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blackmoonoracle · 5 months

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PICK A CARD - WHAT'S BEING HIDDEN FROM YOU?

PILE ONE Channeled song: Paint the Town Red - Doja Cat

Some of you may be pregnant without knowing, of course this doesn't apply to everyone but that's certainly a thing for someone. For some of you it could be a dream you've been working on cultivating since childhood beginning to take root into reality. Being able to take some kind of forward movement that allows you freedom. Some of you may be developing a deeper relationship with a sibling or child family member as well. Maybe a family member could be pregnant as well. There's definitely a vibe of fertility and joy here. Something being built from the ground up as well. For some of you it could be a business you're trying to develop. Or even a dream career, or getting into a school or some kind of huge positive development in your life. You might not see it yet, but the tables are absolutely going to be turning in your favor. You may be exploring more, and find opportunity to express your emotions. I see this group may be learning to develop better boundaries. There could be people trying to create blockages in your forward movement. I see however that you are learning to depend more on your own thoughts, feelings, and overall discernment. Independence is absolutely being developed here, for some of you it could be that you are maturing into a new phase of your life and self expression that you're not seeing as well. I feel like there's a need here to really acknowledge the amount of growth you've achieved. Yeah, there's some major positive shifts happening here. If you've maybe been feeling stagnant or stuck, especially due to family having control over your finances or actions I see a lot of freedom coming here. You've developed some kind of discipline, or possibly self reliance that you previously may have felt was unattainable.

I think that's about it for you guys pile one! sorry it's short.

PILE TWO

Channeled Song: IDGAF - Drake ft Yeat

I feel like there are a lot of people who may not particularly have good intentions towards you pile 2. There could even be an air and water sign woman working together to create some kind of binding on your financial stability. What's crazy though is that I see it's not even able to manifest into the physical realm. The worst that they're able to do is exacerbate your limiting beliefs regarding financial stability. LOLLL, weaaaaak.

You may end up speaking your truth regarding some kind of situation soon as well. I see that there may also be a reveal of whoever these people are that have been trying to meddle in your finances. You may be in hermit mode currently, or seeking to isolate from people for the most part. There seems to be a lot of speculation around what you're up to and what you're doing pile 2. People could even be arguing over you. You may be leaving behind some sort of belief system that was at some point a core piece of your ideology. Some kind of realization is going to come that will bring a significant amount of balance into your life. I'm also hearing your body though, which is interesting. So there's some major balance coming into play here for you. It's sooo weird, because it feels like there are a lot of people who have it out for you. I see here that there is an emperor type energy that is very lost. This person may be trying to manifest you into their lives against your will? I just feel like a lot of this pile is likely confirmations, as it's clear to me you all are tapped the fuck in. Seeing as the high priestess has come out. I feel that you may not be aware that there is either a father figure, or older man who is doing spellwork or manifestation work on you. I feel that it's important for you to set energetic boundaries with people. First person shooter just came on, and it was the part where he said "dont trust everything that you saw on IG" so this person could be stalking you on instagram? I feel like they're driving themselves mad trying to figure out what the hell is going on in your life. For some of you they may not be older, but they may be very controlling or authoritative in some way. Someone with an ego that is larger than life. I heard "where in the world is carmen san diego" so what may be hidden from you is that there are a lot of people with their eyes on you pile 2. People may sense that you are about to do something big? I see here that you will be in a comfortable position. You are about to put an end to something, this feels like setting boundaries and speaking your piece. I also see that you are overcoming some sort of lack mindset that you struggle with. You are absolutely developing into a new person right now. I see here that what you don't know is that your shadow is a huge piece of how you receive and download psychic information. There's something about being deeply impressionable, but learning discernment and therefore being able to use this receptivity to glean hidden information. I'm also feeling something about mind reading here? This pile could be developing the gift of telepathy. I'm feeling very much Taurus rising energy here, off the strength of the fact that this is absolutely giving scorpio in the 7th house energy. With this capability to just read into the depths of the people around you. Seeing deep into the minds of others. What's being hidden from you is that more often than not you are in fact reading people to filth. I think that it may upset people when you are right for some reason. It's like there's this competitive energy towards you. I heard "keep up" like people are trying to keep up with you, or they're trying to outdo you so that you feel like you have to keep up with them. Regardless, I do see that through processing, acknowledging and accepting the hidden aspects of your personality you will find deep fulfillment and even financial gain! How interesting.

PILE THREE

Channeled Song: Highs & Lows - Chance the Rapper

Some sort of information is being hidden from you pile 3, but it's not because of anything outside of you. It's because you overthink shit like baaaaad. I heard "8" so the number 8 could be significant here somehow. You're being asked to maybe step back, your ego could be blocking your ability to think clearly. There's an emphasis on teamwork here, I feel that this pile has a verrrryy hard time taking criticism. What's being hidden from you is that your ego exceeds your knowledge, and that you may need to find a better balance within yourself. I heard something also about meddling, some of you may struggle with envy or jealousy.

To be honest pile 3, I feel like you really need to learn to allow things to flow. There's some sort of link to familial trauma, or control issues rooting from the family that have resulted in this outlook on life. Perhaps you could be rather inflexible in your ideology. Very set in your ways. I see that what you don't see is that a tower moment is coming in order to shift your perspective. I kind of see it as like- for example in football being tackled. I see you taking it on the chin and getting back up and continuing to go on. Don't be so stubborn, and learn to release bitterness. You may be grieving a perceived loss regarding some sort of project you're very passionate about. Or even possibly just feeling exhausted regarding this project. I feel that you guys are in a deep, and brooding, and veryyyyy aggressive energy in order to protect yourself. I'm seeing like crows in a parking lot circling scraps of food.

You could have had to fight for everything in life- and now spirit is asking you to sit back and allow shit to unfold. What's being hidden is that by creating a better work life balance, and taking better care of yourself that you will be able to get over this bump in the road concerning your financial stability. Transmuting your fear and greed into security and generosity will deeply help you in moving onward. I see here that you could be feeling stuck on a standstill. Learn to relax a little, things don't have to constantly be so serious. You have a lot of blessings coming in, so just sit tight and let it come in. <3 You're gonna be just fine. Better than fine honestly! It's going to be okay, I promise. :3 One more thing actually, there's a line in the channeled song that goes "The best things in life on the opposite side of fear".

#tarot online #tarot community #pac #pac tarot #tarot reading #tarotblr #pick a card #pick a picture #pick a pile

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utilitycaster · 10 months

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It's become stunningly clear with this most recent episode that Imogen and Laudna's insularity, mistrust of everyone else in the party, and refusal to take responsibility for their actions is at the heart of the disconnect and lack of bonding within Bells Hells. It is not the only reason - I think Orym's constant smoothing over of issues in the interest of forward motion has certainly exacerbated the situation - but it's a significant and unavoidable factor. I'm hoping that while the actual exercises of the team-building probably won't themselves fix the issues this party has, addressing the various secrets that are now out, specifically the ones that touch on issues that affect the functioning and dynamics of the entire group, actually might.

As this post notes, their unwillingness to question each other or develop any conflict resolution with each other means they tend to, even if unwittingly, dogpile the rest of the group by acting as a singular voice. In a small conflict-averse group, this tends to constantly overwhelm the conversation. This is worsened by Imogen's psychic abilities, which permit her to glean information about the others without the need to have a conversation; it means the others in the party frequently start with two votes against them before they've even said anything.

They also both suffer from a pretty profound lack of boundaries. Again, Imogen's psychic abilities are invasive, frequently unwelcome, and often lead her to both jump to conclusions and to police the behaviors of others without considering their actions nor giving them any chance to have a full conversation. It also means she controls what information the rest of the party knows, as her interpretation of someone else's mental state is the only thing they're given when she reads someone's mind. Laudna, meanwhile, is extremely quick to trust, while also taking any deception as profound betrayal. As a result, they both tend to take a hot-or-cold approach to the others in the party based on the other person's most recent thought or action. They are prone to black-and-white thinking and snap judgments, which, as the next paragraph indicates, has serious ramifications.

Imogen and Laudna are terrible about actually talking to people and getting anything out in the open. This includes each other; again, see their frequent unquestioning support or the claim that their relationship defies words (which it does not; as of last episode this has culminated in Imogen revealing that, in fact, she is disgusted by a fundamental reality of their relationship, which is absolutely not something that can be addressed without a pretty intense conversation.) We also see this in how they've taken Fearne's choice not to take the shard. While, arguably, they had heard Fearne express her concerns about the shard to Morri by the time of the honesty exercise (which would make their behavior even worse), even if they hadn't, that's two voices shaming her for without hearing her side of the story. It's in sharp contrast with Chetney, who also expresses his disappointment with Fearne in episode 3x78, but immediately follows it up by asking her why she didn't want it. Imogen and Laudna never take it upon themselves to ask her how she feels or why she made that choice and let her explain; they jump straight to judgement.

That failure to ask ties into the final element of why they are the weak point in Bells Hells' communication: they are just as guilty as Ashton of "violent projection of responsibility", but unlike Ashton have not realized the depth of this flaw and the consequences it has not just on their own life but on the others in the party. This is less of an issue with Imogen with regards to Bells Hells (in fact one might argue she takes far too much responsibility in that she apparently sees policing the party on the basis of their thoughts to be her duty, though I would note that unattuning the circlet leaves her, the person with the clearest ties to the Vanguard, vulnerable to the powers of others within the organization) and far more so with the gods, from whom she apparently expects instant gratification. However, this is at the core of Laudna. It's true that she is by no means the only powder keg within the party; Chetney and FCG's abilities are also dangerous. However, one must take into account that Laudna has been aware of Delilah's presence for, as she has repeatedly stated, over three decades now, and only now realized the implications thereof, whereas Chetney became a werewolf less than a year ago and immediately took steps to mitigate the threat he posed, and FCG only learned of their condition within the past few months. Like Chetney, she has learned to remove herself from situations in which she could pose an immediate threat, but that slow learning curve and lack of proactivity is not promising for the future. It's also true that, keeping all other circumstances identical, the impact of Laudna's loss of control is far more dangerous. If Chetney bites someone or FCG attacks, unless they kill someone, the damage and curse can be undone and the power within them is unchanged. The same is not true with regards to what happens if Delilah makes Laudna absorb a magical item or a soul.

While everyone in Bells Hells shares some responsibility for the current state of affairs, Imogen and Laudna are without a doubt the primary source of toxicity. I think the others have become aware that they are in an environment in which Imogen is likely to either shoot them down, read their minds nonconsensually, or make insensitive suggestions, and that Laudna will nod along next to her as she does. It does not feel coincidental that Fearne chose not to voice her concerns and that Ashton avoided the group conversation entirely. This again does not absolve Ashton or Fearne of their deception of the party, but it does explain why they might feel an honest conversation is impossible. Unpacking what was said during the Honesty exercise might finally allow Bells Hells to excise this rot and to begin a new era of group conversations in which everyone feels they can say what needs to be said without fear, but it will be an effort to be sure.

Because it's me, I think it's worth noting that the fandom emphasis on absolving Imogen and Laudna of any accountability (which I've spoken about at length and have had on my radar for a long time now) is obviously not the cause of this behavior in-game, but does echo it in interesting ways. I'm not sure I would have realized the extent to which they evade responsibility in-game without this mentality being so prominently in the fandom. It explains why they are never expected, by many fans, to even achieve as minor a task as "asking Fearne how she feels instead of letting their own feelings dominate what they think she should do", let alone set boundaries for each other. But ultimately, that is the key: I think the only way for this party to achieve the trust they need is through the assertion of those boundaries. When Bells Hells know that they have the freedom to disagree with each other without being accused, dogpiled, ignored, or told to get it together, only then will they be able to actually come to true consensus rather than the fragile and tenuous teamwork they have had so far.

#critical role #critical role spoilers #bells hells #imogen temult #laudna

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batfambyval · 1 year

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okay. So.

Serious Red Robin theory coming.

Tim wasn’t put in the Lazarus Pit. But. That doesn’t mean they didn’t use it on him. The pit’s healing properties have been shown to work in small portions. Like, the healing is proportional to the amount of lw used.

The cave with the pit isn’t exactly a sterile environment. So either the pit was needed or it was an attempt to put Tim off balance, a psychological weapon. Though the White Ghost’s reaction to the assumption seems to dispute that. If the pit’s healing is proportional to the amount used it makes sense that the psychological effects are to, along with the duration of those side effects.

