#posts that might get me tarred and feathered
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Caught In The Smoke (My Hero Academia)
Heyo! I wrote this little ol' fic for the wonderful @cupcake-spice13 a while back and- much like the fic from earlier this week- forgot to post it! Hehe, it's been one of those weeks y'all. Anywho- I hope y'all like it! :D
CW: Swearing
Summary: Dabi finds Hawks during a fight for a quick chat. In the process of that, he discovers something quite interesting about the bird man.
Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):
@myreygn @thatbigbisexual29 @duckymcdoorknob @baby-tickles2022 @backy-san @nutzgunray-lvt @sarahmaystock5578 @rachi-roo
“No! Nohoohohohohoho, wait plhehehehhehhahhhhse!”
“Aww, can’t take it, birdy?” Dabi’s voice was a low rumble, close enough to his ear so no one else could hear him. “Such a proud hero, taken down by a few flicks of my fingers. Come on birdie, sing me a song~”
~~20 Minutes Earlier~~
“Hawks, MOVE!” Endeavor called out, the only warning the Number 2 hero received before a flaming tin soared their way. With a leap and shout, Hawks was in the air, just narrowly avoiding the explosion that followed. His vision was filled with smoke tinged with blue, choking his lungs and making his eyes water.
“Shit- Endeavor? Endeavor, where are you?” Hawks yelled, trying to find a beacon of red among the smoke. There was the faint sound of screaming- civilians. He needed to get to them- he needed to help them escape-
“Where are you going, birdy?” A new voice purred from behind. Hawks twisted- finding none other than Dabi standing among the smoke. “Surely you aren’t planning on running away so soon?”
“Miss me already?” Hawks pulled out a sword of feathers, readying the blade. “And here I had the impression you didn’t like me that much.” He shot forward, sliding under a blaze of flames that Dabi released. The sword caught fire almost immediately, burning into a crisp before fading into ash. Alright- no weapons then. We’re doing this barehanded.
“Possibly.” Dabi’s lips pulled into a grin as he evaded Hawk’s various attacks, dodging flying kicks and fists. “Figured since I was in the area I might as well surprise you.”
“You really shouldn’t have.” Hawks ducked down to kick his feet out- but the clog of smoke was thick, and his swipe was too short. “Most people prefer flowers as their surprise- not exploding tins of oil.”
“Good thing we’re not most people.” Dabi grabbed his ankle, yanking once. Hawks slipped, his hands scraping into gravel and cooling tar as the flame-villain dragged him over. “Come here, Birdie. We’ve got quite a bit to talk about.”
“Flattered, but I’d prefer candlelight dinner to this.” Hawks twisted to his belly, readying his wings. A flick of them will send the gust away- giving Endeavor the chance he needed to attack. “Why don’t you ask me on a proper date next time, eh Hot Stuff?”
“Now now- what’s the rush?” Dabi’s hand shot down to Hawk’s wings, pushing down slightly. “Ready to leave so soon-”
“EEH!”
Both of them paused. It suddenly seemed like the chaos around them faded away as they both took in the sound Hawks let out. Dabi blinked, eyes wide. Hawks felt his face burn.
“Oh wow.” Dabi finally spoke, something sly and mischievous in his tone. “What do we have here?”
“N-Nothing!” Hawks yelped trying to wiggle forward, but a knee to his lower back kept him there. “Nothing at all! St-Stay back!”
“Nothing? Then why do you sound so nervous?” Dabi teased softly, his voice close as fingers began slowly walking up Hawks spine, starting at the curve of his hips to the dreaded spot between his shoulder blades; just where the base of his wings sat. “I think you’re hiding something from me birdie; and you know how I get when secrets are brought up.”
“This is hahahrdly the time for that!” Hawks barely held back a giggle when the fingers against his back rested directly between his wings, tapping softly. “Leheheht me up, we chahan talk about it lahahhater!”
“Hm…no. I wanna talk about it now.” Dabi smirked. “Come on, let’s see just how ticklish you really are.”
~~Current Time~~
Endeavor wheezed around the thick fog of smoke, waving it away from his vision as he searched for Hawks. He heard him yell out, he couldn’t be that far. “Hawks! Hawks were are-”
“EEEH!”
The high pitched noise made him freeze, spinning on his heels. That was Hawks for sure- did he get hurt in the explosion? The civilians were escorted out- it had to be him. He charged forward. “HAWKS-”
What he witnessed left him speechless.
“Ahehahahahhaha! Nohoohohohoho! Nohooohohh, sthahahhahaap ihihihihihihit!” Hawks was on the ground, kicking and flailing like a child having a tantrum. Above him sat a figure, his face hidden by the smoke. What wasn’t hidden was his hands, currently massaging the space between the Pro-Hero’s wings like a trained masseuse. “Geheheheheht oohohohoohohff!”
What the actual- Endeavor blinked, shaking his head. Was this person a villain? Were they the cause of all this? And if so…why tickling? Was he trying to get information?
He should run over there- swat away this supposed tickle villain; capture him for interrogation. That’s what a number 1 hero does, right?
And yet…seeing Hawks on the ground laughing so hard, his face red as a beet and cheeks dimpled…it was an oddly wholesome sight. Satisfying even, given how Hawks was constantly finding ways to get under his skin. He hoped the smoke hid his grin as he shook his head; amazed by the sight.
Hawks eyes shot to him, widening some when they met Endeavors. “Yohoohhoohohhou! Nohohoohohho, lohoohohoohohohk aawhhahhahahahhahy!” He cried, face flushing an even deeper shade of red. He tried to hide his face, but this mysterious attacker dug their hands into his armpits, making him arch with a squeal. “ENDHEHEHEHEHVOR HEHEHHEELP!”
Snapping out of his reverie, Endeavor nodded. Right- middle of a fight. He shot his arms out, sending a burst of fire overhead.
~~~
“Shows over. Gotta go, Birdie.” Dabi, watching the smoke start to fade, smirked down at the giggly hero. In a rare show of fondness, he leaned forward, kissing the top of Hawk’s head before climbing off. “Find me later.”
The smoke cleared, leaving Hawks lying across the pavement with the ghost of Dabi’s lips against his hair. He winced when Endeavor’s feet came to view, slowly peeking up at him with a flushed face. “Dohoohhn’t say…a woohohohrd.”
Endeavor, to his credit, stayed silent. Even if his lips were twitching with restrained mirth. Even when he averted his gaze to hide a chuckle with a stern cough. Even as he helped Hawks up to his feet, his hand “accidentally” brushed against his wings, making him jump with a squeak.
“Are you a-alright?” He grunted, taking a short breath. Hawks glared, hoping it would hide his mortification. “Not hurt?”
“Besides my ego? Nah. Though these are gonna sting.” He held up his hands, wincing at the red lashes against his skin. “Is there any way we can leave out…that?”
“I’ll just say you were unconscious due to the smoke.” Endeavor concluded as they made their way back to their randevu point. “On one condition- you stop making dumb jokes about me for the next few weeks.”
“What?...Okay fine.” Hawks gave in, wings tucked firmly against his back. “Hey erm…thanks, Enji.”
“Anytime.”
Thanks for reading!
#mha/bnha#tickle#tickle fic#hawks#dabi#endeavor#implied Dabihawks#tw: swearing#fight scenes oh my!#Squiggily's having an off week lols#by the time this is posted I should in theory be alright#I will be actually#Thanks for reading!
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I just wanted to say I appreciated your notes, and totally agree with glenns vibes being hot, and dndads fans being feral. im not here to debate either friend. <3
i was just concerned there were few good arguments for Lup, (and had the time on my break at work to write some). when i was trying to match her up to Glenn's points i kept being like "wait but taz just isnt going to talk about their characters in the same way :( because the players are all closely related."
Regardless, have a good day Internet friend! thanks for the kind notes. i was nervously refreshing worried that the dndads fans were going to tar and feather me. <3
may the sexiest character win! (honestly its a toss up to me and im sorta glad the the poll reflects that <3)
ps. if you want to see my personal take on hot glenn vibes: may i humbly recommend my works 'Only for a Night' (glenn/morgan) Close to Queer (glenn/morgan) (and then plutonic: glenn&nick) and my series '**NOT CLICKBAIT** (glen/henry) on my ao3:stipulativeTzigane. please be sure to read the tags! especially if you're going to try any of my other glenn fics. [this is all assuming ive judged correctly and you are NOT a minor... if im wrong, im so sorry to tempt you, but please treat yourself better than i did as a teen, and come back as an adult]
pps: you dont have to answer this btw, im just intimidated by the personal message system.
I’m glad we see eye to eye on this! I was very bummed seeing the lack of Lup propaganda tbh- most of what I’ve gotten was from my boyfriend lmao- so I really liked seeing your post <3 I do totally get your point honestly, I do think the TAZ folks are less likely to express horny ass characters in the same way via the nature lmao <3 I’m happy to provide kind notes!!! This is just a fun tumblr poll- and I like having fun all around :)! May the sexiest win!!
Also, (not a minor dw-) unfortunately I cannot read your fics.. because I have already read them lmao. I suppose it might be time for a reread though!! I feel like I read Only if for a Night when you first posted it !!!!! I didn’t know that was you, but absolutely killer. Both emotionally and all the other ways. Plus the not click bait series- you pull one of my favourite tropes of ‘Glenn is triggered by something that would’ve been cool and fine for him previously’- which I LOVE. Exploring his triggers is rad.
Unfortunately my only Glenn-centric fics are incredibly unsexy, one being written for an English assignment a while back about Morgan’s old art room and the other about him trying to form a relationship with narc…. (And I guess the odyssey-san crackfic lmao).. So much respect to those capable of writing steamy shit. Really tempting me to try -w-. I grew up a roleplayer so describing more than one character/more than just dialogue is sooo hard to me.
Sorry for my excessive rambling haha!! Have a good day!! I hope our sexy sexy characters have a close, fair match!!!
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You fucking brought this on yourself by reblogging that ask post after flooding me with questions :DDD
Gustav (forced oc development)
13. What's their relationship to their body? Self esteem? Self image?
16. What haunts them?
19. How do they view the world? Are they an optimist? A pessimist? A realist?
Nyx
8. Do they feel glee at the sight of blood?
9. What do they regret the most?
17. What little regrets do they have?
King Markas
2. How much death and/or destruction have they wrought?
11. Do they have empathy? For whom? For what?
15. How do they kill? Do they try to minimize suffering?
16. What haunts them?
21. What's their relationship to sex? Modesty?
22. Do they enjoy the taste of blood?
bro is straight up forgot about this, dunk me in tar and throw me in a bowl of feathers
OG Gustav
13. What's their relationship to their body? Self esteem? Self image?
He always acts very self-confident about his looks; it sometimes gets to an intensity which give away that this is all just an act. Deep down he's got a lot of things that he doesn't like about his body (especially the rust and his battered appearance).
His self image isn't just relying on his body, though. What he might lack in genuine confidence about his outer appearance, he makes up for in knowing that he's a skilled fighter and a valuabe asset to any squad.
16. What haunts them?
Ever thought about why he doesn't have a squad? Sure, he sometimes travels along Käthe's team but he used to have a small family of his own...
19. How do they view the world? Are they an optimist? A pessimist? A realist?
On the optimistic side. He knows how hard it is to survive in The Zone (I’m calling it that, sue me) and has witnessed many a nasty demise. But somehow he lived through all of this, so why not have a sunny outlook on what is yet to come?
Nix
8. Do they feel glee at the sight of blood?
Not at all. Nix might be an absolute feral gremlin who’s never turn down a fight but they don’t revel in other people’s suffering. Except if they had it coming by pestering them or their friends. But even then, seeing blood isn’t something that satisfies them.
