force of neglect

anonymous asked:

What's your response to this argument I saw one time saying that anti/aang rhetoric fails to take into account how aang never acts jealous or possessive of katara in the episode "jet" where she exudes outward feelings for another guy in front of him? I've always had this question myself, wasn't sure if it was something used to make the plot go smoothly or not. Like if both sokka and aang didn't like jet, then Katara would've been swayed to leave way earlier n the episode wouldn't have happened.

I actually agree with that point: Aang doesn’t act jealous or possessive at all, even when Katara’s crush on Jet is obvious. He even wears the hat that Katara made for Jet!

Throughout season one, actually, Aang’s feelings for Katara are handled well. He’s kind and tender, and whether Katara wants to mack on Jet or Haru, he’s helpful in whatever cause her romantic interests are pursuing.

He has a crush from the start:

He thinks she’s pretty:

He pursues her: 

But, it doesn’t interfere with the foundation of his character.

In fact, with the exception of The Fortuneteller [You can read my opinions on this episode here [x] & [x], Basically, the episode focuses on learning about one-sided crushes, only to take the last 20s and reduce Katara’s destiny to who she’s going to end up marrying]... Anyways, with the exception of last 20s of The Fortuneteller, season one did a splendid job of shaping Aang’s feelings for Katara into something that was ultimately one-sided:

But, it was still innocent and cute.

 In fact, I didn’t dislike Kataang until the end of season two and all of season three. 

In season two, my issues came with Aang’s choice to choose Katara over the Avatar State. It was foolish on his part, and a foolhardy push by the creators to show us just how much Aang loved Katara. 

It was silly, considering season two was full of instances that not only foreshadowed Aang growing out of his crush on Katara:

But also, further established their relationship as one-sided:

Katara: [Turns to face him and gestures to the portrait.] And here, it says, “Love is brightest in the dark,” and has a picture of them kissing.
Aang: [Utterly confused and lost.] Where are you going with this?
Katara: [Shyly, blushing.] Well, what if we … kissed?
Aang: [Very surprised.] Us … kissing‌?
Katara: See? It was a crazy idea.
Aang: [Dreamily.] Us … kissing
Katara: [Fake-jokingly.] Us kissing. What was I thinking? Can you imagine that‌?

And

Aang: They’re made of some kind of crystal. They must only light up in the dark.
Katara: That’s how the two lovers found each other. [Gestures with her hand along the ceiling.] They just put out their lights and followed the crystals. [Sees the exit.] That must be the way out! [The two hug.]
Aang: So, uh …
Katara: Let’s go!

The ending of season two also dashed a ton of character development for Aang, such as learning a bending stye so unlike his own: 

Navigating struggles between himself and his masters: 

And learning that his way of life may not be the only ‘right’ way of life: 

Aang’s decision in The Crossroads of Destiny didn’t align with the development in season two, and seemed an awfully rash decision considering we’d only ever seen Katara behave maternally around Aang. A narrative that is only furthered by the illusion to Pieta: 

In season three, Aang’s behavior grew into something that was no longer innocent and one-sided, but aggressive and one-sided: 

Aang: [Standing up.] Argh!
Katara: Relax, Aang. They’re not accurate portrayals. It’s not like I’m a preachy crybaby who can’t resist giving overemotional speeches about hope all the time. [Everyone looks at her.] What?
Aang: [Turns around and sits down. Sarcastically.] Yeah, that’s not you at all.

Katara: Are you all right?
Aang: [Angered.] No, I’m not! I hate this play! [Yanks his hat off and throws it on the ground.]
Katara: I know it’s upsetting, but it sounds like you’re overreacting.
Aang: Overreacting? If I hadn’t blocked my chakra, I’d probably be in the Avatar State right now!

Aang: Katara, did you really mean what you said in there?
Katara: In where? What are you talking about?
Aang: On stage, when you said I was just like a … brother to you, and you didn’t have feelings for me.
Katara: I didn’t say that. An actor said that.
Aang: But it’s true, isn’t it? We kissed at the Invasion, and I thought we were gonna be together. But we’re not.
Katara: Aang, I don’t know.
Aang: Why don’t you know?
KataraBecause, we’re in the middle of a war, and, we have other things to worry about. This isn’t the right time.
Aang: Well, when is the right time?
Katara: Aang, I’m sorry, but right now I’m just a little confused.

