#Sometimes it is like... why am I able to do so many things?

[cripplecharacters]

What exactly defines a token character as a bad representation choice and not as a "background character" who happens to be disabled? And can a disabled character be the only disabled character but still good representation?

I know having relevant disabled characters is important, but when, besides the cast members who influence the plot, you have one of those scenes where a one-off character needs to be there, like when the autistic protagonist needs a ride in the middle of the road and a little person stops to help, or when the wheelchair user main character wants to talk to the magic council about a certain situation and the attendant is a blind person with a cane who checks the information of a braille book, is it safe from tokenism?

Hey!

For this post I will use "representation" to imply good/decent representation, not just the act of XYZ minority technically appearing on the page.

There's definitely a lot to discuss when it comes to tokenism, and there are a lot of different criteria that you can use to define what exactly it is.

So I'm gonna start with the main definition of what would differentiate a "token" from an unimportant character (=one that doesn't influence the actual plot) who just happens to be disabled: how you go about the fact that they are in your book(/comic/etc.).

If you put in the description of your work that it's "disability rep!" because there's this one guy in a wheelchair in one scene, that's tokenism: using a minority to simply boost/promote something as "diverse". That's the most annoying occurrence of it, there's so much media that people recommend as "XYZ rep" and when you look into it, the "rep" is a side character that shows up in two episodes and has like a line of dialogue. Sad!

To use one of your examples, tokenism would be if you claimed that your work has "dwarfism representation" in it because of that one guy who helps the main character in one scene. It's... just not that. That doesn't mean it's bad; if every single background character who wasn't a cisHet white abled Christian man (etc.) was supposed to be deep and thought-provoking then no one would be writing them, because that's not what a background character is supposed to be.

But - you could commit a tokenism with a character even if they are just a background extra who shows up once. Tokenism often goes with the fact that the token character could be swapped out for a non-minority one and nothing would change, since the key here is that the author doesn't really care: it's all just to say "hey, I got XYZ in my book!". So if you were to write a background character that you explicitly mention has disability X, but then they do something that a person with that disability wouldn't be able to do - that's probably a token (if not, it's still a badly made character). It's there to "represent" a group, but it doesn't make sense and there is no point so to speak because the author just doesn't care.

In that way, many disabled characters are just tokens - because the writer is writing an abled character, but keeps calling them disabled. When's the last time anyone has seen a character with albinism who was blind or low vision? What's up with all those deaf characters who read lips and speak orally so well that you literally forget they are even supposed to be deaf? Why is that "tragically unable to walk" character... walking for the entire duration of the book? They're just tokens done with no care nor research, it's all diversity points and quirky aesthetics. Everyone wants to be "inclusive", no one wants to actually have a disabled character who experiences disability.

Another thing with background characters is what role they serve. Most of them are fine - cashier has a skin condition, guy ordering a drink uses a speech generating device, mom of an annoying kid doesn't have a leg, cool. But sometimes it's worth to just ask "why am I making this specific character, whose disability has no impact on the story, disabled?". That is to say that if you need a prodigy piano player and your idea is to make them totally blind who always wears sunglasses, or to make the generic murderer have a big burn scar on half of their face, you're repeating a stereotype. "Role" also encompasses what happens to them. Does the one disabled guy just... die, and that's all? That's a token.

Those are the main things I'd avoid when it comes to background characters. Don't claim that they are what they aren't or represent what they don't, and if you want a disabled character - even just an extra - then either commit or just don't do it, and keep in mind where you're putting them in the first place.

Can a disabled character be the only disabled character but still good representation?

They sure can, but they just aren't, usually at least. The problem with single character representation is that it puts a big burden on this one character: to represent a whole community. That's a lot. I've found myself in this exact spot before: small cast, one character is disabled, and I try to make the whole thing better and more authentic... every single time the result was adding more disabled characters, even if their roles were smaller. It's about the potential contrast.

There are choices that you can do when you have multiple characters of X minority that you should probably avoid if there's just one of them. If I see a work that has three blind characters and one of them wears sunglasses, my reaction will be "oh, cool, they have photophobia like me". If there's one blind character, and they wear sunglasses, my assumption will be that that's what just the writer thinks all blind people wear.

(Even though, that singular character could 100% also be photophobic. My assumption here is based on my experience, because that's how it usually goes.)

In that case you can find yourself in a place where you either need to subvert a bunch of stereotypes (some of which are based in fact!) or address it in one way or another in your work. That character could say "oh, I wear sunglasses indoors because even artificial light really hurts my eyes", but in order to do that, you need to be aware that this is a writing trope in the first place. Not to mention, if you do it too much, it starts reading as some sort of disability PSA. There's a fine line to everything, and the fewer characters of a particular minority you have, the harder it is to navigate it in a way that feels natural to actually read.

Sometimes the occurrence of just a single disabled character also raises some questions. Where's everybody else at? There are some exceptions to that (e.g. stories with a very limited character count) but generally speaking, everyone knows someone who's disabled in one way or another, especially if they're disabled themself. Books tend to make disabled people seem as a rare phenomenon, but that's really not the case.

Sometimes it borders on nonsensical worldbuilding - all those disabled characters who only get their mobility aids/meds because they Know A Guy (or are that guy)... I always ask myself, "what about all those people who don't know this one specific guy? what about everyone who lived before and after this one specific guy?", and I don't think the authors ever consider that. Unless the world population count is in triple digits at most, your character won't be the only disabled person. Writing in a way that subconsciously implies that they are is to me just another form of tokenism, because they're not only the only disabled character in the story, they're also presumably the only one in that universe overall.

This is just a lot of paragraphs to say that you probably aren't ever fully safe from tokenism unless there are multiple disabled characters who have at least somewhat important roles in the story - and even then, they can still be badly written, just in different ways.

Sorry for the long post but I hope this helps,

mod Sasza

[wanderlust-in-my-soul]

The many faces of one-sidedness

I love Heesu in Class 2. But before I delight you with my own opinion on the series, let me tell you that I haven't read the manhwa and am only referring to the series here and perhaps a little discourse on expectations and the shift in the viewership of bl series will follow. I just know I can't write meta without digress.

During the broadcast of the series, I noticed how divided opinions were. While some were crying after the original source and didn't even want to give the series a chance, on the other hand there was a debate about whether it was a good bl series or not and what it should be. I don't understand why adaptations can't be seen as a medium in their own right. While the manhwa forms the basic framework on which the story is built, the adaptation is perfectly allowed to go its own way and use its own motifs, build its own storylines that fit better with a filmed story. An adaptation is still its own story with its own story being told, because a one-to-one transfer will mostly never work. @bengiyo wrote a fantastic meta about it! And if you want to read why Heesu in Class 2 is a lovely queer kdrama, go and check out @lurkingshan and her breakdown of the whole story. But well, I already digress.

Heesu in Class 2 was such a good story about the different ways and difficulties to have a one-sided crush. Take Heesin, for example. Heesin feels like she falls in love with men every other day and always confesses it immediately. According to her logic, you can only get over a crush if you confess. This makes her life both very simple and very complicated. She contributes to the daily, loving chaos in the Lee family. She suffers and loves with all her heart. And it seems like it's no big deal to confess that you like your crush. She seems like the opposite of Heesu, whose queerness doesn't allow him to love and suffer so carefree. He suffers quietly without confiding in anyone, while Heesin can celebrate her heartbreak without expecting anything but pity.

