#and yes theoretically its my own fault

[icedcoffee2809]

I DID NOT DROP FRENCH JUST SO THAT ECONOMICS CAN BECOME MY NEW NUMBER 1 ENEMY

[llamagoddessofficial]

A completely sad/sappy (sadpy?) self indulgent piece I wrote last night while feeling several Feelings. consider this an author insert & death sans thing

---

“... tell me about you.”

She blinked, sitting up, no longer leaning against his soft black cloak, waking out of the stillness the tree's shade and the gentle rain had cast over both of them. His words had come completely out of nowhere.

“Pardon?”

Reaper looked down at her, his expression unreadable. “i can’t say i’ve met many other mortals who seek out the company of death.”

She gave him a look. “Don't be ridiculous. I know plenty who would seek your company.”

“they would seek my touch.” His gaze was low. Those eyelights saw more than normal eyes ever could. “they would seek... earthly desires. nothing wrong with that, i also seek those. but i’ve never had someone seek me out merely for my company.”

“I’m not that interesting.” She mused, softly, notably leaning back against the tree, and not him. “Besides. You’re great company.”

“tell me regardless.” He pressed. “consider it my just payment. for my great company.”

... She hummed. Despite her easygoing exterior, he could sense her resistance, her immediate discomfort. He had sensed it, from the beginning; her unwillingness to share about herself. Her quick deflections, her paradoxical fear of letting others know her, despite her clear desperation to be known.

He was patient. He would wait as long as it took for her to collect her words.

...

“... You’re the only one who gets it.” She said, eventually. Her voice lacked its usual quickness, its usual exact choice of word, the wittiness he liked so much.

That gave Sans pause. “... go on.”

“I don’t... love anyone. I don’t feel romance. I can’t help it.” She stared into the middle distance. “I’ve never been in love with anybody. Even when I really wanted to be.”

He watched her, quietly.

“... I let my guard down, y’know. Every now and then. I let myself get close to people. Then... sometimes they start to feel things that I can’t reciprocate. They want me to love, but I can’t. They see it as a fault with me, or worse themselves, and what we had in the first place falls apart.” She looked down at her hands. “I gave up getting close, because I’m tired of hurting people I care about with the way I am.”

“... hm.”

“... You’re the only one who... gets it, I think.” She couldn’t look at him. “Feeling like you’re separated from everyone else, through no fault of your own. But at the end of the day, that separation is the reality you’re in, and you have to live with it.”

“feeling as if everyone is part of something that you can’t even begin to be part of. and even if you suddenly joined one day, everyone else is so far ahead of you, you could never hope to catch up in time.”

She nodded. She did eventually look at him, a small smile forming on her face. “Yes.”

“you enjoy my company most, because you know i won’t grow to expect anything from you?”

“You’re mature. You’re... well. Death. I’m a human. I can trust you not to love me. And theoretically, even if you did, I think you’d have very different expectations about it. Expectations we could manage.”

“... is that why... your relationship with error is so fraught?”

She let out a short laugh. “Error and I are ‘on break’. Would you believe me if I told you I used to like him the most, because I thought he hated my guts too much to catch feelings?”

Sans grinned. “error is full of surprises. yet i think the fact that you grew to somehow like him surprises me the most.”

“He’s a giant manbaby. But he’s funny. And I liked having someone I could shamelessly argue with.” She tucked her knees up to her chin. “We’re not on speaking terms at the moment. He got upset I spend so much time with you, then tried to kiss me.”

“... ah. that’s why he’s been watching romantic aus.”

“... I write about worlds full of love. Worlds where, regardless of looks or faults, romantic love always prevails and conquers all. Worlds where a self-insert can feel all those feelings I hear about on the radio.” Her breathing was very controlled, very quiet. “But it’s wish fulfilment, isn’t it? Giving a version of me the things I’ll never have. Giving everyone else the stories I’ll never be part of. Even if one of my most perfect characters stepped right out of my pages, I’d never have that 'happy ending'. I couldn’t give them what they wanted from me. I couldn’t give them what I want to give.”

A pause. She didn’t seem to like how obviously upset she had become. She emotionally retreated, quickly fixing on a smile, lowering her legs back into their previous crossed position.

“... I sound full of myself, I know." She chuckled artificially. "Oh, woe is me, I can’t get close to anyone because everyone just falls in love with me all the time.”

“no, not at all.” Sans reached out, and laid his hand over hers. “it’s happened more than once. you can’t blame yourself for recognising a pattern.”

... She squeezed his hand.

“i can’t promise i won’t love you. that’s a dangerous promise to make.” He murmured. “but i can promise i won’t ever expect romance from you, nor let romantic feelings define our relationship. closeness and love does not require romance. i’ve had thousands of years to come to grips with much more upsetting subjects than a woman potentially not returning affection i develop.”

...

She shuffled up to him, and tucked herself back against his cloak, her cheek pressed to the soft fabric. He reciprocated, wrapping an arm around her.

“Thank you.” She said, quietly. 

"of course."

... They stayed like that, for a long time.

[weapon-ish]

you know, actually, frankly, i think it's rather bullshit that aziraphale pulls the "our car" move. and he doesn't say "our bookshop," he says "it's like the bookshop ... we both get plenty of use out of it."

does he even know crowley's living in that car and not his apartment? because as much as i believe that the shop is an embassy of heaven and maybe, maybe that's a reason crowley couldn't live there... it doesn't seem like he's even tried asking crowley to move his things in. or would even know to. and also, like, he hangs out there fairly regularly anyways? so what, jim gets a bedroom immediately even though he's a fugitive of heaven? arguably as risky to keep in heaven's embassy as a demon would be?

the plants only go inside the shop to make room for aziraphale's things, and he doesn't even ask about them. and sure we can say, oh well crowley probably didn't ask to stay, crowley might not have said anything. but good fucking lord, would you just not notice if your only friend was living in their car? would you really not? would you not try to offer something? anything?

aziraphale is so, so comfortable asking-nigh-demanding that crowley entrust him with the bentley, so comfortable telling him to stay in the shop with gabriel... and can't even apply his own logic of ours, ours, ours to the shop. is that not uneven? is that not unkind? and he changes the bentley. it's not his fucking car! but he turns it bright yellow as if it's not big deal to miraculously alter it. this from the angel who insists that miracle-ing things into one form or another is tangible, that you can tell it was different?

i've seen people say the bentley changed color for az - i disagree. it may have played him different music because he expected nice music on the radio, and the bentley theoretically has a functioning radio. but that car is black, and always was black, and aziraphale knew that and would know not to expect it to change color on its own. he changed it to suit himself without even thinking of the fact that that car is damn near a part of crowley.

he changed the color crowley chose for himself - to something sunny and bright and agreeable to him - without even considering what that could mean. without even thinking that crowley might notice something had changed when it returned. so comfortable changing something so integral to crowley, without a hint of a thought about the implications or impact. hmm.

not even touching on the fact that he just expects crowley to accept being told to stay back and look after, oh i don't know, the archangel fucking gabriel. even if jim was harmless himself, being with him might've been dangerous! but no, it's fine, stay with the being you're clearly afraid and suspicious of. stay here in my shop - that we both get so much use out of, of course - with the most sought-after being in the universe, while i take our car to go figure things out. oh, sure. sure!

and yes, yes, i will admit that crowley wasn't communicating a lot. probably didn't say he was homeless, probably didn't tell aziraphale exactly what gabriel had said. didn't say he was scared, didn't try to explain things more. but would aziraphale have even listened? crowley had valid concerns ignored and came running back anyways, just to be told to do a little song and dance apology and continue to have his worries swept under the rug. listen, i said jim needs help and we have to shelter him, so bugger alle this about your fears. i'm good and i'm right and that's just that.

i know aziraphale has been manipulated by heaven for all of time. i know, i get it, i do not fault him for that. i do fault him for seemingly not having a shred of empathy or consideration or compassion for how any of this affects crowley. for not listening to the things crowley was saying, both out loud and between the lines. god, that hurt.

all you've been through and you can't, you just can't fathom the implications of asking crowley to be an angel? how that is fundamentally changing crowley - to be sunny and bright and agreeable to you? you can't fathom how that's wrong, or how that's trampling over everything he's ever been, or ever shown you about himself. is that wanting to keep him safe, or is it wanting to be right and have things your way? could be both. but it's horrifically heartbreaking that he can't see what's wrong there. you can't change the bentley and you can't change crowley. they are only what they are and, god, after all this time - you should know better than to ask them to be any different.

[sunshine-cult-unhinged]

Here is the entirety of the "Mad scientists more like sad scientists" fiasco in the cult. A Roleplay thingy that grew on its own. I thought it was fun so here is all of it :)

(it grew naturally from a joke, so excuse the often tone changes)

People involved: @crystallized-crow @kandibeetle @local-tragedy17

(Necessary Knowledge: Corvidae was telling Kyle about the effects of radiation, which led him to make a joke about radiation pancakes, thusfar creating the image that would be Carnis' doom.)

Kyle: hey carnis..... eat the yummy pancakes....... I promise your bones won't glow afterwards......

Carnis: ooh tasty. Those look so yummy, Thank you!

Carnis: These taste like radiation! 😟

Kyle: yummy yummy!!!

Corvidae (Dr Radiation): I am frankenstein and you are my monster. with the information i have given you, you poison my best friend.

Kyle: but don't you know, Frankenstein is the true monster himself?

Corvidae (Dr): i have been well aware all this time

Kyle: Am I wrong for using the knowledge you have gifted me in the way you described it?

Corvidae (Dr): yes, yes you are. I was describing a theoretical- cautionary tales.

Carnis: Its ok guys haha im oka☢️☢️☢️ what was thay.

Kyle: you taught me, with words of death and poisoning, and you're upset when I only understand it in that way?

Corvidae (Dr): YES, AS IT WAS A CAUTIONARY TALE TO KEEP YOU SAFE.

Kyle: But if I did not grasp that the tale was cautionary, is it really my fault? Did you clearly describe that I am not meant to do the things you have taught me?

Carnis: Guys dw about me being irritated is kinda fun

Kyle: your bones will rot soon.

Carnis: My b🦴ones! owie!🤣

Corvidae (Dr): i had assumed that you had a firm grasp on morality, common sense, and logic- yet i was wrong to do so.

Kyle: You use the metaphor of Frankenstein and his creature, and yet you treat me like I will understand everything but what you have taught me. The creature was just a child who didn't know the world, as I am.

Corvidae (Dr): and yet, frankenstein- whilst controlled by hubris- victor was just a man, as am i. mortal as flesh and blood can be.

:this is when I started talking about mpreg ("I FORGOT I WAS GOOGLING MPREG"):

Kyle: he was a cruel man- a child himself. He had no right to dabble in his hubris, he was immature and he did not deal with the repercussions of the child he created. He was a man, yes, but man is inherently evil.

Corvidae (Dr): HUBRIS IS A DISEASE, AS ANY ILLNESS OF THE PSYCHE.

Kyle: STILL, VICTOR WAS SELFISH AND ABANDONED A CHILD WHO KNEW NAUGHT OF THE WORLD, OUT OF FEAR. and while that's what man has always done, it doesn't make it right. He should have protected the outcome of his hubris.

Corvidae (Dr): THE HUMAN NATURE IS NOT SOMETHING I CAN CONTROL. if we are inherently evil, should we fight our nature? am i out of control in your eyes? DO YOU THINK I HAVE LOST IT, KYLE??

Kyle: YOU ADMIT WE ARE EVIL YET ARE SHOCKED AND UPSET WHEN I AM EVIL MYSELF. Being evil is human nature, yes, but it can be changed. It SHOULD be changed. I learn of evil, I am of evil, but you are surprised when I act of evil? Why should we NOT fight this hurtful nature. Why should we not change? And yes In fact, I feel you are spiraling out of control. Talk of human nature then reject it. you have lost it. (I feel as this made no sense)

:we compare this argument to Laplace's angel:

Corvidae (Dr): AND YES, yes kyle. YOU WOULD BE RIGHT! I, DOCTOR CORVIDAE RADIATION, HAVE LOST MY MIND! if you believe that i, considering you wrong for poisoning my best friend- corrupting flesh and blood that is mine as it is his means i have spiraled out of control, GET ME CONSOLE! GET ME CONTROL!! justify your actions to me one more time and i will require restraints- i am hysterical.

Kyle: So you admit that you feel that human nature is to be evil but it is wrong to be so? That I, myself, am wrong for acting on the knowledge that YOU gave me? In a funny way, it's almost like YOU are the one that poisoned your friend. If I had never known these truths of the world that must I remind you, I learned from you, doctor-- nothing would have happened to Carnis. I understand why you are upset and I am glad you shared your ugly, beautiful, knowledge with me--but I feel that this is more your doing than mine. Who are we, if not who we come from? Become hysterical, I don't care. It will just prove that you not only hurt Carnis, and not only me, but also yourself. You're the truly corrupted one in this situation, doctor.

