I smiled and, as he studiously avoided my eyes and linked his arm with mine, we strolled out together into the fine Christmas morning.

Writing this account I came to wonder, how on earth did Holmes get the money for those gifts? We were by no means paupers in those days but, equally, we were in no way well off. I had no practice, merely my army pension, and Holmes’ reputation did not stretch far beyond his own circles and word-of-mouth. I wonder…

Holmes has retired from the chemistry table to his armchair in front of the fire since I began writing. About half an hour ago, his head slipped back and he started to snore quietly, but he has woken since then, blushing and busying himself with his newspaper, sneaking a look at yours truly to see whether I noticed.

“Holmes,” I ask him, then hesitate, wondering whether it might be rather impertinent. Then I brush the thought aside. We are no longer young men, after all, and by this point have known each other for at least a decade longer than we did not. We are not easily offended by one another. Besides, I am certain we have asked each other far worse over the years. “That first Christmas at Baker Street, how did you afford the presents? For the children and I?”

“Ah.” There is a little twitch in his hands - he has a touch of arthritis, now, that makes his joints swell, but it has not affected his violin playing thus far - before he looks at me. “You have observed, of course, Watson, that I have… A certain flair for the dramatic.”

“Certainly I have,” I say with a laugh, for there is no doubt that he is rather understating the fact.

“Yes, well,” he continues with a little sniff. “You will also remember that I was a good deal out and about in those weeks preceding the day itself, whilst you were laid up.”

“Yes, I do.”

He nods. He is stalling, I’m sure. Whatever it was, it embarrasses him still. A flicker of derision, directed inwards, flies over his face before he sighs grandly. “I was a fortune teller, Watson.”

I almost choke. “I beg your pardon?”

Holmes rolls his eyes, twisting over the arm of his chair to better glare at me. “I masqueraded on the streets as a fortune teller. The costume was in one of my safehouses - I forget which one. Each day I would change there into an elderly woman, then take to the busiest streets near the markets and purport to read people’s palms. There lives I could easily deduce, and for their futures, I merely discerned what they wanted most to hear and told them that.”

“Perfectly inspired,” I tell him, holding back a chuckle I am sure will serve only to rile him.

He huffs disbelievingly at me, but I catch him holding back a smirk before he settles himself back into his seat. Foolish man - his spine pops loudly as he uncoils himself, and I see him wince. “It was not,” he says, squirming a little, “the only time I used my abilities in such base ways. When we struggled for rent, it was not unknown for me to become a fortune teller or street magician - I found it paid better than the violin.”

A hot flush of shame overcomes me. “My dear Holmes, if you had told me-”

“You could have done nothing but pawn more of your belongings - do not think I did not notice! - and I would have no more of that. No,” he flutters his hand dismissively, “my way was best, I think, and if it embarrasses me, it is only because my poor wounded pride over-inflated itself. But at least, for the sake of my poor pride, I did not resort to seeking Brother Mycroft’s assistance, so it really wasn’t all that bad.”

“If you say so,” I say dubiously.

“Indeed I do,” he says sternly, and then stands. He cannot spring from his seat like the old days, but he does a far better impression of it than I do.

He heads to his desk and retrieves a package, placing it beneath the Christmas tree that takes up a good corner of the room. His knees creak ominously as he stands - I look over to check on him, but he is fine. In fact, he is most certainly smirking.

“And if you were wondering, Watson, you have my blessing to publish the story of that first Christmas.” He catches my disbelieving look: “Come now, I am retired! I don’t need the reputation of being a machine any longer. It matters not to the bees, after all.”

I huff, and he chortles. No doubt the question gave me away - or perhaps I looked at the tree or holly at just the wrong moment. No doubt if I sit too long he will launch into the explanation. Therefore, I reach into my own drawer and take out my own wrapped box. I move slowly to place it beneath the tree, and Holmes’ eyes light up at the thought of the mystery within.

#merry christmas!#my writing #acd holmes #sherlock holmes #dr watson #bill wiggins #baker street irregulars #mrs hudson #I actually wrote the first draft of this so quickly #it consumed me #it's been through 5 drafts #but I'm pretty happy with it now

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robiness · 4 years

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Qrow was meant to be a punching bag (theory, V7CH12 spoilers)

tw: depression, one brief mention of suicide at the very end

Many are upset about the literal and narrative butchering of two beloved characters in RWBY V7E12. The initial and probably most popular argument against what happened is that it doesn’t make sense, why would these characters do what they did. And honestly, that reasonable reaction to the injustice was mine, too.

But now that I’ve “calmed down”, meaning I’m finally not in a whirlwind of blind rage, indignation, and devastation, I started thinking about “Why did they do that?” with some level of depth.

The answer I found is still unjust and disgusting, but at least it fell in line with something resembling logic.

Qrow enthusiasts have been complaining about his endless heartbreak. Why can’t be be happy for once? What’s the whole point in his recovery arc this volume if they’ll just scrap it? It’s like they put random tragedies on a dart board and the writers just started throwing.

Hear me out - they meant all of this. Every instance Qrow suffered is intended. They didn’t throw away his recovery arc because he was never meant to recover.

I think that they’re going to make him an antagonist at worst, or a man driven to the ultimate tragedy at best.

At this point, you’re probably like. What. Lol no. You’re as silly as the writers are.

But again, let me explain. I used to have that mindset of Qrow always being best but sad boy. A hero who just needs a chance.

There was NO way this man will ever go dark:

he probably thinks he lost summer to salem

his nieces are actively hunted by salem and her forces, and RWBY for sure ain’t changing sides

he’s always believed in the principles he has, and he’s always applied them. he’s a good Huntsman who cares, and knows his path

he believes in ruby’s determination and ability to probs save the world

But that’s the thing.

He’s ALWAYS stuck by the principles he learned from Ozpin. Betrayal after betrayal, he was crushed but managed to somehow bounce back.

This volume, he was on a good track. A good mind space. His kids are great, but then he met an equal - someone with literal plot armor against his Semblance. Misfortune is the reason why he stays away from the people he loves, why he blames himself for a lot of things, why he feels like baggage.

A person his age who could be a friend, or more. Huntsman of equal ability and maturity.

Queerbaiting aside (I’m sorry I ever used that phrase, I hate them too), Clover was a possibility. Here was a potential team partner, friend, lover, whatever, but the point is he was finally free to explore what a developing relationship is like because here’s a guy who kinda got him, and probably won’t be harmed by staying close for an extended period of time.

I think the chemistry in their fights solidified this too. Clover was someone who didn’t get in trouble by being at his side (except the first time in the mines, and Clover took it in stride and still succeeded).

Even better, Clover actually vocalizes that hey, it’s okay.

He doesn’t dismiss Qrow’s semblance, but he encourages Qrow to let go of the guilt a bit, that he’s worth more than his bad luck, and can continue to work around it.

Qrow was nowhere near full recovery, but he was definitely on the way with a bit of Clover’s help. Later, my precious man finally smiles for real... not his smirk or sad smiles to Ruby. He’s smiling for the enjoyment of the moment and things are looking up!

(slightly sorry for the gif below)

(V7CH12 gifs would be appropriate from here on, but I am NOT doing that to myself)

So what’s the point, Robiness? We all know how THAT story goes. Qrow gets trauma because it’s shown to him, yet again, that his Semblance fucks up the good things, that even someone with the most potential to be safe ISN’T. Not around him.

The whole crash was OOC, rushed and bad writing, whatever. But why did it happen?

Qrow is basically the poster boy for mental health in this show. He’s depressed, and to him AND to the outside world, he’s right in thinking he’s only going to hurt people. He’s been proven right, many times, that he is bad luck.

What’s different this time?

He didn’t have hope, the other times he was let down. He had hope for humanity, yes, and that he can somehow contribute to saving it.

But he’s never had hope for himself, that he could be more than his Semblance. Clover’s character gave that to him. He was already trying to quit drinking, but that was for Ruby and the other kids, and by extension their mission, but not for himself.

When CRWBY killed that hope, it killed anything inside of Qrow that could’ve thought that he could be a hero. Or even simply better than he was before.

He’s crushed, his mind is clouded. As Clover died, he wanted to kill Tyrian, then he wanted James to fall. The legal type of justice wouldn’t be enough to assuage his need for vengeance.

And he’s alone. Perhaps about to be arrested, I don’t know. But every other time he’s been crushed, he had the kids around to divert the attention even a little bit. But this time, there’s no one to help him process and move past this. No positivity from Ruby, no scolding from Yang to keep it together. No one.

If you’ve ever had mental illnesses, you could probably imagine being alone in that fragile state of mind.

And you know who’s the most likely to know where the heck he is and that he’s going through something? His sister, Raven, because of her Semblance.

Details have been important in how RWBY is told to the audience (though they retract when convenient lol). Sometimes, this includes release dates. February is the last month of winter, slowly turning into spring. Yes, I mean the Spring maiden.

Let’s talk about Raven.

She’s angry at her brother, also for feelings of betrayal. He betrayed their tribe, their values, everything they stood for. He left her, his sister. He chose Ozpin’s mission over her, even though their original plan was to just infiltrate Beacon to learn how to kill Huntsmen better.

This means she remembers a boy that had the same ideas and supported her and their family. I don’t think she can accept that this Qrow, the one we know, is her actual brother, how he should be. When it comes to Qrow, I think what matters to her the most is proving that she was right all along, that they should’ve just stuck together and kept to their practices.

And Qrow, regardless of the spring bit, if he encounters her as he is now... could easily believe that she was right. After all, the facts to him are:

He can’t escape his Semblance, ever.

He needs vengeance for Clover, because his death was his fucking fault. His attempt to deescalate the fight (leaving Harbinger in the snow) didn’t matter, because his bad luck won in the end.

