#but he's not emotionally stunted - he feels and cares deeply he's just scared about showing it

[elvenbeard]

× Negative Trait Tag Game.

Tagged by @kharonion and @katsigian , thank you so much💜

RULES: bold what always or almost always applies, italicize occasional or situational, strikethrough never applies.

— VINCE —

aggressive | arrogant | authoritarian | bitter | brutal | callous | cannibal | careless | cold/cold-hearted | compulsive | controlling | corrects others constantly | cowardly | critical | cruel | demanding | disillusioned | domineering | envious | emotionally stunted | greedy | grim | guarded | hard | harsh | hypocritical | impatient | impolite | intimidating | irritable | kidnapper | lazy | liar | lustful | materialistic | mean | merciless | messianic | mistrusting | narrow-minded | obsessive | opinionated | overbearing | over-critical | over-emotional | over-thinking | patronizing | proud | remote | repressed | rigid | rules with an iron fist | ruthless | sarcastic | self-righteous | self-indulgent | taciturn | torturer | touchy | traitorous | unsympathetic | unpredictable | uptight | vain | vengeful

This is a good list, but you know what's missing? deceiving, impressionable, indecisive, manipulative and stubborn!

Apart from that, I feel like I had to italicize a lot here, and that's because Vince is the type of person who really has two different faces depending on which circumstances you meet him under... the kind of pragmatic "True Neutral" alignment character that will do whatever suits his own purposes best in most situations, not too bothered with what is the morally good or bad thing to do.

He is not as cold-hearted as he can come across when he's in his slick "corpo persona" that he puts on when he has to deal with people on a professional level. He was made to believe his worth as a person is defined by how "useful" he is to others, and at the same time he's learned the hard way that showing weakness gets you swallowed quickly in Night City and the corporate world as a whole. It's this constant balancing act between being useful while not letting yourself be used that got him as far as he did.

At the same time, he is a bit of a dick who always wants to be right about everything. Behind the cool exterior is just this angry kid who's been fucked by life over and over again, had extremely high expectations put onto him and puts them on himself now, and has just really gotten kind of numb and disillusioned from the life he's leading. He's too proud and stubborn to ask for or accept help, craving to find some kind of meaning or purpose for himself in this whole mess, and then repeatedly falls for the wrong people and their empty promises.

On issues like his distrustfulness, his sarcasm, and his tendency to lie (about uncomfortable matters in particular) he is working though (not because he sees them as flaws necessarily, but more because it's these things that usually get him into the most trouble with the people he actually really cares about...).

I don't know who's done this already, and as always no pressure and tyt! Gonna tag @honourandsteel, @pinkyjulien, @chevvy-yates (aber echt kein Stress! xD), @imaginarycyberpunk2023 (would be so curious about both Vinnie and Macha here!!), @breezypunk, @timaeusterrored (curious about Vax in particular, but anyone goes if you wanna do this :o), @genocidalfetus, aaaaand everyone else who I'm forgetting now! Consider yourself tagged <3

[daydrinking75]

i hate hospitals. everyone's so miserable, and theres something wrong with everyone. a man just rolled by me with his foot inflated like a balloon; the woman sitting next to me is crying quietly while someone talks about what theyd like to post on their story. theres an out of place painting on the opposite wall, its a green lake that contrasts with the sterility of the walls, further exacerbated by how its a landscape painted on a tall thin canvas. some machine is beeping in the background, surprisingly consistent, and while nurses and emts briskly walk in and out of view i cant help but be reminded of my job, and how soul suckingly buerocratic it is. all work is. these people cant help all that much, they're just following protocols, while we wait, bitter, resentful, and restless for the promise of being helped. in the context of a system, of course, a system im watching slowly erode and be excavated by strangers whom i only know from posters and ads, motivated by what i can only imagine to be greed. politics is a deeply corrupted business, my mother said id do well in it, she said i have a silver tongue and knack for winning arguments with a calm, personless tone. out of everyone here my injury seems almost comical: i broke a nail. half of its ripped off, and it did hurt quite a bit but i didnt cry until we got to the er where i put on a show for pity points. and before i knew it i was genuinely crying. not from the pain, i took a hamdful of advil before i left the house to cope with it, but the shame. my egoism and entitlement, my laziness and penchant for disappointment, my fathers wide scared eyes when i told him what happened and where i was going.

"see you tomorrow. you'll be there all night."

"can you take care of the dog?"

"no."

i always remember and probably always will the day i came back from the hospital a few years back on thanksgiving, with bandaged wrists, tears in my eyes, and the taste of shame in my mouth, and the first thing he asked me when i walked through the door:

"who's going to pay for the ambulance?"

insurance did. it was 500$ though. but that moment replays in my head on a weekly basis. it reminds me of who i was raised by and what kind of person i share a house with. emotionally stunted is an understatement. i feel as though im hallucinating all this pain and someones about to pinch me awake. but they never do, and all im left with is the brief respite i find in the glow of a cigarette. speaking of which, i think i'll go have one now.

[mintchochipkookie]

Yet another thing that Toph and Zuko have in common: Have their symptoms/coping mechanisms/guards they put up around themselves due to their trauma misinterpreted as “lol angsty murder child” when if you actually paid attention to their characterization for five seconds you would find that they’re both deeply compassionate and empathetic people.

Okay, this one is kinda personal to me. One of the major reasons Zuko and Toph are my faves is because I relate a lot to the more broken and insecure parts of them. I have a really nice family and I owe them so much, so I’m definitely luckier than either of them. But I also recognise that they’re not perfect people, and sometimes they’ll do this to me too. Pigeonhole me as the short-tempered emotionally stunted one, even when they know that’s not true because they’ll seek me out when they’re upset. The thing is, almost every character on ATLA is a direct result of their upbringing, I actually do think the show did a pretty good job of giving them layers and tying all of that back to their individual pasts. And also since this was meant to be a children’s show, they would stop dead in their tracks and flat out tell us the more nuanced aspects of their personalities, in addition to intermittently dropping in scenes that allow us to stitch the full picture together ourselves. That’s why these hot takes are so alarming to me. I KNOW that in real life that’s what people do, but this show spells it out for us. Humans are all too eager to take everyone they meet at face value and shove them into distinct little boxes. So Sokka is the dumb comic relief, Katara is angry brown girl, Toph is shallow and aggressive, and Zuko is emo bad boy. It’s infuriating. They are all these things and more and even those surface-level assessments hold so much merit in the context of how each was raised.