Ra’s had serious reasons to use the pit on Tim, between the additional room for emotional manipulation and Tim’s life threatening injury which wasn’t immediately treated and was in fact exacerbated like, a lot… yeah. Tim lost a lot of blood. He lost was stabbed in the organ that filters blood: meaning all your blood passes through your spleen. He was bleeding out, he should have died, he dragged himself and another person to a car, drove said car back to the city, and got them both up to the penthouse. Recovering from that would take a long time, he shouldn’t have survived at all. But he healed quickly and well, it isn’t an issue, it happened and it was over. I know we as a fandom like to have fun with Tim’s missing spleen and what that means but… canon didn’t and looking back I feel like there was a lot pointing at the pit being used in a much more insidious was, not just in the logistics of Tim’s recovery.

Ra’s was insanely trusting of Tim. Not just in his ability to do what he wanted but in his belief that Tim would ultimately come around to his way of thinking. Now, I can obviously see that Tim was in a very vulnerable position and if Bruce hadn’t actually been alive Ra’s could definitely have succeeded. But it feels like more than that, especially with Tim’s ensuing behavior. A lot of his time with the league is glossed over or seen from Tam’s perspective, but Tim was acting different. It’s easy to attribute this to the objectively terrible situation and the year he’s had, but his behavior isn’t the same as it was at the beginning of the run either. And the difference in behavior fades. As Red Robin Tim is more ruthless and pragmatic, mostly due to necessity. Even stealing from a museum and fighting for it makes him incredibly uncomfortable. He still did it. But he was still acting like Tim, making jokes and doing his best to diffuse the situation and keep everyone alive. After the surgery his focus gets even more single minded. He barely puts up a fight about leading the league. Of course partly for Tam, and he tried to keep killing to a minimum but cmon. He was leading the league of ASSASSINS. There were assassinations happening. People died when he blew all the league bases and he barely registered that beyond thinking that the council of spiders probably made it out, implying part of him knew death was a possibility and he didn’t care. But he didn’t think about the moral implications of that in a way that was very reminiscent of Jason’s selective morality. If he had stopped to think about it he wouldn’t have done it, but he was focused to much on beating Ra’s, on not compromising, that the complexity of the situation didn’t sink in. The obvious effects of his actions, the possible deaths and injuries of anyone inside a league stronghold wasn’t acknowledged while the underlying message sent to his opponent was the only thing he could think about. Just like when Jason attacked Tim at Titans Tower to send a message to Bruce despite his hardline stance against hurting kids.

So. The League did use the pit on Tim, just a little. Maybe two tablespoons in the wound to accelerate recovery and weaken his morals a bit. It would certainly make a lot of sense. And the writer did change when Tim came back to Gotham so it’s entirely possible that it was meant to be touched on later but was discarded.

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enlitment · 3 months

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Aren't you a Marie Antoinette apologist?

You got me. I’ve been a royalist spy all along. Can’t get enough of la monarchie! (a bit of a loaded question, isn't it?)

In all seriousness, I do not particularly like Marie Antoinette as a historical figure. I don’t think she’s done anything significant for which she deserves to be praised. That said, I do think she’s often been needlessly demonised – both in her times and sometimes even today.

I don’t think I need to like her to be able to say that I believe a lot of the hate directed towards her was largely exacerbated by misogyny. It's also often been weirdly sexualised.

It is certainly true that she could have handled herself a lot better in her situation, but she was by no means the largest contributor to the problems France was having before 1789. The whole ‚let’s blame the woman foreigner for everything bad that's happening‘ just does not sit well with me. Not to mention the awful accusation Hébert (along with some others) directed at her at the trial. Even Robespierre most likely thought that was idiotic. If that’s enough to make me her apologist then I guess I am one.

On the other hand, I definitely agree that her portrayal in a lot of French revolution related media as a poor, innocent victim of 'the terror' is inaccurate, annoying, and almost misogynistic in its own way. I also think that it’s unfortunate that she’s the woman most people remember from the revolutionary era when there were so many women whose stories are much more worthy of telling than hers.

#also as someone from Czechia I have a lot of complicated feelings about her mother #wait that sounded weird... I mean from historical pov of course #marie antoinette #frev #ramblings #french revolution #frev community #discourse #history #1700s #18th century #asks

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luna-naoffcial · 2 months

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Criminal Love

—PART TEN

Pairing: Alastor x Fem! Reader

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PART ONE | PART NINE | PART ELEVEN |

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"My dear boy?" "Yes, Mother?" Alastor paused his actions as he was about to head over to your place to check on you. For the past few weeks after you took on the position as a waitress in the diner, you've had come down with a nasty illness and Alastor was determined to check on you almost immediately after he was done at the station. "I would like to present you with something." Tara said, gesturing for her son to sit down.

Alastor obliged, sitting down next to her, intrigued to what it is. "I want you to pass this down to (Y/N)" She took out a beautiful wedding band, knowing he had found the perfect woman to spend the rest of his life with. She had never seen her little boy so enamoured and in love since he made it official with you.

"Mother..." "It's a family ring that has been passed down through our generations. And I know dear (Y/N) is the one for you." Alastor stared mesmerized at the beautiful ring that now lay in his palm. "Thank you... mama."

Tara smiled affectionately at her son. She believed she could finally find peace once the two of you were officially together, and Alastor had another woman by his side to care for him, someone who could look after her son. Alastor was so captivated by the ring that he momentarily forgot his purpose. "My dear son, weren't you intending to check on your lady?"

"Oh!" Alastor abruptly stood up, causing his mother to chuckle. Alastor swiftly dashed across the path to your home and opened the door. "Dar -" His eyes widened in astonishment upon witnessing the situation. "(Y/N)!" Alastor exclaimed with concern, noticing you on your knees coughing into a cloth. "I am quite alright..." You responded weakly as Alastor gently placed a hand on your forehead.

"My love, you are clearly unwell! Let's get you to your bed. You need to strip out of these clothing." Alastor gently instructed, carrying your frail body to the bedroom. As you lay down, you felt a choking sensation and sat up, triggering another coughing fit.

"Let me get Mama. She possesses knowledge of effective remedies that may help with this cough." Alastor suggested. You nodded in acknowledgement that you heard what he said. As Alastor swiftly jogged across the path, your coughing subsided. You couldn't help but gaze at the cloth, your heart pounding in your chest as you noticed the blood staining the fabric. "Oh, dear," you softly exclaimed. You couldn't bear the thought that it might be the dreaded plague that afflicted you.

You heard the approaching footsteps as Tara entered the room, followed by Alastor. "Oh, my dear, what seems to be the matter?" You remained silent, and Tara noticed your fidgeting. Her eyes widened as she observed the blood on the cloth.

"Alastor, my dear boy, could you kindly fetch a glass of water for your beloved? Perhaps it will help soothe her throat." "Certainly, Mother." Tara wanted Alastor to leave the room so she could ask you a private question.

"How long have you been experiencing these symptoms, my dear?" "It felt like a fever. However, it has progressively worsened since yesterday," you confessed.. "You are aware that this is a serious situation, correct? This has resulted in the deaths of thousands of individuals. "I do not wish to scare Alastor Tara. Please... there must be some sort of solution." You made a request, and as you did so, you could feel tears welling up in your eyes.

Tara's brow furrowed for a brief moment. "There is... one potential course of action that I can attempt. I am capable of preparing a specialized tea, but I must issue you a warning. Refrain from smelling it. Doing so will exacerbate the difficulty of consuming it." Tara issued a warning, which caused you to feel somewhat apprehensive at that moment; nevertheless, you were prepared to attempt anything at that point. Alastor re-entered the room, carrying a glass of water. "Here you are, my dear." He positioned himself next to you on the bed as you offered him a weak smile and accepted the glass. Alastor took hold of your other hand with his own. "I am going to prepare one of my special teas for her. Sweetheart, I need you to ensure that she drinks all of it and prevents her from smelling it." Tara provided instructions.

"Is it severe, Mother?" Alastor furrowed his brow. He understood the gravity of the situation, as the last time she had prepared that particular tea was when Alastor had fallen gravely ill as a young boy, exhibiting early symptoms of polio. Fortunately, Tara had successfully treated him before the disease could progress, and Alastor had thankfully avoided any lasting health or physical complications as he grew older. "I merely wish to exercise caution, my dear boy. She has a considerably high fever, without a doubt. However, I shall treat it as though it were tuberculosis."

You felt Alastor's grip tighten on your hand.b"I am well, Al. Mother is simply being cautious. I feel warm is all," you responded weakly as the radio host gazed down at you, studying your features. He yearned to believe you, yet he observed more. It was evident that you were suffering from more than just a fever. "I shall return shortly," Tara whispered as she

excused herself. "Are you certain it is nothing more, my love?" Alastor inquired, his concern growing. Noticing the desperation in his eyes, you realized that if you were indeed facing death, you did not wish to depart on a lie.

You revealed the cloth that was crumpled in your lap. As Alastor's eyes fell upon the blood-stained fabric, he was rendered speechless. "I coughed a short while ago." that up Alastor was too shocked to utter a word. "Mama may be right with what I have." "Fuck!" Alastor suddenly snapped making your eyes widened.

"Did someone come into your diner feeling unwell?" He inquired, becoming increasingly agitated. He felt the need to place blame on someone. It was a necessity for him.

"Not that I noticed, Al... these things just happen. We fall ill, and it's beyond our control." Alastor experienced a sickening sensation in his stomach.

The thought of losing you in this manner was unbearable. He could not bear to witness the disease gradually consuming you until he discovered your lifeless body. He refuses to allow this disease to take your life. Both of you were still young, with a future ahead of you.

He yearned to marry you and to travel one day together. He had even had thoughts of settling down and raising a family, which terrified him to consider. "Listen, my dear." Alastor gently pulled you closer, placing his hand on your cheek, your noses nearly touching. "I need you to fight against it. Do not allow your body to surrender, do not abandon our bond, and do not... do not leave me yet, ma chérie. My deepest desire is for us to grow old together." Seeing the sadness swarm, Alastor eyes made you want to break down, but you held it in as you slowly nodded. Your foreheads now touching. "You are really burning up." He whispered feeling the heat radiating off your body.

"Come, let's take some layers off." He ushered. As you tried unbuttoning your shirt fiddling with it, Alastor noticed your struggle. "Let me do it dear, you relax." Alastor unbuttoned your shirt slipping it off you. "Lay down love." He grabbed the waistband of your long pleaded skirt, pulling it down to leave you in your bra and underwear.

You sat upright, leaning against the headboard. Tara arrived promptly, carrying a mug in one hand and a bowl of cold water with a cloth submerged within. "Here we are!" Tara announced. You really were questioning it now, and Tara knew her nose. "I'll help her drink it." you. "Al pinch" "Oh god." You mumbled. "I wouldn't agree, but love even if I have to force it down your throat I will." Alastor sighed.

"Ready?" "Can't be worse than how I feel." You mumbled as Alastor pinched your nose apologizing. Tara brought the mug to your lips as you tilted made your head back the sour liquid hitting your throat you almost spit it out. "There we go!" Tara piped as you were finally released from that torture able to breath as well.

"A cup of that a day should help with whatever disease is attacking her body. I'll give you the recipe for it my sweet boy. Just... Don't let (Y/N) know the ingredients..." she whispered to him. "For now, here's a cloth to go on your forehead. You won't noticed much of an improvement right now but we'll just only have to hope and see it's working in the next few days." Tara explained.

You laid down with Alastor's assistance as he placed the damp cloth on your head, causing you to shiver slightly from the contact. "Ensure that she remains in this position," Tara instructed her son. "Yes, mother," he sighed. "I will come by and check on her, don't worry," she said, pinching her son's cheeks together as Alastor frowned at her. "I love you both, and I'll be back tomorrow afternoon. Get some rest." As you said your goodbyes to Tara. Alastor was deep in thought as he undid his bowtie and shirt in the bedroom, preparing to change into his nightwear. "Al?" Alastor slipped his tank top over his head as he looked over at you. "Yes darling?" "I will be fine," you attempted to reassure. Alastor smiled gently. "I am aware that you will be. However, for the time being, I will sleep in the other room to avoid raising your body temperature with my own.""Can you... Requested, hold my hand until I fall asleep?" You your eyes pleading. "Certainly, my dear." Alastor positioned himself next to you, taking your hand in his. He bestowed a gentle kiss upon it as you offered a faint smile, gradually closing your eyes. Alastor gazed down at you, as he occasionally did, to ensure that you were still breathing. After waiting for 10 minutes, he softly called your name. Knowing that you were deeply asleep, you did not respond. "Goodnight, my dear," he whispered. He placed another kiss on your knuckle before carefully getting out of bed. He knew that the upcoming week would be challenging for him.