A plausible 3. Doing things “the good way” “the right way” is never going to cut it for him because he is walking misfortune. Something will always go wrong.

So why not drop all fucks and go ahead full-force?

His mind isn’t in its best state right now, and all his decisions will of course be emotional.

We’ve known Qrow from point A depression to point B somewhat recovery to point C the last fucking straw. I think it’s something to consider that we’ve never heard anything about his youth, except that he used to believe in the brutality of their tribe. He never mentions it, and we don’t know anything about the circumstances that made him change, beyond “Ozpin gave him a place”.

He gave up his heritage just to be proven that brutality would have protected his loved ones better.

So yes, the punching bag theme, the endless misery, Clover’s death - all these are most likely building up to that shift in his character. We thought the eventual character shift would just be his recovery, but since that was scrapped, the only other way that makes sense is that he’s going to regress into someone that cannot be saved.

He’s not going to switch sides. He’s not going to stop loving his kids. He’s probably never going to join Salem.

But his methods will be more ruthless now, driven by heartbreak and rage and self-hatred. God knows how he’ll deal with anyone in his way. He’s not going to fucking listen. He listened to Clover, and where did that get him?

This way, the violent, straightforward way he used to know, this would protect his kids more efficiently, even if they don’t want him to go down that path. He’d probably leave them to protect them, and to be unhindered in his corner of the war.

He’ll think that this - to be a rage-filled killing machine - would be the best case scenario for him and the rest of the world. Kind of like how he followed RNJR from a distance, killing all the Grimm that could get in their way.

We thought he was a broken man before, but this has been escalating. It’s been probably planned out since before.

If you’re not convinced yet, remember:

RWBY loves literature parallels.

Leo Lionheart changed, and gave in to fear. The Cowardly Lion.

James Ironwood, the Tin Man, has proven that he’s thrown away his heart.

Qrow Branwen, the Scarecrow, was always fucking destined to lose his mind.

I don’t know what will happen after, what kind of sick tragic death he’ll end up with. Since they’re romanticizing his suffering so much, he’ll probably end up killing himself after his work’s done.

I have no idea how the details will go, but I’m pretty sure this is the path the writers will take. There is just no other reason I can fathom as to why they keep hurting my man. I want to be wrong, but I can’t think of anything else, unless some deus ex machina shit happens in the finale, but hell if I’m ever trusting CRWBY again.

And yeah, as a depressed person who relates to and loves Qrow, the idea of the message of “it’s never going to get better” fucking sucks.

#rwby #rwby theory #qrow branwen #clover ebi #i havent stopped being angry its just that im less incapacitated and more directed in my rage now #fair game #meta

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howlandreads · 6 years

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From Naïve Optimism To Mature Resilience

At this point in my A Storm Of Swords re-read I’ve reached Sansa VI, and have noticed some really interesting similarities between it and Sansa I from A Game Of Thrones that I’ve never noticed before. These two chapters are full of parallels and foils, and really show just how much Sansa has grown as a character. In some places these chapters are exact opposites, and in some places they’re near exact parallels, but I think both the parallels and the foils all go to show how different a person Sansa has become. Some of these parallels/foils are superficial, like surroundings and settings, and some are much deeper themes, like Sansa’s attachment to how life is presented in the songs, and how she reacts to the differences between that romanticism and how life really is. I think it’s useful to break down every similarity between these two chapters, because even the most seemingly insignificant ones reveal interesting things about Sansa’s past arc and where her future arc is heading.

Settings & Surroundings

In Sansa I from AGOT, she remarks just how colorful, vibrant, and beautiful everything around her is:

“It was a glorious day, a magical day. The air was warm and heavy with the scent of flowers, and the woods here had a gentle beauty that Sansa had never seen in the north.”

- Sansa I, A Game of Thrones

But in Sansa VI from ASOS, everything is so dreary, depressing, and lifeless:

“An old flint tower stood outlined against a bleak grey sky,”

“The Fingers were a dismal place, she'd heard, and there was something forlorn and desolate about the little tower.”

- Sansa VI, A Storm of Swords

This small difference reveals a lot about what Sansa’s worldview has become. In AGOT she is young, naïve, and just wants everything to be beautiful and perfect, like it is in the songs. But by the time she reaches ASOS, she has lived through the death of her father, brothers, and mother, and is a shell of who she used to be. She has now seen war tear her family apart, and her years as a political prisoner have robbed her of her youthful optimism. Though many people view it as positive character development that Sansa has grown out of her naïve and trusting nature, a lot of times people ignore what an absolute tragedy it is that someone who used to be so bright and hopeful has had depression and abuse turn her into someone who’s quiet, lonely, and buried by grief.

Another thing I love about this difference in settings is that the Sansa from AGOT expected that day to be wonderful, and had it all turn sour on her so quickly and unexpectedly – a turn of events that was a complete contrast to the beauty around her just like it was a complete contrast to her worldview and expectations. On the other hand, Sansa from ASOS expects nothing but tragedy out of life, so when Sansa VI ends with Lysa trapping her in her soon-to-be marriage to Sweet Robert, it is consistent with her expectations just as it is consistent with the gloomy environment she’s in.

Beauty & Appearance

In Sansa I from AGOT, Sansa looks her most beautiful:

“Sansa already looked her best,”

- Sansa I, A Game of Thrones

But in Sansa VI from ASOS, Sansa feels sickly and imagines she looks nearly like a corpse:

“I must look as haggard as a corpse,”

- Sansa VI, A Storm of Swords

Much like the beautiful verse dreary settings of these chapters, I think Sansa’s appearance is another way GRRM uses to reveal how drastically her mindset has changed. In AGOT she is full of life, having not experienced any true tragedy yet. By the time she’s sailing to the Fingers, on the other hand, she has suffered years of abuse, and is mourning the loss of her family. Every time another loved one dies, she allows grief to define her just a little more than the last time, and now she is so full of despair that it’s working its way through her, inside and out. At this point, she feels as though she may be lost in grief forever, unable to recover from her losses, especially since she still holds herself responsible for Ned’s death.

What I really love about how Sansa views herself as haggard and worn out, is that it doesn’t seem like anybody else notices. Now I wouldn’t expect anyone in this chapter to just straightforwardly tell Sansa she resembles a corpse, but if she looked as rough as she thought she did, it seems like someone would mention that she looks tired or in need of rest, but no one does. Though I could be reading more into this than GRRM meant, I think Sansa assuming she looks awful when she most likely still looks beautiful is a wonderful external representation of how she always views herself as damaged, stupid, or worthless, when in reality she’s brought happiness to even the most self-loathing people she’s encountered (the Hound, Tyrion, etc.).

Nervous Happiness Verse Nervous Dread

I won’t spend too much time on this next foil since it’s fairly similar to the first two, but I still think it’s worth calling attention to – in Sansa I from AGOT, she mentions her stomach fluttering from nervous excitement:

“Just thinking it made her feel a strange fluttering inside, even though they were not to marry for years and years.”

- Sansa I, A Game of Thrones

But in Sansa VI from ASOS, her stomach flutters out of fear:

“Sansa had been sick for most of the voyage, sick with terror,”

- Sansa VI, A Storm of Swords

Just like the previous parallels/foils I’ve mentioned, this just goes to show how different Sansa’s mindset is between these two books. Once the great unknown was a source of excitement for her, but now it’s just another opportunity for things to go horribly wrong as they always do.

Affection For Joffrey Verse Fear Of Joffrey

Again, this is a foil I won’t spend much time on since it continues the running theme of all the positives in Sansa’s life turning into negatives, but I’ll still mention it. In AGOT, Sansa is still enamored by Joffrey and excited for a royal life they might share together:

“The touch of Joffrey's hand on her sleeve made her heart beat faster,”

- Sansa I, A Game of Thrones

But in ASOS she just happy to finally be free of him, even if she’s still fearful of what’s to come:

“At least I am safe here. Joffrey is dead, he cannot hurt me anymore.”

- Sansa VI, A Storm of Swords

Lady & The Guard Dog

This next parallel is one of my favorites, and an interesting reminder of some of Sansa’s more subtle losses. When thinking of everything she’s lost, typically Ned, Cat, and her brothers come to mind, but I think even though Lady was a direwolf, and not a parent or sibling, her death is still heartbreaking, and a traumatic experience that has stayed with Sansa through all of her chapters. Lady’s death took a piece of Sansa and she spends much of Sansa VI (ASOS) trying to fill that hole with the guard dog at the Fingers:

“Sansa said, feeding a piece of bacon to Lady under the table. The direwolf took it from her hand, as delicate as a queen.”

- Sansa I, A Game of Thrones

“Sansa sat bored and restless by the fire, beside the blind old dog. He was too sick and toothless to walk guard with Bryen anymore, and mostly all he did was sleep, but when she patted him he whined and licked her hand, and after that they were fast friends.”

- Sansa VI, A Storm of Swords

Lady was so important to Sansa, her well-being, and her identity, in a way a lot of the general audience never fully realized. Throughout the books, the direwolves function as the life-support for the Stark children, both physically and emotionally. Greywind is an essential aspect to Robb’s dominance in battle, Ghost helps to save Jon in the Frostfangs and helps entrust him to the wildlings, Nymeria functions essentially as a body-guard to Arya in the Riverlands and Arya’s warg dreams are the only reprieve from misery she finds after escaping the Red Wedding, and Summer sustains Bran by bringing him food, and helps him cope with his injuries. While all the Starklings have their wolves to comfort them, Sansa is all alone. Not only did Lady’s death take a piece of Sansa’s identity, it also took a piece of her heritage and her home. Sansa seeking comfort in the guard dog to replace Lady is in many ways her trying to reconnect herself to her home and to her family. Things like this are a big reason I find it so frustrating when people malign Sansa as “not a true Stark” because of her lack of a direwolf – though Sansa does find happiness in the escapism of becoming Alayne Stone, she is still deeply attached to her identity as a Stark, and yearns to fill that void every chance she gets.

