#because it is not the book we are talking about

[oncewild]

the outrage in the reblogs and replies questioning how much people who do this like to read are funny because ultimately this comes down to preference and why a person reads. skimming -- and specifically reading first and last sentences of a paragraph and looking for signals (like quotations) that might indicate particularly relevant informaton -- are techniques people are taught in grad school when you can't closely read everything you're assigned. this is also a skill and reading tool.

are people forced to read? no. they could probably take their time and read carefully if they're not on a deadline to return a book or whatever. but there are so many interesting books out there, & it's not hard to imagine some people feel pressed to get through their TBR pile or are so excited to know what's happening next that they skim to find out faster. I'd find it hard to believe that none of the folks in the replies read less carefully when the plot reaches its peak.

is it a good reading practice? not really. is skimming probably why some people leave genuinely headass reviews on goodreads or whatever? i'd imagine. is practicing your literacy skills why you read? probably not.

most of us read because we like stories. & it's goofy to act as if booktok invented skimming (which was obviously invented by middle schoolers assigned yet another book from the dead white guy lit book list that hasn't changed in 60 years). there are absolutely benefits to training our brains and bodies to read closely for a sustained amount of time and then going back to reflect on what we've read, but most of us aren't doing that with everything we read anyways. sometimes we're just out there to enjoy a story.

I love to read. I've taught dozens and dozens and dozens of children how to read over my years of teaching, and even more adults how to read in a second or third language. but the way people talk about literacy tends to be deeply reactionary, ignores the value of orality, and misses a lot of literacy's value.

Do they know that reading is not mandatory? Nobody is forcing them to read?

[knife-eared-jan]

Ok, as much as I have been hyping and playing 12 hours a day since it got out (still in Act 1 though, bc I'm a slowass player and completionist), I feel like I have to say something that is getting hard to ignore at this point... and I wanna preface this by saying that I am loving a lot of aspects of the game and I adore the writing when it comes to the companions, who I am obsessed with.

And maybe this will get better yet, as I generally heard the writing picks up once the story progresses beyond picking up all companions..

But I'm starting to get quite upset at the way the writing just does NOT care about the established lore and the politics of Thedas like at all, when to me - and many others - that richness, nuance and depth of the world is what makes the games so special.

(Spoilers below)

I looked past the way the elves in Arlathan just seemed to know that their gods are evil and Solas is "kind of a dick" but was right about that. When, you know, that made him basically the Satan of their pantheon up to now.. It was after all the tutorial stage of the game and I understand that you wanna ease newcomers into the lore. I could also handwave it in-universe with Morrigan being there - she could have filled the Veiljumpers in on the discoveries of the Inquisition or even what the Well told her.

It felt a bit weird that our contacts in every other faction just accepted this huge revelation without a blink, but again it was the early stages and I also get that having a discussion about it 6 times with different faction leaders would have been incredibly tedious. So I ignored that. And yeah, at least the First Warden found it hard to swallow.

The fact that they brushed aside the gods finding elven subjects - many of whom after all still worship them - with one sentence from Solas was disappointing though. Instead they chose to ally them with the Venatori and the Antaam who are the pure evil factions with no nuance or motive to side with them besides a comic book level of hunger for power. They didn't even throw in a sentence about the gods maybe speaking to the Venatori through the Archdemons to get them on their side or how it's very ironic that the Venatori, who want to make Tevinter great again, stoop to working with the pantheon of the people they oppress because they see them as lesser and other. No political exploration of the massive lore implications at all.

It really hit me when I picked up Davrin and he commented how Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain blighting the world would really endear us (elves) to the rest of Thedas - this was the first time anyone actually mentioned the political impact of the elven gods being real, freed, evil and blighted on modern day elves at all, when this should be HUGE. It should be ugly. It should be complex. It should be explored in as many examples as bloodmagic and the oppression of mages was in DA2. It should be a central point of Act 1. (This btw made me love Davrin so much in that moment because this was the first time in the game for me when I actually felt like talking to a Dragon Age elf and even just that one line felt like home.)

And now I just did Taash's first companion quest and it seems Qunari lore is also being ignored (except for the gender aspect of it, which I look forward to). Taash's mum was a scholar and had a baby and the only problem about that was that it could breathe fire and was special but otherwise all would have been dandy? Like she would have just been allowed to keep Taash long enough to find that out about her baby if she was living under the Qun? That directly contradicts everything we know about how the Qunari's culture around reproduction and childcare works.