Katara: I just said I was confused! I’m going inside. [Exits the balcony.]

Not only that, but their relationship, based on dialogue alone (X & X), was drifting apart. Aang was increasingly belligerent and self-righteous, while Katara was treated as a means-to-an-end, his muse, his reason for saving the world, and his prize for succeeding. 

*nods*

You see, Aang may not have shown possessive tendencies in season one or two, because the relationship was handled properly. However, the moment Kataang became so forced as to neglect Aang’s character development in season two and portray poor behavior as romantic in season three, Aang does act possessive and aggressive towards Katara. 

And because he’s never taught that his actions are wrong, because he never apologizes for the many times he acted out towards Katara, Kataang is tainted by these negative qualities, and the pattern continues on into the comics and LOK.  

The basics behind veganism

Do no harm unless you cannot survive without doing so. This includes:

- Not exploiting animals for the work their bodies can do for you (horses, dogs, elephants, etc.)

- Not exploiting animals for the products you can take from their bodies (dairy cows, dairy goats, chicken’s eggs, etc.)

- Not abusing animals directly (violence or direct harm, forced breeding, neglect, malnourishment, slaughter, etc.)

- Not exploiting an animal for your own entertainment (circuses, horses, zoos and aquariums, etc.)

- Not treating any animal or human maliciously or with the intent to endanger, exploit, or directly harm.

- Respecting every animal’s right to live a life free from unnecessary exploitation and abuse.

That’s the basic idea behind veganism. These same moral baselines apply to humans, so it should not be hard for you to apply them to other animals too.

2

Day 3: Gaming/Watching a Movie

Hux finds Kylo’s determination to best him at Dejarik rather endearing. Not that he’d ever admit that aloud. 


<First> <Previous> <Next>

anonymous asked:

hey i was wondering if you could maybe give a hand and boost a petition for the protection of captive foxes in australia? new laws are going to force volunteer fox owners to neglect their animals health by banning the transport of foxes to vets. and a lot more on top of that. it would mean a lot if you could help i'm sorry to ask you to do this www(.)thepetitionsite(.)com/en-au/takeaction/103/402/076/

Link if anyone wants to sign

Neighbours: Part Two - Tommy Shelby

The Phone Call

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | 


As suspected my ankle is sprained. Charlie’s nurse has strapped it up with the advice that she’s not really qualified to diagnose or treat anything more complex than coughs and sniffles, and with the assurance that I’ll get it checked out, she lets me get the car back home.

“Everything alright Miss?” Jones asks when he sees me hobbling towards the car, propped up by Tommy.

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anonymous asked:

Hello, if its not much trouble, can I know what type of methods of torture are there that involves heat & cold? In my story I want to make 2 characters suffer of cold temperatures of the environment, but I also want their torturers to make them suffer for fun (they are considered slaves to the torturers). Making them endure more cold or heat. I hope this makes sence ^-^U Have a nice day~ and thanks for all the help that you provide ♡

It does make sense yes.

This sort of torture is pretty common the world over and I tend to lump it in with neglect or bad cell conditions. That might be an error on my part and I’ll certainly consider changing my tagging system to reflect that. There are a lot of temperature tortures about and as a result this is probably going to be a pretty brief overview.

Most of the time this sort of torture is pretty simple: torturers make the victim’s cell as inhospitable as possible.

In your story (ie a cold environment) that means removing any means of heating the cell, not providing adequate blankets or clothing and (often) keeping the cell wet.

Torture in Germany by Allied troops after World War 2 used temperature fairly frequently. It varied from neglect based (cells not being heated during the winter) to rather more elaborate methods. Cobain describes men being forced to spend the day scrubbing an unfurnished cell with cold water then having to sleep on the wet (and literally freezing) floor. He also describes showers being used as a form of temperature torture with victims forced to stand in freezing water for hours at a time, and guards preventing them from leaving or drying off.