Adventure Verse Familiarity

In Sansa’s first AGOT chapter she’s enchanted by all the new experiences she knows are coming, and still has a sense of wonder about her:

“. . .it was a day for adventures,”

- Sansa I, A Game of Thrones

But in ASOS, all she wants is to go home:

“But. . . my lord, you said. . . you said we were sailing home.”

- Sansa VI, A Storm of Swords

In the previous parallels I’ve mentioned, they mostly show how Sansa has gone from hopeful to grief ridden or joyful to depressed, but I think this is the first parallel that’s more complicated than Sansa going from positive to negative. There’s nothing wrong with looking forward to adventure, and there’s also nothing wrong with just wanting to go home. This change isn’t purely good or bad, it’s just different, but only if you take it at face value. Sansa wishing to go home to Winterfell actually says a great deal about how much she’s grown and matured as a person. The Sansa from AGOT had such grand expectations, and when reality didn’t live up to those expectations she rewrote reality. This coping mechanism is especially evident when considering how much she feared Joffrey and loathed Cersei after the incident at the Trident and the death of Lady, but by the time they reach King’s Landing, she had re-remembered the events of that day in a way that still allowed her to idealize Cersei and adore Joffrey. But after all she’s been through, the Sansa in ASOS has matured enough that she no longer has to cope by repressing reality. Though it may seem like she’s just longing for comfort by begging to be taken to Winterfell, returning would actually cause her a lot of pain. Seeing Winterfell again would mean confronting the place where she last saw Catelyn and Robb alive, and where Bran and Rickon died. Gone is the innocent girl who romanticized affliction; Sansa is now a strong woman who confronts reality but still remains attached to her ancestral home.

Joffrey & Littlefinger

In both chapters Sansa is led around a new place by someone who will soon become her abuser. In AGOT Joffrey rides with her, showing her the woods surrounding the King’s Road, and in ASOS Littlefinger takes her on a tour of the Fingers. In the chapters to come, both will quickly turn into her abusers. Littlefinger molests and treats her inappropriately constantly, and Joffrey torments her over Ned, Robb, and Catelyn’s deaths, while also having her beaten repeatedly. The most interesting thing about this parallel is how GRRM deconstructs the knight in shining armor trope. While most fantasy stories would have the hero rescue Sansa, GRRM embraces the actuality of what it would really be like as a young women in a highly patriarchal and abusive society.

The Way They Were In The Songs

Despite how much she’s changed, in both AGOT and ASOS, Sansa still clings to her standard of how things are in the songs:

“All she wanted was for things to be nice and pretty, the way they were in the songs.”

- Sansa I, A Game of Thrones

“. . .the Vale of Arryn was beautiful, all the songs said so.”

- Sansa VI, A Storm of Swords

Though Sansa has given up on life ever being nice or pretty in ASOS, she’s still attached to life as it is in the songs. Though it seems like this means this aspect of her personality hasn’t changed, I think there’s a difference between her love of songs in AGOT and her love of songs in ASOS. AGOT Sansa had a naïve optimism born form having never experienced true tragedy, while ASOS Sansa has a mature optimism born from the need to believe that one day she will recover from the grief and trauma her life has become. In AGOT her optimism and romanticism was a weakness, since it often led her to deny hard realities, but in ASOS her optimism is a resilience that leaves her as one of the emotionally strongest characters in ASOIAF.

Another thing I love about how Sansa VI mentions her love of the songs, is that it also has this quote from Littlefinger:

“A harp can be as dangerous as a sword, in the right hands.”

- Sansa VI, A Storm of Swords

Though most of the fandom holds it against Sansa that she loves how the romanticism of the songs, I think GRRM really means for us to see this as one of her strengths. Sansa cares for the songs because she understands the importance and power of hope and honor and human emotion better than most in ASOIAF.

Stark Identity

This last theme is my favorite, and in my opinion one of the most interesting things GRRM has done with Sansa’s character. In both chapters Sansa is hiding from her Stark identity. In AGOT she is losing herself to the idea of being a Lannister/Baratheon, and getting to be queen. She enjoys distancing herself from her Stark name because she’s trying to fit in at King’s Landing and with the Houses of the South. But in ASOS she really begins her AFFC arc of fully losing herself in her Alayne Stone identit because she’s relieved for the chance to forget what she’s been through. It hurts so much to be a Stark, because of all they’ve lost, so when she arrives at the Fingers, and doesn’t even have a real Godswood to comfort her, she takes the first chance she can to run from all that pain. In AGOT, she is childish and naïve and that’s what causes her to want to escape from her Stark heritage, but in ASOS she welcomes her identity as a Bastard since she is just so relieved that for once she might be left alone:

“At least I am safe her. Joffrey is dead, he cannot hurt me anymore and I am only a bastard girl now. Alayne Stone has no husband and no claim.”

- Sansa VI, A Storm of Swords

In all of ASOIAF, Sansa has one of the most interesting character arcs. She subverts so many tropes, and I just wish the fandom could love her the way I know GRRM does.

#asoiaf meta #Sansa Stark #asoiaf #a game of thrones #a storm of swords #game of thrones #house stark #a song of ice and fire #got #joffrey lannister #petyr baelish #sansa meta

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404fmdminjung · 4 years

Photo

lovebusiness

summary: lovebusiness is seo minjung’s solo debut — a mini album with six full tracks of cathartic expression. gold star offered a solo debut to promote the ‘brooding’ image they want to play to the tunes of her supporters. the song provides a lot of creative freedom, and her proudest work ever since stepping in the industry. the public may not like it, yet she cherishes it with her entirety. mentions of all the wonderful people who composed/produced!

headcanon: a synopsis of all six songs on the mini album. wc: 1001

minjung’s real voice is a lot more draggy/whiny/whispery (?) than the voice she’s meant to sing in fuse. die hard fuse fans have dug up evidence proving that minjung sings with a false voice in fuse.

this album will showcase her normal voice (a few tweaks to lee hi’s claims, since lee hi has a very deeper range than i envisioned minjung to have). the lower claims were selected for the lyrical aspect of it, fyi.

the song has more of her style of music she listens to — a lot of indie sounds that do not necessarily chart and contains more of a niche following. they’re experimental sounds, that toy with sounds — something she really wanted to do for her solo. it’s not necessarily the money making things, but it emphasizes the creative aspect of her.

the album works with her favorite people in the world because she’s a die hard loyal bish who’s happy to indulge in the creative aspects with fellow artsy hoes.

nobody ft. hanjae

this song is the title track of the mini album, showcasing minjung’s real voice.

hanjae features — her first collaboration with her friend.

the song itself was a cathartic expression about loving someone and wanting them to love you back, and probably her favorite on the album.

newsflash: it flops, doesn’t chart.

in the music video, she wears a blue wig — the creative aspect of staring blankly into a camera, singing with the vintage feel of the set was her idea. it served its purpose, and she’s glad that gold star allowed her to take the reigns on this one.

as it’s promoted, she uses hanjae’s backtrack as he’s not performing with her on music shows.

blue ft. byul

the second feature she gets is from one of her best friends byul — saejung at its finest.

byul wrote the lyrics to this track, gifted it to minjung — hence why it’s her second favorite on here. it was the greatest present for anyone to receive, and she’s glad to sing it with her friend.

the track is composed by 7rophy’s lux — another person she’s grateful for.

the song touches on a sad song about being ‘blue’ over a lost lover, and nostalgia hitting where it hurts.

the push and pull of the song, along with the simplicity of the keys and guitar allow for the easy listening aspect of the song.

it charts — the only song from the album that charts, and gold star believes it to be byul’s feature that allows it to chart.

camera

this song she wrote herself — an ode to not wanting to do anything.

it talks about passing people, and how they dont offer a hand despite seeing a lonely girl suffering in the tracks of loneliness.

it’s okay because she got some fun out of writing a song and singing a haunting song because depression itself is a haunting task, and feeling helpless is something she feels often despite feeling alive by it.

this song was composed by san of alien, and he did a great job using the synth and keys to portray the image minjung envisioned. thinking of it as a beat meant to throw away, minjung’s glad she got to use it for something in her album because the music style was right aligned with hers.

an ode to juwon (NPC) part one.

she wrote the lyrics herself — a song meant to scold herself for falling in the traps of something she’d never imagine. this song in a series of two brought her greater pain than she felt going through it.

it’s a big fuck you as she now knows it meant nothing — he made her like this.

‘call me bitch, i’m proud of it’ — the essence of the song.

she raises her middle fingers up and turns a cold shoulder. while this sounds good in theory, she writes it better than actually going through the motions.

the song was composed by joo — her talented childhood friend who threw her a beat when she asked. friendship lies deeper than phony assholes guised as men.

on ode to juwon (npc) part two.

this song is less of a fuck you, and more of a nostalgic touch to her feelings.

she wrote it thinking back to that fated alley way she met him at — the time she turned herself inside out, not knowing what he did to her

a sultry feel — describing love in the opposite of romanticization. it describes love as grimy, dirty and disgusting. yet, she admits she needs it and craves it more than she allows her to admit.

because deep down she knows they share a soul of misery and destruction, and the only person to ever understand her fucked up sense of mind is a boy as fucked up as she is — chaotic. vengeful. sour.

this song was also composed by joo — minjung asked for one beat, and joo gave her two like the giving motherly figure she is. for that she’s indebted to joo.

diana

minjung wrote this song knowing she’s the devil in disguise, and touching upon the selfish tendencies she has.

a song about being the greatest enemy to your own happiness.

she steps foot into a world, hoping to destroy it and not bait in the concept of love. yet, she finds herself regretting each misstep and a heart that breaks a little harder at each venture she takes.

she doesn’t believe in much, and sure as hell no longer believes in love — every promise is now guised as a lie, and she never bites the bullet and takes a step.

a farewell to the hapless lover she once was.

the song is produced by sooah, the maknae of fuse. seo minjung was the happiest she’s ever been after knowing that sooah was taking part in her solo endeavor as she sees sooah to be a very talented producer despite not showing it as often.