Sorry to be negative and talking myself into a rage - I know it's not something people want to see rn. But like, I realise you have to brush over some lore intricacies for brevity and to make it digestible for new players. But this is a world initially inspired by Wheel of Time and ASOIAF, both of which are interesting because of the depth of ficitional cultures, lore and politics, and hence it's also what gives Dragon Age its appeal. And now they take us to the most politcally interesting areas on the world map and just get rid of all of political depth?

That's really disappointing. Imagine if Winds of Winter dropped all political themes just because there's several previous books and it's been some a lot of years.

Also, I managed to play DA2 before I ever played Origins and they could introduce me to a vast established background of lore just fine back then.

Sorry. Rant over. But I had to get that out of my system.

[cressidagrey]

It's a Love Story - Chapter 2

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues, Fat Shaming, People being utterly horrible.

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

Contary to popular belief, (which was pretty much that the shadows had no mind of their own, which they had, thank you very much) the shadows did do other thing than to only listen to Master’s orders. 

Of course they listened to Master’s orders. 

But they also did…things that Master didn’t know about…and would never need to find out about…

One example in fact was the amount of gold the shadows had squirreled away throughout the centuries. Not for them, but for Master. So that Mater would never need to worry about that again. So that Master would never need to sleep in a dungeon again, like he had as a child. So Master could always have new weapons and could keep himself safe, so that he would have everything he needed.

Gold wasn’t the only thing they had squirrelled away…they had other things stashed away too! Anyhting that made the appearance of being useful one day! Shiny little things, because the shadows liked that…Sadly Master never made the appearance that he would appreciate the diamond necklaces they had hidden away in a little cave, but maybe one day…

Maybe one day Master would take a wife and she would like them.

The shadows had it all figured out. Whoever she turned out to be, they would make sure that she liked them too. They would make themselves useful so that she would like them.

Even when it had never seemed to work before… The shadows had made themselves scarce around The Morrigan and The Seer because they knew that Master liked them. And if Master liked them…well, then the shadows would make sure that Master got what he wanted.

Master wanted so few things after all…

They even found The Morrigan her favourite red lipstick that hadn’t been made in centuries. Not because they liked The Morrigan, but because Master did.

And in return, she treated Master like that.

And The Seer…oh, somehow that was even worse.

Though The Seer wasn’t the only one the Shadows didn’t like because of that. The High Lord was the other one. And him… oh, the shadows would get their revenge. 

Master was theirs. Nobody talked to Master like that.

(They just needed to wait for the perfect moment…and the High Lord would regret ever treating their Master like that…)

Master had nearly gotten himself killed just because he had wanted to make The Seer happy…and nobody even seemed to care about that. Not really. 

And then Master was working himself to the bone, clearly wanting to forget what happened between him and The Seer…and the Shadows just wanted to fix things, but there was nothing to fix anymore. 

At least now…At least now, finally, Master was listening to somebody with his best interests at first.

The Shadows would find Master a wife. The best wife they possibly could. And a home too.

And so, with their new mission in mind, the shadows set off to find the perfect home and the perfect female for their master.

The home was the easier part.

Mostly because they already owned it for a few decades. 

It was a picturesque Lake House at one of the mountain seas in Velaris, not far off from the House of Wind. It was beautiful and just a few minutes by foot away from the city center but still private and quiet…and the view was spectacular. 

The home itself was warm and cozy, with large windows that let in plenty of sunlight. Master would love it.

It just needed a little…attention. Some furniture…They would need to put the stuff they had filled it with somewhere else but that shouldn’t be a problem, right? 

Master would love it. Now they just needed the right female to share it with for Master…

The shadows were going to find Master a wife… They just needed…They just needed to figure out some criteria at first.

Master had said he didn’t care about how she looked…so that didn’t help them to narrow down the pool of possible candidates.

Nobody with a known mate. Nobody in a romantic relationship… regardless of how loose that was. The Shadows were not going to get Master’s heart broken again, thank you very much… Then all the females that preferred females themselves.

That did narrow it down… at least a little bit.

Then the more…obscure character traits. 

Nobody that was a workaholic like Master. That was never going to work.

Nobody that needed endless other people around them to be happy…Master would just get overwhelmed and shut down…

Nobody that didn’t seem like they were ready for a long term relationship either…once again, they didn’t want to break Master’s heart again…

The shadows had met really bad people. Criminals and murderers…they had seen the worst the world had to offer …but they were surprised by how many females they threw out too that pool simply because of how they behaved towards other people.