Heejeong is the responsible one. The one who gives up her dreams and her love because of fear. Sometimes loving means daring. You jump into something uncertain and make yourself vulnerable in front of another person. Heejeong wanted to study overseas with her boyfriend, but she got cold feet and lost out on an uncertain future. Instead, she lives her 9-5 everyday life with her siblings, in which nothing really exciting happens. And it doesn't have to be to lead a fulfilling life. But she is not happy. She is still hanging on to her dream and she should be able to at least try to live it or live the life she has dreamed of.

Fear can be a major obstacle. Heesu gives her the advice to do what she wants to do. As the most responsible character in the household, portrayed as the most grown-up, she has so far taken on the role of the parents and moved further and further away from her dream self. She has kept a part of her personality, of her self and her past a secret from her siblings. In the end, she realised that this is her life, which she can only shape on her own. She is the architect of her own happiness. Her unrequited love is not even so much for her ex-partner, who she still sees and who is still a big part of her life, but rather with her missed self that she has always dreamed of having. She has spoken out and faced her fear. She wants to be happy for her own sake and to do this she has to overcome her fear and find herself.

Heejae. For me, Heejae epitomises what it's like when the boundaries between romantic love and friendship become blurred and you're caught in a world in between. Being in love with your best friend is one thing. But being in a relationship with someone you love as a best friend is something else. Just as friendship can turn into love, love can turn into friendship and the process of realising this is often difficult and lengthy. You have got used to each other. You feel comfortable. You think you have everything. But her partner has noticed how things have shifted, that something is missing at the end. So he breaks up with her. He no longer wants to deal with this unrequited love. That's not enough for him. He wants to be loved. Loving as a friend is a wonderful thing, but for most people it is no substitute for romantic love. And sometimes it's not easy to realise that your feelings have changed, especially when you've been carrying and cherishing them for so long.

If you want to read more about these siblings you can read An Ode to HeeSu's Sisters by the lovely @soypim.

The sisters are representations of parts of Heesu. Heesin is the antithesis of Heesu. As a heterosexual woman, she can make confessions of love without receiving direct backlash. At best, she is remembered fondly and makes the person feel good even if the feelings are not reciprocated. She stands in the same spot as Chanyeong and Jiyu. It's so easy for heterosexuals to show their vulnerability. Heesu can't do that. In a homophobic society, it's not easy to tell someone you like them. It might not be remembered as a nice memory, it might be seen as an attack, an event that has negative connotations. It's so much harder for Heesu to be so open in his world. And the series manages to realise this so incredibly well.

Heejeong on the other hand stands for the missed moments, for the what-ifs, for the fact that sometimes you have to dare to take the next step if you don't want to stay trapped in the black hole of yourself forever. It's interesting that Heesu is the one to give her the advice to decide for herself, for what makes her happy, and that she shows him again that this is possible by taking a step into her own, hopefully happy future. You can decide for yourself and that's good. Heesu can also decide for himself and decide not to step into the black hole, but to pull himself out of the swamp and follow his dream. Everyone has their own black holes. Everyone deals with them differently. But trying to be happy should be possible for everyone. And even if you decide to stay in your 9-5 or, well, in your closet, that is totally fine, too. No one should stop you from doing what you want, but it is always good when there are people who support you and cherish the person you are.

Heejae. Heejae is just one step ahead of Heesu. She had her best friend as a partner and didn't realise that love had changed. She wouldn't and couldn't let go and had to wait for her partner to break up with her to realise what was going on. Heesu is caught in a similar dilemma, in love with his best friend and at some point, no longer able to distinguish between romantic and platonic love because it has always been like that. Sometimes you get lost in your feelings. Sometimes you don't realise the shift. Sometimes you need an outsider or the other person to realise this.

One thing I didn't understand is the resentment Chanyeong got. Yes, he had a lot of screentime. But that was perfectly ok. He was not only part of the side-couple, but also one of the most important people in Heesu's life. His best friend and secret crush for years. And the perfect parallel between his own heterosexual world and the queer reality in which Heesu moves. While Chanyeong had this secret crush on Summer without realising it was Jiyu, he breaks dozens of girls' hearts when they realise that he doesn't reciprocate their feelings. For Chanyeong, it's so natural for someone to confess their feelings to him and always have, and his approach to his relationship with Jiyu is also simple. Boy likes girl. Girl likes boy. End of story. And while the two move fearlessly together in their world and bring out the best in each other, Heesu stands alone. He has found a relatively safe anchor with Seungwon and is pretty sure that he would accept him, considering the fact that he has two mothers, but he still has to go through everything alone. He doesn't have the freedom that Chanyeong has.

And while some people have certainly been waiting for Heesu to finally confess his feelings to Seungwon, or vice versa, he first must make peace with Chanyeong. Because this friendship is threatening to drift apart. The friendship is one-sided. And they both realise that. To save them, Heesu has to be honest. And Chanyeong is allowed to react the way he did. He is allowed to be overwhelmed. He is allowed to not know how to deal with the fact that his best friend was in love with him for a long time. It's okay to be human. The important thing is that he talks to Heesu in the end and gives them a chance to readjust their status as best friends. Because Heesu is Chanyeong's best friend, and he wants to be that for Heesu too. It hurts when you feel like you're not the safe haven you always thought you were. It is allowed to have feelings. It is allowed to express them and it was bitterly necessary to do so. And it was just as necessary for Heesu to tell him the truth, because only then did the two of them have the chance to redefine their friendship. It was only through this openness that the one-sided friendship could become an equal friendship again.

Heesu. He says himself that Chanyeong and his unrequited love were his black hole. He had to face it in order to free himself from it, to free himself from the attraction of this well known crush. Because only after he's done that can he be free for the new feelings for Seungwon. I thought it was so great to see how these different infatuations manifested themselves in Heesu. With Chanyeong it was so well-rehearsed, so normal, that in the end he couldn't even know what it was like to just be Chanyeong's friend. The feelings blended together and became a daily mask for Heesu, which he knew exactly how to wear. For Seungwon, on the other hand, these feelings are new. He is helplessly at the mercy of his insecurities, the butterflies and all these new feelings.

I enjoyed seeing him like that so much. And I was happy that he was allowed to be angry with Seungwon. I could understand how he felt so well. ‘Was it fun?’ Oh, I felt that! ‘Do you know how much I struggled by myself?’ Heesu thought he had found a safe place with Seungwon where he could be who he is. And then, in the end, he finds himself alone. Heesu is hurt and finally lets it out. The boy who wanted to please everyone and had advice for everyone, who everyone confided in, but who is alone with his problems has had enough. And it bursts out of him. Fortunately, Seungwon finally manages to open his mouth, apologise and clear up the misunderstanding. And in the end, although not everyone is perfectly happy, they are on the way to a happier future. And every single character was important not only to write a good story, but also to portray the characters genuinely and realistically.

I love my bl bubble and I wouldn't want to miss it. I enjoy watching two boys fall in love and kiss in a world of candy floss and rose-coloured glasses. But I don't forget my roots either. And apart from the whole bl bubble, I think it's great to watch a series from time to time in which queer people are embedded in everyday life and you realise how different experiences in everyday life can be. How difficult it is to move as a queer person in a heteronormative world and how difficult it can be to do the seemingly simplest things for others. Heesu in Class 2 is not a bromance, but a realistic portrayal of queer youth in a society where they can be lucky that people think they are only very bromance-coded when they go to school arm in arm. In other societies, even this gesture would be unthinkable. And as beautifully simple as the bl bubble usually is, I think it's good that such soft tones also exist, which can bring life and the beauty of love in all its tones closer to a larger audience and allow a society to grow up that is more value-free, unprejudiced and open. And an adaptation of a well-known and loved story is the perfect try to give this topic a bigger audience.