Few days later.

Alastor gazed at the numerous blood-stained cloths and let out a sigh. "Sweetheart?" Alastor turned around and saw you standing there. "Are you ok?" "Yes, just seeing these reminds me of the numerous times I feared for your life," Alastor confessed. "Sweetie, let us burn them and acquire new ones. It is better to be cautious and avoid any potential risks," you suggested with a nervous chuckle. "I am grateful that Mama tea worked," Alastor sighed as he gently kissed your lips. "I am as well. It was a dreadful experience," you admitted. "However, I am fully recovered now. Would you care to join me for a stroll in the woods? I need some fresh air." "Of course, my dear. Allow me to dispose of these, and I shall meet you there." "Very well," you smiled, giving him one last peckon the cheek as you left through the front door.

Alastor placed the basket down and reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the ring his mother had bestowed upon him.

"After the fright you endured, my love, I must take this step now," Alastor murmured to himself. Soon, you will become his cherished wife...

As you strolled back from your job at the diner, you couldn't help but hum a cheerful tune. After a week of much-needed rest, you were eager to resume your job. Initially, Alastor expressed some disagreement, fearing that you might contract another illness from the potentially unsanitary streets. However, you managed to alleviate his concerns by assuring him that you would maintain a safe distance from anyone who appeared unwell and always wash your hands after touching any surfaces.

As you strolled along the tranquil street, you foolishly allowed a sense of overconfidence to cloud your judgment, knowing who the killer is. However, it was unwise to lower your guard, for there were still other dangerous individuals lurking within these very streets.

As you turned a corner, a pair of arms yanked you back as you yelped in surprise. "Hey there, sweetness. Are you looking for some action?" A man slurred as you pushed his hands off in disgust. "Get your filthy hands off of me." You sneered as the drunk narrowed his eyes. "Who do you think you're talking to like that?" He growled as he grabbed you by your collar, lifting you in the air like you weighed nothing.You were squirming, kicking your legs, trying to wiggle out when suddenly he dropped you as he let out a gasp suddenly falling forward.

Alastor was standing behind the man, holding a knife that was now stained with blood. "Oh, thank goodness." You exhaled in relief. "Are you alright, my dear?" Alastor inquired as he extended a hand. You accepted his assistance as he helped you to your feet. "I am now." You smiled. "Oh, how I admire you." Alastor murmured affectionately, leaning in as your lips were about to touch. Suddenly, a loud crash interrupted the moment as a figure emerged from the shadows in a state of panic, locking eyes with both of you. "Shit." Alastor stated as you gasped.

The individual rose and fled. Alastor pursued him swiftly before he could reach the police. Your heart raced as you made the decision to change your course in order to intercept the person. Fortunately, you discovered a path that led to the main path just as the man was running towards you. In a swift response, you leapt onto him, causing him to yelp in surprise and fall to the ground. Alastor swiftly approached, noticing you atop the man. "Alastor, please hurry!" You urged. The man shoved you off, making you yelp to the sudden contact of the floor grabbing a pocket knife out his pocket as Alastor stabbed the poor stranger. The man was able to swing, stabbing his pocket knife into Alastor shoulder as the radio host yelped in surprise.

The man gradually descended to the ground, losing blood as you observed with widened eyes. "God dammit!" You heard Alastor growl taking his knife out of the stranger body. "Let's go before someone else sees us. I'm gonna have to leave them now." He growled in frustration. With a gentle touch, you place your hand on his back and suggest, "Let's attend to your shoulder injury."

As you gaze into his eyes, you notice a subtle shift from red to honey coloured orbs. He lowers his gaze to meet yours briefly before responding, "Yes, let's return." With a sigh, he extends his uninjured arm and wraps it around your shoulders.

*******

"My dear, your impulsive defence on me is admirable and concerning." Alastor responded with a chuckle, surprising you with his calm reaction to the knife being pulled out. He swiftly cleaned and stitched the wound himself like it was second nature to him. You merely shrugged and said, "He was about to expose you, and I was afraid of losing you," as Alastor looked on at you with so much love that he had someone who had his back even if he wasa serial killer. Both of you were seated on a chair in the centre of the kitchen as you proceeded to wrap a bandage around the affected area. You couldn't help but glance at your partner exposed top half, glancing down every once in a while, soaking in his toned yet slim figure. "My dear, your face is becoming quite flushed," Alastor remarked, a hint of amusement evident in his voice.

"Shut up," you muttered under your breath as you completed the final touches. "There," you said as you cleaned up the mess. Alastor stood up slowly, stretching his arm. "Be cautious, do not damage my masterpiece," you advised, not wanting him to pop any of those stitches as well. "Oh, it's simply fine, my dear," he said, standing in just his work pants. You couldn't help but stare at your partner as Alastor noticed. "Please close your mouth, dear, or you might attract flies," he chuckled as you felt your cheeks burning. You turned around to put the med bag away and closed the cupboard door. As you turned back around, you let out a quick scream when you saw Alastor suddenly standing in front of you.

"Al-" You cut were cut off feeling his lips smash against yours as you melted into it, shocked but not complaining leaving you trapped against the counter, his hands resting on your hips as your hands were pressed against his bare chest.

The kiss was intense and passionate as you explored each other mouth. Your tongue was fighting for dominance, knowing Alastor would still win. Just as you were lacking some oxygen, Alastor slowly pulled away, leaving both of you breathless. You stared into each other eyes soaking in the small intimate moment you had, trusting each other, although it didn't go farther. It was more than enough for the both of you.

Alastor gently brushed a stray hair away from your face, leaving his hand resting on your cheek in a comforting gesture. He was gazing with such profound passion and affection, his honey coloured eyes sparkling as they fixated upon his beloved. "Would you do me the honour of marrying me?" Alastor softly uttered, his voice filled with anticipation. Your eyes widened in surprise as you watched him unexpectedly get down on one knee and pull out a ring from his pocket. "I would be honoured if you would consider spending the rest of our lives together as husband and wife. Even beyond this life, I can not bear the thought of being separated by death or illness. My love for you, (Y/N), is boundless and eternal. I... I love you." Your eyes welled up with tears as a smile spread across your face. Alastor, who had always struggled to express using the word love, finally uttered the three you had been longing to hear. words

"Yes! Of course I'll marry you." you responded, your voice trembling with delight as tears of joy cascaded down your cheeks. Alastor's shoulders relaxed as he gently took your left hand and slipped the ring onto your finger.

It fit perfectly, as if it had been crafted specifically for you. Tara had informed her son that the ring possessed the remarkable ability to adjust its size to fit the hand of the destined wearer. Her words proved true. Alastor stood up, cupping your cheeks as he drew you into a prolonged and passionate kiss.

After the challenging week he had endured, witnessing your unwavering support and selfless actions that evening, he could no longer contain his desire. He yearned for you to be his, forever and always.

******

"Oh my... baby, look at you!" Tara cooed as you looked away from the mirror meeting your new mother gaze. "I'm scared." You uttered in a hushed tone. "Why, love?" Tara raised her eyebrows in concern as she stood beside you. "I... I..." You let out a defeated sigh, taking a moment. "Alastor is a sophisticated and famous radio host of New Orleans, and it is likely that his career will continue to grow. As for myself, I am simply... well, me. I fear that if he were to marry me, it would damage his reputation." Tara erupted into laughter, grasping your shoulders. "My sweet girl, look at yourself." She gestured for you to look back at the mirror as you gazed at your reflection.

"You are undeniably captivating. Only you were able to capture his attention through love. I was concerned that my son would not comprehend the true essence of love through a relationship with someone, but my dear, you have demonstrated that. He cherishes you and would do anything to maintain that smile on your face. He does not care about other people opinions. You are his world. Always keep that in mind," she reassured. You smiled lightly, looking at Tara through the reflection. "Thank you, Tara."

"Please call me Mama." She smiled warmly, revealing her beautiful teeth as she offered you a friendly side hug. Subsequently to that comforting moment with your mother-in-law, you gently lowered your gaze to the pendant that you wore, which held a cherished photograph of your mother holding you as an infant.

You held the oval golden metal in your hand. "I hope you are proud of me, mother... I wish you were here." You sighed, holding back the tears. "She will be proud of her little girl. Don't you worry." Tara reassured you, giving you a sad smile. After a brief moment of silence, Tara gently took your arm. "I believe it's time to meet your soon to be husband. Don't you think?" she said. Taking a deep breath, you nodded in agreement.

"Let us proceed before I faint" you jested lightly, eliciting a chuckle from Tara. "Come, my dear girl," she said affectionately. You foll wed Tara as she gracefully guided you down the stairs and towards the closed double doors. All of these arrangements were a delightful surprise, as Alastor had planned every detail, leaving you with the sole responsibility of selecting your wedding dress and veil. Of course, he insisted on providing you with the money. This led to a constant back and forwards, and no, until you eventually accepted it

"Are you ready, my dear?" Tara whispered softly. You nodded your head slowly, maintaining a firm grip on your mother-in-law's arm. As you entered the room, the melodious strains of the piano filled the air, causing your heart to race and your grip on Tara's arm to tighten. The sudden opening of the door announced your presence, and all eyes turned towards you. For a fleeting moment, you felt paralyzed, unaccustomed to being the focus of attention. A wave of anxiety washed over you, but then your gaze met those captivating honey coloured orbs, and a sense of calm enveloped you. Alastor stood there in a captivating black suit. The smile on his face as he gazed down at his wife, how stunning you appeared.

Witnessing his mother escort his lover down the aisle made him feel incredibly fortunate to have the two women he cherished in his life. He vowed to protect them. Your eyes remained fixed on him, as if an invisible force drew you closer to him. It was as if the two of you were the only ones in the room, oblivious to everyone else around you.

Tara observed the look you two exchange with a gracious smile. You two were simply just perfect for each other. As you finally made it down the aisle. Tara placed a quick kiss upon your cheek before passing you over to her son, as she graciously took your bouquet. Alastor, with a profound gaze fixed upon your (e/c) eyes, held your hands and expressed, "My dear, words fail me in conveying the depth of my admiration. You have truly taken my breath away."