9. What do they regret the most?
Nothing really comes to mind... Nix is a huge hedonist and pretty good at pursuing anything they desire without much remorse.
17. What little regrets do they have?
They definitely regret not keeping their mouth shut on multiple occasions. Nothing serious, just the usual „Great, I made it slightly harder for myself now“ schtick.
King Markas
2. How much death and/or destruction have they wrought?
Most of the people who died by his own hand had been opponents on the battlefield. However, that's not nearly the whole extend of how much death and destruction he wrought. He has an army which he isn't afraid to use and trusts his generals that they understand the importance of plundering/destroying to intimidate anyone who dares cross him.
11. Do they have empathy? For whom? For what?
He cares a lot about his people and their needs. However, he definitely favores the mountain's population since it's his home. If you live at the surrounding villages or even some outposts, it's more difficult to get him to hear about your problems.
Also don't expect any kind of empathy or mercy if you've personally crossed him. Even if you're a mountain resident.
15. How do they kill? Do they try to minimize suffering?
Heavily depends on why he's out to get you. If you meet him on the battlefield, you're lucky. He's not out to torture there, it's not personal. You'll soon find your head removed from your shoulders by the strike of a very heavy sword. Quick and easy.
However, outside of actual combat he does order the pillaging of villages to set examples if needed. While he doesn't personally partake in those raids (anymore), I still count it as willingly inflicting unnecessary suffering.
16. What haunts them?
Definitely the death of his parents and sister. I swear I've written down somewhere what had happened to them. I can't find it rn.
I just remember that it's a sore spot for him.
21. What's their relationship to sex? Modesty?
Relationship to sex: Yes. Very much so.
Modesty: No, except the situation calls for it.
(This guy is too straight for his own good and has such toxic views about cheating and sexual relationships. Someone needs to kick him in the balls, I think it should be his own wife.)
22. Do they enjoy the taste of blood?
Very much so, although not for the reason one might think. There are some excellent dishes that have blood as an ingredient and he's here for all of them.
Fresh blood though, not so much. Especially if he gets a taste of his own blood, it just sends him into a fit of rage.
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63, 69, 73, and 77? 👀
63. Something you hate to see in smut.
I agree with translightyagami that I dont think you should use smut to emotionally info dump. Yes, I want to hear them like... processing the significance or whatever of the moment. But don’t go on a 300 word tangent about their childhoods or raindrops or whatever when boy-cunts are getting railed. Sex scenes have really tight pacing and vibes to work. Good smut scenes are like pulling off a magic trick. If you use them as an excuse to monologue I think its better to go with a really vague, low detail, sex allusion rather than an actual smut scene.
69. What work of yours, if any, are you the most embarrassed about existing?
If something really bothered me or I felt it didn’t reflect me I would delete it. And I wouldn’t apologize for that. That’s my right. But I love my stupid experiments because if nothing else they show me how much progress I’ve made and remind me of things I learnt.
73. What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?
I think everyone is unique in their writing. Different histories, media diets, etc. I can talk about my weird quirks, but I genuinely don’t know why some people gravitate towards my stuff more than any number of other talented writers. Must just be on the same frequency? I can’t pinpoint a thing. Maybe a combination of things...?
77. Do you have a favorite scene you’ve written from [Fanfic Name] story/chapter?
Hmm, let’s pick a story... The last scene from “Prime Suspect” I agonized about for weeks up until posting. It was the right ending. I knew that in my gut. But I was afraid I might get tarred and feathered. So I kind of held my breath, pressed post, and waited. It went over really well, and I love it. But I did worry for a long time lol.
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i’m so worried about the state of discourse in this country. public perception is always shifting... how can i articulate this the best... the public collectively decides which celebrities are “canceled” and which aren’t, right? as an example. when lindsay lohan was drugged up and getting hit with DUIs left and right years ago, people loved hopping on the bandwagon to bash her. they said horrible, nasty things that they would probably never say to her face if given the opportunity. when did it become OK to tell someone they deserve to die because they made a mistake? at what point do we recognize that the punishment given to these people is way worse than the original offense... in this culture we ridicule people, we beat them while they’re down instead of helping them up.
(not to mention the double standards here regarding gender and fame... was RDJ attacked, bullied, and scrutinized for years and years while he was publicly abusing substances??? NO.)
i saw a post on facebook today that was celebrating lindsay lohan’s recovery. people were commenting about how they were so happy to see her return to acting and looking happy and healthy. i noticed that one person commented on her lips—that they looked funny or a little off—but that she was happy for lindsay lohan. and there were dozens and dozens of comments underneath, so i was curious about what they were. are other people going to speculate about plastic surgery, the way i am, i wondered. i assumed the comments were going to be about plastic surgery claims (neutral in my opinion). but nope. i saw a bunch of people attacking the commenter, saying things like what’s wrong with you for saying something like that, celebrities can be hurt by words, too, etc. etc. they screenshot her profile picture and posted it, implying that she has no right to comment on someone else’s lips because hers weren’t perfect after all (they seemed pretty normal to me). people were ridiculing her, making fun of her, bullying her, ganging up on her. and for what? because she made an innocent comment about a celebrity’s lips??? that probably were worked on by a plastic surgeon and did seem a little off???
this is what i’m saying. it’s like you can’t make any comment that doesn’t exactly align with the status quo. even if your thought might be based in truth or reality, if the larger public doesn’t agree with it, you will be ripped apart by the masses. you’ll be tar and feathered in the town square. it’s fun for people. it’s entertainment. the same way it was entertainment for these same people to bash lindsay lohan and tell her she deserved to die when she was younger and clearly in distress/crisis. fucking assholes.
this is an interesting read btw: https://www.salon.com/2010/07/08/lindsay_lohan_linda_lovelace_director/
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@serinemolecule asked me for hot takes on this 2006 article on Argentinian food, which I am now reorganising into a proper post for y'all's consumption. you're welcome.
First of all: the titular thesis that you should eat two steaks a day. I am forced to clarify that as 'should's go you should eat zero steaks a day, but this is ethical rather dietary advice and I don't follow it as well as I should, so, y'know. I would engage with this on the level it was stated, but I actually have no opinion on it. Moving on...
Argentine beef really is extraordinary. Almost all of this has to do with how the cows are raised. There are no factory feedlots in Argentina; the animals still eat pampas grass their whole lives, in open pasture, and not the chicken droppings and feathers mixed with corn that pass for animal feed in the United States.
This is, as it happens, completely false. There absolutely is plenty of feedlot beef being eaten in Argentina, and this was also the case back when this article was written. There's grass-fed beef too, and maybe the writer structured their life around only eating those, but the claim that there are no feedlots is just not true.
if you let them make the call, you get a two-inch thick of meat[...]The Argentine steak stands alone, towering three inches over the plate,[...]This gorgeous specimen is called a lomito; it's a standard lunchtime steak, clearly so thin that the Argentines are embarrassed to send it out into the world without a protective wrapping of ham and cheese
I have no idea what their obsession with steak thickness is; meat exists at various levels of thick and thin to suit various tastes. If you like yours thick that's fine but quit the projecting, y'know.
As you might expect, vegetarians will have a somewhat rough time here. For most people in Argentina, a vegetarian is something you eat. One's diet will accordingly lean heavily on pastas, gnocchi, salads, and (for the less squeamish ) fish. Vegans will not survive in Argentina.
This is, unfortunately, true (well, hyperbole, but). Rinna had a rather bad time trying to find vegan food when fae came over for visits. The situation is improving slowly, at least.
The homemade cookies bought in the minimarket downstairs taste of steak. [picture of alfajores de maicena[
Jesus. Find somewhere better to buy your snacks.
It should be no surprise that the land of beef also has excellent milk and butter. The milk comes in plastic bags that would give any American marketing department a heart attack. They proudly advertise "GUARANTEED 100% BRUCELLOSIS AND HOOF-AND-MOUTH FREE". One brand even brags that its bacteria count never exceeds 100,000 per mL, and prints daily statistics to prove it (only 82,000 bacteria/mL on Monday! mmm!).
Are you under the impression American milk doesn't contain bacteria and that when it spoils it's because of the molecules' sheer willpower? Or do you just object to the reminder that they exist?
This menu is delicious, but with rare exceptions it is all you are going to get. People coming for more than a few weeks are advised to bring a discreet bottle of Tabasco sauce.
Eat at better restaurants.
With any order from the master menu comes the Bread Basket, which should be treated as you would treat a basket of wax fruit, that is, as a purely decorative ornament. It is considered bad form to actually eat anything from Bread Basket
What are you talking about. Do all your dining companions just suck, eat some bread.
Dulce de leche is a culinary cry for help. It says "save us, we are baffled and alone in the kitchen, we don't know what to do for dessert and we're going to boil condensed milk and sugar together until help arrives". This cloying dessert tar is so impossibly sweet that you wish you were ten years old again, just so you could actually enjoy it. It is everywhere. There is a special dulce de leche shelf in the supermarket dairy case, and the containers go up to a liter in size. Even the churros are stuffed with it - the churros, Montresor!
It is rare that I feel insulted for the sake of my country, but this? How dare you.
Yes, of course we fill churros with dulce de leche; the real question is why anyone doesn't, short of dietary restrictions. Finding out that people do otherwise was like learning that in other countries, "sandwich" just means two slices of bread. Live a little. Eat a real godsdamned churro.
I spent a considerable amount of time trying to figure out how meals work in Argentina, and they remain a mystery to me. Dinner is clear enough: people tend to go to restaurants beginning at ten o'clock (for those with small children), with the main rush around eleven, and dinner is pretty much over at one or so in the morning. And breakfast - or rather, its absence - follows as a logical consequence of eating a steak the size of a beagle at midnight. But I have yet to figure out whether people eat some kind of meal in the afternoon, and if so, when.
At... noon? Like. We eat lunch. Usually somewhere around 12:00. I am eating lunch right now, and I have done so essentially every day of my life. This is just baffling.
I've come to think the culprit in the missing Argentine lunch scene is yerba mate.
how.
Where the ignorant foreigner may see just another kind of herbal tea (yerba mate is a very unassuming shrub that grows in the northern parts of the country) the Argentine sees a taste treat of unimaginable subtlety, and a tonic for all his problems. The Wikipedia article on proper mate preparation should give you a warning of the level of obsessiveness attainable here (the Urugayans are even worse). To the virgin palate, mate tastes like green tea mixed with grass clippings. The beverage is traditionally drunk out of a little gourd, through a metal straw called a bombilla, with hot (but not boiling!!) water poured into it (without wetting the surface!! clockwise!!) from a thermos.
Yeah, this is accurate. Well, not the clockwise part, never heard anyone complain about that and I can't imagine it mattering.
What distinguishes mate from coffee and tea is the social context - two or more people share a gourd, with a designated pourer in charge of refilling it with hot water after each turn. The ritual is low-fuss but indispensible. You can buy mate gourds and thermoses in any grocery store, and get your thermos filled with hot water at any convenience store or gas station, but you will never see mate served in restaurants or sold in little disposable paper gourds, to go. it's not that people refuse to drink mate alone - anyone working a solitary shift will have a gourd in hand - but that the concept of being served mate by someone who does not share it with you seems impossible.
This is also true. Attempts have been made to sell to-go mate but it's never very popular, the social ritual is important. Also unfortunately a disease vector, I haven't had any mate in a year and a half.
Mate aficionados will tell you that mate contains a special compound, mateine, that serves as a tonic and mild stimulant, promoting alertness without making it hard to sleep, reducing fatigue and appetite, helping the digestion and serving as a mild diuretic. Scientists will tell you that mateine bears a suspicious resemblance to a chemical called caffeine. Mate aficionados will then grow indignant, explaining that mateine is really a stereoisomer (mirror image) of caffeine, with different effects, which will in turn irritate the scientists, who will snap that caffeine doesn't have a chiral center, so it can't have a distinguishable mirror image, and why don't the mate aficionados just put a sock in it.