#(이해불가서민정)

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stephicness · 7 years

Note

"Lick" with Noct and Ravy-oli (that Lunafreya and Ravus writing will always hold a special place in my heart). A noct or a ravy licking the other on the handy-hand

Finally getting around to writing things…! Gosh, school is kicking my face in. But here you go, dear anon! c: It’s fun to write these two nerds. Decided to throw Gladio in to make the situation more silly.

He arched an eyebrow as he stood next to the doorway andeyed the two men nearby. Perhaps it was a bad idea to visit Gladiolus to askhim for his aid in one of his hunts in the future, considering that they bothlooked very busy being… Close. A bit too close for a normal conversation, buthe supposed with the dialogue being spoken, they obviously weren’t being casualin this instance. Gladiolus stood with his arm propped against the wall, Noctiswith his back towards Ravus. It seemed as if the bodyguard was body-blockingthe prince from advancing forward. Assertive in his words and actions… That wascertainly something that would make the prince uncomfortable – that marshmallowof a child. Ravus’s eyebrows furrowed as he watched, unable to interject justyet.

“What do you say you and I get out of here? You know, youand me so we could…” Gladiolus was unable to finish his thought as he finallywas able to let his eyes wander up to the white unfocused blur behind theprince. Once he finally honed in and realized that Ravus was standing therewith a bemused expression, the bodyguard straightened up, tearing himself awayfrom the wall as Noctis turned around to look at Ravus. Well… This wasawkward… “Uh-“

Ravus merely held his hand up to Gladiolus to keep himfrom going on one of his speeches to justify himself. He was already tired ofhearing them every morning during their training routines – he didn’t want tohear one again until tomorrow morning. “Don’t mind me. I am merely watching asyou attempt to bed another man with your… ‘Eloquent’ words. Again, for thatmatter… Regardless, continue with your seduction tactics. This is far moreamusing than what I came here for.”

Noctis had to squint his eyes at Ravus, looking atGladiolus in confusion who only looked embarrassed by the situation. What didhe mean ‘again?’ The prince shook his head before he addressed Ravus again.“He’s not seducing me, Ravus. Not like he could really do that to anyone.”

“Hey!”

Ravus shrugged as Gladiolus objected. “Well, it didn’twork on me the first time, so clearly he’s doing something wrong of he wishesto bed anyone.”

“Would you stop thinking that I want to screw you? Thatwas a misunderstanding, and you know it.” Gladiolus had to glare at Noctis asthe prince started snickering to himself. Once Noctis turned away to hide thegrowing smile on his face, Gladiolus turned back to stare down Ravus again. “Iwas just showing Noct the ropes.”

“Of being as terrible of a romantic as you are a fighter?”

The look on Gladiolus’s face had Noctis losing it,laughing until he had to lean against the wall for support as he found himselfnearly blue in the face. Damn. Ravus was savage.For a man with such an elegant statute to him, he said some things that noroyal person should be caught saying. And Gladiolus obviously knew Ravus’ssnarky attitude more than anyone else. Gladiolus crossed his arms over hischest, staring at Ravus again. “The ropes on how to get a girl.” Ravus archedan eyebrow at the two boys. By now, Noctis’s laughter ceased, now replaced morewith an awkward scratching of the back of the head as Gladiolus looked down atNoctis. “If he plans on seeing Luna, he’s gotta know how to get her attention.”

“Well, for the first step, you don’t.” Heterochromaticeyes shot down at the prince, more hostile than he thought he had appeared. Theexpression alone got even Gladiolus to flinch slightly. “Lunafreya has no timefor advances. She already has to suffer as your fiancé. Do not put her throughanymore misery.”

“Hey, I’m not thatbad, am I?” Noctis frowned at Ravus’s words, but that was just Ravus’s way of…He guessed it was just Ravus being Ravus, but whatever at this point. “I justwant to know how to impress Luna when I see her again. You know, charm her offher feet or something. Make her happy. Break the ice after spending foreveraway from her. That kind of thing.”

He scoffed at Noctis’s words, finally stepping towardsthe two and get out of the doorway. “Having Amicitia be the one to teach youthe rules of romanticism is like asking a bear to dance the waltz – they mightknow, but it seems more like a fantasy than a reality.” He ignored the offendedscowl Gladiolus shot at him before he resumed talking. “Lunafreya is notsomeone you can just waltz up to and purpose intimacy with her. She’s a matureyoung woman, and someone who wouldn’t fall for any uncouth advances upon her.”

“Uncouth?” Gladiolus placed his hand on his sides,obviously processing Ravus’s flowery talk a bit more slowly than Noctis was. “Howis asking someone to leave the bar with you uncouth?”

“For starters, do you really think Lunafreya would beseen at a bar? You clearly forget that she is the Oracle.” Ravus had to roll uphis sleeves as he spoke, because he was getting rather into his argument withGladiolus. “You must act with class, poise, make her feel like the queen shedeserves to be treated as – any woman wishes to be treated like a queen. Togive her heart to you and to have your heart in her hands. You must make herfeel as if she is the only one in the world.”

“That sounds a bit intense, Ravus…” Noctis tilted hishead in thought. Despite him questioning Ravus’s logic, he was still takingmental notes of it. He had to admit, he didn’t picture Ravus as the lady-killertype. He might actually – you know, killladies, but that was a different story. Probably. He hoped. But to hear wasRavus had to say about it after hearing Gladio and Prompto try picking upchicks and failing all the time, he couldn’t help but be interested in hearinga new side of asking a girl out. Maybe he could try this out once Insomnia wasresorted, and they had royal parties again. That would be something. “So beclassy and make her feel like a queen?”

“It’s not particularly hard to do either. Women don’tcrave comments about their appearance or what they are wearing. They craverespect. So long as you respect the woman, they will respect you. The goldenrule: treat others as you would like to be treated.” He held his hand up to Gladiolusbefore he could object, looking down at Noctis. “Now then, just from my wordsalone, show me how you would attempt to court a woman. We cannot teach you ifwe do not know what it is you need improvement on. Consider this a ‘roleplaying’ exercise.”

Gladiolus and Noctis both had to stare at each other fora moment, then back at Ravus, then back to each other once again. Ravus… Was heserious about helping Noctis out like this? As nice was it was, the fact thatRavus stood there, adjusting his hair for a moment as if to get into character…Gladiolus ended up smirking to himself to try to keep a laugh under controlwhile Noctis covered his face with his hand out of embarrassment. Ravus neverjoked unless he was making fun of Gladiolus or Prompto. Right now, he wasserious about helping Noctis ‘court’ Lunafreya. But alright, alright. SeeingRavus like this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, so there was no reason topass it up.

So, Gladiolus stepped aside as Noctis let out a sigh tomentally prepare himself. Right. Just do what Gladio taught you, Noct. Startwith some small talk, add a few compliments on, make a comment about how boringit was at the place, and then offer to take them out somewhere nicer. Justfollow those steps, and you couldn’t go wrong. And so, as Ravus stood there,arms crossed and fingers delicately curled under his chin, Noctis shuffled overas the prince of Tenebrae kept his focus away.

“You look really focused, don’t ya?”

“Yes. I am contemplating the many ways the MagitekInfantry can assault us in the very moment and kill us all.”

Well… Damn.What the hell, Ravus? How was he supposed to respond to that? And Ravus’s lack of eye contact clearly showed that if Ravuswas a chick, he was definitely not interested. Well, damn. Noctis cleared histhroat, adjusting his posture as he stood next to Ravus and strategized a newcourse of action.

“So, uh… This place is really that dangerous? There’sprobably a lot of ways they could come in here, huh?”

“No, actually. But I would much rather have them burstthrough the walls and kill us before I have to spend another moment speaking toyou.” Whatever smile Noctis tried to have on his face was erased in a splitsecond. Well, Ravus decided to pick a rather fatalistic persona to portray.Noctis only found himself retreating until his gaze hung down in a pitifulexpression. Ravus finally looked down at Noctis, noticing the patheticexpression over his face before he let out a sigh, putting his hands on hissides. Dammit… He was trying to help, but obviously, he was crushing the poorsoul. Ravus glanced sideways before he whispered to Noctis. “Be confident inyour actions. And attempt to ask a question that catches her off-guard andcatch her attention.”

The prince looked back up to the silver-haired man,mustering up a small nod before he cleared his throat. Okay. That was someadvice that would work. Noctis thought for a moment before he straightened outhis shirt again and looked at Ravus. “Seventy-two.”

A pause before Ravus turned to Noctis with a puzzledexpression. “I beg your pardon?”

“It took me seventy seconds for me to come talk to you,and two to realize that I made the right decision.” Noctis grinned at hispick-up line, giving Gladiolus a thumbs-up that he hid behind his back. He gotthat one from Prompto, and he sure as hell hoped it worked. It did, consideringthat Ravus’s eyes widened in response before even he had to look away and coverhis mouth with his hand. He felt his cheeks reddening in the slightest bitbefore he cleared his throat. Right. Role playing. Back to it. Honestly though,he didn’t know how to react to that. How did anyone know how to react to thesesilly advances? Noctis seemed to catch onto the fact that Ravus was stillrecovering from the line before he decided to pursue it again. “Kinda lonelyover here though. No one should have to be alone.”