Corvidae (Dr): OUR CORRUPTION SHOULD HAVE NEVER TOUCHED CARNIS. YOU BROUGHT FLOR-AN INNOCENT MAN, INTO A CORRUPTION FURTHER THAN WHAT HE DESERVED. I MAY BE CORRUPT, BUT I DID NOT HURT YOU AND I DID NOT HURT CARNIS. YOU ARE NOT THE VICTIM. YOU WILL MEET THE FACE OF YOUR CORRUPT NATURE AND YOU WILL WEEP AT HIS FEET. YOU WILL NEVER, EVER CONVINCE ME THAT WHAT I HAD DONE WAS WRONG.

:E:"What's happening" C(Dr):"we are committing to the bit" S:"you are committing to BIOLOGICAL WARFARE!!":

:Carnis Joins the Moral battle:

Carnis: Is it even a bit anymore? The radiation has begun to leak into my soul, what once glowed a soft blue now shines a sickly green

Kyle: YOU CORRUPT ME, AND ARE UPSET WHEN I CORRUPT SOMEONE, JUST AS WHAT HAD BEEN DONE TO MYSELF. WHILE, YES, YOU NEVER INTENDED TO HARM CARNIS, FLOR WAS HARMED BY YOUR KNOWLEDGE. HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO UNDERSTAND THAT I WASNT MEANT TO HARM IF IT WAS NEVER TAUGHT TO ME? I DO NOT CLAIM TO BE A VICTIM, MY GOOD SIR, BUT I DO CLAIM TO BE INNOCENT BY ASSOCIATION, JUST AS I AM GUILTY. Who is to say who is right and wrong here? None of this could have happened without you, just as it couldn't have happened without me. I do not claim to be innocent, but you cannot claim that either. We are both guilty, and we are both innocent. These two statement do not conflict as much as you are making it seem to be. Who is to say Carnis himself is not guilty, for partaking in the pancakes?

Corvidae: .

kyle.

i will say this only once, and i will not say it again. if you insist that carnis is not innocent one more time, i will harm you.

Kyle: Then harm me. Harm me just as you have harmed your dear friend. No one here is innocent.

Corvidae (Dr): I DID NOT HARM HIM, I DID NOT.

*I slam my fists against the cold, marble table insistently.*

Kyle: *I take a step back, shocked by your impulse.*

You did, Corvid. You hurt him and you continue to

hurt flor by not accepting the truth-- you are forsaking his pain

Carnis: Maybe i am guilty, i understood the dangers of consuming the pancakes, yet a voice in my head cheered me on to take a bite, just a small bite of the irradiated meal. i am not innocent, but neither are you, and neither is kyle. i believe we all have blame to take.

Corvidae (Dr): CARNIS PLEASE. don't let him blame you

Carnis: I am not letting him blame me. i understood the implications of eating the pancakes, of biting the forbidden cake.

*I put my head down and tap my foot*

Kyle: Thank you for understanding, Carnis. I am sorry that I have helped harm you, influencing your death. The pancakes were my idea

Carnis: It is ok. In the end, I died by my own fascination, as curiousity kills the cat. I dont blame you. You were curious, just as I.

:R: "What is this.why are you guys rping the second coming of adam and eve what.why is there a forbidden food":

Corvidae (Dr): *i erratically step forward, tears in my eyes. i shake as if infected with ferocious rabies.*

YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND KYLE. YOU DO NOT FUCKING UNDERSTAND ME.

Kyle: YOU SAY, YOU SAY THIS, DO YOU EVEN UNDERSTAND YOURSELF? YOU ARE BEING CHILDISH, BLAMING ME FOR ALL OF YOUR PROBLEMS WITHOUT ACCEPTING YOUR OWN BLAME.

Corvidae (Dr): *i, distraught, violently step further, tears and anger filling my eyes-shouting in your face all the while.*

HOW AM I BEING CHILDISH? I ATTEMPTED TO TEACH YOU, I WAS GIVING YOU THE GIFT OF A CAUTIONARY TALE. YOU ARE A SELFISH MONSTER FOR NOT TAKING THE BLAME ON YOURSELF.

Kyle: *I stay calm, looking you right in the eyes.*

You have no reason to yell. I see, I see. You are blinded by your own pain. I see, and I understand-- but I do not condone. You call me a selfish monster-- which is only a reflection of yourself. You can't bare to accept that you took part in the harming of your dear friend. You refuse to take the blame and put that on me. I DO accept that I have a part in this. I AM to blame-- but you are just as wrong here as I.

Carnis: QUIT YELLING, THE BOTH OF YOU, AND LISTEN TO ME! YOU WILL BOTH WALK AWAY FROM THIS ALIVE BUT I WILL NOT! WOULD YOU PLEASE JUST LISTEN TO THE ONE WHO IS HAVING THE RADIATION EAT AWAY AT THEIR CELLS!?

Corvidae (Dr): *my eyes soften, as i turn to face you- the anger burning in my teeth quickly dissipating.*

I- sure.

Kyle: By god, we've both been too blinded too selfish-- to listen to the one hurt here. We should... we should listen to Carnis.

*I take several steps away from Corvid, allowing my face to relax.*

Carnis: Thank you.

*I scan the room, staring at you both with tired eyes. I was tired of the yelling.*

You have both had a part in this, but please, please know that i am not upset. I am scared, yes, but I do not feel anger at either of you. All i ask is to please make my death worthwhile? Don't let me go as just another victim of radiation.

Kyle: And how can we honor your life and death, dear friend?

*I look down at the floor, not wanting to face the truth. I hold hands behind my back, with an expression of guilt in my eyes*

Carnis: I give you both full permission to take my body and use it for science. Experiment, dissect, study.

Kyle: science... is that what will make death worthwhile, in your eyes?

Carnis: I believe so. And if you cannot bare to dissect a friend, then take me to somewhere where the radiation will not be a harm, and lay me in the ground.

Corvidae (Dr): *i look back, swallowing my pride as tears roll down my face. the near-feral anger is now completely gone from my eyes as i cover them with my hands.*

carnis- if... if that's what you want, i-

*the tears begin to further fall as i begin to choke on the pride i'd swallowed. i attempted to speak, yet nothing would come out.*

Kyle: perhaps we could... find a way to help others who may suffer the same fate as you.

Carnis: Yes! Yes that's it! That would be an honor!

*I grab you and corvids hands Of course, it will not take full effect for a while. Perhaps we could spend some time together before I pass?*

Kyle: I would like to apologize to you, Doctor. For blaming you, and hurting your friend. I never wanted to do harm I... don't know what I was on with...

*I look up, and hold out a steady hand.*

Can you ever forgive me?

Corvidae (Dr): *my hand shakes. i try to forgive you- to move on- yet my body refuses to give. i cannot make myself move my hand*

Kyle: I... I understand. I am sorry nonetheless.

Corvidae (Dr): *I shake further. I can barely keep it together*

Please... I would like nothing more than to spend your time with you.

Kyle: That sounds... wonderful. I would love to spend your last moments with you. Thank you forgiving us both, despite what we have done. I am sorry it had to end this way.

Corvidae (Dr): *with my last, hyperventilated breaths, i continue before completely breaking down.*

...it was never meant to go this way.

:S:"this was originally about green pancakes howd this happen":

Kyle: *I look away from you*

I feel the same. I don't know how this truly came to be.. Maybe no one is to blame.

Carnis: Its alright. I don't want to spend my last moment in misery, I want to spend them side by side with those I care about.

Kyle: What can we do for you, dear friend... to honor your happiness.?

Carnis: Go for a walk with me. Just a small one, out in the forest or somewhere where the sun is beaming down, then we can go for a snack, perhaps.

Corvidae (Dr): *they wiped their eyes.*

that. that i can do.

Carnis: The both of you, come with me.

Corvidae: *i follow- appearing malcontented yet swallowing back the anger i felt.*

Carnis: Lets go. Corvid, I know its hard but please try to forgive Kyle for me. I don't want to know my two friends are being split apart.

[undercat-overdog]

I plod along, not making any progress, on my post-canon fic where Celebrimbor is a main character, and really wish I were able to fit in more about Celebrimbor and the Feanorians. It’s really not appropriate for the fic - Celebrimbor isn’t defined by them and is well past spending time and emotional energy thinking about them (it’s several thousand years later and C has relationships with other people) - and yet I have thoughts that I would like to work out in fic.

So here’s one of them, a snippet that won’t be published otherwise:

“The histories say we did not find the strength to unmake the Three, Galadriel and I.” Celebrimbor’s hand went to Narya on its necklace, hidden under his undershirt. “It is… perhaps it is that. Feanor’s fault come again, to refuse to destroy the work of my hands. But I do not think so.”

Sauron reached out and caught Celebrimbor’s hand, caressed it gently. Celebrimbor cast his face down but looked up at him from under his eyelashes; Sauron caught the sight and carefully set it in his memory to treasure. Celebrimbor was a thing of flesh and bone, theoretically not unique, and yet…

“There is one fault of Feanor’s I do not have,” said Celebrimbor. “I treasured my creations and gave them away; I did not keep them and hold them to myself in secret. I am not Feanor: I did not destroy them, as he destroyed the Swan Ships. They were of my own make, yes, as the Swan Ships were not Feanor’s, but they were not mine. I had always planned Nenya for Galadriel and Narya to Lindon, only Vilya for Eregion.”

He drew a breath. “And it was not just the Three that I died for, but the well-being of their bearers and the Eldar you sought to control. It was not my life I valued more either.”

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

do you have a favourite line from cleanness by garth greenwell?

omg THE ASK OF MY DREAMS!!! The one that comes to mind first is the last line of the story/chapter "Cleanness." In Cleanness, the narrator and his boyfriend R meet at a restaurant and discuss the complexities of coming/being out.

Literary analysis below lol (spoilers of course though you can't really "spoil" this book in the traditional sense).

I wanted to root into him, even as the wind said all rootedness was a sham, there were only passing arrangements, makeshift shelters and poor harbors, I love you, I thought suddenly in that rush that makes so much seem possible, I love you, anything I am you have use for is yours.

Garth's prose astounds me as a poet, and this section is exactly why. The focus here is TOTALLY on rhythm and how rhythm imbues emotion. In prose writing, you don't often see people discuss how syntax, repetition, and even length can reinforce meaning, those techniques are usually spoken of as a means to beautify prose. And while that's true, you can certainly beautify prose by implementing the techniques Garth used, as a poet, I can really see how these techniques have been used, yes, for beautification, but also for deep meaning.

Cleanness as a chapter to me revolves around a desire for a "before" that's not possible to achieve. The narrator's boyfriend, R, really grapples with what it means (and feels like) to be unclean, and is disturbed by the fact that a past trauma could've "tainted" him (and is that a bad thing now?). We're dealing with so much internal grief from R, which feels worse because he feels (and is) so young. We know seeing R this way, in existential contemplation of what's formed his identity, queerness, etc, is a difficult task for the narrator. This causes a conflict between them at the restaurant.

The narrator wants to bring his older wisdom to the conversation & in doing so doesn't allow himself to really feel R's grief. After the conflict comes to a head and they leave together, the narrator reflects on what R has said, particularly that he's not sure of the "origins" of his queerness and it's only then that he takes a step back to think rather than explain/comfort (things R doesn't want). There's another paragraph here that contextualizes this last line for me:

CW: implications of sexual assault

Of course it wasn't his fault, I would say, of course he was blameless, entirely blameless; there wasn't any invitation he could have given, even if he had wanted it there wasn't any permission he could give. But none of this was right, I rejected the phrases even as they formed, not just because they were objectionable in themselves but because none of them answered his real fear, which was true, I thought: that we can never be sure of what we want, I mean of the authenticity of it, of its purity in relation to ourselves.

I think that bolded line is a turning point for the narrator where he realizes that everything he believes of himself and his identity (& even what he thinks could be "good for" R in his own identity) is not as simple as he might've been approaching it earlier in the conversation. Earlier in the chapter he'd said, "so much of what he complained about seemed of his own doing, and so easy to change," and I think the above paragraph makes him realize that that's not true. The narrator spent so much of the chapter trying to convince R theoretically of the life he could have if he came out (perhaps only taking his own experience into consideration), and at this moment I think he's a little sobered by his preconceptions.