Once they had thought that maybe…maybe one female was an option. Dark blonde hair, green eyes…she had a steady job and she liked going out dancing….by the time she made fun of the limp of a soldier, the shadows wondered if every single person they came across was an asshole. They also wondered if there was anyone out there who truly deserved Master. 

But the Shadows refused to give up. They would find the right female for Master, no matter how long it took. They had already acquired a beautiful home for him, and now they were determined to find the perfect mate to share it with...

They could easily suss out anybody they wanted to meet…they could figure out which females were available…The problem was only that…they did find some kind of problem with every female they came across.

The blonde one that made fun of the limp was just one in a very long row of them. There was another one that they thought could have worked…but she got into earhsattering, screaming arguments with seemingly everybody she came across. Master liked his quietness, that wasn’t going to work either…

Another few that didn’t want a serious relationship even when they said they did, which was completely fine but made them useless for the shadows purposes… The Shadows were halfway ready to give up in Velaris and start trying again in another city of the Night Court, when they came across her in a dark back alley.

Across her and probably the dirtiest and ugliest feral cat that the shadows had ever seen.The ugliest cat they had ever seen that she was clearly trying to entice to come home with her.

“H-hey, swe...sweetie,” she whispered, her voice stuttering. She was crouched down o the floor. “Wa—Want to go somewhere war—warmer?”

The cat meowed pitifully and the shadows watched as she wrapped the cat up in the scarf she had worn, not for one moment caring that the cat was goign to ruin it. 

The shadows couldn’t help but keep watching, their curiosity piqued. She was clearly not concerned about the dirt or the torn scarf, and she was attempting to bond with this mangy feral cat. This showed a level of compassion and patience that they hadn’t often come across in their search. 

She seemed determined to help the cat, and the shadows couldn't help but admire her tenacity. 

The cat looked horribly, with matted, dirty fur, two eyes that stared in two different direction and an overbite. Somehow it reminded the Shadows of Master. 

Not with the way it looked…more in the way it pitfully stayed quiet and didn’t attack the female, even as she picked it up, wrapped in her scarf and then took it home. 

She smiled at the mangly back alley cat with so much adoration that the shadows wondered where it was even coming from. Her face was alight with joy as the cat rubbed her head against her fingertips.

The shadows followed along as she brought the cat to her apartment.

It was tiny. Tiny and absolutely stuffed full with books. So many books. Like somebody had tried to stuff the whole library of the Hose of Wind in this little apartment overlooking the harbour.

She had so many bookcases lining the walls, books in little stacks on her dining table and coffee table…or simply stacked on the floor. It was cozy and cluttered and utterly charming. Her passion for literature spilled out of every corner of her home. 

The Shadows couldn’t help but wonder what kin of person would choose to filll their living space with so many books. 

Apparently a person that had no problem with spending the better part of an hour bathing the cat in her kitchen sink. 

Weren't cats supposed to not to like water?

This one didn't seem to care. This one sat calmly in her sink and attemptsed to bite the stream of water flowing from the faucet...which meant it snuffled and sneezed for the big majority of the bath. She soaped him up twice, muttering a constant stream of reassurances that the cat doesn't seem to actually need, given the cat’s complete lack of distress at being repeatedly soaked.

And still she talked to it, constantly, the stutter omnipresent. She showed a remarkable amount of patience and care as she cleaned and combed the feral cat, gently and painstakingly combing out every single matted strand of hair and making sure the cat was clean and comfortable.

The shadows couldn't help but be slightly taken aback. She seemed completely focused on making sure the cat was happy and healthy, and she didn't even seem to mind that she was making a mess of her kitchen in the process. 

​​She scooped said up in a fluffy towel, rubbing it up and the cat purred, looking at her with two eyes that stared in two different directions. It was still the ugliest cat the shadows had ever seen, but she seemed to utterly adore it.

"You need - need a name," she told the cat seriously. She seemed to take this decision very seriously, as if the cat's name was a reflection of his identity. The cat in question was clearly enjoying the attention, purring contentedly as it was rubbed with a fluffy towel. "I thi-ink you are a boy. How about...Hector," she said finally, as if she had carefully considered many options before settling on this one. "I think it suits you.”

"How about some tu...tuna, Hector?" she asked him seriously. "I'll even give...give you the good crystal."

She couldn’t be serious, could she?

Apparently, she was. She fed the mangy back alley cat from a fancy little crystal dish that she put a tin of tuna into with a flourish, putting out another dish with water right next to it. 