I've noticed over the last few months that the bl bubble is more interested in explicit scenes than well-told stories. Why bother with a story in which the protagonists don't even kiss? Why settle for such a bromance when you can just watch two good looking guys make out, fuck the plot. And I'm not saying anything against an interlude of honey on the carpet, it has its appeal, but that doesn't mean I deny a show and its character its queerness just because there's no kissing. Sometimes the quiet sounds are the ones that need to be heard. Sometimes it's the quiet tones that have the most impact. Sometimes it's the quiet sounds that make you understand what it's like outside your own bubble and what difficulties there actually are.

If I only consume media on one side of the spectrum, then I only have a limited field of vision of everything around me. And I understand that not every type of story is to everyone's taste, and that's a good thing. Otherwise it would be pretty boring. But every now and then you should take your head out of your bubble and look around the world.  And just because something is not to your liking doesn’t mean it is bad or not well written or not worth to be told.

If you need some inspiration for some queerness in kdramas, @lurkingshan and @twig-tea gave us all a very detailed History of Queer Representation in Modern Kdrama. Thank you for that!

[pizzapottah]

I’m gonna pack my things (and leave you behind)

summary: You’re five years old when Darth Vader kills your mom. Or — so you think — your parents.

pairing: han solo x skywalker!reader (eventually), platonic skywalker family x reader

word count: 4.3k

warnings: so many feelings, reader's anakin and padme's daighter, also she's a itty bitty haunted by the force, anakin and padme die but it’s not really explored much (yet), mentions of childbirth, nightmares, mentions of anakin’s demise on mustafar, one swear word i think

author's note: I know y'all want an update on the heir and the wolf and that the star wars fandom is as dead as pope francis but PLEASE HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE 🙏🙏🙏 this is for the 2 people that said they would read it lmao

divider from @saradika

You’re four years old when your mum comes back to your apartment on Coruscant with the happy news. 

She nears your room, where you're trying to screw back together a toy lightsaber that you somehow managed to dissect — tongue sticking out of your mouth, a concentrated pout prominent on your face. You’re really your father’s daughter, she ponders sometimes, thinking back to that blonde boy on the sand planet that managed to build a whole robot with scraps. The nurse droid, RO-N4, is dutifully watching your work, assuring that you don’t hurt yourself in the process and hinting at the pieces that should go back together; she raises her head when she sees that Padmé has returned. 

You jump up when you notice her, running to give her a big hug, almost making her lose her balance; but she’s used to it, and wastes no time in hoisting you on her hip. The robot stands up, ready to gently reprimand you, but your mother gingerly shoos her away with a smile. “Why don’t you go out with Threepio on a walk? I’ll stay here with her. We have something to discuss.” she winks at you, “Some serious girl talk to do, am I right?”

You giggle — that childish, innocent laugh that makes hours of relentless debates in the Senate worth going through — rubbing your cheek against hers. “Yeah! I have shoooo many things to tell you, mama!” 

The robots follow the senator’s suggestion, stumbling their way out of the door, and you soon go back to the area dedicated to your toys to show her your hard work. “Look, mama!” you’re basically jumping up and down in joy, holding up the pieces of the once toy lightsaber. “This is the cyber crystal–”

“Kyber crystal, sweetie.” 

“Ky-ber crystal. And then this is the one part of the handle with the switch–”

You could go on and ramble for hours, she thinks. She’d happily listen to all and any of your thoughts and wonders and never get tired from it. Soon enough, Padmé’s lying down on the soft sponge puzzle pieces of the playmat that serve to prevent any possible injury from falling over. We’ll need to change those soon, she thinks absentmindedly, she’s already grown out of the always-falling-over phase. 

She isn’t sure of how much time passes; at some point your ramblings slow and you scoot closer to her, sniggling in her lap. “Mama,” you mumble, yawning. “‘m so happy that you’re here. I missed you a lot today.”

Her heart breaks. A hand carding through your locks, she smiles sadly, “I know, sweetie, I’m sorry that mama has to work so much. But I promise it’s just so that once you grow up you will be able to live in a peaceful Galaxy, without ever worrying about learning how to fight like your papa.”

You perk up. “But I wanna be like papa when I grow up.”

She shakes her head, feigning her best scandalized expression. “How dare you? What am I, chopped liver?” she takes you in her arms and blows raspberries in your cheeks, making you squeal and thrash around. “Nooo! Don’t, mama, it’s ticklish!” 

“What about being a senator, mh?” she offers, not unkindly. “We can fight too, you know.” She puts on her best imitation of Palpatine and presses a matter of utmost importance, “Senator Skywalker, what do you think we should have for dinner as of today?” 

Your chuckle makes your little chest rumble against her belly. Your surname is not Skywalker — it is Amidala, often Naberrie when on Naboo, but never have your parents referred to you as that; they mostly leave it out when asked, avoiding the question but never stating either the truth or the cover-up. There’s still hope to change the Order, Anakin always says, that one day she can wear my surname without it causing a scandal. And Padmé believes him: and she believes that when the time comes, you’ll be rightly known as Senator Skywalker. 

Suddenly, you go quiet. “I want papa,” you whisper it like it’s forbidden — it kind of is, but you shouldn’t know that. Padmé’s heart breaks a little again. Anakin was sent out on a mission two weeks ago and hasn’t even been able to keep in touch ever since, making you miss him terribly. 

She laughs as softly as she can — she doesn’t want to hurt your feelings. “No can do, sweetie. Papa isn’t due to be home in at least another three days, but I’m sure that once he’s here he’ll be elated to spend some time with you. Besides, you can’t eat papa for dinner.” she rests her cheek on her hand, patting the free space next to her. “Until he comes back, it’s just you and me. What would you like to do tomorrow? I have no Senate meetings.” 

You scoot closer, lying down on the spot she just patted, curling against her chest, “Can we see Ahsoka, then?” 

She chuckles a little quieter now. Her and Anakin still don't know how to explain to you that she left the Order a while ago and has no intention on returning to Coruscant any time soon. “Ahsoka’s away like papa, honey. But I’m sure that once she comes back, she’ll be just as happy as he will to spend time with you.” 

She smooths your hair back, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, pressing her hand up and down your back. She wonders how good of a sister you’ll be; and even if she knows you’ll be wonderful with the new baby, she still can’t bring herself to say it out loud. “How about I make some shaak meat and then get you prepared for a good bubble bath?”

You look up at her, pouting, “But I’m big now! Do I really have to bathe?” 

Padmé bursts out laughing. “You’ll have to clean yourself your whole life, sweetheart, to hopefully not smell like a bantha.”

You huff, glaring at her. “Papa barely even showers.”

“Papa stinks. He was raised on a planet with barely any water and still considers showers optional. Do you ever hear me tell him how I love his perfume? No, that’s because he doesn’t use any. You hear me sending him to sleep on the couch because he smells terribly, though.” 

You end up eating your dinner — vegetables included — without a fuss and going to take your bath like a champ. Somewhere along that timespan both the nurse droid and C-3PO came back home to be of help in cleaning the kitchen as Padmé prepares you for bed, lying down next to you and reading to you one of the stories in the hologram that Anakin bought on one of his last missions. 