I don’t think I need to get into the Zuko thing again but I don’t talk enough about how much I love Toph. She’s the only one who reacts logically to every situation in Book 2. She has so much empathy for people, and she’ll just befriend random old men. She loves her friends so much and is so scared of losing people. She rejects traditional femininity because the way she was raised, it was almost oppressive and as a blind girl aesthetics hold little meaning for her. But as she grows closer with Katara she learns to accept a different way of thinking, she’s not just a little misogynist as people like insisting. She consoles Iroh, Zuko, and Katara at different points. She makes an effort to understand where people are coming from. Funnily, I think with Toph, there’s a little bit of sexism behind the way people interpret her, because god forbid women be multiple things at once.

I think both Toph and Zuko have a lot of growing moments and were both rich kids who didn’t get the love they wanted from their parents. They are extra empathetic because they know what it feels like to be misunderstood and underestimated. Zuko’s journey focuses a lot on this, and I think we forget that Toph experienced the same stuff, albeit on a smaller scale. There was that post about abused kids being hyperaware of other people’s emotions, and there are countless moments where both of them show an insane amount of compassion for other people. Heck, Zuko’s whole arc is spurred on by the fact that he cared too much about their soldiers. This is literally Zuko’s whole thing jfc. Idk I’m having a hard time explaining myself without getting too personal, but I’m just tired of people boiling everyone down to one primary character trait and dismissing everything else that makes them a good and interesting person. This is by no means limited to the ATLA fandom (example: the HP fandom loves doing this shit too) and is very much a real and damaging thing that people to irl as well.

[decayandfanfics]

The great book of sayings

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x FemReader

SUMMARY: He looks at you, his scarlet eyes fixed on yours, burning a hole through your head, every bit the predator he is, but you are as tough as it gets, so, against your better judgment and any well-founded logic, you answer his silent threat, the animalistic look he gives you with nothing less than a fearless smirk, irises burrowing into his pupils.A clever girl. He thinks, finally labeling you inside his head, cursing himself in the very moment he allows his brain to think of you as more than an asset. He is sure (he knows himself enough to know) he’ll think of this moment many times from now on.A clever pretty girl.

Reader is a typical college student until she gets herself tangled with the league of villains.

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, violence, Tomura being Tomura, mentions of murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut later.

A/N: I’m trying so hard to write crusty boy here really in character. At least after AfO is taken. Any misspelled words, english is not my native language so i’m trying Helen. ________________________________________________________

Chapter 9 / Chapter 10

It takes two to Tango.

It’s always like this after using it, but of course a quirk like this would come with some dangerous side effects.

You watch your reflection in the mirror, all dark eyebags and bloodshot eyes. At least the bleeding has finally stopped, but the sink is a bloody mess, and the trash can is full of paper soaking in blood.

It feels awful, really. Physically and emotionally.

You could still feel Dabi’s bones bending under your quirk. His muscles and tendons stiffen like hard rock as the blood stooped its flowing inside of him.

As always, you let the anger get the best of you. It’s your worst defect, and now it will cost you dearly because there is no way the league lets you live after what you’ve done to Dabi. Shigaraki will decay you and that will be all, and if you weren’t as exhausted after all the crying and the bleeding, you would be fucking losing it.

A soft knock in the door forces you to clear your face from the tears before opening, shoving down the nausea at the idea of facing your imminent death.

“can we talk?” Toga asks, her soft face adorned with a little frown.

You let her in and close the door again, sitting over the toilet.

“I’m very sorry for what I did, Himiko-chan.” You sob quietly.

“I know. Hey…hey, don’t cry. I’m not mad.”

“I hurt you, I didn’t think clearly, I was so mad...”

“hey, it’s fine.” She states, her little hand touching your shoulder, trying to calm you. “I mean, when I first came to the league, Tomura, Dabi and I almost killed each other, so…I understand.”

“it’s not the same, Toga. My quirk is…I almost killed Dabi and I didn’t even touched him. I just…I, I’m supposed to help people, try to keep it down, but when I get angry…I’m a monster and now Shigaraki is going to kill me…”

“No, don’t say that. That’s not true.” Her voice is soft when she clutches in front of you. “look at me, hey. Look at me. We are friends. You just got angry. And you didn’t hurt me, and Tomura and Compress are fine. It didn’t hurt. It was weird but didn’t hurt. And Tomura-kun is not going to kill you.”

“really?”

“If Tomura-kun wanted you dead, you would’ve been an hour ago.” She answers, rolling her eyes. “can you tell me about what just happen? What is with your quirk?”

“it’s pretty simple, actually. It is call Torment. Is the ability to manipulate living tissue, tensing nerves, contracting muscle and bending bone. It’s a useless variation of a healing quirk, but I cannot grow new tissue, only manipulate it. I can keep wounds closed, I can relax your nerves, I can break your bones and stop your blood from flowing. I can stop your heart just by moving a finger and torture you by contracting all your muscles and nerves, but it’s dangerous for me. It’s too much effort to control a whole body, less alone four of them. I bleed, and I ache.”

 “wow. That’s why you look so terrible.”

“yeah” you laugh cleaning your tears. “I guess I do.”

“how do you feel now?”

“a little better. Still like shit, but I’ll be fine.”

“Compress and I will be going to the store. Do you want something?”

“To the store? With what money?”

“A girl has her ways.” She teases softly “want some sweets?”

“Yes. I need to eat something. It’s…Dabi there?”

“no, he went out. Tomura-kun told him to go chill outside.”

“Okay. I’m going to get out now...”

“don’t be scared. You’ll be fine. Dabi asked for it anyway and…he sometimes can get very nasty with Tomura. He deserved it.”