“And what if I wish to be alone?”

“Well, maybe we can be alone together.”

Again, Ravus had to look away. Dammit. Noctis was betterat this than he anticipated.

“I’m Noctis, by the way.” Ravus turned to look down atthe prince, who held out his hand to him to shake. Ravus’s eyes narrowed inresponse.

He wasn’t as goodas he thought.

“No woman wants to have their hand shook as if they weresome sort of business opportunity.” Ravus smacked Noctis’s hands away, justbefore he took the prince’s hand into his own. Fingers curled underneath Noctis’spalm as his thumb gently laid itself over the prince’s digits. It was Noctis’sturn to be taken aback by the actions of a prince, especially when Ravus kepthis eyes locked onto Noctis’s, bringing the prince’s hand up to place a lightand gentle kiss on Noctis’s knuckles. Noctis felt his face redden, Gladiolus’svoice was heard in an audible gawk, and Ravus let go of Noctis’s hand before heflicked his wrist at the prince. “Thatis how you impress a woman. Kiss their hand to show them that they are yourprincess – your queen. Respect them, Caelum.”

“Uh, r-right.” Ravus offered Noctis his hand out,allowing Noctis to take it in a rather… Uncomfortable manner. Did he reallyhave to kiss Ravus’s hand? This role-playing thing was definitely being taken abit too far. But Noctis did it anyways, looking down at Ravus’s hand before hestarted bringing his hand up to his lips.

“Make eye contact.” Noctis froze, taking the hand awaybefore he let out a sigh. Right. Eye contact. He looked up at Ravus again,starting the bring up his hand again. “Do not breathe on her hand like thateither. You need not defile her skin with your breath.” Noctis frowned a bit inresponse to that. He didn’t think he was breathing that hard, but okay. So theprince tried it again, bringing Ravus’s hand back to his lips to place a smallkiss on it. Talk about demanding. And just when he thought he was doing itright… “Do not slobber on my hand either. That itself is disgusting. And youdid not make eye contact the entire time. This is all crucial. Eye contact, nobreathing, and no licking.”

“Okay, Ravus, if I going to lick your hand, I wouldn’t doit like that.” Noctis was clearly annoyed with the constant demands andpestering about how to kiss a person’s hand. He knew how to do it. And Ravusbadgering him about every little action just only made him more exasperated.Maybe he shouldn’t have asked Gladiolus or let Ravus help him with this. Hecould do this on his own, without the two of them just making it even morestressful. “Trust me, I kissed you just fine.”

“Obviously not if I can still feel remnants of yoursaliva all over my hand.”

Noctis felt his eyebrow twitch. And maybe he didn’t quiterealize it himself before he suddenly found himself gripping Ravus’s handtighter, refusing to let it go even after Ravus tried to take it away. He wasthat worried about being spit on? Fine. After making him deal with a fatalisticpersonal with a super-picky personality, Noctis wasn’t going to deal with Ravusscrutinizing him about ‘spitting’ on his hand.’ It was dumb and childish. Butperhaps it was even more childish of Noctis to bring Ravus’s hand back up tohis lips. Instead of kissing it, however, Noctis stuck his tongue out, swiping itfrom his knuckles all the way up Ravus’s thin wrist. Noctis felt a dryness overhis tongue after tasting the ex-commander like that, face twisting slightly asRavus tore his hand away from Noctis, gawking aloud as he held onto his wristas if it had been contaminated, poisoned, anything else horrible. Theblack-haired prince merely put his hands on his sides and smirked at thesilver-haired man.

“That’s how youlick someone. You wouldn’t know since you have bad taste in everything.”

“H-How dare you lick me!” Ravus was taken aback, cheeksflaring red in both embarrassment and anger as he flexed his hand. He licked him. How dare he…! Ravus grit histeeth in response, wiping the back of his hand on the front of Gladiolus’sshirt, who merely looked at Ravus with an expression that merely read ‘What thehell?’ Ravus stepped towards Noctis, attempting to grapple him by the front ofhis shirt. Noctis was quick to evade, however, triggering a slight warp to getjust out of the way of Ravus’s grip. “Don’t you dare warp away from me!”

Noctis merely laughed at Ravus, backing away from him andgoing to the doorway as he gave a small wave to the silver-haired prince. “Thanksfor the tips, Ravus. I’ll definitely have to use them when I talk to Lunaagain. Gotta run now!”

“Don’t you dare run from me either!” Ravus let out asigh, realizing that Noctis had already darted away from the ex-commander andthe bodyguard. A sigh of exasperation came from him as he ran a hand throughhis bangs. Honestly? After doing something so immature, the prince just ranaway like that? A frown spread over Ravus’s face, threatening to leave permanentwrinkles on his face, as he looked up at Gladiolus. The king’s shield did aterrible job at hiding the grin he expressed. “What is that expression,Amicitia?”

“Oh, nothing… Now I know why Prompto likes takingpictures of you two.”

Ravus’s eyes narrowed as Gladiolus began to walk away.Pictures of the two… The ex-commander paused, face reddening at the thoughtbefore he followed after the king’s shield. “What do you mean pictures?”

#asks #dear anon #final fantasy xv #ffxv #ravus nox fleuret #noctis lucis caelum #gladiolus amicitia #ravus x noctis #stephic writings #this was super fun to write #took me awhile though since i've been getting really bad migranes and headaches #hopefully I can write more stuff soon though!

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phoenixtakaramono · 7 years

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I need to get this off my chest.

TL;DR please do your research before jumping on the bandwagon. Also, the reason why something could be popular is the amount of attention that is generated which, in turn, generates curiosity. Publicity of all sorts–both negative and positive–brings awareness to any sort of medium.

Why are certain franchises/ fandoms doing well? How is hype contributing to its overall popularity and sheer existence? The answer we usually say is, “well, it’s the fans, right?” Some people might also say, “because the content’s good due to so-and-so!”

Not just that. It’s also largely due, ironically enough, to the contribution of naysayers (the “antis”) or those who jump on the bandwagon of whatever’s popular at the moment.

Both crowds raise awareness to any franchise. You have the support of its fans and you have its controversial side. Counterculture and counter-counterculture feed into the franchise’s relevancy.

I’m going to use ‘Killing Stalking,’ a R18+ manhwa by Koogi, as an example for the current Tumblr hype on the latter end of 2016 to 2017 presently. I’ll admit I have a bias, but I’ll do my best to stay objective. For those who don’t know, it’s a controversial Korean webcomic about a stalker with BPD who chooses the wrong “favorite person” to fixate on. Little did he know, upon breaking into his victim’s house, that the very same handsome bloke he’s grateful for having saved him from a traumatic experience in the military is actually a serial killer with a Mother Complex.

…Yes, what a Shamalyan-ian plot twist. (Honestly, this is not that big of a spoiler. It is called ‘Killing Stalking,“ after all.)

Thusly we find ourselves reading a story about the stalker stuck in a delicate situation as the captive of the very man he thought to be the charismatic nice guy that society loves (you know the type). Think the Korean version of 'Misery’ and 'Psycho’ if you want the basic idea. Although, fair warning, that description doesn’t encompass everything.

You wouldn’t necessarily think this IP would become viral, right? KS can be graphic, its contents can make the audience feel squeamish, it has shock value, it features an unlikely protagonist, the story revolves around two blokes in an unhealthy situation, etcetera etcetera. If I was being honest, it’s a bit overrated. It’s not some groundbreaking IP that its dissenters are making it out to be. However, some pluses: the art’s decent considering it’s a Korean manhwa, I will give Koogi that (even with the curious artistic decision to forgo the eyes at several panels, and their amusingly panda-eyed main characters). Also, the main character…wow, what a turnabout. Questionable actions notwithstanding, I honestly never thought I’d come to root for him (currently what I feel up to ch17), but his POV is the vessel for how we see this situation unfolds between him and his captor. There is something to it that makes me morbidly curious for how Koogi is going to end this.

Everyone came to KS for some reason or another (usually because it’s the hottest trend of the moment), with certain expectations already set. I’m certain how people have noticed tumblr users popping up, asking “just what is this franchise I keep hearing about anyway?” Or even “why is this franchise popular?”

I’d discovered KS because of the number of discourse on my dashboard. (Yes, “antis.” How ironic. Also, big irony, the bigger the fuss is made, the more people find out about it. Any vocal disinclination, however noble it was intended or perhaps self-serving if someone was doing this to get attention, is bringing the franchise they hate relevancy instead of letting it fade into obscurity.) Case in point, being the curious person that I am, ignoring my hipster tendencies (wow, this is like once a blue moon), I went to check KS out to see what has gotten the tumblr subculture in a tiff over this time. And I am certain all of us have seen more and more people jumping on the hype train.

I can see why some people would be deterred. KS is not for everyone. And there are those, keeping in mind that not everyone is a writer or have not become desensitized or are perhaps younger/ inexperienced, who legitimately want to warn others of reading such disturbing content. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. It’s better to just let them be because, a mood-killer as negativity is, let them vent or express their opinion. Like fans, this is how they form their community: finding other like-minded people.

However. Misinformation. Yes, let’s discuss this.

The Internet is prone to exaggerations. And however objectively we write, there will always be a small hint of bias leaking through. That’s why it’s better for us to form our opinions ourselves once we have done our research. This way, we can tell claims from facts than relying on hearsay.