These are fairly standard forms of using naturally cold temperatures to inflict pain.

In naturally hot places cells can similarly be kept uncomfortably hot, with no ventilation or means of cooling down. Police departments have also used central heating systems, furnaces and electric lighting to inflict painfully high temperatures on prisoners.

European troops in particular have also used the weather in conjunction with stress positions to increase the pain a victim is in. In India the English (and others) made sure stress positions were conducted in full sunlight and the British in particular often used metal objects which heated in the sun. The French use of the ‘silo’ stress position (a form of forced crouching in a pit) was often used in particularly hot areas and arranged so that the victim would be subjected to extreme heat.

The Nazis are known to have arranged forced exercise of their victims in sub-zero temperatures when the victims weren’t given enough clothing to protect them from the weather.

The Japanese during World War 2 doused prisoners in water and left them outside to test the effects of hypothermia on human beings.

Russian gulags (both before and during the Soviet era) were notorious for forcing prisoners to work in freezing conditions without adequate clothing and keeping prisoners in freezing buildings.

The French also used this against Toussaint L’Ouverture, the Caribbean general who freed Haiti. He is believed to have died from the extremely low temperatures in his unheated mountain cell.

All of these are pretty low tech and they tend to be long term rather than something inflicted in the moment. Like starvation this isn’t something that happens over hours but over days or weeks.

More recently I’ve heard a few accounts of prisoners being tied to large blocks of ice. This doesn’t seem to be nearly as widespread as simply taking away someone’s blankets though.

For your story I’d suggest going with the simplest methods: an unheated cell with no blankets and no adequate clothing.

That could then be added to with occasional ‘showers’ where the guards force the character under cold water in order to hurt and humiliate them. The characters could be stripped for the ‘showers’ or they could be forced to go in fully clothed which would then make them cold and wet for the rest of the day. The guards might also pour some sort of filth over them during these ‘showers’ and then force them back under the water in order to get ‘clean’ (this comes up in a couple of survivor accounts).

That gives you a scenario which combines long term torturous neglect with shorter periods of abuse. You might also want to have a look at my Masterposts on psychological effects of torture.

That’s…pretty much all I’ve got at the moment, but given how widespread these practices are I should put together a Masterpost on them for future reference. You should probably also have a look at ScriptMedic’s blog for more information on hyper and hypothermia.

I hope that helps :)

Disclaimer

I realize that it’s Flinthamilton week and I’ve been wanting to do something to participate, but here’s the thing - I’m constitutionally incapable of writing short things. I just can’t seem to do it, and I have absolutely nothing short written that fits the bill, so instead, have a sneak peek at the first chapter of an upcoming project - don’t get too excited, it’s going to be a while before this one sees the light of Ao3 since I haven’t even got chapter 2 written yet: 


Theme: After the Reunion

He feels as though he’s been asleep for ten years.

It’s an odd thing, Thomas Hamilton thinks, to reawaken after so long. In some ways, he feels as though nothing has changed. His living arrangements certainly are little different. The work is the same - back-breaking, tedious, creating calluses on top of his calluses, the sun beating down and turning his skin a shade of brown he’s never particularly thought complements his straw-colored hair. In others -

He has James back. The knowledge is incredible, still, new enough that every so often he recalls and it feels again as though he had just looked up from the field to find a man dressed in red and brown standing at the end of the row, looking at him as though he might just possibly be the solution to a question he had not dared to ask himself in a very long time. He looks into green eyes - into James’ eyes, feels James’ arms around him, hears James weeping against his shoulder, and -

He has kept everything stuffed away for so long. In his mind, there is a Pandora’s box. It holds so many things - so many wonderful, awful, terrifying things, and until now, he has done a good job of keeping it closed. The hinges, if such a thing could ever have hinges, are rusted, the keyhole crusted over -

And James’ return takes the box, shakes it, and sends everything flying.