“Himiko…thank you.”

You gather your courage and step out of the bath, finding your apartment as messy as you left it an hour ago, but this time is empty.

Thank god.

You give yourself to the task of collecting your destroyed laptop and removing the broken table from the view, looking for a way to repair the detached leg, trying to clean and erase any trace of the fight, enjoying your solitude for the first time in more than a week.

“this is going to cost me.” you say to no one, preparing yourself to the idea of buying a new computer as you move to your room. “I don’t have any extra money to-”

“I always knew you were hiding something.”

“FUCK!” You scream letting the pieces of your laptop fall again, covering your face with your hands when you notice Shigaraki’s arm crossed figure leaning against the wall besides your door. “dammit, Shigaraki. You cannot just…appear behind other people’s doors.”

“that’s debatable.” He remarks, an amused grin plastered in his face.

He watches you and something inside of you twist between excited and scared as his eyes scan you head to toe, the gears of his brain turning inside his head.

“What.”

“C’mon. I’m curious about it.”

“I bet you are.” You spit annoyed.

“Careful now. Look where that bickering mouth of yours got you an hour ago.” He warns you entertained.

“Don’t you dare to patronize me.” You warn already tired, a hand rubbing against your temple.

“I’m just asking about that funny little quirk you have. That and the little display of rage, who would have thought!”

You stare at him, weighting your options to no avail.”

“I can manipulate living tissue. Muscle, bone, nerves, blood. That’s all.

“That’s a pretty boring answer to such a memorable show.”

“This is stupid. What did you expect me to do, huh?” you snap.

“What makes you think I expect you to do anything?” He asks cunningly.

“You know what I mean.”

“no, I don’t.” he laughs.

“It’s just…I hate bullys. And he’s been trying his best to get on my nerves since day one and I could…I mean, i…I just…”

“you what.”

“I cannot stay there and let him berate people like it’s not important!” You can feel the verbal vomit gathering inside your throat, if you keep like this, you are going to say something you will regret.

“but it’s not.” He states rolling his eyes. “I didn’t care about what he said. You didn’t have to say anything.”

“but I care!”

"About what he does? or is about wh-"

"it's about what he said of you!"

"It doesn't matter wh-"

"Yes, it does!" 

“why d-”

“because I like you!”

The moment those words are out, you smack your palm against your mouth, fully convinced you made a horrible mistake, so honoring your sense of self-preservation and improvisation, you oblige yourself to make some verbal stunt just to get out of this one, because you have a horrible scary feeling about the hungry look he’s giving you.

“I mean, I thought we could get along…all of us. Despite everything, I think highly of you, and I know you are a villain- villains who wants to destroy everything, but I thought we could be…”

“Friends? are you hearing yourself?” He spits; his mouth twitched in a hateful grimace.

Fear shoots through you in less than a second. Suddenly he looks more taller and menacing, as his steps makes you retrieve, until your back hits the wall on the corner of your room.

Yeah, you may not be afraid of Dabi, but Shigaraki Tomura is a completely different story.

“What are you doing.”

“What am I doing?”

“Get away from me.” you bark scared, as your eyes ignite in clear warning. The dark feeling pooling at the pit of your stomach send shivers through your spine, lifting the hairs of your neck in terror.

“Make me.” Shigaraki growls lowly the moment one of his hands trap your chin roughly, his pinky safely curled against his palm, but even like that you can almost feel how close you are from certain death.

He is pissed out of the blue, your brain failing at finding the exact moment shit went down before he decides to finally kill you, yet you don’t get it, all you did was…

Oh…

He winces scanning your face searching for something, and the moment his eyes stops over your lips, you recognize the feeling.

He snarls like a wolf, looming over you, looking like he’s ready to kill you.

Or eat you.

“Are you done playing dumb?” he asks darkly, and you can feel the warm of his breath against your own lips and something far more complex and exciting than plain fear roaring inside your chest, begging you to push forward, begging you to kiss him.

“I said…are you done playing-“

“WE ARE BACK!” You both snap your heads to the door the moment Toga enters, screaming cheerfully while leaving a bag with candy over the counter, and before you know, Shigaraki is at the other side of the room, staring at you like you transfixed, digging his nails deeply in his neck, before storming out of the apartment, leaving you there, rooted in your room, finally remembering how to breathe.

“What’s wrong with him?” Compress asks as he handles you a pack of gummy bears.

You can still feel the warmth of his hand against your face, your lips still tingling with longing.

“I have no idea.” You lie.

Chapter 11

[benmparks]

Six of Crows (series) Review

patreon | kofi

Last night I picked up Six of Crows again, pretending I was just going to peruse it for the purpose of this review but who am I kidding? I am fully obsessed with these books, I just wanted to read it again. With that being said, welcome to my review of the Six of Crows duology, Six of Crows and Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo.

Review

The duology follows six members of this gang, the Dregs, that Kaz Brekker basically runs as they try to outwit some big players. Somehow Leigh Bardugo manages to jump from six POVs and not only make it work, but also use it to her advantage. The plot is crazy heist after heist, a lot of violence and darkness and yet every character and scene feels so endearing. The character work is crazy in these books, and at the end of the day the focus isn’t the crazy stunts they pull but the dynamic and connections between these six very different characters and how in the end they do care about each other despite the odds.

In the big picture of things, both of the books get a 4/5 Goodreads stars from me. I could not put either of the books down, and to be honest it felt like one long book if only because I read them back to back. Six of Crows is the “introduction” to the characters, but the book jumps right into it. The writing is very dense with character and world building, in a way that I found entrancing instead of boring somehow. I think I can credit that to the richness of the characters, and my immediate love for each and everyone of them. Admittedly, if I didn’t already know them from the show, I don’t know if I would have made it past the first page which is why it only gets 4 out of 5 stars. It was a thick book, and sometimes my eyes did just glaze over the words to try to get it moving.