If you’ve done your research and have read the whole thing before forming a opinion, what you write publicly online will probably sound legitimate to other strangers if you’ve done your research. You’ll sound credible. You’ll sound like someone who strangers could believe to an extent. What you’ve learned about making persuasive arguments/ essays and whatnot is shining through. It means those lessons have actually stuck in your head. (On that note, there is psychology to getting people to listen. It’s the same for effective constructive criticisms; you shoehorn in the pros with the cons, to soften the blows.)

You do your reading first, form an opinion, and you go about arguing against or for it to convince your audience. Very few people can pull off skimming the readings and then writing an objective opinion piece that fools readers into thinking that you know what you’re talking about. You’ll have to have experience pulling bollocks out of thin air, and not everyone can do that.

So, if anyone claims this-and-that without doing their research, but those who have read it to its entirety know that claim isn’t true…then that person has lost credibility. There’s no point seriously reading their opinion anymore. If someone also devolves into insults or juvenile rhetoric (or the written equivalent of sticking their fingers in their ears and then sticking their tongue at you, blowing a loud raspberry), there's little point talking to a brick wall.

I’m of the opinion that if you truly loathe something, the ultimate revenge is not letting it get to you. Don’t give them attention. Let them fade into obscurity. The more you shout, the more attention you’re bringing to it…and it may not always be the result you want. There’s no point wasting effort on something that is just going to drain you emotionally. Your time is valuable. Just let a franchise run its course, and eventually hype will wane as hot trends always do.

Do I think KS is for everyone? NO! GOLLY, IT’S R18+ FOR A REASON. In my childhood, I remember Korean webcomics were infamous for their depiction of horror and urban legends that were suppose to jumpscare you as you scrolled down.

Do I think though KS deserves the attention it’s getting? Ah, that’s debatable…but it’s certainly not the demon-spawn people are making it out to be. The contents are certainly not impacting my opinions negatively of people who have mental illness or have suffered trauma. If anything, KS has brought the notion of BPD into my awareness. I also doubt anyone is genuinely desiring to be in the main character’s situation, or wanting a relationship like that. (That’s the beauty of the Internet. You learn to take such assertions with a grain of salt. I’d like to think they’re usually tongue-in-cheek exaggerations rather than genuine romanticization. Also, fantasies are just that. Imagination. Which means it is in their head. In their own privacy, which we cannot control, unless this is some freaky Orwellian schtick.)

It’s good to have both good and bad representation. How do we know what is bad representation if they don’t exist? If we only see good after good (well, realistically, it gets tiring to see the same ol’ portrayal whether it’s good or gruesome), then we eliminate people’s understanding of what is bad. The scarcity of something means an increase in demand.

I’ll leave it at this: you seclude several people in a cave. They have never been outside. Chained down, they are not allowed to turn their heads. All they see is the blank wall before them, projecting writhing shadows because of the fire behind them. This wall is all they know. The wall is their world. “The inmates of this place do not even desire to leave their prison; for they know no better life.” Now, assume you let one prisoner go from their bonds. Are they enlightened by this newfound burden of knowledge about the manufactured reality or do they wish to go back to that reality in denial?

#killing stalking #phoenix talks #plato's cave #allegory of the cave #honestly just block/blacklist KS if it is truly affecting you #you are in charge of your own wellbeing #take care of yourself better #(unless you're doing this for exposure therapy)#otherwise let others enjoy what they enjoy #feel free to express your opinion #but keep in mind your public image #and how you come across to strangers #honestly I am underwhelmed by all the hype #KS is still good for a light read #if there's nothing else to read #(warning dark content)

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disgruntledexplainer · 7 years

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Stupid things I have heard or seen: christianity edition

jesus was white (he was a jew)

jesus was black (he was a jew)

jesus was not a jew (he was a jew)

jesus was a christian (NO. he was a JEW)

genesis should be taken as literal truth (please no. not only does that contradict science, it is not how that book was meant to be read in the first place. it looses all symbolic meaning if you treat it like a historical text)

jesus wrote the bible (the old testament was originally oral tradition passes down from generation to generation since the time of moses and was finally compiled into the Torah during their captivity in babylon and later persia. the new testament was a series of letters by the earliest apologists of the church, particularly paul, which were compiled and standardized for use in the liturgy. the gospels were written later, presumably by the people after which they were named, not only as attempts to standardize the story of christ, but also in an effort to convert specific populations. mathew was written to convert jews, mark to convert romans, and luke to convert greeks. john is different in that it seems to have been written with christians in mind, and thus tells a more complete version of the story rather than focusing on specific parts. there were other gospels, but they were thrown out because they were either too much like the others or too weird. the entire thing was later compiled in one of the major councils. the work has sustained suffered mistranslations that have made it into the modern version, such as the translation of “abba” into “father” instead of “daddy”, and the horse that death rides in revelations being green instead of pale. also, martin luther edited the bible during the protestant reformation as well)

the bible is a stand-alone text (see above)

faith = eternal life (result of the martin luther edit)

noah’s ark looked like... whatever that monstrosity is that they keep drawing it as in kids books (look at the dimensions, guys)

catholics worship mary (no)

catholics worship saints (no)

mormons are polygamists (not anymore. there faith emphasizes obedience to civil authority, so they do not support polygamy any more)

astrology is biblicaly supported (?)

Satan is capable of love + he loves me (yeah, sure, the being who has literally turned himself into the embodiment of spite and narcissism to the point where he seeks the misery of humanity at every turn is capable of love. he’s all about love. sarcasm.)

the spanish inquisition was perpetrated by the church (it was spain)

those people who romanticize the crusades (even if you give that pope a pass for ignoring Constantinople's cal for help and laying siege to Jerusalem instead, it was a complete mess)

muslims are inherently evil (you would then have to concede that a religion can take away someone’s free will, which would open questions about all religions and if your answer is even really yours)

i don’t believe in science (WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN)

Judaism is the first monotheistic religion (no, your thinking of Zoroastrianism)

the earth is flat (WTF NO)

global warming is a hoax (see above)

dinosaurs are a hoax (see above)

halloween is a pagan festival (...sigh. this would take a long time to explain, but basically what happened was there was the scholarly equivalent of an urban legend turned game of telephone that ended up pinning halloween as the celebration of a pagan god which historically not only wasn’t worshiped, but was actually the name of a season instead of a god.)

science has disproved God (no, you can’t disprove God. for one thing, “prove” is the wrong word. proving things is for mathematics and pseudoscience. in real science, you find evidence for things. secondly, given how the concept of a god is so vague, the best you could do is find evidence that god isn’t needed for every basic process to occur and for reality to exist. which we haven’t done yet)

science has proved the existence of God (see above. interestingly, one pope actually declared exactly that upon hearing about the Big Bang theory, only to retract the statement later upon the request of the scientist in question.)

the gift of tongues shows god’s favor (actually, according to Paul it signifies something really really bad is happening, though i’m oversimplifying it)

the knights templar were corrupt (actually, they were falsely accused of profane acts by someone with no qualifications to accuse them but plenty of martial power to quiet any dissenting opinions, my least favorite french monarch Phillip IV, he who kills monks to take gold that belongs to pilgrims)

religion causes wars (no. people cause wars. people use religion either as an excuse to start a war or as a tool to stop one, depending on the person. some religions have remained completely nonviolent during their entire existence. on the other hand, there have been plenty of wars started by regimes with atheistic tendencies. all religion does really is change the reason people tell you when you ask why they’re killing people.)

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mzhong2014 · 4 years

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A Review of Sense and Sensibility

Jane Austen is one of the few who have been my loyal companion since childhood. I have read four out of her seven novels and some of them many times over. The last time that I read Sense and Sensibility, however, was when I was 13 – ten years ago, if you do the math. What is most interesting about rereading books from my youth is noticing what continues to resonate with me as I grow older, reflecting differences in life experiences and values. However, the second time that I read Sense and Sensibility, I found that the book had not aged well, falling short of her other works in wit and depth.

Austen is a master at creating foils to explore human nature. While she is quite partial to a few characters, these foils are platforms to convey complicated observations on how to conduct oneself. In Pride and Prejudice, Charlotte’s good-humored and practical nature contrasts with Elizabeth’s pride and romanticism, questioning whether marrying for means is a denial of one’s authentic self. In Persuasion, Anne Elliot’s disregard for titles clashes her family’s pride in their lineage. Yet, Anne ultimately agrees that one cannot marry solely on the basis of love. In Sense and Sensibility, Austen explores the differences in temperament between the two beautiful Dashwood sisters, Marianne and Elinor, particularly when it comes to the expression of love. Elinor is reserved, rational, and highly values propriety. Marianne, however, is lively, effusive, and reactive, often expressing exactly what is on her mind without regard to the social setting. While discussing her sister’s potential suitor, Marianne summarizes her philosophy on love,

“Edward is very amiable, and I love him tenderly. But yet – he is not the kind of young man – there is something wanting […] He admires as a lover, not as a connoisseur. To satisfy me, those characters must be united. I could not be happy with a man whose taste did not in every point coincide with my own. He must enter into all my feelings”

For Marianne, love is an art form in itself – an epicurean phenomenon that must engage all of the senses – the heart, soul, mind, and body. Elinor, however, is more measured in her feelings.

“At first, his address is certainly not striking; and his person can hardly be called handsome, till the expression of his eyes, which are uncommonly good, and the general sweetness of his countenance, is perceived. At present, I know him so well, that I think him really handsome; or, at least, almost so.”

Here, Elinor is more attuned to Edward’s unstated qualities. Most notable is her observation of his eyes, a common motif in Austen’s books (e.g., Elizabeth’s “fine eyes” in Pride and Prejudice). The eyes represent an unspoken but piercing clarity in thought and character. While the lips may tell lies and fanciful tales, the gaze cannot deceive. Appreciating the eyes requires a depth of perception, and here, Elinor finds merits in Edward that others cannot see.