MId-story, she notices you get eerily silent. She carefully turns her head, trying to understand if you’re already sleeping, only to find you more awake than her, eyes open wide. “Is… is everything alright, sweetie?” she asks, a bit bewildered– just a moment ago, you looked like you were about to fall asleep, and now you look like you’re ready to fight everything that could be thrown at you. 

“Mama,” you whisper it like it’s a secret, “I just remembered. How are they?”

She blinks, confused. “Who?”

“The twins,” you say, “Luke and Leia.” you pat her belly as if to state the obvious. 

She looks at you, horrified — she found out she was pregnant today, and no droid or doctor mentioned twins. “I– sweetheart, what?”

You lean your head, confused. “I saw them yesterday in a dream. They asked me about you.” 

Her heart almost stops. She laughs nervously, looking at you with wide eyes, expecting you to say something about the weird and absolutely not real dream that you had, but instead you just stare at her, completely serious. “What… what do you mean?” 

You frown. “If you don’t know, then I can’t help you. Nighty night.” you tuck yourself under the covers and curl above her chest once again, sighing happily. 

Padmé’s heart feels heavy. It’s happening again– you murmur something about having had a dream, say something even more alarming, then completely ignore what you just said and act like nothing happened. It’s getting worrying — Padmé managed to get you out of the Jedi program last year just because of her status as senator, but she is sure that this year, she won’t be as lucky. The quantity of midi-chlorians in your blood can’t be hid, unfortunately, and in probably less than a year she will be forced to give you up to the Temple. 

Anakin’s sure you will make a great Jedi, but your mother’s worried — and how can she not be? Her husband’s more away than he is at home, and with the war going on, it’s already a miracle he manages to visit Coruscant. The fact that you seem to possess your father’s horrifying ability to dream about possible futures doesn’t ease her worries. 

“I’m just worried about her–” 

“But why? She’s young, she’ll be trained–”

“She will, but I don’t want her to be haunted by the thoughts of possible futures and whatnot.”

It’s late. You’ve already gone to bed, shushed by Anakin’s stories and anecdotes from his latest mission, and even if this should be a carefree and happy moment because her husband has managed to come back home unscathed again– your mother just can’t get something out of her head. 

Anakin huffs and puts his hands on his waist, looking at Padmé like she’s crazy — there it is, where you got your attitude from. “I can always call one of the Temple guards and tell them that there’s a Force-sensitive kid here. They can train her until I can take her as Padawan; it’ll take, what? Six, seven years? Hopefully I’ll be done with the war by that time and will be able to focus on her as my padawan.” 

His wife crosses her arms, glaring at him, “I don’t want her as your padawan,” she grits out, “I want her safe, here, where we can have a decent relationship and she won’t be stripped away from my arms.”

He leans his head and raises an eyebrow. “Sweetheart, I can’t make her dreams go away. I don’t even know how to make my nightmares go. But at the Temple, they can teach her how to control them, how to use them for her own good– for the Order’s and the Republic’s own good–”

“You say that just because you wouldn’t have any problems in seeing her,” she sniffs, “you’ll be a welcome, familiar presence in the Temple — but it is known that they don’t let anyone outside of the Jedi enter.” 

His shoulders drop, and he starts shaking his head. “Padmé…”

“Don’t. Don’t tell me that we have to give her up to the Temple, because I don’t want to and I won’t–”

“But we’ll have to, Padmé, they’ll teach her everything she’ll ever need and–” 

She bursts out crying. It might be the pregnancy, or the fact that she still hasn’t told him about it and it’s eating her alive, but she’s much more emotional than usual. “I don’t want them to take her away from me!” 

Anakin’s eyes soften, his posture breaks, “Oh, dear,” he mutters, pulling her in his arms and letting her cry out in his chest. “It’ll be alright,” he murmurs, lips pressed to her head, “we’ll find a solution for everything.” He still doesn’t know when or how, but he’ll try with everything he has to solve this situation to the best of his ability.

He had honestly thought Padmé was exaggerating when she said that you were having visions, probably thinking it was just baby babbling or something, but he is proven wrong that same night, when he is abruptly woken up by the sound of the door of their bedroom opening. 

“Papa?” you call out from the doorstep, voice sleepy. 

He manages to get himself out of bed — when he’s home, night duty is always on him, as Padmé already deals with it enough while he’s away — and, yawning, he walks off to you and kneels down to your level, sending a glance to your bantha plushie safely tucked under your elbow. “What is it, sweetheart?” 

Blank stare on your part, you look at him like a war veteran would. “You were being burned, papa.” 

He blinks and counts to five before accepting that it’s way too late in the night — or early in the morning, he has no idea — to deal with this type of shit. “Okay, listen– how about we go catch some fresh air outside, hm?” 

You let him pick you up without any protests, curling up in his arms as you whimper quietly. He drags his feet along the pavement of the apartment, sliding open the door to the terrace that overlooks the whole city; it’s like it never sleeps, always someone going around and about with their speeders, lights often left on in the apartments below. The night air sends a chill down his spine and he instinctively holds you tighter in hopes to shield you from the cold. 

“Mum told me about these dreams you’ve been having,” he starts slowly. 

You hum, pressing closer to him, the plushie squashed between you two. Your eyes look tired, almost older than you actually are, and his heart squeezes at the sight. “Papa, do you know Darth Vader?”

His heart skips a beat. He knows no Vader, surely not a Sith named like that, but the fact that you dreamed about it almost makes his knees buckle. He mentally promises himself to make some digging in the archives and reports for any Vaders that might be hiding out there. “I don’t, sweetheart. Do you?” 

Your brows furrow, your little hand patting the skin above his heart. “I don’t think I do.” 

He presses his lips into a thin line. “Well, what does he do in your dreams?”

Your frown deepens. “I never see him. But Obi-Wan’s afraid of him– or, or angry at him, I’m not sure. Maybe both.” 

His frown mirrors yours. You’ve never met Obi-Wan aside from a time or two when he was assigned as bodyguard to your mother, but that was years ago; you shouldn’t be able to remember him. “How do you know who Obi-Wan is, sweetheart?” 

You stare at him like he’s stupid. “Isn’t he a friend?”

“I mean, I guess he is, but you’ve never actually met him, have you?”

“Then I think I will.” you cuddle back on his shoulder like nothing happened. 

Yeah, we gotta send this one to the Temple, he bitterly thinks. The thought of your mother alone in this apartment after years of having you around makes him sad, but there’s no one else apart from the masters there that could help you — he would try to, if the war wasn’t stripping him of all of his free time. 

Anakin has no time to properly train you. As of now, he could manage to give you chopped notions and barely any principles; in the Temple, all the Jedi solely focus on the younglings’ training, a luxury he can’t afford right now. 

She’s still so young, Padmé’s voice rings in his head, I don’t want her to forget about me. 

Six years old might be already too old for a youngling, Anakin ponders, but five years old would be perfect. They still accept kids that age. 

Another birthday for Padmé, he decides, another birthday and then off to the Temple she goes. 

Except, he doesn’t know there’s no time for another birthday. Not for Padmé, anyways. Nor for him, too, some could argue. 

“Papa,” you mumble, “could you sing me that lullaby?”

He chuckles affectionately. “Aren’t you getting a little too old for that?” He teases, with no actual intent in ever stopping to sing Ghost Star to you. You could be forty and him on his deathbed and, if you asked, he’d still sing it for you. “Ghost star, wonder where you are; Ghost star, are you very far? All night long, I will sing your song, if you watch over me…”

You do end up properly meeting Obi-Wan. That is, unfortunately, after — for what you know — both your parents die. 