A smile graced your lips as you held back tears while the priest commenced the ceremony. Admittedly, your attention was solely captivated by the eyes of your partner, rendering you oblivious to the priest's words. Exchanging heartfelt vows, you managed to recite them without succumbing to tears. Alastor gently slipped the wedding band back onto your finger, only cherishing the ring he gave you when he proposed. You reciprocated by placing the ring you had chosen with the help of Tara for him onto his ring finger. "I present to you a united couple, husband and wife. You may now seal your vows with a kiss," the priest instructed. into a Without hesitation, Alastor drew you tender dip, pressing his lips against yours in a kiss that conveyed a multitude of emotions. Everyone erupted in cheers and applause as you slowly pulled away. "Finally, I can call you my wife," he mumbled, and you smiled broadly at that. "I love you," you whispered affectionately. "I love you too," he whispered back, pecking your lips before straightening you back up. He then took your hand in his as you walked back down the aisle, exiting the church officially as husband and wife.

~~~~~

Alastor and you were gently swaying, holding one hand together, as his other hand rested on your hip while your other hand rested on his shoulder. You were staring into each other's eyes soaking this moment in. "Al." You started with. "Hmm, yes, my love?" "Why... did you take my last name?" You had a conversation before. You were gladly gonna take his. After all, you had your mother last name and not your father. "Well, I preferred yours, and... I did not want something that reminded me of my father. It was the last thing to let go, something unfortunately my mother could not do. I just wish she would finally understand that the love that man showed her was not genuine." He sighed. You smiled sadly, understanding. "She knows what love is, Al, and that was when you were born. I believe your father may have felt a twinge of jealousy when her attention shifted towards you. After all, you are her little boy."

As you both gently turned your gaze towards Tara, you noticed her radiant smile as she observed her son embarking on the next chapter of his life. It was evident that she was experiencing a bittersweet moment, filled with pride and a touch of sadness as she let him go, knowing that one day he too would create his own family.

You both gazed back into each other's eyes. "Well, I would suggest you move in with me, but it appears you have already done so," you teased. Alastor chuckled lightly at that.

He pressed his forehead against yours. You slowly closed your eyes, humming to the song, savouring the moment. With your eyes fluttering open, you felt Alastor gently lift you up in a bridal style. A soft giggle escaped your lips as you instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, seeking comfort and security in his embrace. "Well, Mrs. (L/N), I'm happy to be Mr (L/N) to you." You smiled at that, allowing the music to fill the silence. "You're never fully dressed without a smile." He softly sang before closing the gap, his lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss. You both savoured the moment, not wanting it to end.

Note: smut in the next chapter.

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Tags: @n0tmentallystable

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leggerefiore · 6 months

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cw: drabble, a little venty, loneliness as the theme

pairing: Volo/Reader

Loneliness was a bitter feeling.

There simply was no denying that.

Its very grip was icy and brutal on an already stressed mind. The words it whispered in one's mind could not be understated. A feeling that was haunting and solely exacerbated by seeing those around you so happily put together within their own groups.

Hisui was a lonely place.

Widely uninhabited by humans and filled to the brim with things that would seek to end one's life, the groups there were quite close-knit and quite callous towards outsiders. Someone unknown and foreign to the lands of familiarity would be given a scornful look and blamed solely for any unfortunate happenings, whether it was even possible for them to cause such a thing to occur.

You had wanted to believe that you had made friends. Your captain could be harsh, but there was a strange softness that you swore she held. The professor was kinder than most, having originally taken the most pity on your situation. Perhaps it was his position as another outsider coming through to aid one similar, though. The teenaged survey corps member had certainly taken something like an amicable feeling towards you, clearly happy to have more help in their unit. But, in the end, when you were kicked out. There was no one that could have saved you. The commander's orders were final.

No empty encouragement from your thought to be friends could save you from the offerings of the wilderness. The clans would reject you, too, unable to risk their standings with the Galaxy Team. You felt impossibly alone. The cold temperatures of Hisui ate at your body as a frigid feeling settled into your limbs. Your eyes closed. It felt hopeless. Where could you go? What could you do? The sun was slowly being consumed by the unsettling horizon.

You pressed your knees to your chest as your eyes burned. Why? Why were you blamed for this? Because you fell from a portal? Why not blame that eccentric Warden in the Highlands, too, then? You tried to wipe away the tears that poured endlessly. It was as pointless as your attempts to earn a good standing within the Galaxy Team. Why had... Whatever that being was that brought you here? To suffer? A hiccup left you. Everyone looked at you as if you were a monster. Another sob wretched your throat. Why? It was all you could think of. This situation felt insurmountable.

A hand unexpectedly began to rub your back. You tensed and turned your head around to see who it was. The odd merchant stared down at you with a solemn expression. You felt worse knowing that someone was seeing you in such a horrid state. Trying to curl more into yourself, you hated that you had even been pushed into such a mindset. Volo sat down beside you with a sigh. Something seemed to be running through his mind when you dared sneak a peek at him.

He closed his eyes for a moment. “… People are truly cruel, aren't they?” His voice was a departure from its usual volume and cadence, “I heard the news already. A good merchant knows well the importance of staying abreast all the latest news.” You felt like shrivelling up more inside. It was spreading around that you were the cause of the situation with the sky. How long until the whole of Hisui blamed you and saw you as a threat? Surely then, even those with whom you found friendships would shove you away. Your reaction drew something out in Volo. Something distant in his mind. His hand came to rest on your back.

Grey eyes stared out onto the water below. “My…” the blond sighed, “Nothing hurts quite like this, does it? Being rejected by those around you for something completely out of your control—being seen as a threat or strange for simply existing as you are.” You shifted to look at him properly again at his words. Blinking, you considered them carefully. Was Volo... familiar with your situation? He seemed far too amicable to ever find him in something like you were in.

“… You are not alone,” his hand came to cup your cheek, “I can assure you that much.” His thumb wiped away a few stray tears as you met his gaze. Something in it felt so different from the usual gaze they drew. “… Why must we experience these painful and heartbreaking things? It is unfair, isn't it?” Volo seemed to truly understand your thoughts at that moment, “… But worry not. There are still corners of the Hisui region where we can stash you away in secret. I know a spot that will be the perfect hideaway. Leave it all up to me!”

His hand moved to grasp your hand instead. You squeezed it softly. There were callouses on the skin, yet its warmth was more than comforting. Your cheek radiated with that same heat. More was spreading, however. You followed along as he began to lead you through the region with expert knowledge.

However, he did say one last thing, before you two departed.

“… Would it not be nice to create a new, better world without all this pain?”

You almost felt inclined to agree.

#pokemon x reader #volo x reader #pokemon volo x reader #volo/reader #pokemon/reader

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the-sun-and-the-sea · 9 months

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My take on Snow's future fixation with Lucy Gray

So I've seen this take floating around that Snow hates Katniss because of her connection to Lucy Gray, that Snow hates D12 because Lucy Gray left him, or other variations of it. And for a while it just hasn't sat quite right with me, and I think now I can articulate why.

First of all, I get why this take is so appealing, especially to those who have only seen the movie. There's a sense of cosmic justice in it. It's satisfying to think that someone as abhorrent as Snow will be reminded of his first atrocities, not only with Lucy Gray but with the Games in general, until his dying breath. But this take hinges on the idea that Snow is thinking about Lucy Gray at all, and I don't think he is.

Reading the book makes it incredibly apparent that Coriolanus does not care about Lucy Gray on a personal level. He does not find her wants or needs significant, unless they align with his own. There's even a line where he says that he'd rather have Lucy Gray locked up in the Capitol, so he can always have an idea of what she is doing. I think there absolutely was some attachment there, I won't deny that, but I'm not sure how much of it was the selflessness that we associate with love.

I find it really hard to believe that Coriolanus spent any extended period of time thinking about Lucy Gray after her disappearance, and certainly not 64 years in the future. He does not care about her. After leaving District 12 I have to imagine he'd be ready to forget the experience and look forward to his future, which as we know became quite promising.

I don't mean to say that Coriolanus wasn't effected by this experience, because he definitely was. I just don't think his feelings were fixated on Lucy Gray. Instead, the situation in 12 just confirmed what he already thought he knew: that people are inherently evil, self-serving creatures, and even those you trust will betray you at the slightest provocation. He developed a contempt not just for Lucy Gray, but for people in the districts in general. Or even humanity as a whole. That's why Katniss is such a threat to him. Without the Capitol to keep everyone in line, humans will revert to what they truly are.

This belief may have stemmed from his experience in District 12, and was certainly exacerbated by Dr. Gaul's manipulation. But I don't think that he hates Lucy Gray specifically, because to him, she's not even worth thinking about on any individual level. Instead, he holds humanity as a whole in low regard, especially the people in the districts, and we see this play out as he becomes president.

Hopefully my thoughts make sense here, and I'd love to know what you think!

#i haven't made a post like this in a long time #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #ballad of songbirds and snakes #thg meta #coriolanus snow #lucy gray baird #thg #the hunger games

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gatheringbones · 2 months

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[“Rehabilitation is meant to remake the person into a law-abiding citizen. Incapacitation removes the person from society so that they cannot do additional harm. Deterrence prevents people who might offend from engaging in harm because, having seen what the punishment has been or will be, they understand the potential negative consequences of their actions. And retribution, the oldest moral underpinning for punishment, is intended to ensure that those who commit crimes receive the punishment they deserve. Punishment settles the score between the person who commits a crime, their victim, and the wider society. Punishing survivors of gender-based violence is difficult to justify using these theories. In an era in which prisons barely meet people’s basic human needs and substantive programming is scarce, few argue that punishment rehabilitates. Nonetheless, in sentencing eighty-year-old Lavetta Langdon for the murder of her husband after fifty years of torture and despite his recognition that she had “lived in hell,” Judge David Urbom sentenced Langdon to eight to ten years’ imprisonment to “rehabilitate” her.

For criminalized survivors, relying on rehabilitation is particularly inapt. Crimes committed by criminalized survivors are often specific to their victimization. The problem is not with the person who commits the crime, but with the harm they are experiencing. Justifying punishment using rehabilitation reinforces outdated stereotypes suggesting that gender-based violence is linked to some deficiency or infirmity in the victim. Rehabilitation also assumes that the person convicted of a crime does not appreciate that their actions were problematic; rehabilitation is meant to change the person’s underlying values. Criminalized survivors understand that they may be technically guilty of crimes. What they dispute is the failure to recognize the context for those crimes and to apply the law—and the values underlying the law—appropriately. As one woman convicted of killing her husband explained, “I’m not asking to be found not guilty, because I am guilty, I took his life, I did it. . . . I am definitely guilty of taking his life, I mean, if I was found not guilty, they’d have to look for who did it, right, I mean someone’s got to be guilty. And I certainly take responsibility for what I did, I have no problem with that, but I certainly don’t deserve 18 to 20 years for it.”5 Faced with the same situation again, many would be forced to make the same choice. Incapacitation is generally linked with incarceration (although house arrest and electronic monitoring are forms of incapacitation) and assumes that because people have committed crimes in the past, they are likely to do so again unless removed from society. But many criminalized survivors have never offended previously, and most (including those who have been convicted of serious violent crimes) will not reoffend. Incapacitation is therefore unlikely to prevent offenses by these people.

What incapacitation does do is deprive society of the many other functions performed by these people—as parents, caregivers, workers, and members of communities—while at the same time imposing the costs of their incarceration on taxpayers. Deterrence is no more persuasive. The evidence for the deterrent value of punishment is inconclusive, particularly when the sentence involves incarceration. Sentencing people convicted of violent crimes to prison may have no greater impact on recidivism after release than sentencing someone to probation.6 Incarceration may instead spur offending by exacerbating preexisting mental health conditions or trauma and making it difficult for people to find legal employment after their release.7 For the criminalized survivor being punished, deterrence is largely unnecessary: that person is unlikely to find themself in the same situation again. Other survivors, perceiving immediate danger to themselves or their children and no other clear or effective options, are unlikely to be deterred from acting by the abstract threat of punishment or the knowledge that another person has been punished for taking similar action. Which leaves retribution. Retribution motivated the judge in the case of Barbara Jean Gilbert, who killed her husband after fifteen years of abuse. The judge handed down the maximum sentence of incarceration—even though the probation department asked for probation, citing her “exemplary” conduct, and prosecutors did not ask for prison time. The judge explained his decision: “You have snuffed out a life. . . . Therefore the court has the right to inflict pain and deprivation on you.” But what does a criminalized survivor deserve, particularly when the victim of the crime for which the person is being punished has inflicted immeasurable damage on that person? Retributivists stress that the punishment must be proportionate to the crime. To determine proportionality, context is essential. A proportionate response should factor in the harm already suffered by the person being punished. As Darcy K. WarBonnett has observed, prior to entering prison she was already serving a life sentence by virtue of having been abused by her partner. “We are incarcerated not AS punishment, but evidently for MORE punishment.”