The ending of Six of Crows was almost cruel, and I had to wait a day before I could get Crooked Kingdom. Reading Crooked Kingdom was like running a marathon and I have to admit, I’m not sure it was because it was very interesting or I just really wanted to get to the good parts. The plot in Crooked Kingdom gets a little repetitive, and I just really wanted Kaz to get some rest near the end, but the writing and some scenes really saved the whole book. I have reread some scenes multiple times already, Ms. Bardugo does have a solid grasp on writing emotion and dynamics in a way that feels so authentic like I am watching it play in front of me.

Some Thoughts

To be fully transparent, I read these books so quickly and in a haze of hyper fixation, so my review is probably biased but the books really did deliver on the character building that I wanted after what I had seen of the crows in the show. The writing was truly captivating, and the plot had me stoked to see how they managed to pull it off. By the end of Crooked Kingdom, I had managed to figure out the pattern though, which made the final resolution a little lackluster to me.

I really liked how casually diverse the cast was, with people of color with their own fantasy cultures, diverse romances, and even some disability representation. Kaz, my favorite character, has a limp and PTSD induced touch aversion like........ That spoke to me on a personal level. (I don’t have PTSD, but I also can be averse to touch at times.) The way that all of this works together, the diverse character with their diverse traits and flaws, was a masterpiece.

I keep going on and on about the characters, but I am truly amazed at how well they were built throughout the series both personally and their interpersonal connections. You get the sense that they are a dysfunctional family that deeply cares for each other. I said it already, but it is really endearing despite all the violence and thievery. So much so, that the rest of my review will be about that.

Let’s talk about the relationships

Kaz and Everyone Else

Everytime I write this review it devolves into me going on and on about how much I love Kaz and here we are again... but really. He carries the story, okay?

As I said, Kaz is the cold and calculating “leader” of the Dregs. He is known in the Barrel (where they live) as a ruthless killer who cares about furthering his gang than anything else, which is sort of true but not the whole story. By the end of Crooked Kingdom, I think what Kaz cares about the most is getting everyone else out safely. He had dragged them all into the mess they were in, where chances of getting out alive were slim, and he felt personally responsible for making sure it worked for everyone else. This was the part where I was reading just so maybe he would go to sleep, because I was so worried about him.

There were other moments throughout the books that showed his “soft side” for his gang, but in ways that they wouldn’t read as friendliness. He acts very careful to continue his persona around everyone except...... Inej. Which we’ll get to in a moment.

Kaz and Jesper

Jesper is sort of Kaz’s right hand man, he is introduced to us in that context anyway. It is not made clear, as I remember, their relationship much further than this but Jesper clearly looks up to him. Impressing Kaz, or proving his loyalty to him, seems to be a main driver in Jesper’s actions. He clearly wants a more personal relationship with him, and is constantly disappointed.

I liked how they portrayed these two, switching POVs to show that they are very clearly close personally but neither of them really knows. Near the end, in a dramatic and emotionally charged scene, Kaz accidentally calls Jesper his dead brother’s name and I think that says it all. That was one of my favorite scenes because after two books of this sort of tense relationship between them, it kind of ties it all up in a bow. Kaz does care about Jesper, maybe too much in his opinion.

Jesper and Wylan

Wylan is the estranged son of the merchant that they were up against, so the crew originally sees him as a bit of an outsider. He had a rich upbringing, so they think of him as soft and he’s only originally used as something to hold against the merchant. I loved him, he was the voice of reason in the group. A look into what a normal person might see when interacting with this band of thieves.

Jesper is a flirtatious character, he flirts with everyone, but you can see the slow way his flirting with Wylan changes into something a little deeper. Their relationship was masterfully done, it was like I stumbled into it. It was like, halfway through Crooked Kingdom, I suddenly cared a lot about them which made the twists and turns of their relationship so much more fulfilling.

One side note, I personally didn’t care for their final resolution. I’m not big on sappy endings, so there’s that.

Nina and Inej

I love a female friendship, okay? Nina’s entire story seemed to focus on Matthius and her being a grisha (someone who can use magic), so her interactions with Inej were refreshing. Nina was like the heart of this troupe, trying to keep the focus on a righteous goal instead of the money that Kaz seemed to only care about. (Seemed being the operative word). Inej was a perfect counterpart to that, as her religious and cultural background kept her on the softer side of things despite integration to the Dregs.

I think it was those parts of their story that made them care so much about each other, they were two girls trying to keep a part of themselves in this crazy world of the Barrel. In the midst of all the darkness and scheming, their softer bond was a welcome addition.

Nina and Matthius

I said this in my Shadow and Bone review, I just don't care for these two. Nina, as I mentioned, is a grisha and Matthius was a grisha hunter who did try to kill her. Maybe a little too enemies to lovers for me, and too fast. While I think their dynamic was better portrayed in the books, I still didn't really like Matthius as a character and I didn't feel a strong enough reason for Nina to care so much for him. I think their story is a little too insta-love for me. (I also had a major spoiler about the two of them which I don't think helped, let's just say I knew not to get too attached.)

Kaz and Inej

Alright. I’m writing this.

Kaz wears gloves all the time, except with Inej.

I mean, that’s the dynamic. He is that cold blooded guy from the Barrel, except with Inej. He doesn’t want to admit that he feels anything besides professional feelings for her, but god does he pretty much from the start. When he’s losing his mind, it’s Inej that brings him back. When Inej is attacked, oh my god the writing for that part. He lost it, and it was dark and scary because he was scared he was going to lose her.

Yet, still, he won’t admit it.

Inej wants to believe he is that cold blooded guy from the Barrel, she wants to believe there is something else in him but whenever she tries to find it, he pushes her away. Still, she stays and tries again until she gives up but Kaz doesn't give up on her. Kaz never gives up on her, everything he does is for her in the end. He wants her to get everything she dreams for, even if he thinks dreams and hopes are stupid distractions.

And, in the end, he does that for her. And they hold hands.

(Which is a big deal because, as I said, he’s touch averse but he wants to touch her...............................................)

Anyway.

That’s my review.

The characters carried the story which got long and repetitive at some points, but I really did devour these books in a matter of days and I’m still rereading parts just to relive them again. 4/5 stars.

Thanks for reading.