The air in the spacecraft is eerily still, as even C-3PO is stunned to silence. The tears on your cheeks have long since dried, and you keep fidgeting with a small, faintly glowing cube in your hands  — the only thing you managed to take with you when your mother loaded you into the spaceship directed to Mustafar. She’s — was, was, was — able to open it, but you still have no idea how to do it; your father promised he would have taught you to, but… well. He now never will. 

The cries from the med bay stopped a while ago. And while you’re still so young, you know that the silence means nothing good. You might not be a master of the Force, or know enough about it to understand fully what it means, but you’ve felt it — your mother’s presence slipping away in favor of two smaller ones. 

Finally, after a time that seems never-ending, Obi-Wan emerges from the door connecting the hallway with the infirmary, his expression full of sorrow. He looks surprised by your calmness, almost as if he had expected you to have gone crazy by now. “Hi,” he breathes lowly, tired and remorseful. How do you tell a kid her mother’s dead when just a few hours ago you had to break the same type of news about her father? 

After he understands that you’re not going to reply, he gets closer and kneels in front of you, taking note of the cube you’re holding in your hands — a holocron. Does she know how to open it, yet? “Hey, kid,” he tries as softly as he can, “I…”

“Mama’s gone, isn’t she?” You interrupt him. Obi-Wan almost stumbles; the look in your eyes is scaringly similar to the one Anakin had sometimes, strangely old for your age. “I felt her slipping away like papa did.” 

His lips are pressed into a thin line as he puts a hand on your shoulder. “I’m really sorry,” he says it even though he knows it won’t change anything. “We tried everything, but even the medical droid had no idea what to do.”

“Oh,” C-3PO mumbles as R2-D2 beeps sadly. “This– this is horrendous news.” 

You nod absentmindedly, like you’d seen it coming. “Are Luke and Leia okay?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Who?”

“The twins. Are they okay?”

As even Padmé looked surprised by the fact she was having twins, he wonders how in the world you knew and gave them names. Your mother left no names behind, and he had thought about just naming them after your parents, but if you already had names picked out… then it’s not his place to name your siblings, is it?

“They are.” C-3PO sighs in relief as R2-D2 lets out a happier beep. “Would you like to see them?” 

You nod timidly, almost stumbling as you stand up from the chair you sat in and taking Obi-Wan’s hand when he offers it to you. You’re still gripping on the holocron like a lifeline, its dim glow faltering every now and then. “Do you know what that is?” He asks, pointing at it as the door to the infirmary opens. 

You glance at it, unsure. “Dunno. Mama always played the hologram inside when I missed papa, but I tried opening it and it didn’t work.”

If Padmé managed to open it, then Anakin must’ve programmed the holocron so that the Force frequency needed to open it was small enough that she could play it; even if you were a prodigy like your father, though, it would be impossible for you to open it without directions or a minimal training. 

The nurse-droid your mother brought with her is feeding some milk to one of the twins when you enter — Obi-Wan guesses she might have had it with her the whole time, because he doesn’t remember this ship having such a thing as baby formula in its stocks. 

RO-N4 places the infant back in the cot with the other twin as soon as they burp, and since you’re still too short to properly look at them Obi-Wan has to take you in his arms for you to have a good peek. 

“This is Leia,” he murmurs softly, pointing at the baby with small tufts of brown hair. “She was born first.” He then points to the smaller, uglier and balder twin, “And this is Luke; he was born right after.”

You coo, pushing your index finger against Luke’s cheek. “They’re so ugly,” you state, not exactly with the intent of insulting them– just saying what’s in your mind. 

Obi-Wan chuckles fondly. “Well, I’m sure you were at least as ugly as them when you were this little. Pretty much everyone is.”

You turn to him, holocron still in hand, hesitantly nudging it to him. “Mister Obi,” you say, calling him with the nickname that later on will stick to him for pretty much your entire time spent with him, “do you know how to play this?”

He nods, taking the holocron in his hand and changing his hold on you so that he can use his other hand while still keeping you upright, “This is a holocron. It’s used by Force users to store information and files, and it opens if infused with the Force. Let’s see…” 

He concentrates on the cube, focusing a small amount of Force within it, then delicately twists the corners as it starts to glow steadier. Just as he expected — the smallest amount of Force that even Padmé could’ve been able to conjure up. The holocron starts to float, projecting a hologram in the dim-lit room. 

It starts with Anakin, clearly just knighted as a proper Jedi: he’s still a bit scrawny, his hair’s yet to grow after the braid and the small ponytail for padawans had been cut. He looks a bit embarrassed to be in front of the camera as a small baby’s cries echo in the recording. “Do I really have to do this?” He mutters. 

A laugh comes from the side, and the baby’s cries get louder — maybe closer to the camera. “Of course you do!” It’s Padmé’s voice, amused but clearly tired, stabbing directly into Obi-Wan's heart. That poor, poor girl… “It’s the only way she’ll stop crying, and since you’re mostly off-world, she’s mostly crying. This will solve a lot of my problems — even the droids are starting to go mad.” 

A pair of arms and a swoosh of a dress appear to the side, and suddenly a crying infant is trusted into Anakin’s hands. It’s you, his master realises, crying as if the world’s about to end, face all red and pudgy, definitely a bit less ugly than your siblings. Your father’s eyes soften in a way that makes Obi-Wan’s heart ultimately crumble. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, cooing and humming as he presses kisses all over your cheeks. He winces as your face contorts even more, “Now, c’mon, don’t look at me like that,”

“Please, Master, just sing the song!” It’s C-3PO’s voice in the distance, full of despair and anguish. “Another sob and the metal holding me together might just turn to rust!” R2-D2’s beeping seems to be of the same idea as him. 

Anakin huffs, glaring down at you with no real hostility. “You’re one hell of a spoiled baby, you know that?” 

Your cries continue nonetheless. He glares at the camera. “Padmé, I love you, but if anyone else ever sees this, I’m divorcing you,” 

“You would never,” your mother’s knowing voice is a mere rumble in the distance as Anakin settles to hold you tight to his chest, pressing a kiss to your forehead before starting to sing. 

“Ghost star, wonder where you are; Ghost star, are you very far? All night long, I will sing your song, if you watch over me. Ghost star, hiding in the night, all your friends are all so bright… when the sky is clear, I can sense you near, looking down on me. Ghost star, silent in the sky, now I start to wonder why. Show me your light; I've waited all night. Ghost star, won't you sing with me?” 

He sings the lullaby multiple times until you’re completely knocked out, dismissing Padmé when she offers to take you back to your room, preferring to keep you close for another while. His stare as he looks at you is so tender that Obi-Wan can’t believe he just had to leave him to die.

Soon enough the recording restarts, the same banter and song again, but he lets it play. Every word is a guilt trip, every laugh a stab in his chest, and the image of Anakin with a baby happily sleeping against his chest might just be the end of him. 

By the time he finally shuts the holocron off both you and the twins are passed out; he tries to convince himself that the hole in his chest isn’t gnawing away at the last bit standing of his sanity. He looks at you, carding a hand through your hair, of the same tenderness as your father but with the same curl of your mother's, and decides here and there to never tell you about what really happened on Mustafar. Not that he really had the intention to do, as of now, but… you don’t deserve to know about Vader. Obi-Wan won’t let you live with the knowledge that your father killed both himself and your mother, no. 