SO that leads me to the line I've said is my favourite, lol, the reason I love it so much is because it's finally a moment where he appears to truly listen to R. I think there's a certain poeticism in the context too--that line is coming in the middle of a sex scene. It feels like the narrator for the first time is listening to R not only in what he'd previously said at the restaurant, but also physically. He feels R's grief here BECAUSE they're finally connected after spending the whole chapter staggered from each other (mentally AND physically).

So it's a thematically impactful line to me because it wraps up everything we've just read. We get it now--the narrator now seems to feel devoted to R in another way, not just as his boyfriend, but someone he can be a part of in a way he couldn't be before because he wasn't allowing himself to listen. "anything I am you have use for is yours" is SUCH an incredible phrase, because it's like the narrator's saying "I see you now and I surrender myself to you." The punctuation there is also so interesting--note there's no comma or "that" between "anything I am" and "you have use for." That feels deliberate--an act of devotion slamming into a moment the narrator acknowledges himself. It feels like he's saying "I am you and therefore I'm yours."

Last thing I love is again a tiny punctuation thing--there's no "strong" punctuation between "poor harbours" and that first "I love you." The narrator is in the middle of thinking, in the middle of casting his own desires (he wants to "root into" R) when he seems to snap out of that sprawling reverie and as if from instinct, just say, "I love you." His logical thought process that seemed to push R away in the restaurant breaks and doesn't matter anymore, all he knows is "I love you." THE POET IN ME LOVES THAT SO MUCH. Commas can make SUCH a big impact in rhythm, and the fact that Garth chose to use a comma there DOES SO MUCH. It feels like his thoughts are slamming headfirst into almost primal feeling. That sentence is a confession.

If we swing back to the paragraph with the bolded line, the narrator says we can't be sure of the authenticity of our desires, but in this final line, he IS certain--he doesn't need to explain why (as his instinct was in the restaurant), he just knows.

I love this book so much LOL.

[7r0773r]

The Story of My Teeth by Valeria Luiselli, translated by Christina MacSweeney

I am Gustavo Sánchez Sánchez, I said. I am the peerless Highway. And I am my teeth. They may seem to you to be yellowed and a little worse for wear, but I can assure you: these teeth once belonged to none other than Marilyn Monroe, and she needs no introduction. If you want them, you will have to take me along too. I gave no further explanation.

Who will open the bidding? I asked in a quiet, calm tone, catching Siddhartha's eyes, fixed on me.

Who will open the bidding for me and my teeth? I repeated to an undaunted audience. A hand went up. Exactly what I'd imagined occurred. For the price of 1,000 pesos, Siddhartha bought me. (p. 62)

***

After a while, the same lethargic, nasal voice sounded from the loudspeaker.

The great Fancioulle! it said, oozing with snide humor.

I assumed that the clown on my left was now addressing me, the one with the multiple ascending eyebrows.

I know what you're thinking, great, great Fancioulle.

What?

You're thinking you're better than the rest of us.

No, that's not so.

Have you heard the parable of the red-haired man, by the great writer and philosopher Danil Kharms?

I have, in fact.

Well, you're like the red-haired man he wrote about,

Fancioulle, so listen carefully:

There was once a red-haired man who had no eyes or ears. Nor did he have any hair, so he was only red-haired on a theoretical level. He couldn't speak, because he didn't have a mouth either. Nor did he have a nose. He didn't even have arms or legs. He had no stomach, no shoulders, no dorsal spine, and no intestines at all. The man had nothing! Hence, there is no way of knowing of whom we are talking. In fact, it would be better to say nothing else about him.

End of story.

End of story?

End of story.

That's not a parable. It's an allegory.

It's a superb parable, a supraparable, and one that seems inspired by your very self, Fancioulle. What do you think?

It's informative.

Really? Just informative?

Very informative, and also ingenious. But I don't understand why it's a parable.

And so what would you suggest I do about it, great Fancioulle?

I wouldn't suggest anything.

That's what I thought. Don't you realize that you've got nothing to offer?

Yes, I guess I do.

And that the schism between the perception you have of yourself and the perception other people have of you is irreconcilable?

Maybe.

You're also incapable of laughing at a joke that isn't your own. You're incapable of appreciating humor. And that reveals the limitations of your intelligence.

Fine.

And if you cross the boundaries of eccentricity, Fancioulle, what's on the other side is buffoonery: you're a clown.

Please, enough is enough.

That's just what I say, Fancioulle. Enough is enough. And if you did me a favor?

What is it?

I need a monograph on the Russian Revolution. Will you get it from the stationery store for me?

Yes, of course, I replied, suddenly finding myself swamped in docility.

And I need "Cotton and Its Derivatives" and "Arctic and Antarctic," plus one called "Whales and Their Derivatives," and maybe also "Flags of Asia." 

O.K., I'll find them for you.

Thanks, replied the voice, satisfied.

By the way, you don't happen to know what model his VW is, do you? I inquired, pointing to the clown in the red bodysuit, who was looking at me in complete silence, blinking from time to time.

A white VW70, there's no doubt about it.

And which pound is it in?

I think it must be in the one over in Calle Ferrocaril. But why are you going for his car?

Because it was my fault they towed it away.

I waited for the clown's reply. It didn't come for some time.

When the ventriloquist voice sounded again, I immediately knew that it was the fourth clown talking to me, the one with the sinister face painted red and black. I was by then prepared for the blows, the humiliation, for his outrageous attempts to wear me down. What that son of a fat sow didn't know is that the peerless Highway is unconfoundable and unbreakable. I decided to get in first, matching my face and voice to my predicament.

Fancioulle, at your service. What can I get you, Siddhartha?

There was a long silence.

What would you like, son? I repeated. 

Nothing, he eventually replied.

No, really. What can I get you?

Nothing, really, nothing.

Come on, tell me. Something, anything at all, I insisted.

Honestly, you can't get me anything, sir.

A glass of water, at least?

No.

You're not going to refuse a glass of water!

Well, O.K. A glass of water.

I’ll fetch it for you, I said, finally getting up from the floor and stretching my arms and legs. It took me a few moments to regain my balance, but as soon as I felt steady in my shoes, I crossed the room in a state of sudden, unconcealed euphoria. I felt light, freed of something. I suppose my uncle Fredo Sánchez Dostoyevsky was right when he said that insult, after all, is a purification of the soul. I made a polite bow to the catatonic clowns and went out the door: la-la-tra, la-la-tra. (pp. 86-90)

***

ALLEGORIC LOT NO. 6: BAT Artist: Miguel Sánchez Calderón Listing: 6M

Guillermo Fadanelli was reading The Phenomenology of Spirit by a one-quarter namesake of his, Jorge Guillermo Federico Hegel, when suddenly a midget came into the Shanghai Star restaurant in which he was seated, pulled up a chair, and sat down opposite him. The man identified himself as Pushkin. They asked the waiter for a round of beers and Pushkin started to cry. The reason for his tears, he told Guillermo Fadanelli, was that his father was a rake. The word he used was донжуан, and it is not certain if the translation "rake" is correct.

Half an hour later, Pushkin took his leave. Immediately afterwards, another midget entered the restaurant and came to sit at the table. Guillermo Fadanelli invited him to have a drink. After taking a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping away the tears streaming down his face, and noisily blowing his nose, the midget said that his name was Gogol and that the reason for his unhappiness was that he'd learned that his father was a degenerate. In this case, the word he used was вырождаться. Everything would appear to indicate that the translation "degenerate" is correct.

When Gogol left, a third midget came into the restaurant. Predictably, he repeated the same routine as his two predecessors and sat down at the table. Studying him as he blew his nose, Guillermo Fadanelli said: Let me guess, your name is Dostoyevsky, and you are wretched because your wife is a трутень. The midget stared at him in astonishment. Why do you say that? he asked, after taking a long swig of beer. Guillermo Fadanelli answered that догадался по горячности своего голоса and gave a slightly ironic smile. You're wrong, Guillermo. My name is Danil Kharms, and I'm blowing my nose because I'm allergic to pollen.

At that moment, the waiter approached the table holding a basket of Chinese fortune cookies. Guillermo Fadanelli took one and split it into two halves the way you would crack an egg. He let the slip of paper fall onto the table. Then, slowly unfolding it, he read aloud:

That is how one imagines the Bat of History. His face is turned toward the past. Where we perceive a chain of events, he sees a single catastrophe that piles ruin onto ruin and he hurls it to his feet. He would dearly like to stop, to awaken the dead and to reassemble what has been torn to shreds, but a hurricane is blowing in from Paradise and becomes tangled in his wings, forming a knot of brilliant lights, a knot so strong that the angel can no longer close its wings. This hurricane impels him inevitably toward the future, to which his back is turned, while the rubble rises up to the sky before him. That hurricane is what we call progress. (WALTER BENJAMIN, SLIGHTLY CHANGED)

Does the slip of paper say all that? asked Danil Kharms.

Yes, replied Guillermo Fadanelli.

I don't believe you, Kharms retorted, and shot Fadanelli between the eyes.

He then extracted a cookie from the basket the waiter was still holding out. Copying his now defunct companion's movements, he broke it into two identical halves, let the slip of paper fall onto the table, picked it up, and read:

When biting bamboo sprouts with your teeth, remember the man who planted them. (pp. 133-35)

***

In mid-nineteenth century Cuba, the strange métier of "tobacco reader" was invented. The idea is attributed to Nicolás Azcárate, a journalist and active abolitionist, who put it into practice in a cigar factory. In order to reduce the tedium of repetitive labor, a tobacco reader would read aloud to the other workers while they made the cigars. Emile Zola and Victor Hugo were among the favorites, though lofty volumes of Spanish history were also read. The practice spread to other Latin American countries but disappeared in the twentieth century. In Cuba, however, tobacco readers are still common. Around the same time this practice emerged, the modern serial novel was also invented. In 1836, Balzac's La Vieille Fille was published in France, and Dickens's The Pickwick Papers was published in England. Distributed as affordable, serialized chapbooks, they reached an audience not traditionally accustomed to reading fiction. I realized I could combine these two literary devices that had once proven adequate in contexts not too different from the one I was facing. In order to pay tribute to and learn from these reading and publishing practices, I decided to write a novel in installments for the workers, who could then read it out loud in the factory. (p. 192)

[caitimetravels]

she’s insignificant

chapter 2: welcome home

the umbrella academy x (fem) reader

disclaimer: i do not own the plot/storyline of the netflix tv series and i do not own the umbrella academy characters.

warnings: mentions of death, mentions of drugs and alcohol, poor parenting

masterlist

“number eight! this is serious! if you do not train properly you will not be allowed to join your siblings on missions.”

“number eight! that’s not how you behave!”

“no, number eight! how many times must you do this before you get it right?”

“no! not like that, number eight! you must be quicker, smarter, stronger! you’ll be a liability”

“no! again, number eight!” 

“number eight!”

“number eight!”

she wished it was stop. the yelling. the shouting. the insults. the pain. the training. all of it. her head hurt. she could feel the anger swirling around, growing. control. she needed control. relax.

she took a deep breath. again. again. she pushed herself over and over until she collapsed. she worked herself to the bone only to always be left with disapproving stares. the scowl. the glare. and then she was alone, forced to pick up the broken pieces and put herself together. she didn’t have her other siblings. their family dynamic wasn’t much of a family dynamic but just once she wished one of them could be there. even just to see what she was going through. it hurt that she was alone. she hated alone.

--------------------------------------------------

“um..” luther slowly stood, unsure. “i guess we should get this started” he looked around at his siblings sitting in parlour. they all sat separately with klaus making drinks at the bar in the back.

“are we having a family meeting?” y/n stepped into the room, confused. she paused as realisation crossed over their faces. “..you forgot me”

“sorry, y/n, we didn’t mean-” allison started, trying to defend them. y/n shook her head.

“no, no, don’t apologise. it’s okay.. let’s just get this over with” she waved off any concern, taking a seat beside vanya. in her lap sat a familiar book. 

--------------------------------------------------

“you’ll be okay” ben spoke softly, gently bandaging y/n’s arm. he gave her a small smile. the pair sat in the back of the library, secluded and separate. the others were too wrapped up in themselves to care. 

vanya stepped over a moment later. she frowned at the tears on y/n’s cheeks. taking a seat beside her she offered them the cookies she had stolen from the kitchen. they weren’t meant to have any until dessert but ben and vanya found this much more important. y/n sniffled, taking the cookie in her good arm. 

“thanks v” she gave a watery smile, eating a big bite of the cookie to stop the sobs about to escape her mouth. ben and vanya shared a frown over her head. 

“should we read something?” ben offered, pulling a random book off the shelf behind him. y/n merely nodded, she needed this to calm down her raging emotions. these two were the only two who understood. if her emotions went haywire so would her powers. 