Retributivists also argue that punishment restores moral balance. That balance is necessarily different, however, when the victim of a crime has abused the person convicted of that crime. The moral balance has already shifted away from the victim because of their earlier actions. Even if none of these rationales for punishment is satisfied, society may still seek to punish those who commit crimes. Punishment reinforces the value of and respect due community norms. Directing hostile feelings toward those who have committed crimes allows members of society to vent their frustrations and feel in control, while at the same time believing they are right. To the extent that punishment fulfills those needs, “punishment pleases.” The need to assert community norms and control motivates community members to call for harsh punishment of criminalized survivors. As one newspaper columnist wrote after Dixie Shanahan was sentenced: “Open a loophole for one woman to kill an abusive spouse and pretty soon you’ve got dozens of dead husbands.”]

leigh goodmark, from imperfect victims: criminalized survivors and the promises of abolition feminism, 2023

#leigh goodmark #cw abuse #currently reading

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slowd1ving · 2 months

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II. HOW DOES ONE DEFINE A NIGHTMARE? .・゜DAN HENG

One of the theories pushed forward in this universe—a common conjecture between scientists throughout the stars—is that there are disturbances in a system that is being observed, versus one that is not. This is astutely named the observer effect. And this situation is the first proper example he’s seen of that. Dan Heng feels that as soon as he takes his eyes off you, you’ll phase back to a space between these dimensions, like some specter there are only myths about. when data nerd Dan Heng finds the forbidden dictionary and masters the hidden art: synonyms male! engineer reader warnings: eventual nsfw, kind of but not really spoilers to dan heng's backstory, amab reader

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

DRINKER OF THE MOON, DEVOURER OF DREAMS MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

PREVIOUS PART . 　⁺ NEXT PART

There are many ways to encapsulate his sleeping hours.

He doesn’t quite want to delve into all the different synonyms that essentially make up harrowing.

Nightmare after nightmare plagues him. There’s the echoes from his past incarnation— feeling the terror, the loss, the anguish (yet never actually knowing the context behind this pain). There’s the haunting impression of being alone—a world of nothingness, in which he is bound by chains and fated to an eternity of stagnancy. There’s that pair of beastly eyes—so utterly, undeniably red as the insatiable sword pierces straight through his sternum.

It’s no surprise when he wakes up with cold sweat plastering his hair to his temples and his clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin.

Even on the Astral Express, the torturous sleep continues to chase after him.

He stumbles out of the archives; cold air hits him as he pads towards the kitchen, while the sweat still glistening against dermis only exacerbates his shivering. That’s why his vision is narrowed to only the door of the dining car and beyond—it’s appalling as a guard, but nothing out of the ordinary for just a man in this tender moment.

He can barely see, so excuse him for not being aware of his surroundings.

He doesn’t mean to crash into you. Really, he doesn’t. One minute he’s dragging his sluggish feet just fine against the plush carpeted floors—the next he’s stumbling over seemingly nothing, falling, falling, into what he knows will be a cold metal wall—

Except it’s not.

He’s just ploughed himself into your side, and you fumble.

It’s a strange experience. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt that sort of sensation before—the embarrassing trip and fall—but what’s even stranger is the proximity of the position he’s entangled himself into.

He’s shoved you against the wall, and is currently wrapped around your shoulders as he attempts to stand up again. Except he can’t; either he’s lost it completely, or he’s still recovering from that nightmare. Either are equally plausible.

“Ow,” you comment, far too late.

He wants to bury himself in space rubble.

“You make all your journeys to the kitchen this way?” you add, and it’s a lethal hit.

“I’m so sorry,” he manages to choke out, partly in panic, partly in apology, and partly in pure and utter mortification. He somehow pulls himself together enough to push himself off you and into leaning against the wall, but his eyes have been blown wide and his cheeks flushed in such embarrassment he doesn’t think he’ll ever recover from this.

Gone is his stoic image. If he showed his face on the Luofu in this state, he thinks he might get away with it since he’s so revoltingly unrecognisable at this moment.

“All good, man.” It’s delivered with such casual finality he can’t help but stare. Certainly, this has helped him forget the horrors of just minutes prior, but at what cost?

“You had a nightmare?”

This question is also delivered in the same, offhand tone that offers him the choice of simply remaining silent. But it’s not like he wants to do that—this, after all, is only one part of the already-too-few interactions he has with you.

“You could say that.” It’s not enough. The words don’t come out the way he wants: all shaky and so unlike his normal, composed cadence that he almost lets out one of his dry, sardonic laughs.

He’s not following you as you slip into the dining car.

When you glance back, he’s still against the wall: still thinking, still gaining his sense of self back.

“You, uh, need a hand to get to the kitchen?”

Now, you’re awkward. Had he not made himself into a fool, he mightn’t have witnessed this particular layer beneath the sculpture.

“That would be appreciated,” he lets out; the words stumble over themselves in one big mess. He agrees to your suggestion, totally for the support, totally for the additional stability, definitely not to be closer to you for once—

Look.

You offered in the first place, so why wouldn’t he take this hand of help?

Except, he would’ve most vehemently denied it had it been anyone else. If this was the IPC, they’d doubtlessly expect something back in return; but it’s not like he’d show them this sort of vulnerability in the first place.

You’re different. You don’t expect anything. Though your methods of interaction are crude at best and flat-out disturbing at worst, you aren’t cruel.

Himeko was wrong when she tried to make you more palatable to him. He’s a sweet— he’s not a bad person.

She’s wrong, in the sense that he’s still waiting for the bitter taste to taint his tongue around you: washing down his throat like the most pungent of coffees. You should be bitter, most definitely, but the way you’re wrapping his arm around your neck and holding it as though he— he, of all people—might break; the way you’ve got your other arm gripping the black fabric of the shirt resting against his ribcage like he might slip away again; the way you keep glancing to him then back to the walls, both checking in on him yet making sure it’s not too awkward—this isn’t bitter, this is anything but.

She was wrong when she corrected herself, or maybe she didn’t expect Dan Heng to realise your true nature by himself.

Even if it were Himeko or Mr. Yang, or even Pom-Pom, he would’ve also declined their hand. Maybe he just doesn’t want to feel like a burden, or maybe he doesn’t want to let them down, or maybe he’s just scared of disappointing and being disappointed—but the apathetic neutrality you held him to from the very beginning doesn’t seem so easily swayed.

As above, so below. There’s a certain beauty in this ‘equilibrium’.

But he discards those musings for a time where he can actually appreciate them, and focuses on the material rather than abstract.

You still carry the scent of motor oil; faint alkanes taint the gallery. Beneath it is harsh steel and iron: not unlike blood, but decidedly more pleasant. It mingles with the aromas coating your dermis: acerbic energy drinks, and more perplexingly, the sweet smell of mandarins he’s come across in his travels. At the very end of the long path of fragrance, there’s that decidedly human aspect: sweat, and hazy soap that clings to skin.

He decides he doesn’t mind the odd medley of scents (in fact, it’s very soothing—especially after the stench of blood in his nightmares—and he’s definitely not getting sleepy).

You’re warm. A pulse beats from where his skin exerts pressure on yours—steadfast, so utterly resolute he wonders if you’re ever affected by proximity. Are you picturing a Dan Heng pressed up against you, or is it a machine you’re lugging to repair? It would be amusing to think about if he wasn’t still shivering.

“You cold?”

You usher him into a stool by the counter, barely letting him process the question before you’re sliding a glass out of the cabinet, a pitcher out of the fridge, and a can of something from the cardboard pack stashed in a drawer.

He wants to deny it, he really does, but you’ve already seen him embarrass himself—if he answers you with his teeth chattering, he doesn’t know if his ego will even remain intact.

Scratch that. It’s already in tatters.

“A bit,” he admits.

When you turn back around, you’ve got a glass of icy water in one hand— for him, you slide the beverage—whereas you crack open the can of what he can only assume to be another caffeinated drink. Perplexingly, you’re shrugging off the loose hoodie draped haphazardly against your shoulders and—oh.

It’s warm against his bare arms, and smells so much like you that he thinks you’ve cloned yourself. If you performed mitosis right now, he wouldn’t be surprised. You’ve behaved stranger.

This, however, is something completely new.

“Thanks.” It’s quiet. Can you see the small smile he fights down while he takes a long swill of the crystalline liquid?

“No problem, man.” He can almost taste the artificial fruit extracts dance through the air as you take hurried sips of your own drink.

He’s forced awake at odd hours.

You’re working at odd hours.

It’s starting to become a bit of a problem. Each time he makes his way for a cold glass of water into the kitchen, you’re there replenishing your energy to take a break from whatever you’re working on.

It’s becoming routine. Nothing as embarrassing as that first night in the gallery, but something still so awkward he can’t help but feel antsy every time he alights from the futon in the archives.

It’s also becoming routine that he starts sleeping wrapped in your clothes, breathing in the scent of motors and mandarins and that hazy soap. He’s forgetful when he’s panicking, stumbling towards the kitchen where he knows you’ll be to distract him with whatever you’re talking about. Whether it’s interstellar politics, complaints about the ‘shitty’ manufacturers and other organisations of their ilk, or maybe some more idle things like card games—you welcome the break in this lonely hour, and he welcomes the reprieve.

One morning, it’s not the enthusiastic slam of his door from Pom-Pom that awakes him, but the methodical knocks from Himeko before she enters the archives.

“Wow,” she comments as he sits up at her entry. “You’re getting close with my dear apprentice, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t quite know what she’s talking about until he finally looks down and it registers. There’s another of your sweaters—this one graphically decorated with bleached robots who are puzzlingly sunbathing (“They’re recharging their solar cells,” he can almost hear you say, serious intonation and all). Before he knows it, his head’s already buried in his hands and he can feel the flushed skin pressed in the grooves of his palms.

He helps me sleep better— but the words die in his throat as he realises how that sounds, no matter how true they are. Feeling the warmth of another person—thick fabric, recognisable scent—helps him feel more secure when he inevitably settles in for the peaceful interlude in the next dreams.

Though, despite his refusal to acknowledge it, he has a feeling Himeko knows exactly the idle leisure that transpires past 3 system hours.

“Thanks.”

He pauses in his trance-like thoughts.

“I’ve known him for quite some time.”

She hesitates, and it’s the first time he’s heard her voice thicken like that.

“I think he’s happier nowadays, with a friend like you.”

Friends. The word catches at his own throat, and he doesn’t quite know why.

Himeko leaves, but the syllables linger in their own sort of way.

I think he’s happier nowadays, with a friend like you.

　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 ☾

The word when occurrences transpire more than thrice is habit, or more accurately, pattern.

It’s a pattern that his feet seek you out; pattern that you pour him a glass of icy water; pattern that you sit at the bar stool opposite from him and swing your legs idly.

For that half-hour, his thoughts are tranquil. Only for that half-hour. Before the system ever brushes past four hours, you’ve retreated back to your room and he can find not hair nor hide of you until the next nightly rendezvous.

It’s almost enough to make him forget that this is meant to be a temporary journey. Once one forms social bonds, it is that much harder to break them again—especially one as hard-won as yours.

Friendship is something Dan Feng knows well; those warmer feelings have been passed down to this current reincarnation. They are two separate beings, but the tenderness transcends mind and body.

Though he feels a foreign warmth at these systemic hours, he supposes he can’t call this friendship.

He doesn’t have an iota of knowledge about your past, nor you of his. There’s a mutual understanding to not pry, to not ask questions—to go any deeper than a superficial level. If this were a biology lesson, you’d be stopping at skin level and delving no further.

It’s so superficial, in fact, that it’s almost a comfort. You distract him from his nightmares and he doesn’t have to feel uncomfortable when you examine the why; he distracts you from the gruelling work you dive into daily, and he doesn’t question the why either. There’s an element of unhealthiness to it all, but the two of you are both at least a little sick in the head—perhaps that’s why the two of you stave it off a bit like this.

But you don’t acknowledge him outside that prescribed timeslot. You rarely ever leave your room, and when you do, that game of chess last played two months ago seems worlds away. There isn’t a word spared for him—you’re talking to Himeko, to Mr. Yang, and Pom-Pom. But not him.

It’s as though at night, a layer of yourself has been ground down by the day. You’ve softened enough to let him through that hard marble shell, just a little. As tough as the steel you craft. Maybe you’ve crafted your exoskeleton from it too—he wouldn’t doubt your capabilities that way.

He and you are not quite friends, it’s something far lesser.

And he’s left wondering where the line is.

Tonight especially.

It’s easy to slip into slumber—Trailblazing has a way of making him feel like it’s the Express crashing into him. After logging the important details of his mission into the Data Bank, he’s out like a light immediately.

The dream starts off mundane. It’s the regular—a nonsensical storyline, fragments of faces he’s seen weaving inconsistently through the dreamscape, some he’s never seen before and can only assume belong to the convoluted past of Dan Feng.