He is happy. That is the first emotion to come flying out of the box. There is no denying the joy that floods him with James’ reintroduction to his life - no denying the absolute relief and wonder with which he looks at his lover, that causes him to laugh and cry into James’ shoulder and into his lips for an hour after they first spot one another, to kiss him over and over and over again with no regard for anyone or anything around them. There is no denying, either, how he feels at having another mind working in perfect harmony with his own again after all these years.

“I’m gonna get us out of here,” James says into Thomas’ shoulder, his voice rough with emotion and with the accent he had hidden in London and now seems to have embraced, and Thomas’ breath catches in his throat at the notion. Freedom - to leave here, with James at his side. He clings tighter to him, feeling as if his chest is tight, as if he can scarcely breathe, as he answers.

“Everyone,” he murmurs. “All of them. I’ll not leave them behind,” and he is relieved when James nods, no words needed between them. He understands - completely and fully, and he buries his face in Thomas’ shoulder again, as relieved to understand as to be understood. They walk back to Thomas’ meager quarters - to the quarters they will share until they can escape this place for good - and Thomas cannot help the energy that fills him - the restless itch as his mind blows off some of its cobwebs and returns to some semblance of itself as it once was. He is whole. He is overjoyed, he is shocked, he is -

Two days later, he sits in bed, arm still curled around James’ bare shoulders, and realizes that he is angry.

It’s a slow thing at first. He wakes with James beside him, and for a moment there is nothing but happiness. He is here, with James. Beyond all hope, he is alive. They are safe -

But not free.

The thought strikes him out of the clear blue sky - like a fact he has not processed entirely. It has not signified to him for some time whether he is free or not. He has had nowhere to go - no one to go back to, no hint of life outside these walls. James comes blowing in though, and -

He has spent the past two nights in bed with James. He has tasted the salt on his lover’s skin, has seen the bronzed tone of it where his clothing has not covered him, has mouthed over the earring that he has gotten in the time they have been apart and been held in arms that are far more muscular than they ever were before, and for the first time in six years, Thomas Hamilton wants more than these four walls and this dirt floor. He can feel his mind stretching, the unused corners of it suddenly coming to light, and he cannot help but feel disgust for the way that he has been forced to neglect it for the past decade. He cannot remember the last time he actually cared about his appearance. He cannot recall the taste of good food or what it felt like to spend a day by himself, or the smell of a new book or -

God, he has been trapped here, stagnating for so very long and he is incandescently bloody furious about it.

The sensation strikes him all at once one night as they sit in the bunkhouse they now inhabit. He’s not expecting it - it is so long since he has felt this, has felt anything but resignation and boredom. It takes him entirely by surprise, rising as he listens to the tale of how James has arrived here - as he grows to know the people that have inhabited James’ life, grows to understand what his lover has been through - as he realizes the depth of the horror that James has endured. Has been made to endure.

“Stop.” The word is a whisper - something squeezed out of him almost against his will, that escapes before he can recall it, for surely he does not have the right to ask James to stop his tale when James has had no such luxury for the past ten years, and yet -

“Thomas?” James asks quietly, his voice concerned, and Thomas looks at him, blue eyes meeting green. The sound of James’ voice saying his name is balm, and yet -

God, it has been ten years. Ten years deprived of it and how dared they? How dare they keep him from the man he loved all this time - all these years? How did Peter manage to lie to him so effectively - so convincingly? Had he just been exhausted and made gullible by it or -?

He is shaking, he realizes - shaking with the power of what he feels. He has not felt anything of the kind in -

“Quiet down!”

Thomas shakes, rocking back and forth, his knees drawn up to his chest. He has not stopped weeping since he arrived - since he was dragged from his home and brought here. He is cold, and frightened, and he cannot stop the sobs that tear through his form, or the tears that flow down his cheeks. He has brought them to ruin, all. They are in danger, and he is here, and dear God in Heaven, what has he done to so offend? What can he possibly have done to deserve this? He rubs at his wrists -

“Thomas?” James voice, insistent now, breaks in on his reverie - on the horrifying memory that has just flashed through his mind, and he looks up, eyes fixing on James’ face, and the words will not come - will not move past his lips, try though he might, the anger choking him in its intensity. He has been imprisoned all this time. He has sat here, all this time, while others have done this to James. He has stood here, in this wretched place, while someone - a succession of someones - have convinced his lover of that thing which he feared all along - the thing that Thomas had so nearly cured him of when it had all come crashing down around their heads. Thomas has sat here, hopeless and helpless, while a string of heartless cowards have convinced James at last that society has no place for him. That he is unwanted. That no matter what he does, it will never, can never, be enough. He has been here. Trapped.