[ruusverd-fandom-blog]

I started this as a reply to another post, but it got super long and went in a bit different direction so I made my own. It probably needs a "read more" but I'm on mobile, so oh well.

Note: I'm talking exclusively about what we see on the screen in the Netflix show here, not the information from the books or games or fanon interpretations.

I think it's interesting that Geralt's supposed emotional constipation and weak social skills only seem to get mentioned in relation to his interactions with Jaskier. Geralt gets along fine for the most part with pretty much everyone else he meets if he wants to (except for his fight with Yen about the wish) and even though he isn't as chatty as his book counterpart, his emotions are generally very clearly conveyed and not inappropriate to whatever situation he's in at the time. There's definitely a lot of trauma and trust issues going on there, but all things considered he's actually a surprisingly functional adult.

I think people assume Geralt is emotionally repressed and socially stunted because he doesn't act like he likes Jaskier or wants him around, but that's only a sign of emotional repression if it isn't true. Watching the show... it looks to me like Geralt genuinely doesn't like Jaskier and doesn't want him around. I'm not going to analyze every scene because this is already going to be really long, but Jaskier gives Geralt very little reason to trust him, let alone like him. It's not a crime or a sign of bad social skills to not want to be friends with someone, particularly someone who doesn't respect you at all. (It definitely is a really bizarre writing choice for both characters since they are supposed to be best friends, but I digress.)

In the very first episode Jaskier is in, he sees Geralt in a tavern, decides all on his own he's going to make him his muse, completely ignores that Geralt isn't interested, gives him some "help" that Geralt didn't ask for and actively objected to, then in later episodes acts like Geralt owes him friendship (and favors, and actual money) in return. He constantly treats Geralt like an idiot who needs Jaskier to run his life. And he does this for literal decades. What part of that was Geralt supposed to interpret as genuine friendship? That's not how a friend would act, even if Jaskier's intentions were good.

And for once let's not pretend his actual intention in writing the song(s) was a selfless desire to help Geralt, at least not entirely. Netflix Jaskier isn't book Dandelion the master poet, celebrated graduate of Oxenfurt and independently famous bard. Netflix Jaskier when we meet him is a young guy who can't even busk in a tavern without having things thrown at him, his songs are that terrible. He latches onto Geralt of Rivia the famous witcher as a potential career boost for himself before he knows Geralt doesn't like to be called the Butcher; he was equally happy to write songs about the Butcher of Blaviken before Geralt punched him. (Also a strange writing choice by the way, Geralt isn't generally the type to punch random strangers for being accidentally insulting. Or even purposefully insulting for that matter.)

People like to talk about how Jaskier made Geralt famous and improved his reputation (which is debatable, I'll get to that in a minute) but I seldom see anyone point out that Jaskier's own professional reputation was entirely built on songs that he attached Geralt's name to without his approval, capitalizing on Geralt's already existing fame to boost his own.

How much the song(s) really helped Geralt is, as I said, debatable. He was clearly already pretty famous if Jaskier recognized him on sight, and the worst instance shown of human prejudice against witchers occurs in episode 1 before the Butcher of Blaviken came to be. In the tavern in Posada he's sitting alone, but he's clearly visible to the whole room and not hiding in his hood like he was in Blaviken, and no one seems hostile towards him for being there. The farmer isn't scared to approach him with a job, and even pays him up front. The Blaviken incident doesn't actually seem on screen to have made Geralt's life noticeably worse than it already was in a practical sense, he just really hates that memory and doesn't like being called a butcher.

The only major difference I can see for Geralt after Jaskier writes his song seems to be that occasionally he gets called White Wolf instead of Butcher (though Butcher is still far more common, at least on screen), and that he now also has a reputation for slaughtering elves, as shown by Calanthe's banquet. Granted the latter likely doesn't hurt his popularity with humans, but Geralt obviously (and rightfully) hates it.

I say again, what part of this is supposed to make Geralt so incredibly indebted to and fond of Jaskier?

There are a lot more instances I could mention, (grabbing the djinn right out of Geralt's hands, trying to use the wishes all for himself and what he chose to wish for, immediately lying about Geralt's feelings to bolster his own reputation when he thinks Geralt just died, I could go on) but the overall impression is that this relationship is really heavily slanted in Jaskier's favor, and Jaskier engages in a lot of controlling behaviors to ensure that he continues to benefit as much as possible, frequently at the expense of Geralt's physical, emotional, and moral comfort. I'm not sure why it's considered "emotionally constipated" for Geralt to be unhappy with this and pretty bluntly tell Jaskier to go away and leave him alone through the whole show.

It's not until episode 6 that Geralt finally snaps and phrases his oft-repeated "go away and leave me alone" so harshly it finally gets through Jaskier's habit of filtering out everything Geralt says. Too harshly maybe, but Geralt has been saying essentially the same thing at every opportunity for 22 years and Jaskier doesn't listen or else just doesn't care. No wonder Geralt finally blew up. It's actually very telling that after so many years Jaskier doesn't even know Geralt well enough to read his moods or warning signs. Maybe Jaskier is the one who actually lacks social skills and/or emotional awareness?

Regardless, I was super turned off by Geralt and Jaskier's relationship in the Netflix show. I wanted so much to like it, but frankly I was relieved when Jaskier finally left in ep 6, for both their sakes. And I felt so bad that I was relieved, because it could have been so much better. If these two are supposed to be friends, the script should have been written so that both Geralt and Jaskier actually like and respect each other and want to be friends, because so far they're just two completely incompatible people. I hope season 2 is better, but given how tv shows usually work my hopes aren't high.

Tl;dr, I don't think the travesty of Geralt and Jaskier's relationship in the Witcher Netflix is due to Geralt being socially inept or emotionally stunted. It's due to the fact these two characters, instead of being written as opposites that attract, are written as a man who deeply hates being taken advantage of, and another man who ceaselessly takes advantage of him. It just doesn't work. Jaskier can't just force or guilt-trip Geralt into being his friend if he doesn't want to, and he's given Geralt precious little reason to want to.

[mystery-moose]

FIC: Angus McDonald and the Flight of the Flying V (8/?)