It’s nonsensical, but it stops being cheery when crimson starts seeping into its corners.

The nightmare, at this point, should also be mundane but is still anything but. The red-eyed man still chases him, he’s still getting pierced through by an insatiable sword, he’s still dying excruciating deaths as punishment for his sins.

Except, there’s an unexpected variable this time: you.

You’re getting slain in his stead, glassy eyes staring up at him—as if to remind him of the impression he first got when he saw you, like some cruel fucking joke.

You’re bleeding out continuously, and the smell of metal on you is no longer from the machines you adore, but from the iron inside you.

You’re dying, over and over, while he’s begging you to stay— don’t leave me. Like all the others in the ‘past’, don’t leave me too.

He wakes up panting—there’s a frigid atmosphere from the sweat drenching him to the very bone.

Dan Heng almost runs to the kitchen: stumbling through the luxurious gallery like that occasion all those weeks ago.

When he flings open the door, he crashes into you as you’re at the counter— breathing you in, taking in all the warmth so bitterly robbed from you.

“You…” you trail off, your words a mumble as his arms weakly support himself on the counter. He’s still leaning into you—your hands are pressed steady against his shoulders, and he can feel the warmth of your calloused palms on his bare arms. “You’re freezing.”

It’s unspoken. Almost robotically, you pull your sweater off yourself and he pulls it on.

Though, this time, you don’t hand him the icy water as is your modus operandi.

Rather, you’re rummaging through the cupboards, and you pull out a small cardboard box labelled with a script he doesn’t recognise.

“Camomile, lavender, and peppermint,” you translate, offering no explanation as you steep the tea in a mug with a wobbly cat drawn with wobbly lines with a wobbly handle. He gets it, he really does. “Sleep-aiders from a planet I knew.”

You don’t have your usual can either, instead choosing to brew yourself another mug as well.

That’s another surprise, but then again, you’re not the most consistent person.

“Thank you,” he mutters. He wants to look down at his hands, but he’s transfixed on your expression as you lose yourself in your thoughts.

You pass him the steaming mug, and he thinks the brush of your fingers against his scalds him more than the tea ever could.

“Worse, this time huh?” It’s not probing. You already know it was worse.

Yes. More than you could ever know. Your eyes, glinting in the soft light, did not look like this in his endless night.

He gives a noncommittal noise in response. It could be a hum, it could be a soft mumbled yeah. He doesn’t know.

You mull over something as you take a sip of your tea. Some of his is beginning to waft steadily upwards, drowning him in a gentle fragrance that somehow suits your presence when you’re like this. At this hour, when you can spare him more than a cursory glance, more than silence.

“Do you…” you pause, and he can feel his stomach tense in anticipation. “Do you want to stay in my room for a bit while I work?”

He didn’t expect that.

He almost drops the mug.

“Ah, you don’t have to or anything,” you explain hurriedly. “But Pom-Pom always says they get sleepy when they watch me map out new projects so if you’d like—”

“Yes,” he interrupts breathlessly. He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t sacrifice his dignity to basically beg you to numb his mind a bit more.

“I’d like that.”

And when you take his hand in yours—warm fingers clasped roughly around a clammy palm—he thinks that maybe he should stay on the Express a bit longer. Maybe a friendship won’t be impossible with you.

In your sweater, drinking your tea, he doesn’t feel as much of a stranger as he might have otherwise when he’s standing in your room.

It’s cluttered, as cluttered as he saw all those weeks ago—but that was just a small piece of it, nothing like the sprawled chaos that surrounds him now.

There’s a warm amber light shining over all the various machines decorating each corner, too many to count. They obscure the sprawling workbench tucked away near your wardrobe—it’s covered in various blueprint rolls and small bits of machinery that lay scattered between tiny screwdrivers and one comically large spanner placed bang in the middle.

You make the chaos work. Gauzy fabric flutters against the ceiling and windows—linking delicate trinkets, colourful lamps and various machines that shouldn’t belong where you sleep. If he’s honest, it looks like some opulent laboratory he only saw glimpses of in the Luofu—though he much prefers yours.

There’s no bed. When he asks, you inform him that you don’t sleep.

That is a joke.

When your deadpan expression finally gives way, you admit that the bed self-disassembles and assembles when the need for sleep surfaces.

He takes small swallows of the fragrant drink, watching as you quietly fit the parts together without screws. There’s no music, so the only sound present is the clink of metal pressing against metal, the sound of your careful breathing, and the pulse of his heart.

Unlike the kitchen, you don’t sit opposite him when you work. You’re sitting right next to him on the workbench. Each time you inhale, your torso expands ever so slightly and your arm presses against his in a way he definitely takes notice of.

He fights down the strange embarrassment that tightens his chest, and keeps sipping his drink.

It’s only when you’ve finally disassembled it and reassembled it with the screws that he finally begins feeling the soothing effects of the tea.

You’ve started sketching—a rough idea for a building, he notes—lines confident and bold despite your use of a ballpoint pen rather than pencil.

By now, he’s on his last morsel of the liquid ambrosia you’ve fed him.

And he’s getting sleepy.

There’s that constant scritch-scritch of pen as it moves against a thick sketchbook—easing into the paper with such languidness he feels it reflected in his own body.

His eyelids are fighting to stay up, and he knows that he should be polite and excuse himself so he can curl back into bed with flowers still on his breath.

He can’t bring himself to leave.

There’s just something about the warm lights and the lethargy that hits him with the force of the Express. He’s loathe to leave it; it’s easy, so easy to let his head drop, before it finally hits—

Not the desk, but your palm as you protect it from the collision.

“Wow,” you remark. “The tea really did do the trick.”

You don’t chase him away. When you ask if he’d like to stay a little bit longer, you don’t argue with the incoherent hum that exits his voice box. Before he can think about what he just did, your palm is cradling his head onto your shoulder.

He’s soft, Dan Heng notes; he’s already sleepily inhaling the clean scent of your fabric softener—face smushed into the folds of your shirt.

This isn’t his proudest moment. In fact, this is in his top three embarrassing ones.

However, that’s a conversation to be held in the morning.

He’s certainly not about to move from this position.

Dan Heng isn’t awoken by the hurried knocking of Pom-Pom—no, this sound is much more familiar, much more dangerous.

It’s the sound of a camera shutter clicking.

His eyes snap open, and he’s met with the sight of your folded torso and a flash of red in his peripherals. There’s something inexplicably soft pressing against his cheek, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the sleep that overtook him somehow landed his head in your thighs while you slumber over your desk.

He sits up—careful to bang his head on neither the desk nor your chin—and looks in horror at Himeko, who’s smiling serenely as though that sound he heard was nothing.

“Himeko.” It’s the first time since he met the woman that his voice holds that note of utter caution. “What did you—”

“Shh.” She gesticulates to you, then mimes her finger on top of her lips. “He’s still sleeping.”

He refuses to look at you.

“Delete that,” he mouths.

He thinks it’s the first time he’s been so stubborn with the older Trailblazer. And it’s only after he secures an agreement from her that he finally leaves your room—flinching from the door closing behind him as though it scalded him.

He never ends up talking to you about what happened that night. He’s not sure he wants to bring it up, but it never does happen again. Dan Heng’s nightmares have lessened considerably, after all—yet his body still urges him to wake at three and fall into restless sleep at four system hours, so the nightly meetings continue.

There’s a kind of mutual agreement between the two of you. Move on. The past remains unexamined, unexplained, and unapologetic.

He thinks he prefers it that way.

But in this situation, he really doesn’t know what to think.

He’s been here for over two months, or more accurately, 1480 system hours by now. Every time he makes a stop at another planet, he wonders.

Will this be the one? Would his journey start anew? Would he leave?

Each time, the answer is no.

It’s a lot to mull over. He’s running his fingers over the uniform rows of CDs and cassettes and physical drives in the cabinets of the archives: a calming, rhythmic pattern— over and over and over.

Why can’t he leave?

Dan Heng pulls one out at random and stops short in disbelief. In all his years, he doesn’t think he’s been so astounded at someone’s audaciousness.

It’s that damned photo, the one Himeko swore up and down was deleted—and clearly it wasn’t. He quickly adds aggravating to his mental list of her adjectives. He doesn’t know how long it’s been there—anywhere from a few hours to a week or so.

He’s looking at you, slouched over your desk with a spanner intimately connected to the side of your cheek. It’s not a flattering picture whatsoever, but he finds himself entranced by this side of you— yet another, undocumented crack in marble. There’s a faint glimmer of drool on your lips— slightly parted— but the expression you wear isn’t tainted by anger nor exhaustion. It’s all washed away. You’re relaxed.

You’re relaxed, and his head is firmly marooned on your legs. The position makes him flush—while his face is thankfully forward, his ears are pressed to both your thighs and your chest as you snooze on the table. He’s not just confused, he’s flabbergasted. How did he get there? Was it really that bad—sure, he remembers waking up against your legs, but nothing as compromising as this!

He stares at the image a moment longer, then buries his face into his palm with an exhausted sigh.

Dan Heng knows he should throw it out—use his spear to hack away at the picture until all that remains is artificial snow for good measure for both his dignity and yours—but he can’t, for some stupid reason.

With lips pressed together, he slides the photo back into the cassette holder and quietly copies the data into a blank one. When it’s replaced back on the shelf, it looks identical to the one he’s still holding.

It’s shoved into his bag: yet another secret to keep under the layer of superficiality.

And when his mind finally clears, he’s already forgotten what he was meant to be doing in the first place.

All that lingers is one thought: I don’t mind this friendship.

This thought is quite bittersweet.

　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 ☾

#dan heng #dan heng x reader #hsr #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #x male reader #x reader #male reader #reader #res ･ﾟ writing

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darkpoisonouslove · 3 months

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HotD S02E01

Many thoughts, head full, zero ability to articulate so I'm just gonna scream about it... on main. That'll end well.

First thing I have to say is that the atmosphere and tone definitely work very well here. You can feel the tragedy in the air, the way that it's already happened and it just waits to unfold, to be witnessed in its full glory. Everything is so eerie and bleak and everyone keeps going but they cannot escape the framework of the war. They're trapped in it and you feel it.

Daemon is... he kind of surprised me ngl. There are definitely layers of emotion there that isn't just rage or bloodthirstiness. I didn't want to strangle him the entire time so that's a positive.

Emma D'arcy was amazing in this episode and (I could be missing something; too lazy to check but) she only had that one line??? And still, you feel her grief. That was certainly an interesting approach and it worked for them!

Aegon is such a contrast to all the other characters! I know he's supposed to look completely out of place and incompetent but damn, I am On. His Side! He's ready to be so generous to the small folk. He's trying to compensate on what he missed with his own father by spending time with his son. He has no idea how to interact with Helaena but he's trying his best and goddamn, if that's not a summary of his character! 😭😭😭😭😭😭 (this is an Alicent AND Aegon stan account now, I guess)

(that scene of him and his buddies drinking in the throne room has such fuck boi vibes and yet, SOMEHOW he was utterly hilarious and still sympathetic in it (I'll talk about the place of that scene in the plot later))

@ Otto and Larys: STEP AWAY FROM THE CHILDREN!!!!!!

The scene with Otto and Alicent was surprisingly touching. They finally reach some kind of understanding... and then he turns right around and continues to scheme behind her back. Sure, what he was trying to accomplish with Aemond is in line with his talk with Alicent but he's going to have his own agenda 100%. This wasn't just a strategical decision because Aemond is mad at Alicent rn and wouldn't want to hear any of her opinions even if they're also Otto's opinions.

Which leads me to THE SITUATION BETWEEN ALICENT AND AEMOND AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!! I. Am. Screaming (as you can see)! They are both so hurt and angry at each other 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 And I can't even take a side because both of them are correct in different ways. What Aemond did is actively hurting the whole family because it certainly exacerbated the war proceedings. But he's also right to be upset that Alicent would (seemingly) place her old friendship with Rhaenyra above her love for her children. She should feel vindicated that the one that mutilated her son is now dead. But instead, she's angry and has turned away from Aemond. When she was the only one who stood by him (and vice versa) on that awful night when his eye was gouged out????? The disappointment that they each feel in the other is KILLING ME!!!!!!!!! (I have to say that I hadn't thought about the possibility of Aemond being angry but it makes perfect sense and it hurts me so badly. Look at the contrast of this and this)

And now for the absolute fuckery of this episode (pun unintended). I have zero problems with Alicent and Criston fucking. Good for them! Love the moral dilemmas that are 10000% going on in their heads. HOWEVER, the decision to make them have sex while Blood & Cheese is going down? More anti green propaganda from the writers and I am SICK of it. Alicent was originally part of the scene, she was there to experience the horror of it first hand and they choose to switch that for her having sex????? You know the same thing that Rhaenyra and Daemon were doing when the whole fight between the kids in 1x07 was going down and they got no shit for it whatsoever but, of course, Alicent and Criston are going to be torn apart about this, I am 100% positive about that! Once again, the writers are trying to manipulate the viewers by going "See! Not only is Alicent being a hypocrite because she said she wasn't going to do this with Criston again, but that's what she was doing when her grandson was getting murdered" when originally she was bound and gagged and had to watch the whole thing happen in front of her. You could say that they spared her that trauma but they literally could have had her doing anything else if that was the intent. I am ANGRY about this. Not to mention the fact that Helaena literally interrupting Alicole while they're having sex adds an obstacle to Alicent offering her comfort. At the very least she has to get dressed first before she can hug her and try to provide some kind of feeling of safety, which inserts awkwardness if not downright shame into Alicent's actions and choices during that night. (Oh, and this will probably make her stop having sex with Criston, which is going to be another big L; let her be marginally happy and have orgasms, goddammit!)