Given that the book opens with such contrasting yet closely tied figures, one would expect Austen to add more complexities to the sisters as they each fall in love. However, the characterizations remain binary and cliché, especially given the sisters’ similarities in plot trajectories. Both sisters fall in love with men who are already engaged elsewhere in secrecy. Unsurprisingly, Marianne pursues her love interest, Willoughby, with such passionate fervor that the whole town is convinced that they are engaged. Elinor, however, silently pines after Edward to protect the secrecy of his engagement to her rival, Lucy.

Both are heartbroken when their loved ones marry others but suffer in starkly different ways. Upon learning that Willoughby deceived Marianne, she cries out:

“…misery such as mine has no pride. I care not who knows that I am wretched. The triumph of seeing me so may be open to all the world. Elinor, they who suffer little may be proud and independent as they like – may resist insult, or return mortification – but I cannot. I must feel – I must be wretched – and they are welcome to enjoy the consciousness of it that can.”

Through passionate and beautiful prose, Marianne declares a martyrdom to her feelings. Suffering is her open rebellion against Willoughby’s deceit. As Willougby takes away Marianne’s key source of happiness, she paradoxically reclaims her power by actively destroying her pride and self-worth. Marianne revels in showing her pain. Soon after, Marianne falls under a mortal sickness with an intensity equal to her love for Willoughby. The sickness becomes a symbolic exorcism to expunge her love for Willoughby – an act of self-destruction. For Marianne, there is no boundary between her physicality and emotionality. One speaks for the other at any given moment.

Elinor, however, is as emotionally wounded as Marianne but must suffer silently in order to support her sister while in sickness. There is no connection between the emotional and physical expression of suffering for Elinor. When Marianne finds out that her sister’s love has married Lucy, she exclaims, “What! – while attending me in all my misery, has this been on your heart? – and I have reproached you for being happy!” Elinor responds rationally, stating:

“…while the comfort of others was dear to me, I was glad to spare them from knowing how much I felt. Now, I can think and speak of it with little emotion. – I would not have you suffer on my account; for I assure you I no longer suffer materially myself.”

In contrast to Marianne, Elinor treats suffering as a burden for her alone to carry – not that of her loved ones. She withdraws her emotions, finding solace in the preservation of her pride and independence. Elinor can no longer be hurt by Edward once she has dulled the intensity of her emotions.

What I disliked was how blatantly Austen prefers Elinor over Marianne, leaving the reader with little room to debate their differences in character. Austen portrays Marianne’s open suffering as selfish in comparison to Elinor’s suppression. However, I believe that the opportunity to support a loved one is a cherished and prized responsibility. Furthermore, I find it hard to believe that Edward became attached to Elinor due to her passivity in loving him. Rather, it is Elinor’s active demonstration of love when she helps Edward find financial support for his marriage that shows her merits.

Most notably, Austen shows that Marianne only grows in character once she adopts more of her sister’s senses. Marianne is initially betrayed by her lover, whereas Elinor ultimately ends up with Edward, despite her supposed lack of emotional affectation. While recovering from her illness, Marianne admits, “I saw in my own behavior … nothing but a series of imprudence towards myself, and want of kindness to others.” This is the same judgment that Elinor passes on Marianne’s actions, affirming Elinor’s righteousness and Marianne’s impropriety. Finally, Marianne finds happiness when she marries Colonel Brandon, a sensible man she once proclaimed as having “no brilliancy, his feelings no ardour, and his voice no expression.” Austen only lets Marianne find love once she adopts her sister’s taste in suitors.

While I found Marianne extremely annoying for most of the book, I found Austen’s prejudice against her to be narrow-minded. There is an honesty in Marianne’s actions, both towards herself and those she loves. Marianne’s proclamation of suffering liberates her from the stifling pretenses of social grace and allows her to stand up for herself. In fact, it is her sickness that holds Willoughby accountable to the pain that he has caused Marianne. Willoughby’s guilt pushes him to confess his mistakes to Elinor, the only moment of growth for the cowardly lover. Upon learning that Willoughby had genuine feelings for Marianne, Marianne is vindicated in her passions, suggesting that such intense love can exist. Marianne’s only fault was in loving a man who lacked her strength in character and loyalty.

Despite the book’s shallow character developments, I found Marianne and Elinor’s sisterly bond tender and compelling. My favorite line in the book is when Elinor tends to the heartbroken Marianne, telling her, “I only wish […] there were anything I could do, which might be of comfort to you” (175). She adds, “I can have no pleasure while I see you in this state” (176). Despite how Marianne’s lack of restraint leads to her downfall, Elinor does not take this moment of vulnerability to assert her superiority in worldviews. Rather, Elinor takes part in Marianne’s sorrow and prioritizes her happiness above all else. Elinor acknowledges that there is little that she can do to cure her pains, but offers what she can – her confidence, sympathy, and unconditional love. One can imagine how Austen’s devout love for her sister Cassandra informed her depictions of such sisterly bonds.

To be fair, Sense and Sensibility was one of Austen’s first novels that she drafted as an author. In various parts of the book, one can observe the emergence of Austen’s quick witticism that would become a defining feature in her penmanship. When the Dashwoods debate who should marry Miss Morton, discussing Edward and Robert as if they were interchangeable, Elinor quips, “The lady, I suppose, has no choice in the affair.” Despite its shortcomings, the book remains a pleasant read.

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foursprout-blog · 6 years

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How To Love Being Single

New Post has been published on http://foursprout.com/happiness/how-to-love-being-single/

How To Love Being Single

God & Man

You know that expression the grass is always greener on the other side? Well, it’s so obnoxiously true!

When I was single, I desperately craved a steady relationship. Now that I’m married with a toddler and another baby on the way, I have to admit that sometimes I kind of miss being single. Is that terrible? I feel guilty just writing it out. I love my husband and my son to pieces and can’t imagine life without either of them. I love being a mom so much more than I thought I would.

But I do miss being single sometimes. I miss it because I was really good at being single … and I’m not always so good at balancing the endless pile of endlessness when you’re a wife and working mom. I wasn’t a miserable single person, as so many are, and I didn’t treat it like some sort of disease I needed to get rid of. My husband says I romanticize single life and that’s only partially true. There are things I miss, like sleep and freedom, but I do remember how lonely it could be and I remember the terror that would sometimes creep in… the fear that I might end up childless and alone … forever.

A lot of the single women I know feel miserable on account of their singleness and I think that’s exactly what keeps them single. When you can learn to love being on your own then you can experience the benefits that being single has to offer, and there are many! You may not realize it now, but this moment in time is very fleeting, and when it’s gone you can’t get it back. You never again will have a chance to focus exclusively on yourself and your own happiness. It’s a gift. And when you can really recognize this, you will love being single … and this will make you a magnet to attract romantic love.

Here are some ways to love being single:

1. Realize you can do whatever the F you want!

I don’t think you’ll ever fully understand how amazing it is to do whatever you want whenever you want until you don’t have that luxury anymore! You can sleep in on weekends, you can be lazy, you can take an impromptu vacation, you can go out every night of the week. You are free to just do what you want. You are only responsible for your own needs.

Maybe you would happily hand over your freedom for a life of domestic bliss, but don’t dwell on that right now because you’re not there yet. You are where you are, so enjoy it while you have it because you won’t have it for long.

2. You have the time to work on yourself.

The reason I was so happy as a single person is because I really worked on myself. I wasn’t always that way. I spent many years wallowing in the misery of my single status, feeling frustrated by the lack of normal guys out there… and the fact that nothing ever fit. Either the guy was obsessed with me and I just wasn’t into it, or I desperately wanted him but he just couldn’t or wouldn’t commit. I took it all so personally to the point that it really started to wear away at me and turn me into someone I didn’t like.

And then I got a grip and changed my attitude. No more wallowing, no more focusing on what I don’t have and instead, I’m going to make the best of what I do. So I did. I worked on myself and lived my best and happiest life. And when I hit this point of feeling like I had no more growing to do, that I felt fully content and satisfied and maybe even self-actualized, that’s when my husband and I started dating.

Finding the right guy is not going to solve your problems. It won’t suddenly grant you a sense of self-esteem or worth. It won’t erase the pain from your past or cure you of your anxiety and any other issues you suffer from.

You need to fix these things on your own. Having a partner can enhance your happiness but it can’t be your happiness. If you’re single, now is the time to make yourself Into who you want to be! It doesn’t get any easier when you’re in a relationship, and forget it when you have kids.

Now is the time to get a handle on yourself. To think deeply about yourself and what you want in life and what is holding you back. Now is your chance to be purely selfish and while that isn’t necessarily an attribute in the grand scheme, it can be an incredible gift in the meantime. Don’t squander it!

3. Travel, a lot!

Don’t wait around for a man before you see the world, traveling with your friends (or maybe even alone, if you’re that kind of person), can be just as, if not more, amazing.

Waiting for a man in order to do certain things is the exact mentality that will make being single feel like a curse. Don’t put limits on yourself. You can travel while single, and then travel more when you find the right partner. Just live life and enjoy it as much as you can instead of putting “as soon as” restrictions on things.

Traveling is exciting and thrilling and can lead to self-discovery so just do it!

4. Nurture your friendships.

A sad fact of life is that friendships change as you move through life’s stages. When you’re married with kids, your friendships don’t play the same central role they once did, and you’ll miss it a lot someday. That’s not to say you won’t have friends anymore, but those relationships won’t be the same.

I just can’t relate to my single friends in the same way I could when I was in the same chapter in my life. I also don’t have the time or the energy to keep up with them because after 9 pm, nothing is more enticing than my bed!