A prisoner.

The word goes through him again as it has not in years. It has not been important in so long - he has not been able to entertain the notion that any of it was important, without recourse as he has been, but now he can see what his inactivity has wrought in every scrape on James’ head and arms, in every scar that is new under his fingertips, in every time James’ voice catches as he tells him of some new atrocity the likes of which Thomas cannot imagine surviving, and Thomas Hamilton is angry, beyond any fury he has ever known before. It is not the distant, righteous indignation of his drawing room - no. This is visceral, and consuming, and he breathes it in like perfume because to feel again is a wondrous, horrifying, exhilarating thing. This - this feels like being alive again because it is personal. This is about James, and Miranda, and what has been done to them, and the bastards that have thought to harm them while Thomas could not intervene.

He closes his eyes, and then opens them again, looking downward to where James’ hand is resting on his knee. He cannot save Miranda - she is gone beyond his ability to aid, but James is here, and Thomas will be damned if he ever allows anyone to lay a hand on his lover in anger again. He reaches out, taking hold of James’ wrist, and gently, so very gently, slides the sleeve up his lover’s arm to reveal the fading marks that have been left on his wrist by the shackles they had brought him here in. He clenches his teeth, trying and failing to contain the thing that is rapidly clawing its way up his throat, taking hold of him somewhere in the center of his chest and squeezing hard. He traces his fingers over the marks, and the more he does so the more the desperate, howling thing in him wants to break free. This is -

It is not James he is angry at, and he has no wish to frighten him with the depths of his rage. He takes a deep breath, and another, until he can speak again without screaming.

“John Silver.” He says the name deliberately, slowly, his voice lingering over each part of the name. “He sent you here, like this?”

James nods, his eyes seeking the floor, lips pressing together.

“Yes,” he answers, his voice quiet, gruff, his other hand twitching where it sits on his knee, and Thomas closes his eyes again, taking a breath. When he opens them again, there is steel in his gaze.

“If I ever meet him,” he says softly, raising his eyes again to meet James’, “I’m going to make him wish he had never laid eyes on you, let alone had the chance to do this.” His hand strokes over the marks and he raises James’ wrist to his lips, kissing where it has been injured, and James looks up at him, his eyes a study in shock.

“Thomas -” he starts to say, and Thomas simply looks back at him. James opens his mouth as if to speak, and then seems to decide against it, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, hands taking hold of Thomas’ hand lightly, his fingers brushing over Thomas’ knuckles - his work-roughened knuckles that are bigger than James undoubtedly remembers them from having been broken once or twice. He seems to consider them for a moment - to consider the sort of life they speak of, the things that he does not know about but can guess from Thomas’ hand alone, and then blows out a breath.

“You wouldn’t be able to take him head-on,” he says after a moment. “I taught him nearly everything I know about swordplay.”

Thomas laughs gently.

“You have my thanks for the warning,” he answers, and James grants him a smile that still makes his heart do a flip in his chest, everything in him singing that he gets to see it again. It is still a tentative thing, James’ smile, but the longer he is with Thomas, the more he uses it. Thomas suspects that he has spent the past two days looking positively ridiculous himself, beaming like an idiot at the very sound of James’ voice. He does not care. He feels the edges of his mouth curling upward of their own accord, and the tightness in his chest dissipates, joy taking the edges off of it once again. He can live with this. He can stand it. For James, anything.

“Of course, this all depends on the notion that we can make our way out of here,” James points out after a moment. The words send a thrill down Thomas’ spine. To go - to be free -

It has seemed like an impossible dream, all these years, but nothing is impossible if James is alive and here with him.