And so, the lie about Darth Vader killing both Senator Amidala and her loyal guard, Anakin Skywalker, who lost his life fighting for hers, is born. 

[katerinaaqu]

I understand. I don't because inequality exists so for instance I who am poor I am not equal to someone who is rich. That doesn't necessarily mean the rich person hates me. Which is what I mean here. Likewise in ancient Athens women were definitely not equal and were not considered citizens but not because they were naturally evil or something but because they were considered equal to children. Is that terribly unfair and stupid? Absolutely. Did that leave women with very few options? Absolutely but I cannot say that Atheneans...hated their children if you get what I mean. Which is also why goddesses play such a great deal of importance. Besides the protector of Athens is no other but a woman. Which is an oxymoron that I love to think about. Hence my different opinion hehehe

Yeah like I said I simply see that Homer writes how his society is but the figures that he writes almost seem like "correcting it" in one way. As I said I know is far fetched but sometimes makes me feel so.

Now for Penelope I have answered a long ask before so you can see here as to why I disagree she didn't have many options or rather that she didn't have agency

I think she had more authority and power than people realize. For starters no she was not ordered around by Telemachus except for that one moment we see and yeah sure it could be Telemachus that wants to signal that he is aiming to be "the man in the house" but I remember having another conversation there on the fact that I almost think Telemachus was protecting her or at least reminding her to stay out of sight because Penelope appeared at the hall at terrible psychological state, begging the singer to sing another song in a room of men that wanted nothing else but see them all break. Telemahus reminded his mother once more to stay out of sight from the men that aim to claim her and two he reminded her not to show weakness. Proof that Penelope gained some of her old strength back and when her son was concerned she came down and fully attacked Antinous who was powerless before her. As for why she couldn't send them away was because the suitors were taking advantage of the law of Xenia. Penelope could not kick her "guests" out of the house without insulting the gods. At the same time Odysseus was the king, the one responsible for releasing guests (Here definitely we can talk on that social norm) but also he was the one to deliver justice in a violent way. Not even Telemachus could do that without the approval of the gods. When Odysseus realized he had Athena by his side only then did he perform the murder and even then he had to cleanse himself from it. Penelope did what the gods wished; she was a good hostess. And she remained unsullied by murder. Odysseus on the other hand was socially expected to be the warrior and he was the one to be soiled with blood.

So on the contrary I think if someone acts that is Penelope. In fact she acts like this not because she is limited by men in society but because she limits herself to be pious to the gods and their laws. And we have ironically the example of Clytemnestra who DID take a drastic solution against the will of the gods. Penelope deliberately acted this way herself to keep her name and her family's unsullied from unholy acts. Sure she had lower agency compared to Odysseus but ironically she could do so many things if she wanted. Even if not directly acting so (for example yes we do not see her able to gather the people of Ithaca like Telemachus did) but she could have poisoned them or sent them away but then she would be damned before the gods. She made conscious choice to bend the rules and use society's expectations to her own assistance hence her trick with the shroud. She didn't conspire or do anything drastic because she chose to. As opposed to Clytemnestra who made a different choice for herself. Which is another reason why I love these two parallels. But sure thing we absolutely must talk about things that Penelope doesn't do in the Odyssey like gathering the people of Ithaca. It seems that it was a thing only her husband or son could perform or how Athena didn’t encourage her to do something drastic but then again makes me wonder as I said whether that also is that Penelope remained pious and unsullied of such crimes in the end which somehow brings balance with Odysseus who definitely committed many not just murder but also the war crime at Troy with the trick of the Horse and hubris to Poseidon while Penelope while not following what was expected of her socially she still didn't commit any crime minus her little deception so the two energies are kinda completing each other.

As for Helen so true! I had even made some analysis on that matter as well as her portrayal to the Odyssey with her own trick with the horse;

And I so agree it is so fascinating to see!

I couldn't agree more on that because yeah it has almost nothing to do with the events as presented in the source so yeah definitely see what you mean!

It is impossible I think. We keep finding new things every day too. But once more I only bring to the table some extra pieces of information as well as my personal opinion while reading them. Apart from that of course people will have different understanding different opinion etc in regards to these characters and this is what keeps the conversation lively.

It may be basic of me but yes i am an Agamemnon hater. I wasnt even like, swayed by fandom i just yknow read the Iliad and hated him organically but my hate is the way that i love to hate him. When he's already dead in the Odyssey and, as a shade, tells Odysseus like "never ever trust a hoe, do not treat your wife too well, women are petty lying harpies" i honestly have to laugh like. There is a lot of misogyny in all of these stories they just did not treat women very well but his particular flavor is so funny to me. His swagless charm captivates me. I hate him and he annoys me but he's so funny it kinda wraps around to me liking him a bit again. Ask me my opinion again in 3 years

[rahabs]

I just feel so. Gross. There's so many things I can do and yet I do nothing and feel like a complete waste of a human being, which makes me feel even more miserable, which means I have even more trouble with my creative endeavours.

[tapestryundone]

not to get controversial but i am an adamant believer that neither tsm and tlq are bad and that while their actions can both get pretty fucked up, theyre both reacting frankly the best way that they know how given the horrible situation theyve been forced into...

[halogalopaghost]

[icewindandboringhorror]

... how am I meant to get any sort of restful sleep when it's like 85F indoors in my bedroom at NIGHT .. hhhhhhhhhhhhhh

[silly-mode-cilia]

hi I like yelling silly little life updates into the silly little void so here we go

I'm leaving for my internship thing on Monday (slay) and my last three weeks have consisted of 1. Finals (best semester since i started college thank u curves and nice teachers for boosting me), 2. Socializing, 3. Medical appointments (my eyes have gotten worse but I'm good otherwise) and 4. Prepping for my trip

And. This past week. I have had a cold, of all things, which is not good timing because I'm trying to finalize and get stuff done and was not understanding why I couldn't focus AND I was on my period but now it's a bit better I have entered the "expelling fluids" phase where I feel fine but the symptoms persist. Chilling.

So trip prep has included setting up my new laptop because the other broke during finals week, the keyboard started malfunctioning and the repair date was past when I would leave so new laptop ended up being the only option (which is nice) but I have to manually set up all my bookmarks still because I forgot my Firefox sync password and that will take a couple hours probably (last I went through and organized them it took a whole day)

And then excessive amounts of laundry that are still not done, realizing I lack more than 1 field work outfit and having to go to REI too many times to finish the pack list. Although a closet clean out was done and I'm satisfied with where the personal style development is headed I like my clothes.

But that's done so now I just have to. Pack.

And then my travel request for a conference got approved (!!) When it was expected to take until like, July so now I'm trying to finalize and coordinate stuff earlier than expected! But that is welcome that is good.

And I also got accepted to Job B which doesn't actually pay but is very few hours so I'm doing the tutoring and the mentoring both and hopefully not going insane! Might drip volunteering if I need to which reminds me I need to email them! okay!

[haarute]

i'm sorry but as someone who is always trying to understand most things and most people, the reaction a lot of folks have of immediately dismissing something or jumping to an outrage without having a second to try to reflect on a situation or process empathy is something that i will never relate to and i consider to be a bad mentality to have if left unchecked actually

[autisticlee]

I started with posting about my autistic experience on twitter, reading posts on there, and interacting with people there.

then twitter got unbearable, so I moved back here and made a new account and side blogs to mirror twitter and lurk in the tags.

i've noticed a difference between autism twitter and autism tumblr from the big algorithm-controlled posts I usually see:

autism twitter makes me feel like i'm not allowed to say autism disables me or causes problems in life

while autism tumblr makes me feel like i'm not allowed to feel positively about being autistic and can only see it as a struggling disability.

the contrast makes me dizzy 😵‍💫 it's like no one wants to see the perspective of other people when we are all different. each side wants their narrative to be the told one.