The first part of this is true; some people definitely think "mateine" is different from caffeine and it absolutely isn't. Never heard the stereoisomer claim before but googling it does confirm some people say so.
still have no idea what any of this has to do with lunch, though. I promise you nobody skips lunch because mate is just too filling.
The wine here is very good (something has to stand up to that steak), but Argentina has no liquor to call its own, relying on whiskies like Old Smuggler and the low-maintenance Don Juan cognac to carry the flag.
There's a fundamental omission from this list and it's called fernet.
Beer is ubiquitous and comes in a bewildering variety of sizes, although there is a skittishness about the full-on liter. Things level off at 970 mL. In my case, it means I end up drinking 1940 mL of beer as a kind of personal protest, and all is well with the world. To make up for the abundance of sizes, beer comes in only one variety, Quilmes, which inevitably comes served with a tripartite platter of snacks - nuts, salty cylinders, and aged potato chips.
I never had trouble buying beer by the litre, but I confess I never tried to do so in 2006 on account of being under 18 at the time.
Anyway, beer comes in a lot more varieties today, thankfully, because Quilmes sucks. I'll never be a beer person, but at least these days there's options I tolerate.
[original post]
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Well, after the last post which might get me tarred and feathered, let me post about This Is Us. And not what everyone else is posting about it.
We need more about Miguel! I’m glad they had Rebecca talk about what he has to deal with when it comes to Jack’s death. Losing his best friend on top of that friend being the man his wife loved and would have grown old with if he had lived. And with three kids who idolized him, Jack is always going to be a presence. Jack had enough time with all of them to be a part or focus of countless stories. I don’t think compete is the right word, or how Miguel would see it. But, he always has to share Rebecca with Jack’s memory. And I think he’s accepted that and doesn’t resent it. But, seeing as how he was vilified by the fandom back in the early days of the show, I think I deserve to show me Rebecca and Miguel’s courtship. (Not being literal about deserving, but I still want it) Show them reconnecting after all those years and how it grew into love and the hesitation they likely both had about marrying someone who was so connected to Jack. And the wedding. Come on writers, give it to me.
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Rule of Wolves: LIVE REACTIONS PART 2 (The Ketterdam Chapters)
So I might drop a very, very, VERY unpopular opinion here that would probably get me drawn and quartered by most of you guys. But I'm generally curious and want to know what other people thought about these scenes...
So I'm going to say it anyway because I can be a pompous asshat who has a B.A. & M.A. in writing and criticism and it's not like I'm using those degrees much anyway *cries.* So. Here we go:
- oh oh oh my god, big things are happening and I don't even care bc WE'RE GOING TO KETTERDAM bc Nikolai needs Kaz to steal titanium for him omggggggg
Everyone in the Grishaverse: Man, this would all be so much easier if Kaz Brekker was here to figure everything out for us and steal shit.
Kaz: ◡‿◡✿
- as they're walking into Ketterdam I am fucking GIDDY. I missed this place so much and I am so surprised to be here. Was anyone expecting any of the crows to be involved AT ALL in this book? Bc I certainly wasn't. This is like an unexpected easter egg. And I am writing this on Easter, holy shit.
- (the reason I love Ketterdam so much, I think, is because it reminds me so much of my beloved yet crime-ridden city of CHICAGO, but that's a-whole-nother post for another time.)
- oh Kaz and his disguises, I knew it was him from the second a cane was mentioned. Yes, Zoya, he does like the opportunity to dress up.
- Inej tarred and feathered them. She TARRED AND FEATHERED THEM IN CROW FEATHERS OMG what an absolute legend.
- "Never heard of her" HAHAHA FUCK ME UPPPPPP
- goddamn do I miss my crow heathens, I am loving getting new content with them in it so much. We have been so starved.
- Ok now here... is where I am getting into territory people might not like. I am a 100% Six of Crows stan and I love them all to death. However. This entire trip to Ketterdam seems like a side quest. In these chapters, I have literally forgotten about wtf I'm actually reading and have immersed myself in the 3rd book of SoC. From an editorial point of view... this is distracting me from the actual plot of RoW. I hate myself for saying this, but I would have edited ALL of it out. (plz don't kill me over this opinion) This is the Tom Bombadill chapter that Peter Jackson edited out of Fellowship of the Ring, you know what I'm saying? Fucking great, but not completely necessary. Nikolai is fighting a war, he could have sent someone else to do this.
In the back of my mind... I can't help but think that this entire journey is here to make the 75% of us who are reading this bc we love SoC... happy. People fucking love Kaz Brekker (I am people) and I feel like this is here to appease us, not because the story actually needs it. I'M SO SORRY. This is just what my peer-reviewing, editing brain is telling me. Ok, going back to reacting to my favorite people...
- did Kaz just admit he has a conscience? What a good boy.
- omfg they're going to work with Wylan. Is he going to design them bombs or something?! Do it, son.
- this is interesting seeing Kaz doing a job like... directly for someone else and not really for himself? Like Nikolai is his client haha
- "I'm not susceptible to flattery, only stacks of cash." ahahah truer words have never been spoken
- Jesper said he believes in gnomes. I cannot with this lad.
- is this Inej's crew coming to help them? They have jackal masks.
- ok idk about this Suli part. Since when are there Suli in Ketterdam? And why? How did Inej not know about them? Did Kaz know about them? I want answers.
- the more I think about it, the more I think all these random Suli callbacks are setting up for something BIG happening with the Suli later. I think Nikolai is going to do something for them or they're going to prove something about how they should be accepted and respected. Give indigenous people rights.
- moments between Kaz and Nikolai are so great because they're both really witty and they love to talk. They're just... so similar and so different? I feel like Kaz comes off as external Nikolai (confidence) and internal Zoya (coldness). That thought needs more unpacking hahaha
- last thing – I remember somewhere LB saying how that she might write another SoC book but that things will go badly for some of the crows. Guys, maybe we don't want another book. Things seem to be going SWIMMINGLY for the crows right now (minus Nina). Kaz completely OWNS the Barrel with his new properties and his tunnels and who knows what else. Jesper is practicing fabricating and Wylan says they don't even * need * money and they seem super happy. Inej is out fucking up slavers just like she wanted. They're all doing great. Maybe leave them alone. We don't want another Cursed Child. Idk.
...And that's that for now. If you want to talk/ yell at me/ tell me how wrong I am about all this, please do. Send me an ask or message or something. I want to know what other people thought about the Ketterdam detour.
#rule of wolves#rule of wolves spoilers#row spoilers#six of crows#ketterdam#kaz brekker#i really need to stop swearing so much#but goddamn is my favorite word
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Land of Falling Sun 7
The wanderer was not confident that he was alone in the town.
By the time he and chipper and his horrible, ugly steed rode in, the fire at the center of town had mostly faded to embers. The bodies lay in the fire charred, dismembered, and unrecognizable. There were a little over a dozen still intact. The smell was repulsive this close.
By all accounts, looking around the dilapidated, dusty old town, it was clear it had been abandoned recently. It showed signs of degradation that must have taken place while it was still populated, and the amount of tracks leaving the town was minuscule compared to what its population would have been. The fire must have been burning for quite a while, maybe a few days, and whoever left must have added their last few dead to the pile before taking off.
“Plague.” The wanderer scanned the town in grim anticipation. “Taken by plague, no doubt. Only a few survivors. We shouldn’t stay long.”
“Why’s that?” Chipper asked? The wanderer shot them a deadpan gaze that communicated the silliness of the question. “Alright, alright. But I wanna look around. Maybe there’s something here we can use?”
“Maybe. Unlikely, but maybe. If we spend more than a day we should camp back the way we came. Least chance of catching anything.”
The wanderer’s eyes looked to a caving-in building, one of the most derelict of the bunch. He could make out the sheriff’s office sign, dangling from its bolts and a bad gust of wind away from falling to the ground. Maybe there’d be a weapon in there he could properly handle, maybe even some cash--if that was a thing people dealt in out here. Chipper drifted along the main avenue, scanning the town and the horizon. It had basic amenities, or at least the rotting corpse of basic amenities: trading post, inn, saloon, post office, mender’s shop, stable. What it seemed to have in abundance were barracks, mess tents, tool sheds, and what must’ve been a rather large infirmary. A working town of some kind, or possibly a military base.
Chipper flew a few lengths above the roofs as the wanderer peeked inside the sheriff’s office and hitched Dog outside. From this altitude, they could see on the south and north edges of town what must’ve been the work sites.
Scaffolds and rigs, enormous and collapsed and scattered across the site. Cranes and cart tracks left in utter ruin. All surrounding deep and tremendous holes in the ground, boring deep into the earth. Their walls were hewn smooth, cylindrical, and narrow enough for a dozen or so people to comfortably stand in, as though dug by great drills which were not there. Chipper’s thoughts went to mining, but that made no sense. If anyone wanted to mine the plateau for resources of any value, they’d dig from its sides and base. That’s what would’ve made sense. No, they were trying to dig deep into the earth, to descend into something or some place beneath their feet.
Before they could ponder why or what, they heard shouting below.
-----
“You! Inside! Get out here!”
The wanderer reached for a rusty sawed off shotgun and crouched behind a fallen desk. The voice outside was sharp and feminine, with a distinct raspy and venomous timbre that was distinctly nonhuman. It reminded him of Dog.
“Hey! I can hear you in there!”
He had barely made a sound, save for shuffling his feet. He needed to get out safely, and couldn’t risk a fight. He didn’t know where Chipper was, the number of fellas outside, or the weapons to their name. He tucked the shotgun in his pants behind his back, flipped his coat down, and stood up with his hands above his head.
“Relax!” he shouted outside. “I’m coming out! Don’t shoot ok?”
The woman outside paused. “We’ll see.” She spat.
The wanderer stepped outside the dilapidated office to meet five armed, insectoid strangers. Centaurs, naturally. The woman at front stood tall on her scorpion-like lower half, gritting her teeth behind vestigial mandibles. The shade of her hat obscured her second pair of eyes, which were as hollow and unforgiving as her first. She held a repeater trained directly on his chest. Between her companions were two pistols, a shotgun, and a wooden staff.
“You armed?”
He flipped his coat to reveal his knife, sheathed and strapped to his belt.
She pointed at the knife. “Drop that. now.”
“Do I gotta?” His eyes darted around. “You got me beat I think.” They unhitched Dog, who was now a few paces down the street to the left. “I mean--” Through his periphery he saw Chipper circling overhead, barely distinguishable from a desert vulture. “--I guess if it makes you feel better.” He reached for his belt with one hand, his other still up.
Damn, he thought, Kid’s smart.
“Hey. Fox,” the lead woman said to the pistol-armed man behind her, “Pat him down.”
The wanderer sighed. “Look man, that ain’t necessary.”
Fox hissed back: “You started it. This is our spot.”
“If ya wanna be technical I think it’s theirs’.” He gestured towards the bonfire as Fox approached. He had two heads on the wanderer as he skittered closer. Wanderer glanced to Dog, then to Chipper, then back to Fox. Fox reached under the wanderer’s coat, his rough hand approaching the stashed shotgun.
The wanderer whistled.
The gang readied their weapons to shoot. Fox flinched, giving the wanderer a window. He grabbed Fox’s hand, yanked him closer, then flipped off his coat over Fox’s head, blinding him. Fox shot off his revolver, which missed and hit a post behind the wanderer, who pulled out of his coat into his shirt and vest. The gang leader took a hasty, reckless shot at the wanderer, which Fox kindly blocked.