“I can’t very well defend your honor if we sit here and never leave,” he agrees, and James reaches forward, grabbing hold of his hand, gripping it with his own, gentle, but firm, the same way they used to in carriages where no one could see them. His green eyes are bright, and fixed on Thomas’ face, the earring glinting in the firelight, his teeth showing as he flashes a smile at Thomas.

“Tell me about the outer defenses,” he says, and Thomas feels himself begin to grin.

“They’re no patch on Windsor Castle, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Wait in Line: Chapter Ten - Derek Hale x Reader

Summary: (Y/n) has been Derek’s best friend for as long as he can remember and he can’t help being hopelessly in love with her. But then he loses his family to the fire and has to leave before he can tell her and now he doesn’t know if he’ll ever see her again. 

A/N: Sorry this took so long, school is a nightmare! I hope you enjoy it!

As always, thanks to @agirlwithpointlessideas

Pairing: Derek Hale x Female Reader

Warning: Swearing

Derek Hale Masterlist 

Wait in Line Masterlist

(Y/n) smiled softly as she made her way across campus to the library, enjoying the sunshine as the breeze ruffled her hair. She turned around when she heard someone calling her name, her smile grew when she recognised her friend, Meg, rushing towards her.

“Please tell me you were just in Mr Jones lecture?” (Y/n) smirked as they kept walking, knowing that Meg had slept through her alarm again.

“Of course, I actually woke up on time,” Her words trailed off when she spotted a familiar figure sat on a bench outside the library. Derek’s eyes scanned the crowd as he fiddled with the bunch of flowers in his hands. His movements stilled when he saw her, a wide smile stretching across his face.

“(Y/n)? You okay?” She nodded her head absentmindedly before pulling her eyes away from Derek.

“Yeah, can I give you my notes later?” Meg’s lips quirked into a smirk as she watched (y/n) look at the mysterious guy on the bench again.

“Sure, see you later” (Y/n) shot her a grateful smile before walking at an embarrassingly fast pace towards Derek. He greeted her with a searing kiss, her hands moving to run through his hair as he gripped her hip with his free hand. Their lips moved in sync as he slowly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush against his chest. A loud wolf whistle made they break apart as they ducked their heads bashfully. Derek nuzzled their noses together, savouring her sweet scent and the adorable blush that coated her cheeks.

“Hey” (Y/n) bit her lip, opening her eyes to lock them with his.

“Hi” She giggled, unable to feel embarrassed as he pressed a kiss to her lips.

“I missed you”

“I never would have guessed” Derek pouted but it quickly faded after she started to laugh again. He handed her the flowers, hoping he’d picked the right kind, he was still finding his footing with dating. The way her eyes sparkled as she smiled reassured him as they remained oblivious to the people walking past them.

“Do you need to study or do you have time for lunch?” Derek cursed himself as his voice shook from nerves, they’d only been apart for a month but it was long enough for him to be overwhelmed by her beauty all over again.

“I have time,” (Y/n) grabbed his hand and started to lead him away from the library. “C’mon, I’ll take you to my favourite place”

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Let It, Snow

(pic cr; respectful owner)

Loco drags you outside to play in the snow

(Requested) | word count; 913

Loco x Reader - F


The white sheets encased around your body, keeping the cold out and the heat in made you smile as you buried your face in the pillow and bound the sheets around you even more. Snow continued to fall; not caring about the people around and how much of a hassle it would cause to the city, the only person who knew about it right now was Loco and he was more than thrilled. He patted your shoulder attempting to wake you up but you wanted to sleep a little longer so you chose to ignore him for now. 