“hm, little women? i didn’t think dad would have this” ben smiled at the cover. 

“pogo got it for me” y/n murmured softly, listening to her brother’s soothing voice as he read. she smiled, they were always able to calm her down.

--------------------------------------------------

“so, i figured we could have some sort of memorial service in the courtyard at sundown, say a few words” luther started again, “just at dad’s favourite spot”

“dad had a favourite spot?” allison asked, confused. 

“yeah, you know. under the oak tree” luther nodded, eyebrows furrowing. “we used to sit out there all the time.. did none of you ever do that?”

“will there be refreshments? tea, scones” klaus interrupted, walking to join them with a cigarette between his fingers and a glass of alcohol in his other hand. “cucumber sandwiches are always a winner” he waltzed over beside y/n who smiled at his laid-back attitude.

“what? no” luther shook his head, “and put that out, you know dad didn’t allow smoking in here” 

“is that my skirt?” allison questioned, looking down at klaus’ attire.

“what?” he mumbled distracted. he put his glass down before turning around. “oh, yeah, this. i found it in your room. it’s a little dated but its very breathy on the.. bits” he gestured.

“listen up” luther put on his leader voice, commanding as usual. “there’s still some things we need to discuss, alright?”

“like what?” diego snapped, obviously sick of this.

“like the way he died” 

“and here we go” diego rolled his eyes and luther glared at him.

“i don’t understand.. i thought they said it was a heart attack?” vanya spoke up, confused. klaus plopped down onto the couch now, wrapping his arm around y/n.

“what? he had a heart attack?” y/n’s eyebrows furrowed, she hadn’t been told that. they all looked at her, surprised.

“you didn’t know?” allison asked softly,

“no? you did?” 

“that’s only according to the coroner” luther chipped in, still pushing his theory.

“well, wouldn’t they know?” vanya raised an eyebrow.

“theoretically”

“theoretically?” allison asked.

“look, i’m just saying at the very least something happened. the last time that i talked to dad he sounded strange” 

“oh, tell us please” klaus gurgled through his drink, not at all serious. y/n would have laughed if she didn’t see the real reason luther was bringing this up. he thought one of them did it.

“strange how?” allison continued to push, incredulous. 

“he sounded on edge, told me i should be careful who to trust” luther frantically tried to convince them.

“luther” diego sighed, standing “he was a paranoid, bitter old man. he was starting to lose what was left of his marbles”

“no” he quickly shook his head, turning to him. “he must have known something was going to happen. look” he looked over at klaus. “i know you don’t like to do it but i need you to talk to dad”

klaus rolled around, disagreeing, “i can’t just call dad in the afterlife and be like dad can you stop playing tennis with hitler for a moment and take a quick call” he waved his cigarette around, sitting up and letting go of y/n.

“since when? that’s your thing”

“i’m not in the right frame of mind!”

“you’re high?” allison looked up,

“yeah, yeah!” klaus laughed, nodding his head, “i mean how are not listening to this nonsense?”

“well, sober up, this is important” klaus merely sighed, “then there’s the issue of the missing monocle” 

diego scoffed, “who’s give a shit about a stupid monocle?”

“exactly, it’s worthless” luther was only digging himself a bigger hole, “so, whoever took it i think it was personal. someone close to him, someone with a grudge”

“yes, cause that’s all we need” y/n rolled her eyes, exasperated “more grudges”

“where are you going with this?” klaus narrowed his eyes, confused.

“well, isn’t it obvious, klaus?” diego sneered up at luther, “he thinks one of us killed dad”

luther opened his mouth to deny it but nothing came out. it was true.

“and i bet your top suspect is little y/n” diego pointed a finger right at the said girl. she froze.

“what?”

“you do!” klaus sat back, shocked. 

“how could you think that?” vanya stared in disbelief.

y/n stood abruptly and everyone watched as her eyes turned black. the same way they used to when she had trouble controlling her emotions. they watched as she quickly shook her head, storming out.

“great job luther” diego mocked, “way to lead” then he begun to walk away. 

“that’s not what i’m saying” he tried to defend himself but nobody listened.

“you’re crazy man, you’re crazy.. crazy” klaus stood too, picking up his drink. vanya went to walk away, following diego.

“i’m not finished” luther attempted to stop them. 

“okay well sorry, i’m just gonna go help y/n murder mom, i’ll be right back” he commented sarcastically, walking away. 

“that’s not what i’m saying-” it was no use.

y/n curled up beside ben’s statue, book pressed against her chest. she took deep breaths, trying to regain control. her breath came out shaky as she rocked slowly. eventually she relaxed, leaning into the side of the statue. her cheek pressed against the cold concrete. with a final sigh she looked up at him. 

“hey..” she spoke softly, “i brought our book” she gave a weak chuckle, showing the statue the book she had been cradling. 

“i finished again.. should i start again?” 

diego stood in the doorway, watching her talk. he frowned, she was so sweet. it wasn’t her fault she was born with such a horrible curse. he understood why she got along so well with ben, they both hated their powers. it made training unbearable for them. she begun to read aloud, still leaning into the statue as she sat on the gravel covered floor. with a sigh he walked away, she would be okay, she just needed time. 

time didn’t heal y/n, no matter how much she wished it would. she didn’t have anybody, everybody left her. she had to get over everything all by herself. her words started to come out stuttered, her voice cracked. slowly she begun to sob, tears wetting the pages of her book. she wiped them from her face, standing up. she had to be calm.

she spared one last glance at the statue before walking away.

--------------------------------------------------

“number eight, you must always keep your emotions in check” reginald scolded, glancing up from his notebook. he scribbled something else, ignoring her watery eyes.

“b-but i can’t” she sobbed out, she was young. her siblings were allowed to show emotion why couldn’t she?

“then you are weak!” reginald snapped his book shut, raising his eyes to glare at her. the words shouldn’t have hurt as much as they did. she was never enough, she was always going to be weak. she needed to do better, to be better. to be strong. 

--

“emotions, number eight” the girl supressed her smile at the name her mother had just given her. he wouldn’t even use it. her face fell blank.

“emotions, number eight” the girl took a deep breath, no anger. nothing. you cannot feel. she closed her eyes for a moment, controlling her urge to destroy something. she opened them to see a confused diego. this wasn’t how she was meant to react, he had stolen the ring her mother had given her. she just walked away. 

“emotions, number eight” she caught ben’s eye across the table. he nodded softly. she breathed calmly, no dessert. she was weak, she didn’t deserve dessert. five frowned from beside her, looking between her and their father. something was wrong.

“emotions, number eight” reginald turned on her. she stood, hands gripping the table until her knuckles turned pale. how could he let five go? as she raised her head she heard gasps from her siblings. pogo and reginald shared a look as she glared at the latter, taking a moment to calm herself. it wasn’t working. she was struggling to keep her emotions at bay, she couldn’t supress them. “y/n..” vanya whispered as she ran from the table. she couldn’t do it. he was gone and she hadn’t stopped him.

“emotions, number eight” she couldn’t do it. not this time. she shook her head. her eyes filled with tears. she couldn’t. “number eight! emotions!” she shook her head again, all she could feel was pain. it was her fault. she let him die. her siblings must hate her. her father hates her. ben would hate her. she let him die. she watched him die. 

“number eight! your emotions!” reginald’s voice got louder and she heard herself scream. everything was crumbling. he was gone, it was her fault. “number one, do it” 

it was all.. her fault..

--------------------------------------------------

on her way to the staircase she paused. her eyes lingered on the painting. five’s painting. she felt herself move without wanting to. she stepped into the room, looking up at her brother sadly.

“i’m sorry” she frowned, “i’m so sorry, five. i shouldn’t have let you go. i should have gone after you. i’m sorry, you must be so alone and i lied. i’m sorry for lying.. i should have done better, i should have listened to dad.. i couldn’t bring you back and it’s all my fault. it’s always my fault.. i’m sorry five, i’m so sorry..” 

“sweetie?” she looked over to see grace. “who are you apologising to? did something happen to you?” the blonde robot walked over, glancing over her to see if she had hurt herself.

“oh, no, it’s okay mom” she smiled fakely, trying to reassure her mother. “i was just thinking out loud. nothing to worry about”

“oh, alright, sweetie” she smiled again, “how about something to eat?”

“i’m okay, thanks. i think i’m just going to rest” grace nodded, allowing her to leave.

she wouldn’t be okay, not until she could stop blaming herself. she took one last look at five' picture before she closed her eyes, trying to stop her tears. when she opened them she appeared in her bedroom. she quickly shut the door, locking it. at least in here she couldn’t do anymore damage.

--------------------------------------------------

“number eight” reginald’s voice was disappointed but y/n couldn’t find it in herself to care. so what if she was a failure, she had always been one anyways. “you are no longer allowed to go on missions with your siblings”

she didn’t raise her head. he wasn’t done. this is what she deserved. “you will instead be working on locating number five”

she froze, staring up at him in shock.

“what?”

--------------------------------------------------

a flash of blue light outside her window broke her out of her thoughts. she stood from her bed, glancing down at the courtyard. it couldn’t be..

[hobidreams]

may 1869.

just this once, you let yourself be a little braver.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst, fluff? words: 1.4k contains: someone new, something new.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 20. start from the beginning?

A balmy wind drifts through the open window of your bedchamber, making ripples upon the freshly made spread. You stand in sunlight before the mirror, tracing the faint remnant of the bruise on your collarbone, left by the king’s hungry mouth too many nights before, and wish absently that the mark will stay for at least a few hours more.

As the days grow longer, his visits have become far less frequent, though the minutes he spends indulging in your heat seem to extend ever so slightly in turn. The explanation that leaves your heart intact is that he is occupied by overseeing the administration and results of the national civil exam, the gwageo that took place a few days ago and will bring a new group of eager scholars into the palace. You try very hard not to think about the possibility of his finding his way to another woman’s bed, even though he is well within his rights to. Even though it is expected of a king to have handfuls of consorts in his court. He has, thankfully, spared you of such truths, like he continues to spare you of any details about his life. Theoretically, that makes it easier to not get so attached. Theoretically.

With an exhale, you re-adjust the collar of your blouse to hide the mark and put on your hat before stepping out into the sun, holding a book that you intend to return to the king’s library.

As you walk towards the building, you soon realize there’s a man you’ve never seen before in green scholar’s robes in front of the shuttered doors, pacing back and forth as the dark samo on his head bobs from the effort. What’s he doing? While people may pass by here, they rarely linger.

When the man spots you, his gaze seems to brighten. “Excuse me, uinyeo-nim!”

You come to a stop before him, taking in the wane of his eyes that are like friendly crescents. “Good morning. How may I help you, Scholar…?”

“Park.” He smiles. “I’m one of the newly admitted scholars.”

“Scholar Park. Congratulations on passing the exam.” You return his smile with a small one of your own though you remain on your guard, no matter how kind he seems. Most of the current scholars treat you with disdain (though they at least attempt to veil it on the king’s account, you are certain), as you are a woman and thus beneath them, no matter if the texts you’ve read could rival theirs. This Park must be brilliant though, if he passed the rigorous exam at such a young age.

“Thank you. I’m excited to begin my work! But…” He bites his lip. “The head scholar asked me to obtain a copy of Bang Si-Hyuk’s latest text, and the royal library said that only the king has a copy…” His expressive face falls and you, with a twinge of endearment, think he might be an awful liar if he ever tried. “Would you happen to know how I might borrow from the private library? Should I request an audience with the king? Are there official forms to follow? I really don’t wish to misstep.”

You stare at him quietly, contemplating whether or not you should reveal that you have such access.

He nervously seems to take your lack of answer as confusion. “Yes, I am aware that I should have asked my fellow scholars but they are all so much older than me and I’m afraid that they will take me less seriously than they already do if I cannot complete such a simple task on my own... But no one else has walked by here and I do not want to go back empty-handed and…” He trails off, giving you a look of absolute desperation that warms your heart, despite your reservations.

“Scholar Park. I can retrieve the book for you, if you promise to return it within a few days.” The king wouldn’t notice that it’s missing anyhow, not with how busy he’s been. That, and you get the feeling that the older scholars have been playing a bit of an initiation joke on this poor boy.

“Really? You will? Thank you, uinyeo-nim!” He breaks into a huge grin. “Oh, but uinyeo-nim, how do you have access to the king’s libra…”

You can practically see the moment it clicks in his mind that you are that physician, the one who’s name is irrevocably tangled up with the king’s.

It seems palace gossip is not exempt even from those who have only entered the grounds the day before. You can literally feel the turmoil going on within him as he tries to figure out how to address you, whether or not he should give you the respect of the king’s consort even though you are technically not one in the slightest. Just a lowborn, a hole, even a witch doctor that has bewitched jeonha, as those less polite than this boy have put it when they thought you were out of earshot.