Let's go back to Aegon now! So while Alicent and Criston are too busy fucking to be any the wiser about what's happening with her grandchildren (even though they literally couldn't have known anything like that would happen), what is Aegon doing? (Probably) drinking and stroking his ego by trying to come up with titles for himself... as the assassins are walking past him, right under his nose. Don't think he's not gonna get shit about that by fans if not by the writers themselves! They have set everything up so perfectly to blame all the Greens for allowing this to happen (since Otto and Aemond are so ready for war and yet were nowhere to be found during this either) but what about the Blacks, who organized all of this? Well...

They are whitewashing Daemon now by making Jaehaerys's murder be the idea of the assassins themselves. You see, Daemon would have never gone after a 4-year-old! He was only going after Aemond! And this is yet another misunderstanding like with Lucerys' death, except that this was way more deliberate but you cannot blame the Blacks when the people that they hired acted on their own. I hate it here! The writers are cowards and cannot commit to the actual characters that they're supposed to be writing so they're just doing whatever they want. And doing it badly at that! (That whole sequence was so fucking disjointed and lackluster also so congrats to whoever wrote this on the terrible job that they are doing!)

Poor Helaena! She's literally not going to get anything in this season. They already did Blood & Cheese so now they're just going to make her lose her mind and give her nothing else to do. I hope I'm wrong about this but I don't think I am given their track record.

Anyway, go team Green!

*I already bitched about this in the tags of another post but the fact that in the extra ("inside the episode" or whatever it's called) they had the gall to say that Alicent was in a "marriage that was loving but not exactly romantic or physical for quite some time" is a fucking insult. HE CALLED HER BY AEMMA'S NAME! HE USED HER AS AN INCUBATOR AND COULDN'T EVEN BE BOTHERED TO CARE ABOUT HER OR THEIR KIDS. SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!!!

#house of the dragon #hotd season 2 #hotd #this is going directly in the fucking tags #team green #anti team black #anti hotd writers #alicent hightower #alicole #once more for the people in the back - good for them!#aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #helaena targaryen #thoughts #review #sort of

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chalkrevelations · 1 month

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if you don't want to talk about this further, just ignore this of course, but have you seen pond's fucking instagram post about build? (without saying his name of course) i know automatic translations can be wonky, but overall, he is making it all about himself and his feelings, STILL "both sides" the whole thing, and throws in a "watch the new ep of our show" (you know... the one they took away from build) at the end. the audacity that man has is just beyond comprehension. i truly hope karma will do its thing and ruin the company and that man's life.

Hi, Anon. I. Hm.

I went back and forth a couple of times on whether I actually did want to respond to this. I have a lot of feelings and opinions about Pond and about BOC under his direction that I’ve rarely spoken about so publicly (although I have some suspicions, for Reasons, that some things I’ve said in semi-private spaces have been spread further than those spaces). I'm very aware that I'm at a cultural and linguistic disadvantage when I try to evaluate anything about Pond or BOC and that I'm therefore working with limited information. But I don’t think it’s a big secret I’m not a fan of Pond’s. From what I’ve seen, I think his behavior has been deeply problematic and unethical, and not just in relationship to Build’s situation - although the way he’s tried to portray himself as peacemaker during this whole debacle with Poi has certainly only exacerbated my negative impression. The best I can give him is that maybe he’s unaware of his own unctuous self-centeredness? So, while it would be gross and skeevy that he would 1) make something as serious as this all about himself and his own feelings, and 2) use it as a mercenary chance to flog his latest BOC property despite the fact that property no longer has anything to do with Build, I wouldn't be surprised by it.

Personally, I'm sorry that I gave him and his company the benefit of the doubt for as long as I did. Like many other people, I bought into the “big happy family” fan service for a while, before eventually accepting that it was just as much fan service as any branded pair, so, mea culpa on that front, right? But I think too many people didn’t and haven’t realized or accepted that, and that Build in particular has paid an out-sized price for it - including when people have put the blame on him for the cracks in the facade, especially in misplaced anger and outrage over the “leaked” DMs that threatened the happy found-family narrative BOC was selling and that fans want(ed) to believe.

I think Pond and BOC have been very good at manipulating fan sentiment into believing their self-imposed Hero Edit and self-promotion as industry disrupter, despite evidence to the contrary that goes back as far as the filming of KPTS, when Poi and Yok got away with sexually and otherwise harassing multiple cast members, including a teenaged Barcode. It extends through leveraging Barcode’s and other cast members' emotional response to Jeff’s departure to provide a show for a live concert audience, and forward to a reality show in which a bunch of young wannabe actors were pressured into exposing their worst moments, on television, for prurient viewer interest. Setting up Apo, of all people, to hawk skin lightener was a terrible thing to do and makes everyone involved a worse human being.

So, no, I wouldn't find this latest skeevy behavior surprising. I don’t know what Build’s hopes and plans are, as far as regaining a domestic career, and he's always seemed, publicly at least, to be far more forgiving of Pond than I would be in his position. I don't know if that's personal, cultural, or professionally rooted. But I personally hope Build has enough resources to allow him to avoid getting involved with Pond again, given the way Pond and BOC have treated him – from folding to a ginned-up harassment campaign so that Build was kept out of the public eye precisely when VP was airing/trending (funny, that), through leaving him to twist in the wind from the time of Poi’s first salvo of plagiarism accusations - which BOC apparently couldn’t be bothered to respond to, even though it was one of their properties at issue - to Pond standing around for a year and a half with his hands in the air like a bystander while Nong Poi publicly curbstomped someone who Pond claimed was a friend and part of his work "family," before sad-facing for the press about how hurtful it was that Build decided to leave the “family” that had publicly damnatio memoriae’d him.

Anyway, that's really more time and emotional spoons than I want to spend on Pond or his company - tbqh, they're one reason I'm semi-hiatusing at this point - so I'm likely done talking about them after this. But as usual, once I start, I talk forever, so here this is.

#build jakapan #follower count down again in 3 ... 2 ... 1 ...

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blackautmedia · 10 months

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I'm sure plenty of people have seen that HBomb video now and one of the underlying things it indirectly touched on beneath a lot of it is also why I tend to be really picky with video essays.

Plot summary versus analysis. So many videos would benefit from this and be direct about what they are. Plot summary is still valuable when you know the audience you're courting is unlikely to know about the topic you're discussing.

Because there's a profit motive tied to most of them, particularly due to the amount of time and effort it takes to properly put one together, it creates a lot of situations where people are pumping out content to be as reactive and ride on trends as much as possible even if they're not well thought out. The algorithmic nature of YouTube also exacerbates this. You get a lot of videos that react to trends but don't necessarily have anything meaningful to say about it. Someone like HBomb can make a single video and reliably count on it being sufficient for even just a year, but most people aren't in a position to do content at that frequency.

A lot of more academic style video essays are almost always severely lacking in disability analysis and it displays a lot of harmful brands of leftism. That's not to erase the disabled voices we do have, but the focus on trying to apply so many academic norms to video essays also means that a lot of critical voices for oppressed identities that don't have easy access to those spaces (e.g. a lot of chronically disabled people) often don't get considered. Some of these groups you really have to be active in the communities to be able to know and listen to.

YouTubers also have to contend with the worse side of the algorithm in that you don't have enough control over what audience gets targeted in who views your video. How you frame and package your video is incredibly crucial to the audience you get and how they respond to it, but all it takes is your video hitting the wrong side for people to subject you to a great deal of harassment. I made a video where I just mention Chris Rock offhand in one sentence in a video not about him but people still get upset that I criticized him even though he's a rapist. White people get really uncomfortable at just the use of the word "white people" and stop listening and get angry in the comments. You can easily pick out moments where Youtube video essaysists will clearly have that "I don't really care about this, but I need to say this and spend half my video pre-emptively addressing really basic things in the hopes it'll reduce some of the harassment I get."

YouTube quite frankly is also just unsafe for a lot of creators. You run the risk of harassment and for many of the more marginalized voices (e.g. trans, non-white, disabled ppl, people of marginalized genders, etc) you're at higher risk for doxxing and other forms of danger. So there's always the lingering danger of being on some hate site or a part of a harassment situation.

Video essaysists that build enough of a following aren't just making videos, but they end up building a community and following. Because so many of the institutions around us deliberately withhold information about things like queer history and analysis, gender studies, race and disability analysis and so on, video essayists intentionally or not capitalize off that vacuum of information. A lot of the inaccessibility in how living spaces have become for people means that a lot of people don't have third spaces or communities they can turn to, which is a big part of what makes these personalities so appealing. Content creators should be very aware of that fact because if you make say LGBT content you're going to likely court a lot of younger LGBT people who don't have an ease of access to community. You're going to get a lot of undiagnosed neurodivergent people. I find a lot of attachment to individual creators can be rooted in a lot of the lack of community many of these people have, though certainly not always the case. I feel that leaving the conversation at just "parasocial relationships" also oversimplifies the nature of this part of the issue.

Academic so-called activist grifters position themselves as either activists, academics, or advocates but don't care to grow or do anything other than court bigotry out of their viewers under the guise of progressive ideology. Trying to make educational style video essays requires a great deal of humility, curiosity, and vulnerability in being able to constantly grow and challenge yourself in looking for videos, something a lot of people are not willing to do. A lot of bigotry just gets dressed up with progressive language. A Black youtuber talking about the ways white women perpetuate racism? Sure. A white "leftist" constantly injecting some attack against white girls and women in situations where it makes no sense though?

At the end of the day, I think it's good for both viewers and creators to be aware of these things and always treat essaysists with a bit of caution.

#hbomberguy #video essays #youtube

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mariacallous · 10 days

Text

Russia has had significantly more women than men for decades. The country’s 2020 census found that women and girls made up about 54 percent of Russia’s population, while men made up about 46 percent. Since February 2022, this gender gap has almost certainly become even more pronounced, as more than 120,000 Russian men have been killed in the war against Ukraine. Journalists from the independent outlet Cherta Media spoke to demographers and sociologists about why Russia has had such a gender imbalance for so long — and how the invasion of Ukraine is affecting the situation. Meduza shares an abridged translation of their report.

Worldwide, about 105 boys are born for every 100 girls. At the same time, early childhood mortality is higher among boys than among girls. As a result, even with the small “head start” for boys, the ratio of boys to girls (and later men to women) within each generation becomes smaller over time, and by a certain age, the number of women in a given age cohort typically surpasses the number of men. But while in Japan, for example, this happens at about 56 years old, in Russia it happens at around 30.

Life expectancy is lower for men than for women in nearly every country in the world. In some countries, however, this difference is merely three or four years, while in others, it can reach 10 years or more. The latter scenario is especially common for post-Soviet countries.

In 2022, Russia became the country with the largest difference between the life expectancies of men and women: on average, men live nearly 11 years less. The result is a population gap of about 10 million: 68.4 million men vs. 78.8 million women. And the war only promises to exacerbate the disparity.

Why are there fewer men than women in Russia?

While it’s commonly believed that Russia’s gender imbalance stems directly from the turmoil of the early 20th century (when it experienced the Russian Civil War, the world wars, and the mass repressions of the 1930s), these events don’t explain why the gap persists, according to demographer Alexey Raksha. This is because while a majority of the people dying in them were men, the youngest surviving participants are currently over 95 years old. In the second half of the last century, meanwhile, there were no wars that significantly impacted the country’s demographic situation; even the Afghan War and the Chechen Wars killed a relatively small portion of Russia’s population.

In fact, the current imbalance is due to the high rate of male deaths due to everyday causes, such as murders, suicides, car crashes, and other fatal accidents. Male mortality from chronic diseases is also exceptionally high, and many Russian men lead lifestyles that accelerate the progression of these diseases, Raksha says. The death rate from cardiovascular diseases among men aged 16–59, for example, is 3.1 times higher than among women of the same age.