While the shotgun guy and pistol gal were readying their shots, they were quickly taken down by surprise. On command, Dog came charging down the street, leaping to shotgun guy and trampling him quickly. Pistol gal yelped in surprise at Dog, failing to notice Chipper divebombing straight for her throat. They descended on her violently and slashed her throat open in her talons, and Dog took a bite out of shotgun guy’s head.
Fox’s body fell dead to the ground, leaving the wanderer without his meat shield. With the staff man occupied with Dog and Chipper, the wanderer was stuck with the leader. He made a dive to the right, grabbing his knife belt and narrowly avoiding another shot. Now behind cover, he reached for the shotgun and prayed. He leapt up and made a shot.
He was incredibly lucky he shot with his right arm, otherwise the explosion might have permanently maimed him. Instead, the gun’s misfire sent a layer of tar splattering the surrounding area, and launching the wanderer to the wall behind him. The leader missed another shot.
Staff man, who we’ll call magic man instead, quickly drew his hand along the length of his staff. As he did this, the upper half of the staff became bathed in wild, arcing lightning. He held the lightning staff in his hand like an ax, and charged forward to strike Chipper down. As he wound back for a swing, Chipper held their wings back, and their outer feathers came alight. He swung the ax, which would have sent a bolt of lightning up into the air, striking Chipper and killing them instantly. Instead, with a flap of their wings, it launched backwards towards magic man, riding up to his hands and electrocuting him dead on the spot.
The leader was enraged. As she continuously missed her shots she approached the wanderer, who lay on his back on the deck of the sheriff’s office. Panicked and without the shotgun, he drew his knife and crawled backwards. Now the leader stood over him, training her rifle on his forehead. The wanderer futilely held out the knife in self defense. She cocked the rifle, and Chipper and Dog snapped to her and hurried to stop her.
“You...You bastard!” She yelled. “Die! You rotten little--”
She took her shot. The wanderer brought the knife to his defense.
What exactly he planned, or what instinct compelled him to try and block her shot with a very regular knife of all things, was completely beyond him. But he did, and as he snapped the knife to his face--with the edge facing his attacker--he felt something. It was not the sensation of a bullet entering his skull and exiting the back of his brain. No, it was the knife. It was not the feeling of the knife in his hand, not the wood grain against his hands or the weight of the blade. No, he felt through the knife, as though it were an extension of himself. He felt it pulse as though blood ran through it, and he felt it glide through the air just the same as wind passing over his arm. When the bullet passed through the knife, splitting in two pieces and embedding into the deck beneath him, the pain was excruciating. Excruciating, but completely unharmed and alive.
He and the gang leader shared a shocked and confused look, neither able to comprehend what hand just took place. The wanderer lowered the knife. The leader raised her gun again.
The wanderer threw the blade, which embedded itself in her heart. She collapsed on her back.
-----
“Are you...are you ok?”
“I uh,” the wanderer said, sitting up where he had just laid, “I think so...I have no idea.”
“You are unharmed,” said Dog, in the wanderer’s mind. “You are shaken to your core by what you have just experienced, but physically you are well.”
“Thanks bud,” said the wanderer, short of breath and sarcastic. “Can always count on you.” He wiped sweat from his brow. “...Actually, thank you. For the assist. You guys saved my ass.”
“Of course we did! We’re a team!” Chipper was alight with pride and adventurous spirit. Behind the wanderer, they saw the split bullet holes in the deck. On the right was a normal dent in the wood. On the left though, Chipper could not explain. They saw, sprouting from the bullet hole, were tiny weeds, green and fresh and full of life.
“Sir,” Dog said, “I hear someone coming.”
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Lucas - Threads
((this post references the events of the fall, a mission in the heartless ffxiv roleplay campaign. quoted sections were written by @way-to-the-future. cw: character death. art credit: papa ibra tall, seamstress of the stars, wool tapestry, 1970s.))
“I admire how much warmth you give. Like a furnace. Like you've got a blaze rolling at your heart, and you let it all out through your skin. I see it in your eyes, the way they glow when the lamplight hits it just right.”
I’ve got nothing but white static in my head when I try to remember the Rovers’ faces, and if that isn’t creepy as fuck, I don’t know what is. I can’t recall a single thing about them. No noses, no mouths, not a sliver of kohl smudged under an eye or a lock of hair curling out from under a helmet. It’s easier to hate them when I can’t see any facets of their identity, but I don’t wanna fall prey to this lazy fallacy, either. There must have been real men under all that armor. One of many, sure, but individuals all -- just like I had been, once upon a time. So why don’t I remember?
My memory is unfortunately selfish and selective. It picks up the threads of the things closest to my heart and weaves the best story it can with the loose ends. So here’s the stupid little details that stuck with me, where more pertinent information might have been written instead:
I can still tell you with absolute clarity the exact gem tones of the light reflecting off of Cheche’s upturned face, when the Allagan facility erupted in spells and gunfire all around us. Sapphire blues, emerald greens, and amethyst purples against her shining black scales at every obsidian facet, like a raven feather catching the light.
I can map with exacting precision the arc of Castor’s white braid when he whipped his head around at the commotion, taking the tactical measure of our situation the way only a forged-in-the-blood knight like him can. Even after turning away from him, I could still feel the bulwark of Castor behind me, a solid presence that I didn’t need to see to be able to sense, like an extension of my arm, a phantom limb.
To turn around and suddenly find them both gone, ushered down a different corridor in all the clusterfuck of our allies splintering when the Rovers betrayed us?
It felt like amputation.
If I could, I would keep them both in my heart, keep them like puppets suspended by vermilion strings that extend from their every joint to the cavernous arches of my beating muscle. With threads that absorb the shock of my mortal body and every twin hammer of blood, so that all my loves can feel is the gentle warmth of my fire, the spark of creation that burns in me to keep them, cradle them, shelter them close and alive.
Keep them, and I guess, in so doing, preserve them exactly as I want them to be. Is that fair? It doesn’t seem so, does it? I may love them, but they aren’t mine. They aren’t toys or dolls; not mine to keep. See, Castor has taught me that to love someone is to swap my puppeteer’s strings for the Spinner’s threads, and let them weave their own way through my story. Cheche has shown me that the beauty in anything -- in anyone -- is that they might evaporate at any moment. But if I let them, they both might even decide, all on their own, to stay with me for as long as they can. A stronger path, freely chosen and written in royal blue and bright fern green, threading in a perfect braid around my brilliant gold.
No, I couldn’t keep them -- and in the moment of amputation, it didn’t fucking matter anyway, because they’d already gone beyond my reach. My heart was alone, but still it burned for them; burned fit to melt straight through the iced Malbolge of all the hells, a judgement which I still believed must have been waiting for me just beyond the next door of this Allagan tomb, to welcome me to the justice that I'm owed for my crimes. This door, or the next door. The next one.
Amputation wouldn’t stop me. Hell wouldn’t stop me. I would have burned through that whole building like a live coal, if that was what it had taken to find the exit and bring us all back home.
“It's hardly poetic, love. I'm just telling you exactly how you are. How anyone could see you. Even if they weren't a poet. Maybe even if they didn't care for you like I do. Just, if they - stopped to watch you.”
I don’t think I’ve mentioned it, but I had a brother once, before I torched the evidence of the life I used to live. Augustin looked so much like me even when we were young, but moreso now than ever before. We have the same bronze eyes, the same nose; I’ve grown into the size of our chin with time. He’s a beefier motherfucker than I am, and he’d always preferred braids, but even still you’d be hard pressed to tell us apart if you stood us back to back. Where do you think is he now?
Does he wonder what’s become of my punk ass? Surely the reports tell the truth about how I left. They wouldn’t keep secrets, not from a... fuck, he’s probably a Centurio now, isn’t he?
Shit... I bet he is. He always wanted to follow Mom’s path, even though every day that passes causes me to doubt her just a little bit more. I’ve learned too much about family not to begin questioning her motives for doing what she did, but I guess that’s neither here nor there.
But it was Augustin who first taught me how to shoot, you know? He took me behind our home and put a gunblade in my hands, adjusting my twiggy little twelve-turn limbs into the approximate shape of proper posture even when the weight of it threatened to topple me over like a top-heavy weed. He drilled firearm etiquette into me until I could recite its tenets by memory. For such a little bitch, he molded me into a decent shot.
I haven’t felt that kind of brotherly guidance in a long time, but I think I felt Augustin’s ghost behind me when I stood shoulder to shoulder with Sister Lux in that facility, fighting our way out.
Do you remember that door, the one I had thought stood between me and the hells? It was really just another hungry bulkhead between us and freedom; a sun and moon puzzle that should have been, might have been harder to solve if I couldn’t feel the juxtaposition of her fire right next to me. Sun and moon. Astral and umbral. It was so simple; this was a test. I had let my aether lay fallow, and in order to progress I had to reach inside and drag all the burning potential straight out of my mouth. Furious, destructive, so obscenely fucking alive.
Hungry, that’s the key word. The door had to feed -- on us. I don’t know how, or why, but somehow she and I put our hands to the door at the same time and knew exactly what to do. It was time for me to shit or get off the proverbial pot, and all she had to do was correct my posture a little bit, just like old times in the backyard with my brother and a weapon I didn’t know how to hold.
I picked up my brass and ruby cudgel, and she told me how to feel the fire of my aether and let it simmer in controlled brilliance, and how to sit back and watch, patient and observant, as an umbral reckoning blazed all the way up into my nose, through my nostrils, eventually bubbling out in an oozing black ichor like tar. Until we were both painted with blood and the door finally gave way after growing fat on our offerings. Freedom, and not a moment too soon.
It’s funny. It’s funny in that way where I have to laugh to keep from considering all of the circumstantial leaps that had to happen to get me there, in that moment, with that exact mentor and the tools available to me. Did you know that I bought my thaumaturge focus the same day -- at the same damn merchant stall -- that I bought the bracelet that Lux still wears? The cudgel was a leap of faith (I thought maybe, someday, I would use it), and the bracelet was a tithe for her attention, but I gotta fucking wonder if that wasn’t the Spinner herself cinching an amethyst purple thread, until two distant ends of a rich black fabric pleated and bunched together, suddenly close, in a moment of coordinated function.
Like this had been the plan all along.
“They treat you differently because of it. Everyone on this ship - they know they can talk to you, Lucas. That you'll hear them.”
I started this mission as an empty vessel, asking everyone I came across to pour their faith into me so that I might taste it and gradually build a competence in teasing apart the flavors of the gods. The truth is that I was searching for the one most likely to offer me forgiveness, or at the very least the god who might hand me a penitence that I felt like I could swallow. I thought I deserved it, you see. That’s how all this started. On bad days, I still do.
Asking about faith isn’t just a window to the spiritual soul -- it’s also a mainline straight into the source of everyone’s irreconcilable fucking damage. Picking your god is a perilous choice, but mostly because it ultimately determines what kind of personality malfunction you’re going to have down the road. I already know why I’m awful: Delusions of grandeur and megalomania, with a curious tendency to self-flagellate. I’m the smartest, most impressive architect you’ll ever meet. I’m the greasiest, grimiest hunk of motor oil in the gutter.
The only way to reach the middle road between glorifying and hating myself, I’ve found, is to count the threads that wrap themselves around my ribs when I recount the conversations that I’ve had on the Salemtaza’s Voyage.
Here’s a taste: I’ve got Caelrin in deep ochre around my midriff where my abs are just starting to take shape. Ignera sits in flaming orange around the hollow of my throat, slapping my hand away every time I try to choke on my own self-loathing. Captain Kharn wraps in garnet around my face, shielding me from unwanted eyes when I don’t feel quite how I should in my skin. W'kana and W'buki in yellow and black, swaddling me so tight around the chest I fear for my next fucking breath. Reinette, a gentle evening blue curling in petals around my fingertips. Rizzo, a shining onyx black stitching up my lungs telling me to breathe, just breathe, don’t stop breathing until it gets easier.