[AO3 link]

They’ve come a long way, but even ten years after the world was saved, they’re still not quite where they should be. A whim, a missing painting, and a handful of near-death experiences help a flip wizard and his apprentice bridge the gap.

Taako does his best. Angus takes some risks. Introductions are made, bonds are tested, and lessons are learned — better late than never.

Interlude II: Self-Care

It was a cool and windy night down in the Dales. They'd set camp just off the road, by the edge of a forest; decent protection from the wind, and easy access to firewood. Clouds had gathered in the sky, leaving them without even moonlight to read by. This didn't stop Taako, of course — he conjured up a bonfire big enough to light the whole campsite solely so he could poke at a new cookbook he'd picked up in Armos.

Kravitz and Angus were sitting on little folding chairs to his right. They were playing red hands; so far, Kravitz was losing, albeit very gracefully. (Taako made a mental note to make fun of him for it later.) He glanced over every once in a while, and the image was so absolutely stomach-sickeningly sweet it made him want to throw up.

"Oh, come on!" Kravitz laughed as he lost for the fourth time in a row. "How'd you get this fast?"

"Must come natural, sir," Angus said with a grin. "Carey always said I was quick."

"In more ways than one, apparently," he said, rubbing his hands. "My turn, yes?"

Taako was about to go back to his book and resume his critique of a recipe for a creamed corn casserole when a noise came from the woods, distant and muffled. His ears twitched, and he sat up from where he was reclining on the grass. Kravitz and Angus hadn't noticed. Taako peered into the woods, straining his darkvision.

Nothing. Probably just the wind or something.

As he looked back down at his book, he heard it again — louder, and closer, and very much not the wind. Taako glanced over at Kravitz, who had turned around in his chair.

"You hear that?" Taako asked.

"Yes."

Kravitz stood up. Taako followed suit and stepped beside him. Neither of them took their eyes off the forest.

"You know what it is, right?"

Kravitz nodded. "Mhm."

Angus approached them nervously. "Sirs? What's going on?"

Taako looked down and rubbed Angus' head a little too rough. "Nothing important, bub. Just gerblins."

The boy's eyes widened. "Gerblins?"

"Yep. Like I said, nothin' to worry about. Cha'boy'll take care of it."

Taako turned to head back to the wagon and get his staff, but Kravitz stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"No need, dear," he said casually. "I'll handle it."

With a shrug, Taako turned back. "Suit yourself, bone dogg."

Kravitz unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves as he walked into the woods. Woof. Taako fanned himself and filed that image away for later appreciation.

"Don't forget the loot!" Taako called after him.

The reaper waved over his shoulder, and stepped out of view.

Taako turned to Angus and clapped his hands together. "Alright! Let's kill some time while Krav kills some gerblins. You been practicing your spells, Ango?"

They sat crosslegged in the grass by the fire, and Taako delivered an impromptu magic lesson. Angus was getting better all the time; he had a firm grasp of most level two spells, and had mastered all the cantrips Taako knew. At this point, he was reluctant to teach the boy anything more powerful until he was older — thirteen, probably. Not that he doubted his ability at all. It was more a matter of not wanting the wagons to catch fire.

Every once in a while, they'd hear an indistinct noise from the woods. Angus would glance over, and Taako would have to snap his fingers to bring him to attention again. At one point, a bright flare of orange was visible between the trees, followed by a single frightened gerblin shriek, almost drowned out by the wind in the trees. Then, nothing.

After about twenty minutes, Kravitz glided out of the forest. His spectral cloak, blacker than the moonless night, slowly sloughed away, revealing his preferred dark suit. His hood fell back from his head, disappearing into vaporous tendrils of black, and his skull and bones became dark skin and handsome features.

Taako stood up and brushed his pants off. "Did you remember the loot?"

Kravitz finished buttoning his cuffs and then pulled a small, ratty coin pouch from his belt.

"A couple hundred in all," he said, tossing the bag to Taako. "Plus some gold teeth."

"A whole week's worth of touring supplies," Taako said triumphantly. He shook the bag by his ear, and it jingled pleasantly. It was the little things, sometimes. "That's whatcha call a windfall."

"I'm fine, by the way."

"Oh, fuck off," Taako said lightly. "What were they gonna do, kill you again?"

Kravitz chuckled. Then he turned to Angus. "You weren't worried, were you?"

"No," Angus said. Then looked away and adjusted his glasses. "Well. A little. I know it's silly."

"Extremely," Taako said, tossing the bag from hand to hand. Kravitz, however, took a knee and rested a hand on Angus' shoulder.

"The sentiment is very much appreciated, Angus," he said seriously. "It's nice to know someone cares."

Taako rolled his eyes and groaned. "God. So needy."

"Lots of people care about you, sir," Angus said, equally seriously. "Some of them are just bad at showing it, sometimes."

"He's already dead!"

"I know, Angus," Kravitz sighed dramatically. "Some people are just emotionally stunted. It's sad, really."

"Okay, you know what? Screw you guys." Taako turned and marched off to the wagon. "I'm going to read in the wagon. That's a judgment-free zone!"

He heard them laughing as he walked away, and was thankful they couldn't see him fighting to stifle the grin on his face. For better or worse (likely worse) Taako was rubbing off on the two of them.

The next morning, Taako woke up first. Light filtered in from the windows beside the bed and above the little sink. He blinked blearily, propped himself up on his elbows, and yawned. He looked at Kravitz, still asleep by his side, and felt an almost uncomfortable surge of affection.

There was a part of him still not used to waking up next to the same person day in and day out. Hell, even knowing someone for this long hadn't happened in a long time. As arrogant and vain as Taako could be, he had enough self-awareness to be amazed that anyone would willingly spend so much time with him. He tried not to think about it much; it gave him butterflies in his stomach.

Taako leaned over and nipped at Kravitz's jaw, below the ear. This, he was much more comfortable with.

Kravitz breathed deeply and wrapped his arms around him. Taako shuddered, only partially from the chill of his skin.

"Mornin', rabbit," he mumbled against his neck.