She slipped off the apron she had put on, printed with ditsy little florals and sat down next to the cat. Hector happily scarfed down everything she was offering and then came to curl himself up on her lap. “I have a bad track record with males,” she told the cat seriously. “They end up cheating on me with my sister.”

The statement caught the shadows off guard. What? 

Despite that admission she she continued to gently stroke the cat in her lap, clearly finding some comfort in his company. "I'll feed you all the tuna I can find, if you keep me company," she told the cat softly. "I could really use some company."

That wasn’t…that wasn’t what the shadows had expected. Bu the Hector purre, the sound rough and growly and she giggled, sounding sweet and incandescently happy. 

She wanted companionship. That was clear. And she was also used to beng the second choice, when the males she had been with, had cheated on her with her sister. 

They were intrigued. 

They kept watching, hiding between her books, that seemed to span every which genre as she got ready for bed. 

She took a bath, and they watched as she let down her hair from the thick braided bun it had been kept it, ripples of chocolate brown tresses falling down her back…she was pretty too. 

Pretty with dark hair and blue eyes, with lush curves that were swathed into a pair of blue silk pyjamas.

She opened a chest at the end of her wrought iron bed, going through it for a moment and then pulling out a fluffy blanket, into which she wrapped Hector in. 

“Here, you..you can have that one,” she said softly, placing the cat at the end of her bed. “Let’s go to sleep.”

And so she went to sleep, curled up between floral sheets, and the cat purring at her feed and the shadows watched. 

They stayed.  

While she slept, they explored her house, searching for everything that they could learn about her. Searched for a name and her job or her hobbies and…

The answer was found in the desk that was tucked beneath her window in the living room. 

Dozens of pages filled with loopy handwriting were covering it. Drafts of her newest novel. A romance novel. 

Just a few moments later they found a stack of letters…and then were very confused for a little while, because there were letters addressed to two different females. Skylar Alden…and one Sellyn Drake. 

It took them a moment until they realised that both names contained the same letters.

Skylar Alden was Sellyn Drake.

Sellyn Drake, the bestselling romance author. Sellyn Drake, who Lady Death loved to read. Sellyn Drake, whose identity was a secret...

Skylar Alden was Sellyn Drake. 

Skylar Alden, who seemed to prefer to be called Sky, signing everything with just these three letter…and who doted on Hector, the ugly cat..She was also Sellyn Drake, Bestselling Romance Novel Author extraordinaire. 

And she seemed very much content with keeping that a secret. 

But why? 

Why did she chose to hide her identity? Was she afraid of the fame that came with success? Or did she prefer to remain anonymous and blend in with the everyday world? 

The Shadows were intrigued. 

Was this the only secret Sky was hiding? 

The Shadows kept an eye her over the following days. 

They waited for her to do something that would put her out of the running as Master’s wife. Waited for her to have some kind of flaw that they couldn't deal with...but there was nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

They closely monitored her every move, and half the time she didn’t even leave her apartment, preferring to stay curled up inside, write her books, and cuddle with Hector, the cat.

For cauldron’s sake…she even knitted the ugly cat a sweater so he wouldn’t get cold because his belly didn’t have any fur after she had removed all these mats!

There was nothing, absolutely nothing, that they could find in her life that could even be construed as unkind. 

Sky had a bank account that was full thanks to the books she wrote…and all she paid for with it, was her rent, her food, her regular mail orders of more books…She even donated to one of the orphanages in Velaris, for crying outloud! 

Sometimes she went down to the fishmonger and bought ridiculously expensive tuna for Hector, who she spoiled rotten. 

Though that one trip to the harbour…where the shadows hid in her handbag…well, that one trip explained why she seemed more than content to stay in the privacy of her own home for most of the time. 

Her stutter got exponentially worse when she tried to talk to another person, when it wasn’t just herself and the cat that she liked reading her books aloud to... 

Especially when the person she tried to talk to was an impatient fishmonger that rolled his eyes at her stutter. The Shadows as Sky’s cheeks turned a ruddy red, embarrassment clouding around her thickly. 

The shadows silently bristled. 

She acquired her tuna, paid silently and then kept her head down as she headed back home, cheeks still read, while blue, blue eyes filled with tears. 

And that…that was just pissing the shadows off. 

She hadn’t even been doing anything! She had just stuttered while asking for fish!

It wasn’t like she was doing this on purpose!