More even than that. Staelufre in neon magenta, Fugetsu in an unknowable shade of grey, Killian in sunset orange, Strelec in obscuring maroon, Hikari in daisy yellow, Camille in cloudy crimson, Jancis in healing olive, Lune in jumpsuit orange, Jeanne in oil-slick purple, Hanako in fresh lavender, even Kat, yeah, even her, in that same royal blue as Castor.
Nathaniel threading in loops around every one of my fingers in a dazzling gold that fades into the electric yellow of potent aethersand.
I could go on. I could list twice as many names and colors as I already have, and I must ask myself: How do I carry them all? How could I possibly hold them all, without attaching them directly to my meat, my bones, this hideous and imprecise flesh that rightly should be cogs and metal? All that thread would just gum up the whole works, wouldn’t it? Maybe it’s better that I am man, then, and not machine.
For all my flaws, I can still stretch my arms and accommodate all these dangling ends.
“They see it in you, in the way you carry yourself. You're curious. Empathetic. You want to understand people, not just love them or hate them or think nothing of them at all.”
Sui tried to warn me about all this, back at the pumpkin patch at Cloudtop. It was raining, weighing down all my sashes on my brand new armor, and Sui had laughed when the skies parted to reveal the sun setting in a field of rose gold and the softest lavender. It seems like she and I can never properly talk if we aren’t both looking at the sky, like this is the only way we can perceive each other. Never head on -- only in the periphery. Or maybe it’s just easier to talk about certain things when you aren’t looking someone in the eye. Maybe it’s that.
She was so startled by the questions I needed to ask her, like she hadn’t thought it was possible that anyone had been watching her reaction to Nathaniel’s speech, like she didn’t think anyone would have noticed that she was upset. Is she so used to passing under the radar?
But I’ll give her credit. Sui tried to warn me that my friends would die. I watched the sunset fizzle out on the horizon from its soft pastels into a creeping ceruleum and a deeper indigo while she told me every horror that had befallen her family before, and what she knew would happen to us again. Sui could feel the same threads of fate starting to twine around our edges, and she wanted me to be prepared. I listened. I let those fibers stitch themselves into my lungs in the golden rose of a cloudless twilight sky.
I just never thought it would come down on us so quickly, and with such brutal force. I’ve never had to pray for another person before, and out of nowhere I found it necessary to summon the script to beg for twelve of my friends’ lives.
The truth is that I never learned how, and I’ve been too afraid to seek the answer. I know how to make wishes; I know how to toss gold coins into a running fountain and watch the sunlight flicker off the scattered mess of them along the bottom of the pool. But I don’t know how to pray.
I know who I would ask. It was Tieve who introduced me to Gridania, and if Sui and I speak most openly under a yawning sky, you might say that Tieve and I communicate best among the trees, under a cathedral of roots. The memory of the hearer’s chapel is stitched in bark brown and moss green bracelets around my wrists, reminding me that while I may have been invited to someone’s sacred space, I have to mind my boundaries, too. I am not the infallible creator of my own conceit, but nor am I outcast from Spoken kindness and community. To know temperance is to know yourself, to dig into the well of your Spoken dignity and grant the same to others.
I still have this embroidered Gridanian sachet of wood chips and herbs that she gave me, telling me it was for luck, and I didn’t know back then how much I would come to rely on Nymeia for hope. That I would need to believe that she’s writing me into a greater tapestry, that I need that grandeur to feel like my dumbass mistakes have meaning and purpose. And even with Tieve beyond my reach, it occurred to me that she might have already given me everything I needed to weave my own prayer. A level head. A god. A talisman.
I’m just fumbling through this. We all are, but I made my own prayer by pulling that sachet out of my pocket and spinning it over and over in my hands as I remembered the names of those our enemies had taken from us. Who better to beg than the god of fate? Keep their lines anchored to me. Keep them in the tapestry. Keep them safe.
“It's the most noble thing about you. It's - It's more than just what you do, it's who you are. It's what I love about you.”
I recite their names:
Aidan, the hound with apologetic eyes who slinks around the edges the crowd until someone notices him, at which point he deflects attention from himself with a self-deprecating joke straight out of my own fucking toolbox. He could be a brother to me, if he let himself be; if he told me the truth about who he is and where he’s been. I can smell it on him. The stench of ceruleum doesn’t fade as quickly as any of us would like, but I wait for him to tell me on his own terms. Aidan weaves around the periphery of my eyelids in a shadowy kohl black.
Izar, the mercurial seer who obscures themselves in riddles like a smug sphinx playing at being a whimsical faerie. They have never passed up the opportunity to toy with me like a blind white kitten with an oversized brown moth, but the teeth of their humor has never once felt like a cage to me. They are kind, and curious, and helpful even as they delight in your confusion. They dangle at my elbow in marble white, furiously tickling my arm like a loose hair caught in a sleeve.
Adhi, the wandering sage of Dalmasca who the gods had to gift with such big fuzzy ears so that she could better capture every single story that ever came her way. I don’t know how to even begin to thank her for what she’s done for me; she’s returned things to me that by all means should have been my birthright but were taken from me before I was even aware that they were being stolen. Her thread spirals in a shell around my ear in an entire spectrum of colors, one for every tale she carries with her.
Still, there’s more: Tieve, the witch of the wolves (mossy green); Percy, the son of a shadow (cobalt blue); Bride, the bashful goldsmith (periwinkle blue); Swozbhar, the towering cook (mint green); Valeriaux, the scarred philanthropist (leather brown); Silya and Livia, the sunniest Fists I’ve ever met (pale pink and soft teal); Farid, the most visibly haunted man I know (muted purple); and Iron Deer, the entrepreneurial engineer (metallic steel) -- all of them familiar faces, all of them colleagues, all of them threaded through the chambers of the same priceless Heart that gives our mission purpose.
The same Heart that we traded away just to get them back.
You know what? Fuck it. I’ll string them all to my own heart. I’ll suspend them all in cocoons deep in the burning hearth of me -- I will fight my way out of this facility that wants desperately to become our tomb -- until those that still live can crawl back out, fragile but alive and free to keep fighting for whatever comes next.
But one of them is gone, beyond the veil and permanently out of my reach. Just like Sui tried to warn me about, and all of Tieve’s lucky charms were not enough to protect me from this single ungentle truth. The Spinner does not stop the march of destruction -- she merely directs it. She cuts the threads of our fallen friends when they begin to fray and weaves new ones in their place; a different color, a fresh fate.
One of them is gone, their thread knotted off in a sudden stop on the tapestry of our story. But who?
Who did we lose?
“I've seen it. I've heard it. I've bloody felt it. Everyone I speak to says the same. Every one of them knows what a great heart you have.”
Percy and I first met at that bonfire by the chocobo stables. I was shivering, fresh off the fucking ship and completely unprepared for the weather, and he stood next to me and promised me everything I could ever possibly want, if only I made a promise in return to be a loyal friend to the Family. I was so desperate for a place to belong, I would have signed anything, done anything -- what had mattered was that he would have me. In this brave new world, I had people looking out for me. A place to call home. Structure. An institutionalized, freshly liberated fuckhead like me desperately needed structure.
So what if it came with a little price? The list of my sins is long, and breaking and entering is pretty far down at the bottom. Bar brawls are inconsequential, when you’ve already essentially aided and abetted war crimes. So, I’m wanted by both House Desrosiers and House Beaumarchais for stealing a thing or two from their daughters’ manse. So fucking what. Percy and I -- There are bonds that can only be forged at three in the morning, sitting on a crows’ perch halfway across the city under the moonlight, doing pre-job surveillance on some fart-sniffing nobles through their window. I’m not saying we kissed. I’m not saying we didn’t, either.
This is what I’m thinking about, when I look down at Percy’s lifeless face, drained of the rosy pink that always sat on his cheeks during those cold-ass stakeouts, huddled together at the shoulders for warmth. If I touched him now, he would be so cold, so unnaturally fucking cold, so I don’t. I can’t bring myself to touch him; to do anything but stare with my mouth half-open and a sob dying somewhere between my sternum and my throat, turning into just another burning pit to fizzle and die in my stomach.
Except it doesn’t have the good sense to die. It turns to steam, turns to pressure, backs up the entire clockwork machine that keeps me chugging along, and it must be vented or else I’m going to fucking explode, but I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. It stutters inside me like a hitched gear. The whine seems to come from my chest, high-pitched, like a kettle about to scream. Is that me? Am I screaming? I don’t know myself. I am not me, in this moment. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know who is on the cot below me, whose silver close-cropped hair sits on this head, whose too-round spectacles reflect the light in the room too thoroughly for me to be able to see if their dead fucking eyes are open or closed. I don’t know which is more terrifying.
I leave. I run. My boots scream against the floor of the ship, clap against the dirt outside, and I don’t stop running until I can drop to my knees and bellow to the impassive clouds. This is my fault. Judgement rings in my head in a cacophony of voices. My fault. My fault he’s dead.
What am I doing here? What have I done?
Percy’s line, cobalt blue, is so cleanly snipped from my fabric that all I can do is finger the empty spot where it might have kept going. Maybe one day we could have found compromise; a future where the three of us could get along without jealousy, without miscommunication or hurt feelings. I’ll never fucking know.
I have always thought of myself in big terms. I am man, I am machine, I am god. I’m the architect of my own form, and I have crafted myself in my own image. Nothing makes me feel more powerful than looking in the mirror and seeing my face look back at me; the face that I sculpted, the body that I shaped. The people that I’ve been in the past are not dead, but rather they have been stitched into my organs. The girl that I was lives in my marrow and feeds my blood, and I am never alone in the cathedral of my body. I am holy. I am enduring. I will move beyond the ghosts at my heels and continue forging a forward path, with those I love woven into the never-ending project that I call my self.
But even a god looks puny as shit, crying into the dirt over a fallen friend. I need to feel this. I need how small this makes me, how insignificant I am in this moment. I gotta remember how crippled it makes me feel. This humility -- it needs to be sown into me, too. So I don’t make the same mistake again. It’s the least I can do.
I can’t forget. I won’t forget his face.
“What a precious, precious thing we've gained.”
#FFXIVHeartless#lucas nevin#balmung rp#ffxiv rp#IC post#castor arendt#cheche dotharl#lux lunseer#sui eclair#tieve corwell#percy d'armagnac#adian hawke#izar yunhaai#sage adhi#(and more!)#[S] Lucas: Be the Heir of Blood
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And so we come to my last historical post of the day, the month, the year and the decade, and it's a meaty one, I really should have posted it in a few easily digestible segments but I left it too late in the day so here goes.....most of the post has been taken from John Gregorson Campbell’s The Gaelic Otherworld.
Hogmanay high jinks, it's all a matter of tradition in Scotland.
It has been said that Hogmanay is a Godless Christmas celebrated to excess – and Scots have long known how to celebrate the New Year with devotion.
With the old feast of Christmas generally discouraged by the Kirk following the Reformation, special focus was placed on New Year with the period running up to Hogmanay, and its aftermath, always celebrated as a holiday period in Scotland.
With the old feast of Christmas generally discouraged by the Kirk following the Reformation, special focus was placed on New Year with the period running up to Hogmanay, and its aftermath, always celebrated as a holiday period in Scotland.
This period was known in Scotland as the ‘daft days’ – a time given over to celebration, merriment and excess, with licence given for enjoyment during the often bleak midwinter.
Now anyone who follows my post on here might remember the ‘daft days’ from previous posts, it is also the title of a poem by the Edinburgh Poet who inspired Burns, Robert Ferguson.