[dontmixpaintinyourcoffee]

This one goes out to all the bitches who love some good Safehouse Era Horror. It's me, I'm bitches. I want Jon and Martin to be fucked up and eldritch but I want them to be fucked up and eldritch and loved

(Notes under the cut because I can't help myself. Heads up, I do go into some detail of how Jon gets injured so I can explain my thought process for how I designed his scars. All canon-typical and fairly clinical in tone.)

Here's how I picture Safehouse Jon!

He doesn't need glasses anymore by this point, so he should just be wearing empty frames, but I drew this before I settled on my glasses headcanons. This drawing looks better with the reflection anyways.

He hasn't gotten a haircut since before his promotion to Head Archivist. He doesn't love the weight of it on his neck, but he also uses it to fidget, and he really doesn't want to go through the whole process of cutting it. He's disliked haircuts since he was a kid (People: Bad. Small talk: Bad. Touching: Bad. Loud sounds: Bad. People talking all at once: Bad) and since his time with the Circus he's only grown more reluctant to go and get it done.

At this length his hair is naturally pretty curly but he is. Not taking care of it. I actually put a lot of effort into trying to make it look brittle and tangled (I have a lot of experience lol, my hair is quite thick and I've always hated taking care of it. Yes I am also projecting my feelings about going to a hairdressers onto him why do you ask.)

The various scars were a bit of a strange task, but anyone who has seen my takes on The Bad Kids knows I'm not averse to selective realism in my fiction. Easiest one was the neck, I always pictured Daisy making a vertical cut based on "through the voice box". The larynx is longer than it is wide, so I think Daisy would go for the method that dealt damage across the largest total surface area. Yes I am aware that I'm speaking the same way Martin does when he explains his corkscrew.

The worm scars were easy because I barely drew any. There are a few marks on his cheek, but they're just surface bites. I picture most of his encounter with Prentiss showing on his legs, particularly on the right side, with enough damage there that he starts using a cane after the incident to keep weight off his right leg. More research to be done on this particular detail.

Finally the burn on his hand from Jude. This was the weirdest one to figure out just because of the nature of the injury. How do you quantify the damage done to an epidermis by a living manifestation of sometimes-boiling wax that can heat and cool at will? I settled on it being a second-degree burn that healed supernaturally fast, containing the damage to the space Jude had direct contact with. He'd probably have some mobility issues there as well. I know there are ways to help with mobility and pain after a severe burn, but I don't know how much of it Jon would actually. Do. Like I said, definitely further research to be done on these last two.

Hey so I'm gonna ask you to stop and consider the horror of the watcher. The helplessness. The guilt. The inherent terror of being a spectator, a participant by proximity but not by action. The horror of not being able to look away, of being a bystander. Jon forgets to blink sometimes. But wouldn't it be so much worse if there were no eyelids at all? That's how I interpret the description of The Archivist being "All Eyes" :D

I love a good Many-Eyed Jon, so I whipped up my own interpretation here. I think the more he Becomes the more he starts to resemble the thing from the dreams. He has a lot more control of it in S5, but it still creeps up on him and he has to consciously go back to a human shape.

[icarus-suraki]

I don't like wading into Ao3 debates, but I want to give my professional opinion on Ao3 with regard to archives vs. libraries.

I am a professional librarian (MSLS) and I have worked in both archives and public libraries and a lot of the confusion and concern I see surrounding Ao3 is a fundamental misunderstanding of How Archives Work.

An archive is a collection related to a subject. That subject is often a person but sometimes a field or concept or project. And the purpose of an archive is to keep everything. And I mean everything. I was going to say "short of biohazards" but since I know there's a sealed R. Crumb Devil Gal chocolate bar in the UNC Chapel Hill archives, we really do mean everything.

When a collection of materials--which are usually unique and original and can be photos, manuscripts, letters, recordings (audio and/or visual), notes and notebooks, objects, published books, whatever--on and/or from the subject arrive at the archive, they are examined, preserved for longevity, accessioned and cataloged (added to the archive's records), and added to the archive. You measure collections in linear feet. As in, once it's all preserved and boxed and secure, you note how many feet of shelf space it takes up. And some of y'all on Ao3 have a lot of linear feet to your name (and I'm proud of you).

This is an archive: it is designed to preserve the original materials related to a subject. That is its purpose. Archives are how we have the original scroll manuscript of On the Road, for example, or the Lomax recordings of American folksongs, or Tijuana Bibles, or James Joyce's loveletters to Nora.

Now you, a member of the public, can access some archives. Some are easier to access than others. The one I worked in was open to the public; good luck getting into the British Archives without a good reason.

So now apply this to Ao3--which is an archive both in name and in purpose. It is intended to preserve fan-created content long term. And this means everything, whether you personally like the materials or not. It is a repository for as much as possible.

And the "whether you personally like the materials or not" is important, hence why I mentioned Jim's loveletters and Tijuana Bibles in particular. (RIP Jim, you would have loved pegging.)

If it's made by fans and it exists, we should keep it to document the history and progression of fandom. That is the point. We have lost enough materials related to the subject of fans of media and we don't need to lose any more.

The fact of the matter is that Ao3 is only one facet of the OTW, which preserves other fan-related materials (convention booklets and zines, for example). Somehow Ao3, an archive on the subject of fanfiction, has been divorced from the rest of the project, mostly by way of "purity culture" and panic over "dangerous" fiction.

The fact that you can go through an archive and find interesting information is the other side of archives. No, they shouldn't be like the banker's box of old letters stuffed in my closet. Yes, they should be organized and as accessible as is appropriate for the state of the materials.

It's really, really cool to find stuff in an archive, I'm not even going to lie. I have done it before and I will do it again. And yet there are other items in an archive that I might not want or need or be interested in at all--but they're still there. That's the cataloging and accessioning: to keep up with what's there, to stay "on topic" with collecting, and to be able to find things in that archive. Bless the tag wranglers who are doing the cataloging at Ao3.

The pearl clutching seems to come from 1. the creation of "dangerous" fanworks and 2. public access to those "dangerous" fanworks. These are issues of "purity culture" and opinions on censorship and should not involve Ao3.

Ao3, under the umbrella of the OTW, is a documentation and preservation project first and foremost.

[docholligay]

Do you think authors sometimes don't realize how their, uh, interests creep into their writing? I'm talking about stuff like Robert Jordan's obvious femdom kink, or Anne Rice's preoccupation with inc*st and p*dophilia. Did their editors ever gently ask them if they've ever actually read what they've written?

Firstly, a reminder: This is not tiktok and we just say the words incest and pedophilia here.

Secondly, I don't know if I would call them 'interests' so much as fixations or even concerns. There are monstrous things that people think about, and I think writing is a place to engage with those monstrous things. It doesn't bother me that people engage with those things. I exist somewhere within the whump scale, and I would hope no one would think less of me just because sooner or later I like to rough a good character up a bit, you know? It's fun to torture characters, as a treat!

But, anyway, assuming this question isn't, "Do writers know they're gross when I think they are gross" which I'm going to take the kind road and assume it isn't, but is instead, "Do you think authors are aware of the things they constantly come back to?"