One tendril from the Shadows darted out of her bag, waiting until Sky was far enough away that that idiotic fishmonger wouldn’t think she had anything to do with it…

And then they only needed to loose that pesky little screw that kept one of the legs of his table attached…Screw you, Fishmonger. Let that be a lesson to be nicer to other people 

Another customer accidentally jostled said table just seconds later and the shadows snickered to themselves as the fish went flying. 

The tendril silently returned to Sky’s handbag, as she made her way back home. 

Hector got some of the Tuna cut up into small pieces on the good crystal bowl…and Sky gently scratched him behind his ears the whole time. 

The Shadows silently wondered if Master would enjoy being scratched behind his ears, as well. 

“I’ll ha--have dinner with my family to…tonight. You’ll stay here, al-alright? I’ll be back soon,” she promised the cat. 

Hector just purred at her, nuzzling against her hand before the cat began to dig into the tuna as though he would never be fed again.

Her family. Well, the Shadows would totally come along for that…who knew, maybe her family was just as lovely as she was!

They were not in fact as lovely, as she was.

It started with the very first words of her mother who opened the door, Sky juggling her purse and a paper covered tray from a bakery: “Did you bring dessert? It’s not like you should eat any of that.”

Sky paused at her mother's words, the small smile that had graced her face vanishing like water in the sand.

And then it returned, but the difference between her true smile and her fake smile were so... stark.

"Hi-i. I brou… I brought cake," she said, holding out the tray towards her. "Where do you….Whe-ere do…where do-o you want me to…to put it?"

Her voice was shaking. And she was stuttering…stuttering even worse than she had done with that fishmonger.

“Talk properly, Skylar,” her mother admonished her harshly. “Put it in the kitchen.”

Sky gave a small nod, but her eyes were downcast as the Shadows followed her into the house. 

The Shadows were...not impressed with Sky's mother. It was clear that her stutter wasn’t something that she could help, but instead was something that came out stronger when she was nervous or anxious or around other people. 

Sky set the cake on the counter and glanced towards the dining room. The table was already set, surrounded by other people, that the shadows took in, while hiding in the curtains of the living room: 

Sky’s mother was taller than her, blonde and grey eyed. The shadows also got their first glimpse at what probably was her sister. Looking just like her mother, tall and slender…accompanied by a red haired male. And then there was another blonde male, probably a brother…and an older male, who must be her father. At least he shared her dark hair.

“Ah there you are Skylar,” the blonde female greeted her, her voice sickly sweet.

"Hi Claire. Hi-i…ever…everyone," she murmured looking as though she would rather be anywhere but here.

Her eyes briefly flitted to her father. He gave a small nod, but otherwise he looked… indifferent. As though he did not even care.

"We've been waiting for you," her mother said, her voice sharp and curt, "Sit." Sky didn't respond, just moved quickly to the table. She settled down in one of the empty spots, clasping her hands on her lap.

"...Is this what you call fashion?" her sister scoffed.

Sky looked down at her outfit. 

As far as the shadows could tell, there was nothing wrong with it. I cream coloured blouse, a blue skirt…It was a rather pretty outfit in the Shadow's opinion. Sky looked beautiful and charming to them. 

“Did you gain weight, again?” The red haired male said with a roll of his eyes. “You always had a horrible sweet tooth.”

What. 

Since when did that make polite dinner conversation?

Sky didn't respond, even when the shadows could see her hands tightening around each other, looking down as her mother let out an exasperated sigh. “You’ll never find a male like this,” her mother snorted. “Males don’t like it if girls don’t keep up their appearances. The least you could do is try.”

"I'm...sor...re...sorry," the stuttering had gotten worse, Sky practically shrinking into her seat. She was fidgeting, looking as though she wanted to disappear into herself and the Shadows wished that they could just sweep her far away from here.

“How is work?” Her brother asked flatly at that moment. “Still editing your stupid romance novels? I still think you should do something slightly more useful.”

So even they didn’t know. 

Sellyn Drake was a secret even from her family. But then, if her family talked to her like that and it was…normal…then the shadows weren’t surprised. 

“What else is she supposed to do?” the red haired male asked with a snort. “It’s not like she has any skills.”

Sky flinched, not looking at him. The shadows wondered if that was one of the males that had cheated on her with her sister. 

“Oh, come on, Admon. She has some skills,” her sister said at that moment, giving another winning smile. “She can annoy everybody around her with her inability to speak properly.” 

Wow. 

Sky didn’t even flinch. Sky did nothing. 