"Morning," Kravitz murmured. "What time is it?"

"Early." Taako nipped again. "Dawn-ish."

"Breakfast?"

And again. "Don't mind if I do."

Kravitz chuckled. He ran a hand through Taako's hair and pulled him into a kiss.

Thwick. Thud.

Taako pulled away immediately and looked out the window to his left, then his right. He didn't see anything. Did he imagine it? No, definitely not. Blinking hard and scrubbing a hand across his face, he grumbled and pushed himself out of bed.

Kravitz sat up, shaking his head. "Stray gerblins?"

"Maybe," Taako said, between throwing on pants and a thin cotton shirt.

"Do you want me to—"

"Nah, I got it."

He looked back at Kravitz — shirtless, half in bed, hair a mess — and was suddenly very, very angry at the whole existence of gerblins.

"Won't be long," Taako said with a smirk and a wink. "Don't go anywhere, babe."

Kravitz snorted quietly and fell back into bed. Taako picked up his umbrella, opened the door, and prepared to give the little shits a piece of his mind.

The morning was cool and misty, and the grass dewy beneath his bare feet. He looked around, stepping towards the ashen fire pit. No gerblins that he could see or hear. No sign that anything was wrong at all.

Then, off behind the second wagon, he heard it clear as day — an arrow striking wood.

Taako stalked towards it, unafraid (like a gerblin was going to give him palpitations after the shit he'd been through) but as he rounded the wagon, he only saw Angus, hands at his sides, staring at the woods. Taako opened his mouth to speak, but Angus moved first.

In one smooth motion, the boy threw his arm up, drew back his sleeve, and flexed his fist. The tiny wrist-mounted crossbow fired, a quiet thwick sound followed by the louder thud of the bolt into a tree thirty feet away. It struck cleanly next to several other bolts, grouped neatly together around a wooden knot in the bark. Angus reloaded quickly, pulling another bolt from a small pouch on his hip, cocking it in the crossbow, sighting, and firing again. It struck just as cleanly, inches away from the last.

As the boy lowered his arm, he blew out a quiet breath and adjusted his glasses. Then he started to move towards the tree to retrieve the bolts.

"Angus."

The boy jumped and spun. He exhaled and rubbed at his chest. "Sir. You scared me."

"Feeling's mutual," he replied, leaning on the wagon wheel. "What's with the bow, homie?"

"Nothing," Angus said, looking down at his wrist. "Just realized it's been a long time since I practiced. That's all."

Taako made a face. "So you got up at the crack of dawn to practice shooting arrows."

"Bolts," Angus corrected, before grimacing apologetically. "I didn't mean to wake you, sir. I'm sorry."

"You didn't wake me." Taako glanced down the road. "Got me all amped up, though."

"Sorry."

Taako considered the boy and cocked an eyebrow. "You still know how to use that thing?"

"Of course," Angus said, holding up his wrist. "I've had it since it was nine. It was a gift from my grandpa, actually. He taught me how to use it."

"No shit."

Angus smiled a little. "No shit, sir."

Taako hummed, amused. He crossed his arms and shifted to sit on the wheel. "I actually forgot you had it. Really has been a while."

The boy nodded, hands clasped in front of him. He looked like he was waiting for permission. Taako sneered. Always so proper, so polite. He'd almost prefer the kid were a little hellion like he and Lup had been, back in the day. At least then they could relate to each other.

Taako shrugged and pushed off the wheel. "Alright, well, you can practice until breakfast is ready."

"Okay. Thanks."

"But don't shoot your eye out, kid," he warned, pointing at him. "Or I'll be pissed."

Angus grinned. "I won't, sir."

Taako walked away while Angus was pulling the bolts free from the tree, using Mage Hand for some extra oomph. By the time he got back, Kravitz was coming out of the wagon, depressingly clothed.

"Everything alright?" he asked.

"Yeah, yeah, it's cool." Taako gestured dismissively. "Just Agnes doing some self-care, or whatever."

"Is he okay?"

Taako glanced over his shoulder. 'Okay' was a relative term for most people he knew, but Angus seemed fairly well-adjusted. He'd been relying on Taako and Kravitz a lot since they'd been on the road, though. Probably got spooked by last night, wanted to feel a little less helpless. Taako could understand that; he'd lived in that headspace for years. If this was what the boy needed to feel better, what else mattered?

Hell, kid's more likely to hurt himself with a fuckin' paring knife.

"He's fine, Krav," he said, facing Kravitz again. "Just fine."

Kravitz nodded. Then he leaned in and asked, "Breakfast, then?"

Taako's eyebrows rose. A slow grin spread across his face. "I mean, if you're offering."

He stepped aside and gestured back towards the wagon. "It's still early, isn't it?"

"That it is, babe," Taako said, sashaying past him. "That it is."

[welcometomysflife]

Regarding the death of loved ones, being in the country and the nickname ‘Poppity’

I’m writing this as I fly back from Lumberton, NC, where my last living grandparent (mom’s mom) and my uncle and family live.  I was called to fly out because my mom told me that my grandma,’Motiba’, finally called us and told us we could come out.  We need permission to visit because over the past 40 years, the relations between the my mom and her 5 siblings have been increasingly fraught and strained, to put it mildly.  We basically have little to no relations with 40% of the that immediate family.  There was some origin ‘big bang’ that I’m not even sure that the siblings even remember the details of. They just remember their grand egos, stiff backs and perceived slights.  Since they’re already predisposed to not trusting or liking each other, even, it has been easy to build lives without each other through the years.

Then, we kids grew up and were like --- what the hell happened in those days? --- and no one is willing to talk about it – using any kind of excuse to change the subject.

The last time I saw most of this family was in 2008 – during my brother’s wedding, weeks after Obama won the first time.

Suffice to say, I don’t really know these people as people – more just as combinations of memory and gossip.