It covers the period in the year running from Christmas (25 December), through New Year, and into the first Monday of the year, known as Handsel Monday. After the Reformation of 1560, the old feast of Christmas was generally discouraged by the church, but the period running up to New Year’s Eve, and its aftermath, was always celebrated as a holiday period in Scotland. The first Monday of the year was called Handsel Monday because it was the custom on that day for Scots to exchange a handsel, or gift, as a good luck token. The word handsel derives from Old Norse and Anglo-Saxon and means to ‘give into the hand’.
It is still the primary period of national celebration in Scotland, with stage-managed events in Edinburgh on Hogmanay (‘New Year’s Eve’) – a word believed to derive from Old French ‘aguillanneuf’ (and in Northern French ‘hoguinane’) meaning a seasonal gift. Others suggest it was first used by the Celtic Druids and could be derived from terms of the celebration for the turning year used by the Icelandics, Saxons
In the daft Days Fergusson describes the darkening, bleak weather, the stillness of the wildlife, and the shelter that Edinburgh offers. In the city people can take their fill of food and drink while enjoying conversation, dance and music. But he warns the reader not to drink too much aqua vitae (whisky) or else fall prey to the notorious city guard, whom he also mentions in the poem Hallow Fair.
The Daft Days
Now mirk December’s dowie face
Glowrs owr the rigs wi sour grimace,
While, thro’ his minimum of space,
The bleer-ey’d sun,
Wi blinkin light and stealing pace,
His race doth run.From naked groves nae birdie sings,
To shepherd’s pipe nae hillock rings,
The breeze nae od’rous flavour brings
From Borean cave,
And dwyning nature droops her wings,
Wi visage grave.Mankind but scanty pleasure glean
Frae snawy hill or barren plain,
Whan winter, ‘midst his nipping train,
Wi frozen spear,
Sends drift owr a’ his bleak domain,
And guides the weir.Auld Reikie! thou’rt the canty hole,
A bield for many caldrife soul,
Wha snugly at thine ingle loll,
Baith warm and couth,
While round they gar the bicker roll
To weet their mouth.When merry Yule-day comes, I trou,
You’ll scantlins find a hungry mou;
Sma are our cares, our stamacks fou
O’ gusty gear,
And kickshaws, strangers to our view,
Sin fairn-year.Ye browster wives, now busk ye braw,
And fling your sorrows far awa;
Then come and gie’s the tither blaw
Of reaming ale,
Mair precious than the well of Spa,
Our hearts to heal.Then, tho’ at odds wi a’ the warl’,
Amang oursels we’ll never quarrel;
Tho’ Discord gie a canker’d snarl
To spoil our glee,
As lang’s there’s pith into the barrel
We’ll drink and ‘gree.Fidlers, your pins in temper fix,
And roset weel your fiddle-sticks;
But banish vile Italian tricks
Frae out your quorum,
Not fortes wi pianos mix –
Gie’s Tulloch Gorum.For nought can cheer the heart sae weel
As can a canty Highland reel;
It even vivifies the heel
To skip and dance:
Lifeless is he wha canna feel
Its influence.Let mirth abound, let social cheer
Invest the dawning of the year;
Let blithesome innocence appear
To crown our joy;
Nor envy wi sarcastic sneer
Our bliss destroy.And thou, great god of Aqua Vitae!
Wha sways the empire of this city,
When fou we’re sometimes capernoity,
Be thou prepar’d
To hedge us frae that black banditti,
The City Guard.
In the 18th century, it was recorded that children out and about on 31 December in Scotland would shout out: “Hogmanay, Trollolay/Give us your white bread and none of your grey.”
The world ‘trollolay’ from the Scots song may also come from the Icelandic word trolldir which denotes a troll or evil genii who devoured mortals who strayed into their territory.
Fantastic records exist on how Hogmanay was celebrated in Scotland over time.
In the Highlands and Islands, the seven days from Christmas to the New Year were known as Nollaig.
During the “easy-going olden times” no work was done during the period but men gave themselves up “to friendly festivities and expressions of goodwill,” according to John Gregorson Campbell’s The Gaelic Otherworld.
Another wee rhyme that was used in "olden times was ......
Get up, goodwife, and shake your feathers,
And dinna think that we are beggars;
For we are bairns come out to play,
Get up and gie's our hogmanay!'
And another I would suggest was maybe recited by first footers, chapping on the doors of their friends and neighbours to wish them a happy new year.....
My feet's cauld, my shoon's thin;
Gie's my cakes, and let me rin!'
A common saying of the festive period was often shared: “The man whom Christmas does not make cheerful/Easter will leave sad and tearful.”
Hogmanay was referred to as either ‘night of the candle’ or ‘night of blows’ given the popularity of one ritual which involved a man having a dry cow hide placed over his head before being beaten like a drum as he and his friends moved around their village.
Usually led by a bagpiper, the group would move around each house, turning anti-clockwise, striking the walls and reciting rhymes to raise the householders. As doors opened, the group would pile into each home to receive refreshments, such as oatmeal bread, cheese, flesh and of course, a wee dram of whisky.
The leader would then give the man of the house the ‘caisein uchd’ or a shinty stick wrapped in the breast stripe of a sheep or tail of a deer. This was then singed in the fire, put three times anti-clockwise around the family and then held to the noses of all in the room, Campbell said.
“In this style, the villages, men and boys, went from house to house – preceded in many cases by a piper, and drowning the animosities of the past year in hilarity and merriment,” according to Campbell.
Fancy dress and guising was a popular element of Hogmanay in Scotland through time. The rich would dress for fun, while the poor would dress up to entertain and collect food for their last feast of the year.
Holly and cheese were other elements of a traditional Hogmanay. Holly was hung in the belief it would keep the fairies away with boys whipped with a branch of the greenery.
A slice of cheese cut at this feast was considered to have a “special virtue” if the piece contained a hole. A person losing his way during the ensuing year, in a mist of otherwise, has only to look through the hole and he will see his way clearly,” according to Campbell’s account.
Sometimes the owner of the lucky cheese would place it under their pillow for good luck.
Hogmanay night was sometimes referred to as New Year’s Night with the fire in the home playing a central part in the superstitions during the countdown to midnight. It was feared that letting the fire go out would invite bad luck into the home with only householders – or a friend – allowed to tend it. Candles were usually lit as back-up to ensure a flame remained in the house with 31 December often referred to as Candle Night as a result. If the fire went out, no one was allowed to ask a neighbour for kindling to start another.
New Year’s Day, like the first of every quarter of the year, was a great ‘saining’ day across the Highlands and Islands when rituals were at their most intense to protect cattle and houses from evil.
Juniper was burnt in the byre, animals were marked with tar, the houses were decked with mountain ash and the door-posts and walls and even the cattle were sprinkled with wine.
Campbell said: “Nothing was allowed to be put out of the house this day, neither the ashes of the fire nor the sweepings of the house, nor dirty water, nor anything else, however useless or however much in the way.
“It was a very serious matter to give fire out of the house to a neighbour whose hearth had become cold, as the doing so gave power to the evil-minded to take away the produce from the cattle.
The morning of 1 January started with a dram poured by the head of the household with a spoon of half-boiled sowens given for luck. A young man entering with a armful of corn was considered a joyful omen but a “decrepit old woman asking for kindling of her fire was a most deplorable omen,” Campbell’s account said.
It was unlucky for a woman to enter the house, or anyone to come in empty handed, with a form of the superstition evolving into Scotland’s tradition of ‘first footing’.
Of course no post about the Auld Year ending and new one beginning would be complete without mentioning Auld Lang Syne.
Every year, the streets ring with the same lilting song. Sweet, nostalgic, hopeful; “Auld Lang Syne" it has become an absolute tradition in New Year’s Eve celebrations.It is also the second most song, sung around the world, only Happy Birthday is sung more often.
Burns never intended his work to act as a farewell to the old year; it’s a piece which partially reproduces, partially originally pens an older folk tune.
He originally sent the piece to the Scots Musical Museum with a note: “The following song, an old song, of the olden times, and which has never been in print, nor even in manuscript until I took it down from an old man.”
Don't shoot the man for it, the same was true of many of James Hogg and Walter Scott's tales of folklore and verse.
The phrase “for auld lang syne” essentially boils down to “for (the sake of) old times”. It’s a work which essentially calls for the preservation of our oldest, dearest friendships; perhaps observed in the reflective quality of New Year’s Eve itself. A time when people come together to recall past joys and sorrows, specifically those spent in each other’s company.Now, there are several variations of what’s sung on New Year’s Eve; first off, I have posted Burns’ original Scots verse if you want to keep things authentic. Below that, a simplified English translation.
BURNS’ ORIGINAL SCOTS VERSEShould auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne?CHORUS:
For auld lang syne, my jo,
for auld lang syne,
we’lltak‘ a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.
And surely ye’ll be your pint-stoup!
and surely I’ll be mine!
And we’ll tak' a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.CHORUS
We twa hae run about the braes,
and pou’d the gowans fine;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit,
sin' auld lang syne.
CHORUSWe twa hae paidl’d in the burn,
frae morning sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
sin' auld lang syne.
CHORUSAnd there’s a hand, my trusty fiere!
and gie's a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll tak' a right gude-willie waught,
for auld lang syne.
CHORUS
ENGLISH TRANSLATION.Nah dinnae bother wae it, if ye cannae sing the Scottish version ye don't desrve tae ken the English yin. ;)
Happy New Year when it comes to all my followers here on Tumblr.
John Gregorson Campbell was a Scottish folklorist and Free Church minister at the Tiree and Coll parishes in Argyll, Scotland. An avid collector of traditional stories, in he became Secretary to the Ossianic Society of Glasgow University in the mid-1850s.
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Hey remember when Soku said he was gonna stop talking about RWBY?
Guess who got caught lying?
https://sokumotanaka.tumblr.com/post/184748210112/phazonfire-the-rwde-tag-is-so-fucking
I don’t know what tag you’re looking through about the homophobia thing considering the majority of the people seem to be gay and would probably call you out if they saw this.
I don’t remember you guys ever calling anyone out for calling Illa a ‘psycho lesbian’ because villain + gay = psycho lesbian apparently.
Oh wait, which tag is it that says that? hm...
Look people doing rewrites on the series is a non problem, and the dumbest gripe.
so is 99% of what you fuckers pull. Like bitching that a catgirl was put into a catsuit.
But rwby isn’t well written some is allowed to watch it to fix it to reconstruct or deconstruct it there is no harm to this and the series could benefit from a rewrite.
Too bad you assholes break the show EVEN FURTHER when you do rewrite shit *cough* RE:RWBY *cough*.
If you don’t like it don’t go through the constructive criticism tag just to cry cause someone doesn’t wanna kiss rwby’s butt like you do.
Last time constructive criticism existed in the RWDE tag: 900 BC.
Yeah sure.
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https://sokumotanaka.tumblr.com/post/612590859661295616/your-idea-of-nit-picking-is-not-the-correct-use-of
I don't know how to tell some of ya'll that just because you constantly argue against criticism and the other person gets tried to talking to a brick wall doesn't mean you win.
This ain't your preschool, this requires critical thinking skills which some of ya'll clearly lack.
And just because you reject facts and demand that your delusions are true doesn’t make the other person a brick wall. You just don’t understand how to debate.
Your idea of nit picking is not the correct use of the term. Nor do whoever you are know what is and isn’t criticism on a subject.
Nit picking. Noun. “looking for small or unimportant errors or faults, especially in order to criticize unnecessarily.“
Literally all you do.
Also I’m only an asshole to people who are assholes back. So don’t pretend like you know me and mind your own? Deal? Deal.
Sorry Soku, that makes you a sexist, racist, transphobic Nazi. You know, since that’s MY Modius Operandi.