“Hm?” You prompt like a masochist, wanting to see what he says. Wanting to see if it’ll hurt you some more, or if you’ve finally gone blissfully numb.

“N-Nothing, uinyeo-nim.”

You were right. He’s an awful liar.

But you get the book for him anyway, and see him off with promises to meet you back here two days later for the return. Your reality is none of his fault, after all.

That night, the king drops by with little decorum. Opens the door to your chambers and strips off his robes, like he always does. Though this time as he kneads your bare chest in his calloused fingers, pinching the peaked nipples so hard you whimper, you are filled with a need for some scrap of certainty. You want to wipe that coolness from his eyes for even one second, to stoke some intimate fire from him that says he still remembers how you used to be together. How it used to be easier than this. Closer, even though now you know how thick his cock feels as he robs you of air.

“You—ah—you’ve been busy, jeonha?” It’s been getting marginally easier to talk to him like this in the moonlight, his hands making a mess of you. “It’s been quite some time since you’ve come.”

“What, are you that needy for a fuck?” He smirks, but it’s a look more dark and dangerous than playful as he reaches down and finds you soaked. You think you feel the ghost of that word lingering around his question, but it is a small blessing that has not said it aloud since that night in April.

Your face flushes hot. “I-I was just wondering…” You shouldn’t mention it. You really should hold your tongue, but you’re sick of being trapped in your own mind, going in circles with your own insecurity. Just this once. Just this once you want to let yourself ask— “I thought… That perhaps you had taken another conso—oh!” You’re cut off by an abrupt inhale as he sinks two nimble fingers into your cunt. One smooth stroke takes him so deep, only for him to pull out to use the translucent wetness he’s gathered as lubricant along his shaft.

“You think I have time for other women?” He snaps. His stare is intense, but you can’t see a single lie in their depths. “Never have.”

Then he takes you so roughly, you think the bed might break from all the rattling. You have to blink away white spots in your vision when you come and he doesn’t say much more to you for the rest of the night, but you’re smiling almost deliriously all the way through with your nails scratching faint red down his back, the bracelet he gave you dragging over his skin from its home on your wrist. Never, your mind echoes, again and again.

Against all the odds. Against anything you would have expected. Even if he keeps you at arm’s length to the thoughts in his heart, it’s still the chance three-step skip of a grey stone across a rippling pond.

You’re the only one.

a/n: wow. drabble 20. it’s taken us half a year to get here & it honestly feels like a dream that i’ve made it this far. yet there is still so much on the line. so much further to travel together. thank you, if you’ve been here since the beginning. thank you, if you’re just picking up the series 💜 please do come let me know your thoughts on the series as we slide into the present time, with all the tension of the past lingering too closely by. i truly couldn’t have gotten here without all your support ♡

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

Was Napoleon a tyrant? I don't necessarily think he was: at least, I believe he was a better alternative to the absolute monarchs he was fighting. But there are those who disagree. What are your thoughts on the subject?

This is a can of worms to be sure.

I mean....how are we defining the word tyrant? All monarchs are tyrants to someone. Monarchy, by its very nature, is tyrannical in one way, shape, or form, no matter who is at its head. Even in the more neutered forms we see now days with the British. The Queen still exerts a ridiculous amount of power, all things considered.

Napoleon was no better or worse than any other monarch in Europe at that time. Indeed, better than some, worse than others. Because you know, he was human!

-

This got VERY long. SO LONG. Choice excerpts from below the cut:

"'Power was encroaching with large strides behind the words order and stability,' as Thibaudeau put it."

"(And I suspect he was concerned about seeming too eager for power/setting up a monarchical system. Fouche: You're about as subtle as a canon going off right next door. Napoleon: Hush.)"

"Theeeeeen the little bastard (affectionate) became Emperor."

"Napoleon Vs. Jeff Bezos: fight! fight! fight! (I'm putting my money on Napoleon.)"

--

tl;dr: a more or less benevolent emperor who had his faults and who was intimately aware, for better or worse, more than most monarchs, that the head is only tenuously attached to the body. (Skim to the bottom for my thoughts on the personal things i.e. how I interpret Napoleon's actions and brain)

But, more seriously, as with most absolute statements, I am opposed to calling him a tyrant because it is reductive and serves no purpose except to make broad sweeping political statements that I believe are far more about the person making the statement exemplifying their modern political, republican position (as in, actual republican-I-support-the-existence-of-republics not the gop) rather than expressing any sort of truth about the past. (wHaT iS tRuTh.)

For historical purposes, it can over-simplify the situation and lead to skewed interpretations of events because you're coming in with this word that has a lot of modern, 20th and 21st century baggage to it.

And, because these people are coming in with this big, bad word of tyrant as a label for Napoleon, it doesn't allow them to engage with the nuance and complexities of his reign.

Anyway.

Napoleon, as emperor, supported centralized power held in his own hands, with support from other governing bodies (senate, council of state etc.). However, Napoleon had a lot of influence in the structuring of these governing bodies and the subsequent appointments as a means to exert control over entities that would otherwise be able to act somewhat independent from him and impinge his power.

We see this consolidation of power beginning, obviously, under the consulate. 'Power was encroaching with large strides behind the words order and stability,' as Thibaudeau put it.

There was the whole theatre around the Tribunate offering to extend Napoleon's tenure as First Consul for another ten years as a means of thanks/showing gratitude for all he did for France (Fouche was like: fuck that, let's just make a statue of the guy). Napoleon played the part of Humble Servant of the Public and refused both statue and the ten year extension. (Very Julius Caesar: You all did see that on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly crown, which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?)

In actuality, though, he was pissed because he wanted it extended for life.

This resulted in the Council of State deciding "independently" (i.e. Napoleon wasn't present but he sure as hell influenced that Council session) to hold a plebiscite in order to ask The People two key questions: 'Should Napoleon Bonaparte be consul for life?' and 'Should he have the right to designate his successor?'

Napoleon nixed the second question saying to Cambaceres, 'The testament of Louis XIV was not respected, so why should mine be? A dead man has nothing to say.' Which is to say, he knew people would vote for him to be Consul for life, but the prospect of him choosing a successor, a la the Roman Empire, and having that choice be without input from the people and respected upon his death? Less clear.

(And, I suspect he was concerned about seeming too eager for power/setting up a monarchical system.

Fouche: You're about as subtle as a canon going off right next door.

Napoleon: Hush.)

For the Plebiscite, there were around 3.56 million votes for Yes to the question of Napoleon as consul for life and only around 8,300 for No.

The turnout rate was 60% which is uhh...impressive! (To be fair, there was no real evidence of tampering with the vote. Unlike in subsequent Plebiscites, such as the results for Do We Make Him Emperor, which were absolutely doctored. But, considering the highest turnout ever seen in the French Revolution was around 30/35%, double that is certainly something.)

Lafayette was pissed with this. He kicked up a fuss in the Senate and wrote to Napoleon saying that his 'restorative dictatorship' had been well and fine for now but has Napoleon thought about restoring liberty? and that he was certain Napoleon, of all people, wouldn't want an 'arbitrary regime' to be installed!

Napoleon: Bold of you to assume that, Lafayette.

There were, at this time, some mumblings and grumblings about tyranny from the liberals and those still wanting to continue the experiment of the French Republic, to be sure. They increased as time went on and Napoleon's power continued to consolidate.

Theeeeeen the little bastard (affectionate) became Emperor.

Lafayette: WhAt Is tHiS??

Napoleon: Look into my face and tell me honestly that you are shocked.

--

His government, as Consul and as Emperor, was centralized and very top-down in how it operated. Little was done without Napoleon's input.

The seemingly democratic institutions that had propped him up into power were retained and Napoleon used them as a means to facilitate his rule. As noted earlier, Napoleon had a heavy hand in appointments and the processes in place to fill various offices. Nothing was really...independent of him and his influence.

Though, in terms of Image Building of Empire, Napoleon worked hard to try and maintain the façade of impartiality as emperor. That he was head of state, sure, but all state apparatuses operated independent of him.

(Why is Napoleon's hat so big? because it is full of lies supporting the imperial image making machine.)

That said, when it came to filling those offices, Napoleon focused on merit more than anything as he wanted his governing officials to be capable, hardworking and, above all else, loyal.

(A good quote from Napoleon in one of his more Eat the Rich moments of the consulate: 'One cannot treat wealth as a title of nobility. A rich man is often a layabout without merit. A rich merchant is often only so by virtue of the art of selling expensively or stealing.'

Napoleon Vs. Jeff Bezos: fight! fight! fight!

(I'm putting my money on Napoleon.) )

--

This is getting really long and I feel that I've not addressed anything in a useful manner, but am I going to stop? No.

--

Napoleon, himself, at least in 1803, did express some conflicted views about assuming an imperial title. To Roederer he said, 'So many great things have been achieved over the past three years under the title of consul. It should be kept.'

Cambaceres said to Napoleon that upon assuming an imperial title 'your position changes and places you at odds with yourself.' No longer are you merely a public servant, an upholder of the Republic's ideals. Now you are a man wearing a crown, trying to be the upholder of the Republic's ideals.

(nb: I feel that duality is something Napoleon never fully got a handle on. He would veer strongly into authoritarian monarch then have moments of Rousseau-ian Idealism.)

Napoleon was insistent that his rule be a parliamentary monarchy (keeping the governance framework implemented in the Constitution of Year VIII, if I am not mistaken. But don't quote me on that.) and that the French were not his subjects but his people.

So, the imperial government worked thus with the Legislative process divided between four bodies:

Council of State which would draw up legislative proposals,

Tribunate which could debate on legislation but not vote on it,

a legislative body which could vote on legislation but not discuss it, and

Senate which would consider whether the proposed legislation conformed to the Constitution.

The Senate and the Legislative body could, theoretically, curtail Napoleon’s freedom/power. However, considering the fact that he was involved in the appointment process of these offices, and the general rhythm of daily governance, how much power they were able to exert over him was limited.

(This is at his height! Of course, towards the end we see a shift in that. But that's largely tied up in his military defeats and the British banging the door knocker demanding to be let in. Also they brought with them some friends. You might have heard of them? Bourbons?)

The initial terms the Senate brought to Napoleon with their offer of accepting him as a hereditary monarch included, but weren't limited to:

liberty cannot be infringed

equality cannot be jeopardized

sovereignty of the people must be maintained

the laws of the nation are inviolable

all institutions were to be free from undue imperial influence (e.g. the press)

the nation should never be put into a position where it needs to behead the head of state. Again.

Napoleon was uh. Not best pleased with this and had a new version drafted up that included acknowledgement of the sovereignty of the people, but a lot of the other things (e.g. freedom of the press) were cut out.

Yet, Napoleon maintained certain parts of the French Revolution's values which were reflected more in the 1804 Code Napoleon and other legislative and legal pieces than in the initial terms of Senatorial acceptance of his imperial title.

Some of the things enshrined in the Code that were carry-over from the Revolution include, but aren't limited to, the abolition of feudalism, equality before the law, freedom of conscience (to practice their own religion), gave fixed title to those who had bought church and émigré lands during the 1790s, and the equality of taxation was maintained (tax those aristos and the church). Also, there was affirmation of the idea of careers being "open to talent" rather than an accident of birth (as touched on above).

The Freedom of Conscience clause in the Code was a further formalization of several Articles Napoleon amended onto the Concordat in 1802. The Articles guaranteed the principle of religious toleration and made the Protestant and Jewish churches similarly subject to state authority (alongside the Catholic).

These are just a brief summary of some of the more liberal/revolution-informed aspects of Napoleon's governing.

The non-liberal ones I believe we're all pretty familiar with: suppression of the free press, roll-back of rights for women (women are for babies!), reinstatement of slavery (which he later reversed circa 1810/12-ish), top-down Emperor-has-final-word approach to ruling (Napoleon was all about Authority From Above, Trust From Below) etc. etc.

At the end of this, I would say Napoleon's empire falls into that "benevolent monarch" situation. For a given value of "benevolent." As stated at the start, he was like most other monarchs in Europe at the time. Better than some, not as great about certain things as others.

--

Really, it all ties back to Order and Stability.

Napoleon's assent, and his approach to strong, centralized ruling, was a result of uncertainty and constant government change over ten years of revolution alongside the growing belief, by 1803, that a republic like the Romans or Greeks was not going to happen any time soon. Not without constant warfare and the forever looming threat of a Bourbon restoration.