It was under this cloudy sky that I was told by my mom that Motiba had called and told us that she was soon to be called up to see visit her doctor in Philly and would erstwhile move in with another uncle – arguably the craziest and most disagreeable- up there. And before that, we should come out to visit her in NC.   Because we didn’t know when she’d be called away, we decided that my mom should go soon, to visit.  So, she pinched her nose and bought a ticket.  A very pricey ticket.  I was hemming and hawing and wringing my hands for a few weeks – due to price and just not want to go – but finally also pinched my nose and bought a flight – a VERY VERY pricey flight – and flew over for the weekend.

 As far as family weekends go, this was remarkably uneventful.  We ate, a lot.  Like as if there was a family wedding happening kind of quantities and varieties. We also just chatted and slept. We rarely left the house.  This suited my uncle’s family, as they run a motel and are generally just homebodies.  This also suited Motiba, because everyone was under the same roof, in somewhat tighter quarters, making the house feel very full and lively.  It was a unique time to see her with her great grandson, my nephew, playing around.  I always thought that only white people had great grandparents.  Our grandparents just died, tired and worn out. Motiba is the exception – in her late eighties/nineties (not really sure how old she is – she probably doesn’t really know either).  Motiba has always been incredibly resilient – a bastian of determination and effort. She is an uneducated wife of a government worker, with 6 kids and countless extended family members – who would always drop in to eat – who became widowed when my mom, the youngest, was 16. Since then she’s had to live on my grandfather’s pension and the goodwill of her family, children and likely others.  To be honest, I don’t really know what she did for money in that decade after my grandfather died.  I do know that we were desperately poor – living in a very basic government housing complex.  I’ve heard stories from people that knew my mom in that era, that the apartment didn’t even have windows. It opened into a dark hallway and you had to go outside for natural sunlight.  Out of that situation, my mom emerged a great student and worker.  Her success is a testament to what my grandfather and Motiba showed and taught her about the value and power of an education.  I would certainly not be here, typing on a macbook, flying across the country on a moment’s notice to see her, if my mom didn’t know how to survive post divorce, in part by having watched Motiba do it for 40 years.

 That brings me back to this weekend.  Lumberton is a rest stop town, on the north south highway in south-central North Carolina. It is all Indain-owned motels and chain restaurants.  Though my uncle moved his family there from Philly almost 20 years ago, I still think of them as my cousins in Philly that just moved to North Carolina.

This entire trip, though I treated it like any weekend with people I always saw – maybe I’ll come to regret that decision, maybe not – Motiba made no bones about talking about how this might be the last time she sees all of us before she dies.  She, with her relentless sarcasm and play on words, turned a bit melodramatic declaring that she was nearing ‘the far riverbank’, a play on the word ‘kinara’ that refers to borders.  She was shamelessly declaring her nearing death. So much so that she even asked me how I would feel when she died!?  (I gave some equally sharp play on words and got up from sitting with her).  I both haven’t and don’t want to start considering a world without her, nor do I indulge folks who I feel are fishing for compliments. Perhaps she was legitimately looking for some kind approval/legitimacy/declaration that all of her efforts were noted and recognized (whats the word!!!!??), but I’m too emotionally stunted to be able to express those kinds of things without having had a drink first.  And to my grandma, no less!?!  Had I really started it, it would’ve been endless waterworks.  Though I have a tough exterior, I do cry, a lot. Most recently while watching the final act of the stage production ‘In to the Woods. ‘

 I have not considered what it would be like with knowing she was alive somewhere out east, doing her pujas, fasting at least 5 times a month, laughing and telling old stories. She has the sharpest memory and can still tell you the price of a gram of barley from 1950.  She will weave in anecdotes of about some random uncle’s son, who cried a lot during my mom’s wedding…40 years ago, as an add on story to when I would cry, that one cold winter when visiting Philly in the early 90’s.  Apparently the central heating of the building ran too hot, so I would only stop crying when I was walked around in the building’s lobby, and eventually was just set under the Christmas tree to sleep.  Particularly fitting as I love Christmas trees this day.

Motiba is a grad repository of a bygone, and soon to be lost era in my family history.  I’m not connected to anyone on that side of the family enough to be able to go to them for stories on who we were and how we got to be who we are now.  How I got to be who I am now.  Motiba was there through my mom’s childhood, her working, the negotiations around her marriage and the entire marriage.  She was a key player and also a witness. My mom, is almost not qualified to tell me any of those stories and she’ll hold back details, and will have willfully forgotten large parts of her painful personal history.  So what am I supposed to do now? Do I just actually stick to my promise and call her once a week?  Should I be facetiming? Should I have ‘real’ conversations with her – telling her about my struggles at work, in finding my path in life, about my gayness and my love?  Or do I keep it all top level, health and family and work (yeah yeah, its fine!). If I told her my TRUTH over the phone, would she be able to grasp it? Would she lose her mind?  Seeing my uncle with my nephew this weekend reminded me of all of those men that say that their grandfather’s were their best friends in life – my nephew brings such joy to my uncle’s life. I have never see that man so soft and sweet and easy going.  Makes me almost want to reconsider having children – the joy they seem to bring is quite palpable.

Could having a pet get you part of the way towards having that kind of joy?

 Someone posted a comic to facebook today that showed a man sleeping with a dog on his bed.  The man’s dream showed how he had gone through dark times and depression and it was meeting the dog and the dog seemingly saying ‘it will be alright. I am here with you’ that saved his life slowly and brought him to this current content moment.  The man woke up and saw his dog was seemingly having a doggy dream.  The dog’s dream showed how he was abused and abandoned and scared in the world, only to be taken home by a man who showed him kindness and said ‘it will be alright. I am here with you.’  That man, was of course the man in the bed.  

 Is that kind of love similar to the love a man might show for his child or grandchild?  

 Will I even know that kind of love?  I don’t know. Life is a complicated journey – only the universe knows where it will take me.  

I hope that I get to see Motiba again – she’s a living book of my history.

I want my brother’s young son to know her.  I want him to understand that there were people that lived in a village in Gujarat – educated people, who cared for their communities – through whose toil gave rise to him.  That had my mom married someone else, he could have traced his patrilineal lineage to Raavan – the deeply intelligent yet deeply egoistic King of Lanka. 

I hope that I get to see Motiba again because no one will ever love you like your grandma does.