Also your blog is FILLED with bad political takes so you’re the LAST person I wanna hear tall about “not picking”
“Can white people approiate basic human decency?”
Remember that take on your old blog?
Now what were you saying about politics...
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https://sokumotanaka.tumblr.com/post/611875463897497600/i-didnt-watch-vol-7-thank-god-but-a-friend-of
I didn’t watch vol 7 thank god,-
So you have no idea what you’re about to say? Got it.
but a friend of mine on my discord mentioned flynt and neon returning (with Ik finally) and boy they really gave the catgirl a hoodie with cat ears on it? And Blake has a catsuit? Miles, Kerry, Shane and Monty always talked about how “subtle” they are with things like scenes and designs and they put both the catgirls in outfits that are so on the nose it might as well be a part of your skin.
Where was that said again?
Also that;s not were the term catsuits come from. It comes from cat burglars using them.
Isn’t that like going “Hey black guy put these big lips on over your other lips? Or the black guy having a fucking basketball printed on their jacket?” Good lord, in a world where people can be born with cat ears, and tails don’t you think it’s kinda freaking disgusting that these exist where humans can wear them?
And before you say that’s the point, in a world where none of the faunus get to say how they feel about these things and don’t have real life minority reactions to things like white dudes walking around with grills and fros and crap it kinda isn’t when the faunus girl wears a hoodie depicting one of the features of her own race that they were hunted down and slaughtered for.
Considering that it’d be no different than a white person getting cornrows-
Also it kind of is since black people walk around emphasizing their DARK SKIN, which is the basis of their discrimination.
You’re just race obsessed.
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https://sokumotanaka.tumblr.com/post/611637391064694784/hmm-funny-that-the-rich-white-girl-who-was-racist
Hmm funny that the rich white girl who was racist gets an overpowered semblance that shares alot of feats like her team like being able to make runes that increase speed, Platforms, Remove gravity, shoot projectiles, Make people stick to them etc etc. Oh and she has the ability to summon monsters that show feats of strength that rivals one of her partners.
Meanwhile the minority character is shown to fuck up alot, gets treated like shit and never gets an apology from said racist, get nerfed constantly, have her weapon poorly sautared back together while the rest of her team gets upgrades and has the weakest semblance of the three.
Seems alittle off white writers.
And who has the better fight record than the other?
... The minority?
Hm, seems off black complainer.
Oh did that sound racist? Hm, dunno why it sound considering you said the SAME THING
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https://sokumotanaka.tumblr.com/post/611636922643857408/so-let-me-get-this-straight-vol-7-has-ended-and
So Let me get this straight, vol 7 has ended and apparently they lost the one relic they had, still haven’t found the newer one or did but still have to deal with Ironwood and several others. Cinder is still alive, Neo is siding with her out of fear? When she wanted vengeance and could team up with rwby.
this is volume 7 of supposedly 10 so three more seasons and they still haven’t sat down and talked about what they’re supposed to to against the immortal grimm lady, they don’t know where the relic at beacon is and ozpin’s still ghosting them, and they’re foolishly gathering them all in one spot instead of taking the maiden and the relic and putting both of them on the farest corners of the planet? I thought they were going to atlas to meet with someone Weiss knew as the Anton Sokolov Play dishonored! of their world to build a rocket and send at least one rocket into a black hole and never have an issue with Salem again.
three more seasons and a plan hasn’t even been formed to deal with her or the relics, Emerald and Mercury are doing nothing, Cinder has no goal except to be the new adam and chase the heros and get her ass kicked, Hazel’s doing nothing, The comms are down and we haven’t heard a peep from whoever runs Vacuo, Blake and Ruby have still had barely any interaction, Weiss hasn’t apologized for her racism, We never addressed how and why did Raven appear in Yang’s dreams, Why did ren from shields over his hands and show off feats of strength that rival yangs or his weird ability to sense tyrian? Neo’s eyes changed color when she saw Raven and her teleport ability. Lore Like how semblance, Lien (the money that looks like credit cards but has zero numbers on it work) The examples of agriculture, Flora and Fauna, dust and so on.
A. Haven’t they said it’s more like twelve?
B. Nope, Ozpin’s back. But hey, who needs to actually KNOW what you’re talking about?
C. Can’t do that, don’t know where the Spring Maiden is. Would have known this if you watched Volume 6.
D. They never said that and expressly said they were meeting with Ironwood to get the relic somewhere secure. Gee, that’s the THIRD thing you’ve gotten wrong. Hm...
E.So Soku, how does Quirks affect agiculture? What were the original Quirks like? Who had the first Quirk? What was life like for people when Quirks were uncommon? Hm? Nothing is said?
MHA is shit, SOku said so.
But sure, three more seasons to cram that all in AND a plan and character interaction/Growth and so on, this is a lovely mess of a show.
And as you have shown, you paid attention to 0% of it so how would you know?
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So how’s that tar and feather treatment treating you Soku? Because I have so many more ways of humiliating you, happy showcase them as long as you open that bitchy little mouth of yours.
So go ahead and keep posting. It just lets me indulge my sadism without remorse.
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a VERY LONG post about Hell on Wheels
YEAH i forgot about this post in my drafts... it’s been like a year since i finished the show now and i feel i’ve barfed everything out into this post (that i can think of), so here it goes
(you’ll have to shield your eyes after the spoiler warning if you don’t wanna be spoiled btw. i can’t seem to be able to add a read more-link...) :
SO... i finished watching “hell on wheels” at last, pm half a year since i started. it’s funny because i was under the impression that i’d sOMEHOW be able to binge all five seasons within just one month (reason: i wanted to watch it before my free trial on HBO’s website went out). honestly, that wouldn’t have been possible because it was a LOT more emotionally draining than you’d think at first glance... after being gutpunched three times in a row in season 4, any reasonable human would need a little break.
anyway, it feels-- weird. i’ve never been big on following tv-shows so i haven’t been able to relate to that feeling ppl describe once they’ve finished a show they’ve become so attached to, except NOW i can relate.
the show’s not groundbreaking, it’s not perfect, but i’ve had a lot of fun. what a ride it’s been...
looking back, i’d say HOW’s biggest weakness is its tendency to forget or ignore certain plot points. i guess that’s not too weird, with such an arsenal of characters, but still, i find that’s what bugged me the most, if anything bugged me at all. for example--
[SPOILERS for those who might wanna watch it after seeing me go on abt it, idk]:
first off, what REALLY grinds my gears is how ezra dutson’s plotline was handled. it was set up perfectly in the beginning; having him escape from the swede (who promised him that, and i quote: “i’ll find you, ezra! i always do”), the original plan was obviously for ezra and the swede to “reunite” some time in the future so that ezra could tell everyone that the swede killed his parents, thus tying up loose ends and giving some closure to that whole arc.
some might say this would’ve been too predictable, but i would rather have that predictable storyline than having it just end unceremoniously like it did, with ezra dying ACCIDENTALLY and off-screen by sidney snow’s hand, simply as a way to further bohannon’s pain and set the stage for ruth’s final arc.
this might’ve been fine, if the writers had made it so that ezra actually, y’know, TOLD SOMEONE WHY HE’S AN ORPHAN TO BEGIN WITH. but they didn’t even give the viewer that form of closure, instead just deciding to use him as a plot device for the other characters’ increased angst... bohannon and the others were never even made aware of ezra’s last name, and this is all what bugs the everliving SHIT outta me: the only ones who know, or will EVER know, ezra’s full story is the swede and the viewer, tho after season 4′s end, ezra is never mentioned or acknowledged again-- not by bohannon, and not even by the swede.
ezra went from convenient character with a PURPOSE to “nameless” orphan forgotten by history. thanks, writers...
then there’s the whole deal with campbell coming to town to reinforce The Law™, which wasn’t a bad arc, mind you-- campbell and his goons were the most infuriating little shits for a while there-- but the thing is; didn’t campbell LIE to his men about the president giving him the position as governor? i might’ve misunderstood it, but i’m PRETTY sure the president didn’t give him THAT much of an upstanding role, but that campbell just went ahead and took that position anyway?
if that was indeed the case, then that’s another plot hole, cause nobody finds out about campbell’s possible trickery to become the governor. nobody rats him out, despite literally no one in “his” town liking him all that much, so they’d have no reason to protect his “secret”. (correct me if i’m wrong on this one though. i might be misremembering things)
then there’s the other pretty infuriating issue of bad guys never getting called out for doing bad shit (unless it’s the swede, who gets all the blame, all the time), for example:
major dick bongbendix(???idk he had a silly name like that) is presented VERY MUCH as a bad guy in the beginning. y’know, just casually beheading natives on all his missions and collecting those heads and taking them to the bar like a fucking nutcase-- those little details. he also seemed to believe in racial biology, so yeah, definitely not a good guy. but by the end, he’s been watered down into some quirky guy who’s ALMOST on friendly terms with the main characters. yeah, uh-- seems everyone (writers included) collectively forgot the whole public display of cut-off heads he had going on...
aaron hatch: started off as a guy too proud for his- or his family’s own good when he shot the police officer, BLAMED IT ON HIS FUCKING SON and then just kinda let bohannon hang the kid even though it was pretty obvious hatch was just shifting the blame away from himself. THEN he reappears with some other mormons and causes a full-on shootout in the town (probably getting some people killed, i don’t remember), TAKES EZRA (also a mormon) HOSTAGE SO THAT BOHANNON WILL COME WITH THEM WILLINGLY and passive aggressively forces bohannon to marry his daughter who bohannon knocked up.
somewhere along the line, hatch’s bad side is just thrown to the wind, and bohannon at one point describes him as “a good man”. yeah, ABOUT THAT--
sean and mickey mcginnes: unlike the ones mentioned above, these two started out as seemingly decent dudes, but ended up pm as secondary villains in the end. however, like the ones mentioned above, they hardly face any consequences for whatever crap it was they did in boston, OR the fact that they killed and fucking mutilated/dismembered a man in cold blood (a man who WAS gonna kill them, yes, but HE did it because he thought they had killed his friend, which wasn’t a farfetched idea since mickey DID brag about killing the dude even though he didn’t actually do it).
sure, they face their OWN demons as time goes on, they get ostracized, and they start losing faith in each other as well, which ends up with mickey killing sean before the latter can confess(?) his/their crimes. so, while sean was spineless and a creep, at least he thought about finally owning up to what he’d done in the end, whereas mickey lives on to keep doing shady shit, killing people, and getting increasingly more corrupt. he does end up pursuing new goals in the end, but it’s obvious he’s not happy about it anymore. that’s-- really all the comeuppance he ever gets, and the only one who knows about his shady businesses are pm just bohannon, durant and eva
(also, personal gripe here-- they seemed to not settle for “just” tarring and feathering the swede and publicly humiliating him, but i’m pretty sure i recall mickey telling bohannon they were thinking about having the swede killed too. keep in mind, this was BEFORE the swede truly lost it and started killing people left and right. apparently, being kind of a douche about taxes is bad enough to warrant being tortured and cast out by the entire community... i’m obviously biased here, but still-- the mcginnes bros’ double standards are amazing to behold)
now that i’ve aired some of that out-- here are some highlights, according to me:
unexpected friendships, like that between eva and durant. i’d say the swede finding that stray dog and fawning all over him qualifies into this category too
durant and campbell fighting in the mud before finally coming to an agreement
-- just- durant and his competitors being petty as fuck, honestly. it’s hilarious
bohannon trying to get through to elam by reminiscing about their friendship, especially since bohannon isn’t one to show his feelings often OR get sappy
-- in fact, EVERY time bohannon loses his stoic facade is a good moment. when he was gonna bury elam and he just broke down completely for the first time since we were introduced to him... that shit had me in tears as well, but man was it a great scene
jimmy two-squaws
every time the swede opens his mouth (yes, even when he’s spouting some lies and bullshit like that)
ruth’s character development. i admit i didn’t like her at all in the beginning, idk something just felt off about her, but man did she ever grow on me. just-- how everyone kinda relied on her eventually, even though she’s only like in her 20′s or something... she still became a pillar of the community. bless ya, ruth :’ı
-- also, her essentially adopting ezra was Pure as heck. I Lov it
the fact that this was the 1800′s and the only backlash the (openly) LGBT characters faced for it was pm just “yeah they’re a bit confused maybe but they’re not hurting anyone”. maybe that’s not very realistic but WHO GIVES A SHIT AMIRITE
mr tao just being a sweet old man
chang’s sunglasses, straight out of Django Unchained
mr toole’s complete heel-turn from racist POS to someone who sticks by his word to turn himself around. that shit was impressive coming from him, tbh
bohannon just calmly running into a buffalo by the train tracks
mei posing as a grown man instead of a boy (which is what she looks and sounds like, oml)
another thing i realized is that bohannon is a classic gary stu. there’s just no getting around that fact after seeing him being revered by most everyone he meets, how he’s somehow the only person able to build the railroad(s) fast and efficiently, and even wooing the literal PRESIDENT and becoming close friends with him-- all this despite his Bold and Brash personality.
of course, there’s more to bohannon than these gary stu-symptoms, but i felt someone should bring it up, for the lulz
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Get To Know Me Tag Thing!