In addition, Napoleon was doing imperial drag. (If that makes sense.) He was dialing the notch of Emperor up to 11 - being the most emperor of all emperors. So, state control was absolute because he couldn't show any signs of weakness - either in his own body, his familial body, or the body of state. The court protocols were intense and over-the-top at times because he had to prove he was not just a second son of a parvenu lawyer from the sticks. No! he was worthy of this pomp. He was worthy of imperial majesty. He was worthy of the crown and scepter.

Napoleon was not raised to be anything other than a military officer and a middle-class head of a family (would have been a MASTER at doing Sunday Dad Puttering About the House). When he dawned the mantel of power, particularly that of empire, he had to make it up as he went along. For such a self-conscious and proud man, this was difficult. He never wanted to misstep and be embarrassed - on a personal level, political or military.

At the same time, he was reared on Rousseau and Revolution so still had those values and ideals imbedded in him, and those fears and memories. Napoleon knew as well as any Frenchman that a monarch's head is easily removable should it become necessary. Therefore, he sometimes ran roughshod over the liberty to ensure security. For better or worse, that was the choice he made.

--

Napoleon was a flawed leader with a complex approach to governing that was focused on a centralization of power within him while, at the same time, trying to be the Successor of the Revolution, the Roman Republic and the Roman Empire. Layers! Like an onion.

His approach as emperor really was within the realm of normal-for-the-times when compared to most other monarchs on the European stage in 1800. He also granted liberties to his people that were unheard of in other countries.

I feel like all my Napoleonic ramblings end with the same message: Dude was nuanced. Dude was complex. Dude did good things and bad things. Dude helped people and hurt people. Dude contained multitudes. Because he was simply human, at the end of the day.

--

ANNNNNNND we are done.

Gods bless all y'all who made it this far.

Have my favourite picture of Napoleon at Tuileries as a prize.

hmm that beautiful heavy, handed symbolism.

[dessarious]

What Makes a Family? Pt17

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“I’m sorry, what?” Marinette tried not to laugh at Bruce but it was actually funny to see some of her own idiosyncrasies mirrored in him.

“It’s a rather long story. Why don’t we sit?” She led Cass over to the couch to sit, not letting go of her. Now that they were together she was going to make sure her twin got the affection she deserved. Bruce sat on a chair across from them still looking like he was waiting for an attack.

“What was that comment about a magic wielding narcissist about?” Marinette sighed. She really hated explaining this.

“I won’t go into details because until you’ve been through an attack it won’t seem real anyway. Short version is Paris is being held hostage by a man with a magical artifact and a god complex. I’m one of the people trying to stop him.” Bruce just blinked at her for a moment and she could almost see him trying to gather his thoughts.

“And the comment about Cass being your Black Cat? What did that mean?” He sounded so tired. She could commiserate.

“I really am sorry to just drag you into this and I wouldn’t have if I didn’t believe it was absolutely necessary.” Cass actually hugged her without prompting that time and even Bruce’s expression softened. “The artifacts we use are called the Miraculous. They’re all about balance. I wield the Ladybug Miraculous of Creation, it’s opposite is the Black Cat Miraculous of Destruction. While I had a partner that used that Miraculous he was nowhere near as in tune with it as I am with mine and it creates a power imbalance that isn’t sustainable. As soon as I found out about Cass, I was certain she was my other half. The person actually meant to be my partner. If you’re willing of course.”

“Not leaving you alone.” Marinette smiled fondly at her little sister.

“You may very well want to rethink that position once you meet Plagg.” They both looked at her in confusion and jumped when a new voice broke in.

“I’ll have you know I’m a delight to be around. You just don’t appreciate my personality.” She rolled her eyes at the Kwami floating in front of her.

“Yes, obviously I’m the problem.” They were about to snark back at her when Bruce spoke up.

“What is that?” Plagg opened their mouth to answer but Marinette beat him to it. The last thing she needed was him going off on a tangent about how wonderful he was.

“This is Plagg, Kwami of Destruction and Bad Luck. They are what gives the Black Cat Miraculous it’s powers.” Bruce was eyeing the creature warily but Plagg was busy studying Cass. After a minute their expression softened.

“Yeah, she’s definitely one of mine.” Then they just burrowed into Cass’s hair and started purring.

“Her life is not your fault Plagg. And you said you could protect her from the worst of her innate bad luck now right?” They just nodded. Marinette wasn’t sure what to make of this attitude if she was being honest.

“Plagg’s a big softy when it comes to their Chosen. Especially when they’ve been so badly mistreated.” Tikki made their entrance and Cass was watching them with interest. Bruce looked like he was fighting off a migraine.

“And this is Tikki, Kwami of Creation and Good Luck. They are what power the Ladybug Miraculous.”

“It’s very nice to meet you both, even if it’s a bit of an adjustment. I can help you get rid of that headache if you want.” Bruce actually flinched at the offer and Marinette struggled not to laugh. Tikki actually rolled their eyes.

“Like father, like daughter.”

“Hey! That’s not fair. I didn’t have anything against magic itself. I just thought I was a terrible choice for a hero is all.”

“You called me a talking bug-mouse.” Tikki’s drool tone matched their glare.

“I opened a box and you popped out. How was I supposed to react?” Tikki held the glare for a few more seconds before they both dissolved into laughter. It was a running joke between them especially since her parents found out. Her Papa had broken a chair trying to jump away and her Maman had tried to hit Tikki with a rolling pin. Luckily the Kwami had seen it coming in time to phase through it rather than being smacked into a wall.

“And the Lazarus Pits?” He really didn’t sound like he wanted to know.

“Plagg caused the extinction of the dinosaurs. The Pits wouldn’t even be a challenge. Tikki also thinks I’m capable of returning them to their natural state without them, but that’s only theoretical at this point.” Tikki and Wayzz had both tried to explain the process but it was incredibly complicated.

“Natural state?” The question came from Cass and Plagg decided to speak again.

“The Pits were made from hot springs that were believed to have healing powers. The people who made them were trying to enhance that but did not understand the powers they were using. All magic comes with a price.”

AO3   Beginning   Previous    Next

Ko-Fi

@moonystars14 @ladybug-182 @elmokingkong @smolplantmum @jessigurl-design @trippingovermyfeet @its-salty-bug @whydoexamsexist @scorchdragon88 @alenee13 @lil-1254s-blog @sturchling @random-fandoms7 @fandom-writer642 @chylou34 @thewitchwhowaited @junarvion @laurcad123 @hakoirii @aestheticnpoetic @aegyobutpsycho2 @sassakitty @swiftie-miraculer13 @miraculous-simmer7 @peachedpocky @misslenamooney @shamefullove @user00000003 @18-fandoms-unite-08 @galla02006 @thestressmademedoit @toodaloo-kangaroo @trinity-1002107 @alessialeone6997 @i-shizen @necromancerflight @astoriaandromeda @devils-wrath

[pinnithin-writes]

more of a feeling

Mission to Zyxx fic, mild spoilers for season 5 if you're not caught up. This started as rambling about our bodies sabotaging us and turned into a conversation about our bodies taking care of us. 2117 words.

It was simple, really. It all came down to chemistry.

C-53 knew how emotions worked, of course; he’d even go so far as to call himself a veteran by now. Every frame he’d inhabited was a different experience, but the emotions he felt in those frames were a reassuring constant. He knew the programming for joy. He could trace the source code for anger. His cube felt it all the same, and no matter how many diagnostics he had to run in an unfamiliar body, his thoughts, his feelings, and his personality grounded him through the flux.

Until, that is, the failed clone of a scientist shoved him in a meat suit without his consent.

Emotions were different when he was piloting flesh. They governed his body more than he was used to. They still generated from C-53’s cube, but now that cube was hooked up to nerves and synapses, blood and organs, and those living, breathing parts responded accordingly. He was a miracle of a machine, truly – a code given life – but he couldn’t wax poetic about something like that when his pores leaked and his muscles tired and his stomach twisted in knots.

It was hard enough dealing with a body that resisted his will at every turn. It was worse still that every fleeting feeling affected him on the molecular level. He didn’t know how organics got anything done like this. Frustration made his head pound and his guts churn. Despair burned his eyes and locked his throat. Even pleasant feelings – affection, mirth – stole his breath, made his pulse race. It was distracting at best and debilitating at worst. Surely there was a way to bypass these effects.

Unable to connect his consciousness to high speed internet, he had to go about this the old fashioned way, which made it a slow process indeed. Thankfully, the USS Synergy owned a vast library, which he took advantage of to scan every file they had on hermanns, discovering himself.

He did most of his research at night. He told himself this was because he was less likely to be interrupted, but in truth he was embarrassed at his own inefficiency. Even in the old loader frame, downloading the data would have taken all of ten seconds. And though he knew his crewmates wouldn’t humiliate him, he still didn’t want to be seen like this. Having to move his eyes across a screen, absorb and process the words they scanned, and then file that information away in his slippery maze of a brain, line after line after line after line after line.

The hours of learning made him feel childish. C-53 was tired.

But he was getting somewhere. When exhaustion pulled at his eyelids and his thoughts went fuzzy in the late, still hours on Bargie, he knew it was adenosine flooding his neural pathways and inhibiting his functionality. No code existed to override adenosine. Caffeine, however, could counteract it for a short time (with the unfortunate side effect of upsetting his stomach and tasting like tar).

C-53 pored over chemistry texts and neuroscience studies, learning what made hermanns - and thus, hermanoids - do what they did. There were no comparable texts on tellurians in this galaxy, but the science, from what he could remember, was quite similar. It was all chemicals, and those chemicals told his brain to tell his body how to act.

It was exceptionally overcomplicated. There was always some other influencing factor to his body, a sensory input or a thought or even his DNA - Jeremy’s genetic memory - that scrambled a system that could theoretically be very streamlined.

An example: he could eat something that tasted good (peanut butter and chocolate), triggering a flood of dopamine that caused him to feel happy. But Jeremy was allergic to tree nuts, so his immune system attacks him for a perceived threat that doesn’t exist, so forcefully that he could die from it. It was as fascinating as it was annoying. Who knew organics could have glitches? Too bad he hadn’t figured out how to debug anaphylactic shock.

He didn’t know what he hoped to accomplish by doing all this research. In a way, studying why his body actively sabotaged him was a comfort, but the more he learned, the more faults he discovered. Evolution was a temperamental thing. He much preferred the elegance of engineering.

At present, it was a dark hour on Bargie, docked and slumbering with her crew on the Synergy. Half awake in the conversation pit, amidst a tangle of textbooks and portable screens, C-53 sat alone under the red glow of the security lights. Sprawled as he was, C-53 didn’t immediately notice Pleck wandering into the room until he said his name.

Blurry lines of text sharpened as he startled, then relaxed. “Hm? Oh, hey Pleck,” he said.

“C-53, it’s like, three in the morning,” Pleck responded. Bare footsteps signaled his approach, and then he dropped onto the couch next to C-53, a glass of water in one hand and an orange fruit in the other. He reached over and set the glass precariously on the cushion between them. “Y’know, tellurians usually sleep around this time,” he pointed out helpfully. “What are you doing out here?”

The info tablet C-53 held was inches away from his face. “I’m learning about my pineal gland,” he announced dully.

A hormone regulator located near the brain stem. Releases melatonin and influences one’s circadian rhythm. Well, it wasn’t doing a very good job right now, was it?

“Cool, is that something like - do tellurians have that too or just, y’know,” Pleck drew his feet up to sit cross-legged, “whatever you are?”

C-53 couldn’t help but smirk mirthlessly at that. “It’s found in most vertebrates, so yes, I would imagine both you and whatever I am have one.” He set the tablet aside to look at Pleck, but the screen made him night blind, and he could only see the afterimage of a splotchy red rectangle in the darkness. “Why are you awake?”

“Oh, I woke up thirsty,” Pleck explained easily. He fiddled with the peel on his fruit as he spoke. “And then I thought, well, while I’m up I might as well grab a snack, and then I saw you sitting there so,” he shrugged, “here I am.”

It was a better explanation than what C-53 had. And it was a far better explanation than Pleck would have given several months ago, when the Allwheat was still worming into his brain and keeping him up at odd hours. C-53 was thankful those days were behind them. As the afterimage of the tablet faded and Pleck became a collection of grays and blues beside him, he quietly mourned the loss of his night vision. And his regular vision.

“You ever had one of these, C-53?” Pleck asked. He finally got his fingernails under the skin and began peeling. “The Themm grow these instead of oranges. They’re kind of sour?”

“I haven’t,” C-53 answered. He hadn’t eaten an orange before, for that matter, but he wasn’t too interested in expanding his food horizons. Most things had an unpleasant texture to him.

“Do you want some?” Pleck went on, adding pieces of rind to the small pile in his lap. He slanted C-53 a glance. “Oranges are the most shareable fruit.”

“No, thank you.”