Sometimes. It can be jarring to read your own writing and realize that there are things you CLEARLY are preoccupied with. (mm, I like that word more than concerns). There are things you think about over and over, your run your mind over them and they keep working their way back in. I think this is true of most authors, when you read enough of them. Where you almost want to ask, "So...what's up with that?" or sometimes I read enough of someone's work that I have a PRETTY good idea what's up with that.

I've never read Robert Jordan and I don't intend to start (I think it would bore me this is not a moral stance) and I've really never read Rice's erotica. In erotica especially I think you have all the right in the world to get fucking weird about it! But so, when I was young I read the whole Vampire Chronicles series. I don't remember it perfectly, but there's plenty in it to reveal VERY plainly that Anne Rice has issues with God but deeply believes in God, and Anne Rice has a preoccupation with the idea of what should stay dead, and what it means to become. So, when i found out her daughter died at the age of six, before Rice wrote all of this, and she grew up very very Catholic' I said, 'yeah, that fucking checks out'.

Was Rice herself aware of how those things formed her writing? I think at a certain point probably yes. The character of Claudia is in every way too on the nose for her not to have SOME idea unless she was REAL REAL dense about her own inner workings. But, sometimes I know where something I write about comes from, that doesn't mean I'm interested in sharing it with the class. I would never ever fucking say, 'The reasons I seem to write so much of x as y is that z happened to me years ago' ahaha FUCK THAT NOISE. NYET. RIDE ON, COWBOY.

But I've known some people in fandom works who clearly have something going on and don't seem to realize it. Or they're very good at hiding it. Based on the people I'm talking about I would say it's more a lack of self-knowledge, and I don't even mean that unkindly. I have, in many ways, taken myself down to the studs and rebuilt it all, so I unfortunately am very aware of why I do and write the things I do most of the time. It's extremely annoying not to be able to blame something. I imagine it must be very freeing. But it ain't me, babe.

Anyway, a lot of words to say: Maybe! But that might not stop them from writing it, it might be a useful thing for them to engage with, and you can always just not read it.

Also, we don't censor words here.

[abonnymouse]

It is essential that I simply take liberties with historical fashion and dressing for Horology, or else I will spend the next twenty thousand years combing through every beautiful detail of 1880's fashion in France, but I'm also having such a lovely time looking at the beautiful clothes??

[yougavememyopia]

Continuation of this. A bit suggestive at the end.

Loser yandere was on his knees, begging for forgiveness. He got ahead of himself. Sucking your fingers like a perverted freak. He looked up at you with glassy eyes, pouting just slightly. He didn't mind your pity. In fact, he wanted it. The worst he made himself look, the more you let things pass.

You sighed, ultimately having no choice but to forgive him. He looked so sad, so lonely. Like a stray puppy begging for attention. Why wouldn't you spare his feelings? He had no real friends. It made sense that he didn't know how to act properly.

Except he did. He was just manipulating you, saying the right things to make you cave and hang out with him. He would speak with a certain depressed tone that would melt your heart, and when you agreed, he would become extremely happy. Cheering and overreacting. A great excuse to excitedly hug you. Throw his arms around your shoulders and get lost in your scent.

He was strangely smart. Using both negative and positive reinforcement. Getting you to say yes to avoid making him sad, and making you feel content by his contagious smile. All part of his plan that'll eventually end with you two happily engaged.

Even if that strategy didn't work, he'd just whine and beg. He knew you couldn't take it. You would glare at him, and he'd feel a strange sensation through his body. Sometimes, he wondered how being hit by you would feel like. Or maybe with your hand wrapped around his throat.

Given how much he bothered you, it was a miracle you were still friends with him. It wasn't all that bad. You somehow had fun hanging around with him, laughing at his silly jokes. He'd take you to so many places. Always making sure you were enjoying your time so you'd come back for more!

When you weren't in public, he'd get clingy. It was obvious he was touch-starved and a big attention seeker. He wanted to have you touch him, get close to him, and pay attention to him. Only him.

"I can't get this stupid button undone... Can you help me take this shirt off? Come onnn, it's way too hot in this room..."

"Look how good I smell. Come on, sniff my neck. It's a new thing I bought. It smells like your favorite!"

"I'm so hungry, and my hands are all tired. Ughh.. Can you feed me a snack? I'll open my mouth wide for you. Aaah~"

He'd still bug you about the kiss. Not ever talking about the incident afterwards. Those few months of reinforcement should've made you softer to him. He should've been able to get you to agree. But you stayed determined to deny him.

"I want a kiss already... Why can't you, my bestest friend, show me how it feels~? All of these movies have one. I'm being reminded of how much of a loser I am every single day." He grumpily said to himself as you both watched a weird horror movie. The scared couple on the screen made out to relieve their stress... or something. It was a strange movie he (purposely) picked.

"Can't you fucking understand?! It'll change this whole relationship. I told you that a million times." You crossed your arms, darting your gaze from the movie to him.

He sighed. You sighed. Then you exchanged a look. "Alright. Fine. You're not gonna stop asking, are you? Just promise me you won't act all awkward after it."

He lit up, nodding eagerly. "Really?! Oh, wow! Thank you. Thankyouthankyouthankyou! You're the best! Seriously. A life saver~"

"Shut it." You groaned, watching the last bits of the movie with the characters escaping.

"Yes, ma'am. You got it." He climbed on your lap. That made you stiff a bit, looking at him with a confused look. He set his legs on your sides, his arms wrapping around your neck. "How is this gonna work? Can you please do it very slowly?"

"Eh...? Okay. Whenever you're ready." You wrapped your arm around his waist, not knowing what else to do with them. He hummed happily. His face came closer to you, and somehow, you felt nervous. You shrugged it off, letting him kiss you at his own pace.

"Here I go..." he whispered, his nose rubbing against yours.

He pressed a small peck on your lips as if to test out how it feels. Before you could correct him, he kissed you again. This time longer and harder. You squeaked at the suddenness, forced to lean back against the couch as he began to lick your lips, asking for entry.

You reluctantly opened your mouth, and he wasted no time. Pushing his tongue inside your mouth. Lapping at anything he could find. Your tongue brushed against each other, eliciting a moan from him. His hand held the back of your head to keep you from pulling away. Shifting a bit on your lap, whimpering against your lips.

He kept licking your tongue, sucking on it. He moaned again when you finally returned the kiss. His movements were clumsy, making it easier for you to take control. After a minute, he pulled away, panting as he buried his face into your neck. He seemed embarrassed, and so you hugged his waist tighter.

He moaned against your neck. "Ah.. that felt so nice. Mmh, shit..."

"Yeah... you got a little ahead of yourself, y'know. It was supposed to be a simple kiss. I never said tongue was allowed." You pointed out. Rolling your eyes, because you knew he didn't care.

"You never said it wasn't." He sat up to look you, tilting his head innocently. "I would've listened to you if you said it."

"No, you wouldn't have." You mumbled.

"You also didn't say I can't go for another one~!" He leaned in again and captured your lips in another kiss. You protested, hands gripping his shoulders now to push him away. He whined, sucking your lips as if that would change your mind. "But, please, just one more. I still haven't learned the proper technique yet."

You were beginning to understand that he had a different reason for overstepping boundaries. The way he kissed you, the way he tried to savor your taste, the way his pressed his body against yourself. It was like he was trying to devour you. Trying to be one with you.

He moaned loudly when he pulled away. His body was shaking a bit, his eyes dilating. Something pressed against your stomach. You didn't need to look down to see what it was. "Um... Oops?"