“One major factor here is toxic masculinity — a kind of male behavior that’s prevalent in certain countries, including Russia,” sociologist Irina Tartakovskaya tells Cherta. “Men in these countries often pay less attention to their health because it doesn’t fit their idea of a ‘real man,’ the idea that one should be strong and ignore any ailment they’re suffering from. This model leads to risky behavior among men: involvement in criminal activity, aggressive driving, and, as a result, car accidents — all of which increase male mortality.”

But the biggest reason for the high mortality rate among men is alcohol abuse. “Every year, at least 150,000–200,000 people die in Russia due to alcohol, and about 80 percent of them are men,” Raksha says. “Alcohol leads to the development of various fatal illnesses, from liver cirrhosis to cardiovascular diseases, and often triggers external causes of death as well. For example, a majority of murders are committed under the influence of alcohol.” He notes that Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev’s anti-alcoholism campaign in the 1980s led to a 3.5-year increase in male life expectancy.

“From 2006 to 2018, the consumption of life-threatening beverages decreased as people began switching to ‘lighter’ alcohol,” Raksha explains. “However, the situation changed drastically due to the ‘vodka lobby.’ In the 2010s, [the authorities] ‘cracked down’ on beer and other low-alcohol drinks, imposing new customs duties and increasing excise taxes on them but not on stronger beverages. By the start of 2024, the situation had become even worse: the full force of excise taxes and duties, along with further legal restrictions, had hit wine, beer, and low-alcohol beverages the hardest, while duties on cheap imported liquor didn’t just remain the same but were lowered. As a result, people gradually started returning to stronger drinks like domestic whiskey, which inevitably leads to an increase in mortality.”

The high prevalence in Russia of alcoholism and tobacco use — another major contributor to the high male mortality rate — is attributable to the country’s social conditions, Tartakovskaya says. According to her, most Russians have few opportunities for social mobility or maintaining a high quality of life, which leads them to engage in destructive behaviors to cope with the stress.

What role does the Soviet past play?

In the 1960s, male mortality began rising in all socialist countries, while female mortality, if it increased at all, rose at a much lower rate. The mortality gap widened, and this trend has persisted ever since. According to a British study from 1996, the difference between mortality rates in Eastern Europe and those in Western Europe was primarily a result of differing behavioral patterns: neglecting one’s personal health, as well as alcohol and tobacco addiction, were particularly common among men in socialist bloc countries.

Analysts from the think tank To Be Precise have identified several factors that they say likely contributed to the higher levels of destructive behaviors in these countries. These include:

Ideological norms that prioritized societal interests over individual well-being and promoted the idea that “life should include an element of heroism”;

A higher share of the population doing hazardous jobs or working in facilities with unhealthy conditions;

The media’s promotion of the ideal man as someone strong who never complains.

“Ideas about masculinity differed between socialist and capitalist countries. In capitalist societies, men could assert themselves by starting businesses, building careers, and making profits. Someone with these aspirations would take care of his health, as it was an important tool for his success,” Tartakovskaya says. “But there was no equivalent in socialist societies. The pursuit of personal success and good earnings was frowned upon as ‘careerism’ and seen as a denial of societal norms and values. This meant that men could assert themselves only through service to the state, often at the expense of their health.”

These, along with other societal patterns with roots in the Soviet period, have been “absorbed” into the cultures and lifestyles of people in former socialist countries and continue to affect them today: in almost all such countries, men live significantly shorter lives than women. Overcoming these patterns will be a long and difficult process, according to an analyst from To Be Precise: “Behavioral models aren’t easily changed, and 30–40 years is a short period for this kind of shift.”

The social effects of gender gaps

Large gender imbalances can lead to a range of problems in modern societies, according to Tartakovskaya. “When there’s a shortage of brides and numerous young men unable to start families, it typically generates social tension and widespread frustration. [Among other things,] it often gives rise to incel [“involuntary celibate”] movements,” she explains.

On the other hand, a shortage of men creates its own set of problems. In traditional societies, according to Tartakovskaya, it leads to a labor shortage and a subordinate role for women, who are forced to compete for men’s attention and the chance to have a family. “When there were too few men, many women would remain unmarried [and] would be treated with contempt and scorn,” she says.

While contemporary Russian society generally puts much less social pressure on women to start families, Tartakovskaya says, the demographic imbalance still poses major challenges for them. “No matter how modern our world becomes, traditional systems continue to shape us and our understanding of it. Girls are taught from a young age in [Russian] society that they’ll have to fight for men’s attention and compete with other women for this ‘limited resource.’ This leads to increased anxiety and other mental health issues among women, while at the societal level, it hinders cooperation and solidarity,” she says.

These problems are exacerbated when state propaganda supports the idea of traditionalism, as has happened in Russia in recent years. Moreover, Russia’s economy continues to operate within a patriarchal framework: many jobs are simply unavailable to women. Given the shortage of men, this results in a labor deficit.

Another issue tied to the shortage of men and their early deaths is the large number of single mothers in Russia. About 40 percent of all families with children in the country have single mothers, and while society no longer stigmatizes them the way it once did, they remain an especially vulnerable group, tasked with supporting both themselves and their children while often struggling to find stable employment.

“The government is forced to spend substantial amounts of money on their support, but in most cases, it’s unable to protect these women or compensate for the loss of breadwinners,” an analyst from To Be Precise explains. “There are various benefits and support programs [for single mothers], but the level of assistance they provide isn’t enough for a family supported by a single woman to lead a decent life.”

The impact of the war

Around 2006, the gap between Russia’s life expectancy and those in developed countries began narrowing, and the difference between men’s and women’s life expectancies began decreasing, according to Alexey Raksha. By early 2020, Russia’s gender gap had fallen to just under 10 years. The situation worsened somewhat with the COVID-19 pandemic, which Russia responded to less effectively than most Western countries. Then the Kremlin launched its full-scale war against Ukraine. Today, Russia’s life expectancy is lower than it was in 2018–2019, and the gap between male and female mortality has widened to nearly 11 years.

About 2–3 percent of Russia’s male population is involved in the war. But because the average age of these men is 35, their “reproductive value” is much higher than the 2–3 percent figure suggests, according to Raksha: if it weren’t for the war, many of these men would likely be starting families.

“The special military operation has a significant impact on the life strategies even of families and individuals not directly involved in the conflict,” Raksha says. “Some of them decide to leave the country, while others are postponing their reproductive plans due to a sense of instability. As a result, fewer children, including boys, are being born.”

At the same time, according to market reports, alcohol sales in Russia have surged in recent years, which suggests consumption has too, Tartokovskaya says. This could result in additional premature deaths in the years to come, particularly among men. Like the war, alcohol causes deaths primarily among the young. Meanwhile, Raksha predicts the situation will only increase in the near future: “Alcohol consumption and alcohol-related mortality could very well rise among soldiers returning from the front lines,” he says.

The war and the loss of young, working-age Russians is already creating a labor shortage, according to Tartokovskaya. How the government might address this issue is unclear; in Raksha’s view, labor migration is unlikely to be a viable solution.

“Bringing in a large number of migrants is politically disadvantageous for the state: an excess of migrants can spark xenophobia and fuel local resentment. Moreover, migrants are increasingly reluctant to come to Russia: it’s becoming unsafe for them, and salaries in rubles are becoming less competitive in the international labor market due to difficulties with currency transfers and unpredictable exchange rate fluctuations, even though [these salaries] have been increasing markedly,” Raksha says.

At the same time, Russia’s increased male mortality rate may put additional strain on the government’s social policies, according to analysts from To Be Precise: “High male mortality could lead to an increase in widows and single mothers, and if the state fails to act and provide support, this could bring a rise in poverty.”

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werewolfetone · 5 months

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2nd try—

did the british have a big role regarding tensions between the catholics and protestants in Ireland (as in making them) as opposed to taking advantage/exacerbating them? the speech im reading uses Ireland as a similar situation to caste in india (hence the ‘ireland jumpscare’ lmao) . a common argument used to dismiss/ignore the latter is that it is an imperialist import (so we don’t really do anything bad, we don’t really have any privilege/advantage cause of it, etc etc)

does the same hold true for ireland? said speech (annihilation of caste, dr ambedkar) was written in 1930s iirc, so maybe late 19th cen-20th cen? (i am very ill versed in irish history, school had one page for the whole uk)

Ok so short answer, the way I look at it is that while we do have a responsibility to try and lessen protestant/catholic tensions and break down barriers for the benefit of everyone &c &c today, yes, Britain did play a role in creating protestant/catholic tensions in Ireland. Longer answer:

It's important to remember in discussions of Britain + Ireland + sectarianism, that, to quote the book Scripture Politics by Ian McBride, "there was nothing peculiarly Irish about the eighteenth century obsession with popery." Nor was there with the seventeenth century, or the sixteenth century, or the any century since the Reformation -- since the categories of protestant and catholic have existed, with the possible exception of the 21st century,* Britain and British people have been fighting for one and against the other, often as violently if not more violently than Irish people have. The reasons for this were complex -- questions of freedom, religious doctrine, and national identity too complicated for this post and which I need to do more reading on before I can speak at length about. What matters is that any actions involving Britain and sectarianism must be put into the context of Britain being a very sectarian state itself for as long as that was possible, rather than a state which just exacerbated sectarianism elsewhere. Admittedly most of what I know about caste in India comes from my Indian friends irl talking about it, so this comparison is almost certainly not perfect, but imo it's a little less like the British exacerbating caste in India and a little more like if the British had been butchering one another over caste independently and then come over to India, realised that the same caste system existed there, and immediately decided to bring the conflict over with them. Essentially it can't really be said to have been something Britain just "exacerbated" because, well, Britain was playing an active role in it.

Secondly, & perhaps more crucially, it's important when it comes to Irish history that "protestant" and "catholic" don't just mean what church one attends. In a similar way to how the Israeli occupation of Palestine is not "Jews VS Muslims" but a case of settler colonialism, "catholic" in the context of Irish history usually means one considers oneself Irish, while "protestant" usually indicates a connection to Britishness. There are many exceptions, of course! There are lots of protestant republicans and catholic loyalists, especially historically, but if, like, someone from Derry were talking about "prods" in the modern day they would almost certainly be referring to ethnoreligious conflict between people who are considered Irish and people who are considered British, rather than genuine disapproval over doctrinal disputes (there are exceptions to this, too, though. some of the stuff my mother says...). Both of these labels also often denote a whole other set of cultural behaviours apart from religion (pronunciation of certain letters, what school one attends, so on and so forth). Mentioning this mostly just because I think it's interesting, but wrt this issue I often think about how when modern sectarian violence in the north of Ireland really emerged in 1780s Co. Armagh, rather than "catholic" "anglican" and "presbyterian," those involved would distinguish the three groups by referring to them as "Irish," "English," and "Scotch**," respectively, indicating that the understanding that sectarian violence has been just as much about questions of identity and nationalism as religion for a really, really long time.

So. Do I think that, had British colonisation not happened, Ireland would never have gotten involved in any religious conflict? No. Getting into religious wars was really just what European powers did for a very long time, so a hypothetical free Kingdom of Ireland or whatever in an alternate 17th century probably would have been just as eager to butcher the protestant dogs as other catholic countries like France or Spain were. However, as real history stands, the fact that Britain's crusade against Irish catholics in the real life 17th century was part of Britain's own protestant/catholic religious war, and the fact that 'protestant/catholic conflict' in Irish history is nearly always just settler-colonial violence (perpetrated by Britain) with fancy dressing, mean that yes, I would say that Britain must take at least some responsibility for the existence of protestant/catholic tensions in modern day Ireland.

*personally I wouldn't include the 20th century in this due to the continuation of sectarian tensions in scotland

**historical term for "scottish" I am using as I am quoting historical documents where it was used. if u start discourse over the use of this word on this post I will block u

Sources under the cut

Farrell, Sean. Rituals and Riots: Sectarian Violence and Political Culture in Ulster, 1784-1886. University Press of Kentucky, 2000.

McBride, Ian. Scripture politics : Ulster Presbyterians and Irish radicalism in the late eighteenth century. Clarendon Press, 1998.

Cone, Carl. The English Jacobins: Reformers in Late 18th Century England. Taylor & Francis Group, 1968.

Coward, Barry. Oliver Cromwell. Longman, 2000.

Rees, John. The Leveller Revolution: Radical Political Organisation in England, 1640-1650. Verso Books, 2017.

#+ also don't feel bad for not knowing things!!! personally at the moment I know shamefully little abt indian history and I definitely don't #know everything abt irish history. everyone is learning forever etc #irish history #jory.postbox

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