Pleck shrugged again before separating a slice of not-orange and popping it in his mouth. As he chewed in silence, C-53 picked up the glass between them and placed it safely on the coffee table. Piles of nearby notes were scrawled in his own clumsy hand, amateur diagrams and chemical formulas with lots of arrows and exclamation marks littering the margins. Writing it down helped the nonstick pan of his brain gain some traction, he found, but the coffee table was starting to look like Nermut’s conspiracy wall after so many hours of research.

His neck ached. His head pounded out a protest.

He’d been pushing his brain and body to its limits and had what to show for it? A newfound disgust with himself? A frustration he only knew more intimately? C-53 frowned and used one of his papers as a coaster.

Beside him, Pleck happily ate his fruit, unbothered. Being organic was easy for him; he was a native to his body and didn’t know anything else. C-53 pitied and envied him in equal measure.

“You’re going to bed soon, right C-53?” Pleck asked after making his way through half the orange. He reached to retrieve his glass from the table, but condensation stuck a note about the amygdala to the bottom. “Oh,” he remarked.

C-53 peeled it off for him. “I don’t like sleeping,” he explained, crumpling the note and tossing it on the table. “So I’m reading.”

Pleck took a sip of water and frowned. “You gotta sleep sometime.”

“I know,” he answered shortly. He’d read dozens of articles about the side effects of sleeplessness. Fatigue, irritability, memory issues, hallucinations if you waited long enough. He knew he’d crash eventually, he just wasn’t especially motivated to avoid it. “It feels bad,” he went on. “Waking up is disorienting.”

There was a thoughtful crease between Pleck’s brows; C-53 could barely see it under the security lights. Pleck took a moment to set his glass back down on the table before turning the remainder of the fruit over in his hands. “Is it because you don’t feel safe?” he asked without looking up.

“I’m… sorry?”

“It’s just - y’know, when I was having trouble sleeping-”

“Pleck, I’m not a lunatic,” C-53 interrupted. “I know I’m perfectly safe on Bargie. I just don’t like sleeping. I don’t need you to teach me how to be tellurian, okay?” He gestured at the pathetic mess of research before him, scrawled in an obvious lunatic’s hand. “I’m figuring it out.”

Pleck fed himself a section of orange and didn’t answer right away. On C-53’s other side, the info tablet’s screen auto timed out and went dark. They were bathed in red completely now, one of them frustrated and exhausted, the other watchful and concerned. C-53 removed his glasses and rubbed at his stinging eyes.

“Sorry,” he said after a time. “I’m just…”

“Tired?” Pleck offered.

C-53’s sigh went through his whole body. “Yes.”

A stubborn, senseless part of him didn’t want to overcome this. He didn’t want to be an example of perseverance, some epic struggle conquered by learning to live well. He wanted to kick and bite and throw a fit over this new frame. It wasn’t fair.

“C-53,” Pleck broke quietly into his thoughts. “You don’t have to, y’know, have the answer to everything all the time. Sometimes you have to just… do what your body is telling you to do, even if you don’t want to.” He offered an orange slice in C-53’s direction. “It’s trying to take care of you.”

“You say that like this flesh suit has a soul,” C-53 grumbled, but he took the fruit anyway, staring glumly as it lay in his stupid, sweaty palm.

“Well, sure it does.” Pleck smiled and prodded his shoulder with an index finger. “It’s you.”

C-53 fell silent. It was strange, learning things from Pleck. He was used to the roles being reversed, and it shifted something uncomfortably inside him every time it happened. Dutifully, he put the orange in his mouth, felt the tart flavor burst on his tongue, and chewed past the slimy sensation until he was able to swallow it. He was unable to hide a shudder.

Pleck watched him with one hopeful eye. “Not your favorite?” he guessed.

“It’s the texture,” C-53 explained, grimacing. But he held his hand out for another slice in spite of it.

Pleck grinned. “We can find something you like to eat instead of this,” he said, scooping the orange peels out of his lap and leaving them on the coffee table for later cleanup. “It doesn’t have to all be bad. Come on,” he rose from his seat and offered C-53 his hand. “Let’s check the kitchen for something better and then, y’know, maybe try and get some sleep?”

The please was unspoken, but C-53 could see it on Pleck’s freckled face. He was trying to take care of him, just like his clunky, unfamiliar body was. C-53 didn’t like his body very much, and wasn’t sure he ever would, but he liked Pleck enough to go along with him for now. He didn’t know what kind of chemical governed trust. He didn’t even let himself ask.

C-53 took Pleck’s hand, tried not to flinch from the zing it sent up his arm, and followed him out of the pit.

[theonceandfutureking6481]

BBC's Merlin Season 1 Episode 5: Lancelot Analysis

It's Lancelot's first episode which is tremendously exciting. I remember the first time I watched this show (last year- I really make it sound like it was much longer than it is), I wasn't particularly attached to him but on my second rewatch I loved him, I loved his and Merlin's friendship and I loved his sheer nobility and decency. Lancelot is of course typically one of the most central characters in telling's of the Arthurian legend, so of course his appearance is exciting. Also excitingly an episode where I talk about someone other than Arthur! Yeah, if you can't tell Arthur's my favourite character. I'm not sure how clear my point is throughout all of this, its hard to articulate but I hope I've done it justice.

"Sir Lancelot, the bravest and the most noble of them all"

This is a quote from much later in the show but it explains something very fundamental about Lancelot's character. Lancelot is supposed to be the chivalric ideal, in most versions of the story he is portrayed as such, as the only knight who really comes close to fulfilling it. Lancelot's fault that puts the dent in him being the true epitome of the noble chivalric knight is his love for Guinevere, and its actually his son Galahad (who doesn't exist in Merlin) who achieves this ideal. However, the point remains that Lancelot is almost there, his character is typically about a person who almost achieves this ideal of chivalry, and they run with this in Merlin, out of all the knights he is the most knightly, the most committed, the one most devoted to its ideals.

Lancelot talks like our idea of a knight, its kind of hard to explain but the way he talks is straight out of chivalric romances, out of films about knights. You notice it because everyone in this show talks in quite a contemporary way, its an Arthurian legend for people of today and the characters talk like it, but Lancelot just doesn't, he talks like a knight from a fairytale. It's just a small detail, but it really plays into the perception of Lancelot as the epitome of chivalric honour.

I'd argue that he represents a knighthood Arthur believes in, before he even realises it himself, a kind of honour that's about devotion to one another and helping others and fighting injustice. Arthur and Lancelot do get on extremely well, despite the fact that Lancelot, in Arthur's own words, doesn't sound or look like a knight. His passionate defense of him to his father, as well as the fact that Arthur releases him from prison without his father's approval is because Arthur respects him and admires him and probably because he sees him as a friend. King Arthur's court is often the ideal representation of chivalry, stories like these about chivalrous knights were very important to aristocratic culture in medieval times, and Arthur's court was at the center of it. The thing is that there is a code of honour and chivalry before Arthur in Merlin, the knights of Camelot already exist, and they are often honourable. But Arthur's task will be to reset the idea of chivalry and honour on new grounds, in new ways and Lancelot in many ways exemplifies this ideal

There is a huge emphasis in Lancelot's character in serving with honour:

"It's not my freedom I seek. I only wish to serve with honour."-Lancelot

"He laid down his life for me. He served with honour."- Arthur

"He meant no harm I am sure of it... he only wished to serve."- Arthur

I'm not exactly sure how to define honour, its kind of an abstract concept but I do know what it means, its acting with integrity and respect and honesty. It's a concept central to the Chivalric code, that knights should behave with honour, so its inclusion here further cements the idea of Lancelot's character as representing the ideal of chivalric knighthood. Also the concept of servanthood comes up again, Merlin emphasises (through Merlin most of all) the honour in being a servant, you don't need to be great or noble or a great leader, the world needs people who are willing to serve and that is just as noble as leading.

Chivalry as a concept is inherently bound up in the concept of nobility. The etymology itself is from the French word for knight/horseman, of which only nobles could be. However, one of the points of Merlin through many of its characters is upsetting this class divide so prevalent in Arthurian stories, not just in also including the stories of those who aren't noble but in setting up a code of honour that applies to everybody. Lancelot epitomises this, he is the knight who most represents the ideal of chivalry to Arthur, he's also not a nobleman. Just like making Gwen and Merlin servants, making the most noble knight not a noble sets up this shift, highlighting the capability of everyone to the kind of goodness and nobility that Camelot's ideal will represent. Because fundamentally what's the point of an ideal if it only applies to some people, ideals should inspire everyone to be better, they should make everyone's lives better not just a small subset of people.

As Gwen says that in Arthur's knights "we need ordinary people like you and me."

Arthur and Uther

Importantly Arthur realises the injustice of laws in his father's kingdom and you see the contrast between him and Uther.

"The code bends for no man."

"Then the code is wrong."

Uther is stubborn, we know that, he's unwilling to admit the fault in his rules, in his ideas even when the evidence is right in front of him and that is a fundamental fault, you can see it in his treatment of those who use magic. Arthur by contrast is someone whose views haven't been set, partly because he is still young, but also because he is a better person than Uther in the ways that matter. He's not going to purposefully blind himself to the truth. For Uther he is also one with a worldview of absolutes, all magic users are bad, laws are laws there is no room for argument or nuance, and I'm sure Uther would see accepting argument or nuance as a weakness.

It is also important that in recognising that the code should bend, Arthur recognises the essential flaw in Uther's construction of society and chivalry. The idea that knights should all be noble, Uther literally says that it is the fact that all knights are noble that binds them together, and this is emphasised by the fact that Uther created the first code of Camelot (also the fact that its the first code- makes this seemingly small law much more important). This is a premise Arthur does not agree with it, this episode proves what it really means to be a knight in Lancelot, its a willingness to do your duty and act with honour and self-sacrifice. It is not confined to class, and thus plays into merlin's wider subversion of chivalry as only being for knights, its a code of honour and behaviour that all people can aspire to, and the ability to live and die for noble causes should not be the sole preserve of knights. The Arthurian ideal is so premised on nobility, for the rest of the kingdom, yes they have a just king and presumably they are protected and safe but they are kept from the dignity of being allowed to be noble, being allowed to be considered a part of the nobility and goodness of the Arthurian ideal. It's significant that the first figure to represent this isn't noble.

Other Stuff

"I owe Lancelot my life and I am paying for that in the only way I can."- Merlin--> This is the worldview of knights and debts of honour in its own way as well

Gwen and Lancelot are just awww, like so sweet

"Merlin would do anything for anyone."- Gwen--> True and I love that about Merlin, even as he becomes more jaded as the seasons go on this doesn't change that much—>he's wonderfully decent

"You're the only thing I care about in this world."- Gaius to Merlin--> That was just sweet and kind of sad He's encouraging Merlin to put himself in danger and Merlin reacts with anger because its like does anyone care what happens to him—> but the point is Merlin can help Arthur and no one else can so he has to do it because its his job and its his job because he's the only one who can do it--> Duty is doing what you have to do, doing the right thing even when you don't want to

"It's my duty knight or not."---> Similar to Merlin—> Lancelot believes in being a knight so whether or not he actually is one he has a duty to act like one—> he is a swordsman he is skilled and (theoretically- if they weren't creatures of magic) could defeat a Griffin so he has to do it—> because he can and its his duty to his worldview And Gwen's response- "You really believe that don't you. I don't think I've ever met anyone like you."

"You've already proven that to us"- Arthur "But I must prove it to myself."- Lancelot--> Isn't there just something very noble in that- In the desire to prove your ability to yourself above all others- to hold yourself to a high standard not just to expect things to come Will parallel Arthur in later seasons as he tries to prove his right to be king to himself--> It's funny the scene when Arthur pulls the sword in the stone (much later) is the moment when he proves his right to be king in every version of the story- but usually its proof to others- In Merlin it was trying to prove to himself

"Till next time then, Sir Lancelot."- Merlin- wonderful way to end the episode on an acknowledgement of Lancelot's role in the wider story- he is a legendary figure

[endreal]

High school was worse, but only because we were. A lot (but not all) of us level 3 kids ended up going to this brand new proof-of-concept high school that was like one of the first of its kind in the nation. We went from theoretically stable large schools to an as-yet-untested model where, for most of us (the main exceptions being our handful of homeschool converts) our "graduating" 8th grade classes were larger than the entire high school student body. (when I got my HS diploma there were 37 bodies on that stage, including the service dog in training) We were the same kind of fucked up as before, but now we were also hormonally afflicted micro-adults with growing awareness of our own human agency.