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Obi-Wan Kenobi Has Never Had a Damn Day Off

Anakin’s Force Ghost: [watching very loud TV]
Obi-Wan’s Force Ghost: [sitting next to him, wearing glasses and reading a book called Coming to Terms With Your Traumatic Life]
Luke: [staring at them, annoyed] You know, eventually one of us is going to have to go talk to him. 
Anakin: [still watching TV, disinterested] …talk to who, son? 
Luke: …Ben, dad.
Obi-Wan: [smiling] Why, I’m right here, Luke. And you can talk to me any time. 
Luke: You know who I’m talking about, Obi-Wan. Knock it off. 
Anakin: …don’t sass your Obi-Wan like that, Luke. 
Luke: [shutting off the TV] GUYS. BEN. DARK SIDE. LITTLE HELP HERE. Are you seriously just going to sit here and watch soap operas while the universe goes to hell again?! One of us has to try and talk some sense into him! I think it should be one of you. 
Anakin: [immediately] Not it. [looks at Obi-Wan]
Obi-Wan: Ohhhh, no. I’ve put in my time trying to make people in this family see reason. I’m not helping that brat. It’s bad enough Leia gave him my name. 
Anakin: …there you go! He’s Ben, you’re Ben….you’re his, uh, Great Uncle? Just give him that face you always used to give me when I did something stupid. 
Obi-Wan: [makes a face]
Anakin: That’s the one! There. See? You already know what to do. You’ve got this. 
Obi-Wan: [defeated sigh]

Alright, so now that we’re making a Crowfeather Super Edition

Where is Leopardstar’s SE?

How about Redtail?

Or Snowtuft?

Characters people want to learn more about.

Not “forced heterosexual relationship”

Not “neglectful father who knocked up two she-cats out of depression and spite”

This makes me so bitter?

Like, can we focus on cats who get 0 attention? Leopardstar deserves so much (and oh my god if they go with the “she was in love with Tigerstar, that’s why she let him murder several innocent cats and ruin her clan” I’m going to scream because wow she’s gay as shit and deserves so much better tbh)

Snowtuft is a character that just about everyone wants to know more about. Hell, we don’t even know what clan he was in! Like, what were his ambitions, what was his family like, what brought him to the DF.

And of course, Redtail would be super interesting to read about too. We don’t really know much about him prior to Into the Wild, and it’d be super neat to even get a NOVELLA about him.

But we know just about everything about Crowfeather; we’ve been with him since his apprentice days for gods sake. WE WENT ON A JOURNEY AND A COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIP WITH HIM.

I just want my faves to get recognition tbh

Raw

Crossposted on Ao3: Here (if you like it, kudos are appreciated <3)


When I found you… I saw raw, untamed power. And beyond that… Something truly special.

He stands before her, surrounded by ashes and ruin. A scene so familiar to him, yet so distant in this utterly kairotic moment. A moment that will either begin his life anew, or destroy him with only the whisper of words.

Rey.

Kylo Ren.

None of this will matter if she does not choose correctly, if she does not choose him. Luke has denied her. Denied such raw power in the wake of Kylo’s own actions. He has neglected such a magnificent and powerful creature, capable of so much more than anything the miser could ever show her.

He will guide her, just as his master has guided him. Only he will not hurt her, he will show her no pain or suffering. He will foster her, take her beneath his great, ebon wing, and show her the ways of the Force. She will never be neglected, left to waste away despite her gift. She will be so powerful.

Something inside me has always been there. Then I was awake, and I need help.

Help.

Luke had given her no help.

I’ve seen this raw strength only once before. It didn’t scare me enough then. It does now.

She could see it reflected there in his wizened cerulean eyes. Terror. Pain. Grief. A temple razed. An entire generation of Jedi, a new order, lost in the ashes.

But she is not Ben Solo. Nor is she Kylo Ren. Why can he not see?

Let the past die. Kill it… if you have too. That’s the only way to become what you were meant to be.

She wants to.

So desperately she wants to let it die, these memories of Jakku, of being left to waste away in dust and blazing heat. Her family gone. And yet she had clung to it. Clung to the foolish hope that someday they might return for her, that they might take her away and give her a home, a purpose. She had hoped to find that in Luke, but he had refused her, and once again she was Rey of Jakku. A scavenger. <i>Nobody</i>.

But here, now, she is being offered absolution.

Her past wiped away.

Rebirth.

This is not going to go the way you think.