Get To Know Me Tag Thing
Rules: Always post the rules. Tag 11 new people you’d like to know better.
1. Dogs or Cats?
2. YouTube celebrities or normal celebrities? Probably neither! Don’t really care and I don’t even know these YouTube celebrities! Am i old? :-p
3. If you could live anywhere where would that be? I heard Canada is nice! I detest the cold though soooooo Hawaii it is!
4. Disney or DreamWorks? Give me a side of Disney please! Even if it just to hear this guy say AND WE LIVE AGAIN!!!!
5. Favourite childhood TV show? Go with any of these!
Alf
Punky Brewster
Teddy Ruxpin
6. The movie you’re looking forward to most in 2020 Err, nothing in particular! I don’t really pay attention until the movies are near release lol.
7. Favorite book you read in 2019? Hehe probably the one I am on now! Series by Mark Tufo. Well I haven’t finished this one so we’ll say the previous one by him I read. Zombie Fallout.
8. Marvel or DC? Marvel
9. If you choose Marvel favorite member of the X-Men? If you choose DC favourite Justice League member?
10. Night or Day? Nighttime babyyyyyyy!
11. Favourite Pokemon? Pikachu by default because I don’t watch it lol. Sowwy!
12. Top 5 bands:
Don’t do bands the way this question poses sooooo we’ll go R&B groups!
En Vogue
TLC
Boys 2 Men
Shai
Destiny’s Child
13. Top 10 books. Okay, I don’t read THAT much lol. Just got into it more so not much I can put here!
Poems by Maya Angelou and doesn’t matter what. All of it!
Heartbeat by Danielle Steel
Mirror Image by Danielle Steel
Zombie Fallout by Mark Tufo
Indian Hill by Mark Tufo
A Light In The Attic for those childhood memories! By Shel Silverstein
Where The Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein again!
And i’m done lol
14. Top 4 movies
Never Ending Story!
Shawshank Redemption
What Dreams May Come
Usual Suspects
15. America or Europe? Err America since haven’t stepped one itty bitty toe in Europe. Give me time! I’ll get there! One of these days darn it!
16. Tumblr or Twitter? Tumbles because I don’t have a Twitter! Just an Instagram :-p
17. Pro-choice or Pro-life? Choice
18. Favorite YouTuber? Don’t really follow them like that!
19. Favorite author ? Probably Danielle Steel for now but Mark Tufo might be taking that slot! Like I said, I don’t read books a ton but getting into them now!
20. Tea or Coffee? Tea since I don’t even really like the smell of coffee. Don’t tar and feather me!
21. OTP ? Pfft! Pfft I say! Do you even have to ask?
22. Do you play an instrument/sing ? Negative on both ghostrider! I do a mean lip sync though! *snickers*
I got tagged by the BEAUTIFUL ARMY!!!! March on my beauties! March on! @vylette-elakha @resistance-ranger @avwalya
I have been placed in charge of recruitment for the army so I am tagging these BEAUTIFUL PEEPS as the next 11 up! @esme-selah @arabeka-ffxiv @fair-fae @under-the-blood-moonlight @halcyonic-aether @katalinhunter @ainarosewood @kyrie-silverwings @cahli-tia @niomemizune @nihil242
Do it if you wish! No pressure! You are STILL enlisted into the BEAUTIFUL army regardless because you are all special no matter what! ;-) March on my beauties!
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“ 🔥 “ “ 🔥 “ “ 🔥 “ “ 🔥 “ “ 🔥 “
Okay so I had no idea what to write here, and then a friend of mine was like ‘talk about toxic stuff’ and I was like ‘but what’
Well I thought of something while reading, of all things, the washington post.
So here’s the thing. In the decade or so I’ve been on this site, one thing I’ve noticed is that people are far, far more quickly to just, at the drop of the hat, cut contact with people, ghost people, block and remove them without warning. And there are valid reasons to do so; no one owes you anything, you don’t owe anyone an explanation for your actions, your mental health is paramount, ect.
And I myself ascribed to this, until I finally started seeing a therapist, and what I found out was that no, doing this is not good for your mental health at all.
Because what you’ve done is essentially created two things: one, you’re reacting to any and all problems with the last resort, thus creating a paranoia in yourself that anyone and everyone might be a problem in order to create the conditions to convince yourself to use that formerly last resort; and two, you’re making everyone else paranoid that any tiny misstep, any deviation from things that you can’t possibly be aware of, could result in a torrent of people suddenly treating you like the most vile person imagineable, without ever actually telling you why.
And as a result, the rp community has, by and large, turned into the most paranoid place I’ve ever seen. People are literally afraid to say or post things because they’re afraid someone might suddenly dislike it, and rather than act like an adult and have a dialogue and talk about it, will simply disappear from their life.
The thing is, people can’t improve, indeed, people can’t change, if they don’t know what’s wrong. That’s not to say everyone deserves that chance. Some people are actually the worst, and they deserve a harsh response. But just like you can’t execute everyone for every crime, you can’t take the harshest line towards people who you otherwise get along with.
I have people who I get along with. Who I disagree with. If either of us simply ghosted the other and disappeared when we had something we didn’t agree with, we’d never have been friends. Part of friendship isn’t being always in agreement. It’s the ability to accept that we’re human, we make mistakes, and we can then come together and discuss rationally and calmly why this or that action was a problem. That’s what separates adults from children. Adults can, and should, be able to calmly say ‘hey what you did here upset me, can you not do that?’ and the other person should be able to say ‘I’m sorry for doing that, I won’t do it again.’
Part of what I see a lot on tumblr is the following problem:
person a does something.
person b, upset, immediately ghosts person a.
person a, not knowing why person b is upset, thinks nothing is wrong, probably tries to reach out to person b again.
person b, refusing to discuss anything, ignores person a, probably blocking them.
person a, confused and hurt, likely says something in public, but is then harassed for vaguing. Denied the ability to both express their emotions privately and publicly, they become paranoid and hostile to people, and less trusting.
person a then becomes more like person b in future interactions.
Again, it’s perfectly acceptable to take the actions of person b if you feel that it is in your best interest to do so. My arguement isn’t that you shouldn’t have the option. My arguement is that it’s not wise, or healthy, to deprive yourself of the ability to solve problems with people. And it’s not fair or healthy to you or others to simply go dark without expressing the problems you have.
Every single person on this site has at least one experience where one day they’re friends with someone, and the next day they go quiet, and then stay quiet for a month or more and then block and unfriend you, and you’re left clueless as to what you did to deserve that in the first place. Because you don’t know, you can’t change your behavior, if it was even your behavior that was the problem. People aren’t psychic.
What is needed in the community, I feel, is a greater willingness to be honest and to problem solve. Unfortunately, the arguement line that talking to people gives them power over you has taken root, and rather than accept that not every person is automatically deserving of the harshest treatment, we’ve devolved into reflexively being suspicious of each other. No one makes mistakes anymore, we assume any and all actions taken are intentional, and that means they’re not just a problem, that they’re an enemy.
I see this all the time when it comes to things being ‘problematic.’ Rather than just explain calmly why something is upsetting or wrong, people immediately take the accusative stance, immediately intend to make everyone who disagrees and enemy. This is to deliberately shut down debate and make disagreement into a sin, while making what they have to say dogma.
Unfortunately, that does little to actually convince people to change. It does however, convince people to dig in. And thus everything becomes extremely hostile while people become extremely paranoid.
As for the argument that we need to be this way because no one deserves anything, and that this method ‘works’ I ask if we are better off as people or as communities now compared to ten years ago. I say we’re not. We’re all more paranoid, and being a part of communities has turned into something to be paranoid over, because we’re all afraid to just be ourselves. Instead, we worry that every post might upset someone, and we spend our time constantly trying to root out others so that the eye of punishment isn’t on us.
We no longer feel compassion for others or accept that mistakes happen and that people should not immediately be tarred and feathered for mistakes. Instead, we act like any mistake or uncomfortable feeling should be punished by public hanging.
We, as communities, need to actually learn how to forgive others, but also to speak honestly to each other. So when someone does something wrong, you can say ‘hey, it upset me when you did this, and here’s why’ and you can have a dialogue and hopefully, grow as people. And maybe it doesn’t work out and you have to block them and cut contact. That’s fine. Maybe you do need to do that.
But you can’t go into every problem with the harshest solution, or your life becomes a bunker mentality where you are constantly afraid of people causing you problems. You in essence create the conditions for an anxiety attack and then wait for someone to trip it.
It turns roleplay into a paranoid, dispiriting activity. And it’s simply not fun at that point. We forget that we are all human at the end of the day. And we need to remember that being hurt by people in the past is not an excuse to then hurt people yourself. Seen this way, many communities are suffering through cycles of abuse, where people come together who have been hurt by others and then continue to hurt others themselves the same way. It’s not healthy.
And I hope that in 2020 and beyond, we can learn to communicate again with one another when we inevitably make mistakes.
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https://askthebrokenones-mws.tumblr.com/post/186317869387/theheadlessgroom-askthebrokenones-mws
@askthebrokenones-mws
“Well, believe me, it took a lot of convincing myself to go through with the plan-if it weren’t for my wife giving me the courage, I might not have left New Orleans,” he sighed, taking off his hat and running his hands through his thick, tangled black hair.
“I mean...I’ve got nothing waiting for me there. No great opportunities, just a thankless job working myself to death, and I knew if she and I stayed, and her family found out about us eloping, we’d both be in trouble, so that’s why we came up with this plan to run off together. It’s just...I dunno, I’ve been scared. I was scared then, and I was scared now that somebody’s gonna catch up to either one of us and drag us back to be punished.”
He could see it now-yes, his wife would certainly not escape certain doom, she’d never see the light of day again, but he’d probably get drawn and quartered for it all. He’d be painted as the awful Irish rat who tempted a young heiress into sin and filth, and would have to be sufficiently punished for it, and wouldn’t the good people of New Orleans love to see that happen. He’d probably be tarred and feathered if her family ever got their hands on him.
#((absolutely! there's so much to his character and his backstory in particular that it weaves such a rich tapestry when it comes out))#((when he just explodes and cuts loose and it all comes out it is absolutely fascinating to read!))#outofhatboxes#askthebrokenones-mws#V:Run Boy Run
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