Especially those of us in the first year, we did everything we could to push, test, and break the system. I'm not proud of the fact that my class (not my whole grade, my class) broke 2 biology/environmental science teachers and possibly the Spanish teacher over the course of a single year. I can only imagine that the rules about

- having food in elevators

- what counts as a real hall pass

- playing magic in front of doorways

- playing magic in the middle of hallways

- playing magic on public walkways

- bicycle storage

- PDAs

- the other kind of PDAs (c'mon, don't give me that look - smart phones hadn't been invented yet)

- auditing other classes while you're skipping your own

that got created because of us are still on the books. I'm pretty sure the trespassing one might have accidentally been my fault. A friend of mine got expelled and written into infamy because they were in mutual attraction with an older guy and now we couldn't go into the dorms of the college across the street (At the time we thought it was a bullshit and draconian action. As an adult I now have a slightly better comprehension of legal codes and liability).

But really I guess the most important takeaway from high school I can offer is this: maybe don't date twins. Even if it's not at the same time. Yes, even if they're hot. Yes, even if they're hot redheads.

[ishades]

my most controversial take is that dave isnt bisexual

idk every relationship hes had with a woman save for one has just been him being taken in by bro proxies.

tz always has him guessing what shes actually feeling and forces him into strange and uncomfortable situations when shes not leading him to his death to teach him a lesson. theres her usual brand of blurring the lines between mocking and sincerity at times as well. shes impossible to actually get a read on but for most of their relationship in game its her puppeting him around and bolstering his loyalty with praise (flavor text mentions about daves bro keeping up with daves various blogs)

theres just always a sense of voyeurism when it comes to dave and tz and bro and tz. tz is a seer of mind for one thing, its complimentary class being heart lol. in the beta session she watches over him in a way thats reminiscent to bro and his various cameras filming dave at all hours and uploading it all online.

literally every person that ships him with his sister is just also vaguely into him hooking up with his brother-dad as well. theyre so obsessed with the idea of dave being utterly dependent on the goddess that is rose. hell excuse her alcoholism, hell quirk a joke, hell be tongue in cheek about how hes probably gay unless its for a theoretical mother he has or for his literal sister.

rose spends so long playing mental games with dave-- not to the extent of what bro did but her own brand. she is her fathers daughter. she spends so long playing these games theyre unable to be as close as either of them would like. he cant comprehend why she turns to alcohol when he knows she hated her mothers alcoholism. her actions are incomprehensible to him, just as incomprehensible as bros.

yes they make a suicide pact and carry it out. but its sad, rose planned to die alone without any consideration of how thatd make dave and the others feel because she didnt think it mattered. her suicide was a desperate cry for attention in the reaches of the vast unknown. and dave? dave whos so afraid of death refused to let her die alone. he didnt want her to die but he wouldnt let her be alone.

daves idk. daves loyal to a fault which brings me to jade. jade the girl everyone always expected him to get with. the girl karkat expected him to get with! its been implied multiple times he formerly had a crush on john in the comics-- a crush he put up on an incredibly high pedestal. (pesterquest is noncanon but he has a crush on john as well. still cant believe we got the title gayve strider dick rider or whatever. i blacked out when i watched that lets play route)

john shifts what the idea of being a man about in daves head. hes a hero like bro, a hero dave cant be. john is someone he emulates and tries to impress. the shades that are an integral part of daves identity are a gift from john. switching his bros shades out for johns gift lessens the hold bro has over him. he literally sees things through john lenses in a sense.

he thrives under praise and is unable to recognize jades teasing him about being sooooo cool as sarcasm. hes 13 shes 13 theyre both incredibly stupid about relationships but jade is somehow more passive than even dave during their session. he feels like he has to step in and act a certain way (back to the scratches influence on him and the girls) in the name of furthering the plot.

they were both raised with violence and a sense of isolation and so he goads her on. gets herself to slap herself in her dream to wake her up and tries to strong arm himself into being useful. jade sort of has to just let things happen for the plot.

theyre engaged in the strangest roleyplay of heterosexuality ive ever seen in any form of media actually. forcing themselves to act contrary to how they actually are / think / feel because its whats expected. its misogynistic wank fodder for caliborns folder.

davesprite and her date for a bit in the game over timeline but thats... thats original timeline first timeline ever dave clinging onto jade. his jade died ages ago. jadesprite-- someone who was at his side in a fight “died” and became part of godtier jade.

which is just... disconcerting when you remember that he also fought alongside bro against jack. bro was struck down and didnt get up. jade became a god.

davesprite never got to have the character arc of overcoming bros upbringing. he didnt have someone to confront him. he never recognized what bro put him through was abusive and he never properly analyzed how that played into his relationship with jade and it wasnt fair to either of them. jade needed someone and davesprite couldnt be that. 

jade wants him as a replacement for dave. she wants normalcy and davesprite is unable to give her that before he fucks off. 

its clear he has a lot of intrusive thoughts about incest but idk i think thats to be expected from his upbringing. not touching the epilogues bc those sort of assassinated everyones characters esp kanaya and jade imo.

i just think that itd be easier for him to sort of hide under the bi umbrella as a means of closeting himself and because hes at a point where he just cant let go of the idea of possibly having to settle down with a girl. even if he doesnt want that. coming to grips with liking men was hard enough for him (”how did you tell your friends?”) i think itd take at least a decade or two before he let go of the idea of him having to be open to the idea of liking women

[icicleteeth]

Aljsdfljds so Tamriel bread post got really popular, and I realized I never actually wrote a detailed breakdown of how/why each province’s bread was designed the way they were (Mostly because I hand wrote each description in the art so I had to keep them brief alsdfj), so I thought I’d write a more thorough post about it! More under the cut--though as with everything TES related I make, these are just my headcanons!

High Rock: Given High Rock’s prosperous kingdoms, most cities and the province in general flourishes with the comfort of being wealthy and powerful (Headcanoned this way since High Rock is one of the three main powers in the alliance war during ESO’s timeline, as well as being home to two large kingdoms, being Daggerfall and Wayrest, in TES2) This richness in the economy and resources allowed for the most experimentation and decadence with the province’s food, including its bread. A lot of these individual breads were based off french breads (baguette, buttery croissant, bread rolls, etc) Cinnamon swirl breads and sugary donuts (I call dough knots here/in my fic) exist, as High Rock’s geographic location in the Iliac Bay allows for a robust importing market where spices like cinnamon and sugar are brought in regularly from other provinces.

Hammerfell: Bread in Hammerfell isn’t nearly as decadent as High Rock, as food is treated with more utility and nutrition in mind, rather than flavor. Oats and seed breads are unassuming yet filling. Oats and rye are grown in the less arid eastern lands of the province, as very little is able grow in the western Alik’r deserts. That being said, livestock raised in the west are vital to providing milk, butter, and eggs, which are used in/eaten with the breads frequently. Smaller portions such as the bagels are compact and easy to pack for long journeys across the desert.

Wrothgar: Wrothgar’s climate (specifically the greener western parts of it) allow for them to grow their own grain (typically rye). Orcs’ tastes in bread also drastically differ the bretons in that they don’t go all out with making sickeningly sweet pastries (in fact, the only time they’ll sweeten their bread is with some snowberry jam). They do, however, love huge portion sizes, as many orcs live together in large tribes with just as large tribesmen and warriors, so they bake their breads in huge loaves. 

Skyrim: Skyrim’s bread was the easiest to figure out design-wise as they’re directly based off the bread you find in-game, though some parts of it (namely the decision to have a Jazbay crostata here rather than the other fruits) were chosen to fit a general theme of sweetness. Sweetrolls are famous all across Tamriel for a good reason: nordic breads, given Skyrim’s significant honey industry, are generally very sweet (as honey is used generously, in more than just the mead markets) Jazbay is referenced to be very sweet, thus the Jazbay crostata. Braided bread is very buttery and large, like most foods from Skyrim. Like orcs, the nords love their generous portions!

Morrowind (this part’s really long, apologies in advance aljsdf): The bread of Morrowind was broken up into three categories based on very differing cultures within the province: Common (Found in the mainland and settled regions of Vvardenfell) Ashlander (found within Ashlander tribes) and Northern (found in northern villages and Solstheim, with nordic influence). The Common baguette is based on banh mi, which is just “bread” in Vietnam. Vietnam (yes I’m gonna kind of derail into history I’m sorry aljsf) used to be owned by the French, so a lot of our foods share some roots in french culture, which is why Vietnamese bread is similar to french baguettes (though are different, not just in look, but texture and taste, though it’s hard to explain in words) In TES3, the encroachment of Imperial/western conquest and control plays a big part in Vvardenfell’s politics and in (especially in it’s more southwestern region) architecture and culture. I found this mixing of the west with the east to mirror Vietnam’s history somewhat, thus Morrowind’s Common bread being directly based off banh mi.

Ashlander bread was designed in mind not only for nomadic people (thus they would be quite small and compact) but also with keeping in mind that Ashlanders would likely lack access to large ovens/utensils/space to bake anything substantial, so these were based on small pan-baked buns. The bowl they’re in is a hollowed-out green shalk shell!

Northern bread is directly inspired by nordic braided bread, though it’s baked much smaller than the nords’ usual preference for large portion sizes. The influence comes mostly from Solstheim, though it’s also found in north-western cities like Khuul.

Black Marsh: This one was a bit tough to figure out for a while, as one would expect you can’t grown much of anything in swamplands. I was however able to find a reference to the existence of marsh rice in one of the A Culinary Adventure volumes (they’re lorebooks from ESO I believe, in which an Imperial writes about authentic Argonian cuisine; it’s really wild and I highly recommend them!) Therefore these are loosely based on small slices of rice bread, wrapped in large banana leaves (yes this was also taken from Vietnamese cuisine. A girl likes to include bits of her own culture in her art sometimes, even if it’s really vague aljsdfjd)

Valenwood: Probably the most controversial choice that I should’ve explained better, as the existence of the Green Pact would have one assume bread is outlawed in the province due to the use of grains (plants) needed to make it. I still wanted to incorporate mostly meat into these breads, though the fact that bread is still used is based off a headcanon that the Green Pact only applies to plants grown within the forests, but doesn’t apply to grains grown in other provinces. One could infer that, especially at the time of the alliance war, travel and trade within the Aldmeri Dominion’s other provinces was very normal, thus bread could theoretically have made its way into bosmeri cuisine, first by bosmer living in other provinces, who brought the customs over to Valenwood.

Summerset: Altmeri bread prioritizes beauty, flavor, and presentation. Very unlike the nords, they aren’t inclined to large portion sizes (the smaller the better, as one should not indulge in gluttony) but what their bread lacks in proportion is exceeded in richness and taste--essentially the bread version of $200 tiny cuts of filet mignon with a bit of $300 truffle on the side (and maybe with a glass of $1000 wine for good measure) The food ought to look and taste as beautiful as Summerset’s city, right?

Elsweyr: Breads in Elsweyr are, like Morrowind, broken up into multiple sections due to Elsweyr’s drastically different northern and southern regions. Flatbreads like naan are found primarily in the north, and heartier breads that incorporate fruits are found in the south (as fruits are more easily able to grow in these tropical climates). Though it’s important to note that trade between the north and south is common, so these breads aren’t entirely restricted by region.

Moon sugar butter cookies are popular treats found all throughout Tamriel, though not entirely in the same innocent reasons that sweetrolls are popular. Since moon sugar is a narcotic that non-Khajiiti races react poorly to, potent moon sugar cookies are sometimes smuggled via the pretense of being less potent and non-harmful cookies (which use only a tiny bit of moon sugar along with regular sugar, which is the benevolent much loved treat anyone can enjoy). Think really, really strong weed brownies that some people have probably eaten by accident, which certainly would ruin the day of both the person who ate it and the smuggler it belonged to! Though of course, just like skooma, these more potent cookies are just as often willingly sought after.

Cyrodiil: Cyrodiilic bread is based on ancient breads (I tried to pinpoint it specifically from Rome, but “ancient” can mean a lot of different things to Google, haha.) The dry, basic, and unappealing nature of these breads aren’t actually meant as a dig at Cyrodiil (at least, not from my own personal standpoint). They were designed this way based on a line in The Red Kitchen Reader, which is a story about an Imperial speaking of his passion for food. The important bit is this excerpt:

As a child growing up in Cheydinhal, I did not care for food at all. I recognized the value of nutrition, for I was not a complete dullard, but I cannot say that mealtime brought me any pleasure at all. Partly, of course, this was the fault of my family's cook, who believed that spices were an invention of the Daedra, and that good Imperials should like their food boiled, textureless and flavorless. Though I think she was alone in assigning a religious significance to this, my sampling of traditional Cyrodilic cuisine suggests that the philosophy is regrettably common in my homeland.

Thus the design of Cyrodiilic bread is underwhelming and unappetizing.