Now is the time to nurture those relationships and enjoy having that support because it’s a really beautiful thing.

5. Don’t get sucked into negativity.

What exactly does thinking the worst ever accomplish?

Panicking and stressing over your single status will never take you to a good place. It will just fill you with anxious energy that no one will want to be around and it might cause you to make bad choices. If you’re terrified of ending up alone, you may drastically lower your standards, or try to force things to work with a guy who is clearly wrong for you, because something is better than nothing, right?

There will be days when it’s hard and lonely, but try not to feed into it. When you feed the beast, you give it even more power over you and the goal here is to find a way to be empowered on your own.

Just be patient, be positive, be your best self and I promise it will all fall into place.

#Happiness

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foursprouthappiness-blog · 6 years

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How To Love Being Single

New Post has been published on http://foursprout.com/happiness/how-to-love-being-single/

How To Love Being Single

God & Man

You know that expression the grass is always greener on the other side? Well, it’s so obnoxiously true!

Here are some ways to love being single:

1. Realize you can do whatever the F you want!

2. You have the time to work on yourself.

3. Travel, a lot!

Don’t wait around for a man before you see the world, traveling with your friends (or maybe even alone, if you’re that kind of person), can be just as, if not more, amazing.

Traveling is exciting and thrilling and can lead to self-discovery so just do it!

4. Nurture your friendships.

Now is the time to nurture those relationships and enjoy having that support because it’s a really beautiful thing.

5. Don’t get sucked into negativity.

What exactly does thinking the worst ever accomplish?

Just be patient, be positive, be your best self and I promise it will all fall into place.

#Happiness

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benchgenderstudies · 7 years

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Freeing Michelle Carter from the Prosecutions Ease of BlameMaking

Dear Ms Herreria,(HUFFPO) Thank you for covering the Michelle Carter case for it was poorly prosecuted for the needs of the fifth column to stand against medically assisted suicide. Michelle Carter may have responded to Conrad Roy for thousands of times but the foundation of her innocence starts at how her attention initially came to Conrad Roy. Did he find her or did she start talking to him, as minors? These comments are lengthy but not without due cause. Its as short as it can be with supporting evidence.

Conrad Roy's life is nothing I will misportray to be an expert in. He was disillusioned to the reality that divorces happen. This might stem from kids his age notching 'true love forever' into trees when that only lasts actually 3months more or less. Teens convince each other of romanticized attention and not love. When the girl doesn't want any more of the boys attn, some boys have a difficult time not realizing nothing is forever and definitely not love. On March 19,2013 Elwood Osman arrived at a Lehigh Valley Hospital; Allentown,PA , and shot his wife of 83 years dying of a terminal illness. There are only so many times you can hear 'kill me , kill me' and do nothing. When knowing someone is suffering and the law prolongs it, the law is wrong. Dr Assisted suicide is even rationalized correctly by Michelle Carter, a teen. Michelle Carter did something but I do not smear her as 'trying to perform medicine without a license', or malicious intents. The matter of Conrad RoyIII confiding in her his life's problems were not her's to bear. The matter of having to feel sad or feel anything for him may have led to his being named ' a boyfriend'. Where did that relationship start?

Michelle Carter is being made a victim for the needs of a prosecutor needing a blame where assisted suicide cannot be validated politically. There is a fifth column that would not credit Conrad Roy III for being capable to determine if suicide was merciful. Carter is being made a victim for the needs of two parents who look at her with blame for a son who couldn't handle the concept of divorce. The weak fall down. Conrad Roy rationalized his credibility had choked when he didn't go through with suicide. Still, he was concluding that suicide was his plan. After so many times determining that it was in the company of Carter, she was desensitized to it. The obsession of life ending could be concluded to be moral in that she wasn't getting attention of this. There was no give and take of her benefits in life. It was his status of living that was determined loathsome enough to agree with.

Feeling sympathy for someone is not feeling love. Feeling and empathizing can exploit a females beliefs of a relationship. It may not have been. Narcissists pull these tricks. Online predators pull these tricks to cause trust. Conrad broke this trust to not kill himself the first time. He caused further annoyance and doubt of his character in my perception. Online predators want the relationship to continue and even if he had fallen in adoration of Carter for physical and emotional reasons, this was still not love or a relationship. Online predators intending victimization would also back out of killing themselves.. but then they walk away; they'd fake a hospital stay story to tighten the grip on sympathy. Not Conrad..right back at it. The weak fall down and the parents of the weak must accept it. The grounds of the divorce may infact be the confusion. When the reasons love disappears start at being an oops one night stand. The prosecutor is blood thirsty to make someone pay for this teens death. She had texts to put into a neat case. Neat doesn't mean truth. Conrad had sadness and despair to share. Conrad most likely came onto Carter. Conrad most likely spewed and spewed all about his rotten life in hearing only his side of the screen say "Suicide is something that stops this because I don't understand why things aren't perfect". The mentally ill just keep convincing themselves. When Carter had to decide that suicide was a merciful means of ending his ambiguous coping, she had had enough. I'm not speaking for her. I am saying as to suggest her parent would realize, "Hey Conrad, put your parent on the computer your going to need a counselor because too much info." My friends of misery only go downward. Teens like to believe they have the ability to handle everything alone. Their invincibility makes them vulnerable in the worst of ways; independence through secrecy.

What can Carter do but agree? Its a tendency to nod because saying " no your overreacting " would lead to conflict with an unstable guy. Do we want suicide for this guy or victimized by homicide suicide if he gets pissed off about not getting enough empathy? Adults nod when they don't agree to avoid conflict. After awhile Conrads glaring shortcomings made all the sense in the world to help him. How much more prone to suicide was Michelle Carter because of him? Insincere males as seen on MTV's Catfish are spinsters. The number of times males have threatened to kill themselves on a breakup have made suicide a utility of coercing feelings. Marriage proposals at baseball and football games in public view are coercion methods. While Michelle Carter might not ever have doubted Conrad Roy, she had a right to. She has a required support by law that her exposure to his uncounseled issues was a problem. After a few months , if she tells tell her parents .. just generally that anything of real oversite happens.. the mentally ill will be angry of their secrecy and trust being broken; kill themselves anyway. Perhaps their was a friendship made but as a friend of misery .. things in common don't pan out to be constructive experiences. I have no expectation what Conrad Roys plans were with Michelle Carter. If he did have a girlfriend that he found or coerced of her then he had better turn around and notice her more. Then her issues come to play; she found the matter of suicide so certain that it had morphed into their common bond. Her help of his wants was made of activity, not feelings. Its not like she drove to Kmart with him for a dual suicide. Whatever the door was , Conrad wasn't strong enough to even commit suicide but the weak fall down and he did. The prosecutor just doesn't want to admit how weak people have become even though John F Kennedy called for mental health awareness. Now we are watching republicans swear to repeal,ACA, an obama administration(DNC) that gutted any chance of single payer, Obama's second flaw in usuing the subprime deal swing that would never regulate healthcare costs and worse.. both parties have an umbrella over all genres of thought. Too bad the prosecutor doesn't have the balls to look at the climate Conrad Roy searched for suicide before meeting Michelle Carter. Incompetence is the federal government and Prosecutor Maryclare Flynn doesn't have the heart to be a change maker in too big a way. I regard Conrad Roy in the most gutteral of his potential.

In this last point: Mary Kay Letourneau was made the sex item of a student. He was aggressive upon his teacher/tutor to swing a $20 bet. While they may be parents together right now, Mary Kay Letourneau had her teaching reputation ruined while she was vulnerable for lack of affection. Her husband was seeing other women. As a teacher she barely had time for one romance. A school is no place to easily hookup as a baggage handler has ample options. Michelle Carter is an easy victim to pin Conrad Roy's death on. Carter is an easy victim for Roys parents to blame. He was a broken kid in broken times looking for someone just like Carter to push him through a door he already decided on. But, if he was always full of shit ,, then he was coercing her into a relationship built on empathy and sympathy.. to be mothered into a son mother dynamic of sex with a peer teen the way Letourneau was.. and then he had to account why he didn't kill himself .

It was Roy's masculinity and honor on the line why he wasn't dead. According to his plans, he wasn't feeling like much but he would die a man standing up to suicide finally. He became the antlion that died buried in his own material. So then he did dramatize it. It was a seppuku for his own refusal of his goal setting the first time.But hey, Conrad Roy had the cunning avenue to sack a girl with all the times he couldn't get laid. As with his death ..lacking self confidence, stability there too. I don't know the kid but the motivation exists plenty of other situations. Girls, ignoring the unstable boy who might kill them before himself. No No , Conrad.. you first.. seriously.. Its courtesy.

#TheBigPictureIsConradShouldProbablyDieSoTheVictimCountIsntTWO.

Michelle Carter is too easy a victim for the prosecutors list of failed social environment culprits. So I hold her faulty by her narrow gaze for just one, just one teen girl deciding assisted suicide was better than living a mope scowering the internet for motivation. Her defense of being skewed with mood stabilizers somewhat undercut her good sense to value assisted suicide as legitimate. Jack Kevorkian probably would have refused this case. NSA didn't have a very good program to look for phishers and the word suicide. "To protect the american people from threats foreign and domestic." An expensive useless system not protecting much but government reputation itself.

Carter has a right to assure her safety, He might be a catfisher who deserves no respect. Police always complain why women don't stand witness on rapists. When its literally about killing a potential online threat, the Prosecutor flips over into savage woman bashing. The kid who hides in his room all day at the computer might need attention from his parents to explain and address the divorce. His avoidance isn't their cover for lack of communication.

Kind regards,

Michael Bench, MEP ,GCERT

Exercise Physiologist

Gender Anthropologist

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