He had come for her with his knights as rain poured down over the rocky slopes of the island. He had come to squander what was left of the Jedi.

But she was no Jedi. Luke had said so.

She was just Rey. Rey of Jakku.

Fulfill your destiny.

She would.

He would.

“I need someone… to show me my place in all this.” Her voice doesn’t waver. She is resolute. She needs a teacher. Him.

She is asking for his help.

He offers his hand to this slip of a girl. The same slip of a girl who had slashed his face in two. Untrained, unrefined, new to the raw potential of the force.

She looks so beautiful cast in the light of this smoldering ruin.

She takes his hand.

anonymous asked:

Because I'm a glutton, THREE WORD PROMPT: Kate Drunk Paris

#360

AU of the Alexis kidnapped arc

—–

The second Castle opens the hotel room door and sees her, he’s dragging her into his arms.

He feels brittle, he feels strong; he isn’t sure what is real.

Except Kate Beckett’s arms around him and her stumble over his feet and the smell of her hair in his nose. He breathes deeper, closes his eyes.

She lurches in his grip and he sniffs a little more discerningly. “Are you - were you drinking on your flight over, Beckett?”

She groans. “I walked out on Gates. I was worried about - us. I’m selfish about you and I’m sorry but you can’t ever do that to me again, Castle.”

“Do what, go after my family.”

“No, no, leave me alone like I wouldn’t help. Why did you think I wouldn’t-”

“You said you had to be a cop-”

“I said those are my only skills. That’s the best I can offer you, and it falls so short, but I’d never-”

“Dad?” his daughter calls, her voice with that eerie echo of gunfire still ringing in his ears. “Who is it?” Nervous.

“It’s me,” Kate says, clears her throat still clutching him so closely he can’t see her face. “Just me. Had to come.”

“Could stay away from me?” he tries to tease. It feels so flat.

She thumps him on the back, a punch if she was any distance from him to give it real force. “Someone kept neglecting to keep me informed of his progress.”

“Oh, me,” he says dumbly, some of his numbness beginning to retreat. “That was me. I dropped the phone.”

“Among many other infractions, but I can let it slide.” Her breath sounds shaky. “Now that you’re here. I’m here. One of those. Oh, God, Castle, I might be drunk.”

“You feel a little drunk.” He spots Alexis just at the doorway.

She hugs him harder and yet he feels her stiffen at his daughter’s approach.

Castle waves to Alexis, gestures the girl closer. “Come on, come here. We can’t all, can’t we all just-”

“We can, we can,” Alexis mumbles, sliding in between them. Kate, still stiff, gives him a side look, as if she doesn’t know what to do.

“Hug each other,” he growls. He’s so tired of the stepping around stuff, the halted conversations whenever the other enters the room. “I said-”

“We are, look, we’re hugging,” Kate hurries, one of her arms at Alexis’s waist. “What a dictator. Did you ever think maybe some people just don’t cope the same way you do? If Alexis doesn’t want to be smothered-”

“I’m okay with smothered,” Alexis whispers.

Kate’s mouth opens in surprise, Alexis ducks into his shoulder. “I…”

“Hug my kid, Beckett-”

“I am,” she chokes out. “I’m so glad you’re okay, Alexis, home safe.”

“Almost home,” Alexis mumbles from his shoulder. “Paris is…” She shivers.

Kate’s hand rises to pet Alexis’s hair, the smooth long fall of red down the back of her head to her shoulder. “It’s done now. It’s over. Your dad is kind of an action hero, I hear.”

“I really am,” he grins, grateful for the return to amusement. “I can’t believe you came to Paris.” He lifts his hand to do the same to her, brushing her hair back from her cheek, that sharp angle that always cuts him. “And drunk.”

“No,” she moans, claims his other shoulder as she drops against him. “Just - tired and maybe buzzed and I’m sorry, this is so irresponsible with Alexis-” Her nose turns into him, her voice drops, “but you left me there.”

“Never do it again,” he promises. “Together next time.”

“If it’s all the same to you guys,” Alexis squeaks. “There better not be a next time.”

—–