She just...sat there through all the comments. Sky didn't even try to defend herself.

The whole dinner went by like that. Comment after comment after comment. About her work, about her body, about her clothing, about her stutter… Sky barely had any dinner because every time she picked up her fork with food on it, her mother was shooting her a sharp look. So she left most of the food on her plate and the shadows wanted to bristle. 

She maybe wasn’t as thin as her mother or her sister but that didn’t make her any less beautiful or any less deserving of food! 

When they weren’t making prickly comments about sky, her older brother Orin and Claire, her sister were only talking about themselves. It was quite useful only because the shadows learned stuff like the fact that Claire and Admon were engaged to be married and that Orin was working at a bank…

But none of that information made it worth for them to treat her like that. 

Eventually the dinner finally ended after what felt like an eternity. Sky looking as though she could hardly wait to leave. She rose, and the Shadows quickly into her purse her as she grabbed her purse and her jacket.

"Leaving already?" her mother frowned, standing as well. 

"I…It's get…getting…late." Sky said, her eyes not even lifting to look at her mother.

The words were barely out of her mouth before her mother's hand darted out, gripping her jaw tightly and causing the Shadows to let out a warning hiss. Sky winced in pain as her mother forced her to look up.

“At least try to be polite, if you are utterly useless.”

Sky's eyes widened in pain as her lip wobbled. She looked as though she was going to cry, her hands clenching and unclenching as she tried to stay calm. "I'm…sor-r-r-ry." She whispered.

But her mother didn't even release her grip. "Don't talk to me like you are the one being wronged. Look at you. Who would want you like this?"

The Shadows bristled at her mother's words. Everyone would want her like this, they thought angrily. We would want her like this.

Sky swallowed thickly, trying to fight her tears. She was trembling, trembling from head to toe.

"I'm sor-rry. Pl-please. Let me go." She stammered.

Her mother simply sneered, and shoved her backwards, Sky nearly falling as she stumbled. "You'll never amount to anything." She said coldly. "You're nothing more than a disappointment."

Sky looked absolutely mortified at her mother's words, tears starting to fall from her eyes as she looked down at her feet. She looked like a wounded animal, like someone who had given up. And it made the Shadows burn with anger. How could her own family be so cruel to her? Didn't they see how kind she was? Or how…how sweet she was?

Sky took a step backwards, and then she was running, practically fleeing out the door, rushing into the night. She was almost running, her breaths ragged as every gasp she took sounded as though she was trying to smother her sobs.

Finally, she slowed down, but didn't stop walking.

She just kept walking, her head down, tears still falling down from her wide eyes. Finally, she slowed down, but didn't stop walking. She made her way back home, shoulders caved in, looking utterly and completely miserable, as opened her door with her key…and then the damn burst. 

And she collapsed right on the floor in her hallway, great, heaving sobs escaping her.  

And the shadows just knew one thing with utter certainty: They were going to fix this. They were going to fix this for her and Master.

Even when it was the last fucking thing they did. 

[cherryswisherz]

roles reversed

toxic!paige x toxic!reader

warnings: smut, sub!paige, reader pushed paige into a wall, toxic toxic toxic situationship (LEAVE THEM IT NEVER ENDS WELL)

based on this req

"we be on some toxic shit, but i cannot get off this bitch"

forever (lil baby ft. fridayy, 2022)

-

this girl got me fucked up. 

"so let me get this straight." i asked, rubbing my temples because paige was giving me a fucking migraine. "you thought that i had a thing for your teammate.... so you FUCKED SOMEONE ELSE?"

"okay when you put it like that-" 

"THERES NO OTHER FUCKING WAY TO PUT IT PAIGE!" i was full on screaming at this point. "HOW MANY TIMES DO I NEED TO TELL YOU THAT I'M NOT NOR AM I GOING TO FUCK SOMEONE ELSE?" 

"bro stop yelling at me." 

she was making demands right now? 

oh she has life all the way fucked up.

"get the fuck out paige."  i shook my head and began to walk to my room. 

i had to just end it.

that situationship shit was for the fucking birds and i had to protect my peace because if i handled it was gonna end up in fucking prison. 

"baby no, let's talk about this."

"oh i'm baby now?" i scoffed at this. "was i baby when you were fucking that girl? was i baby when you chose not to ask the simplest fucking question, and instead chose to step out on the rule that you  created?" i asked walking closer to her, with my fists clenched because at that point...

i needed that.

"or am i only baby when you need a rough fuck?" her eyes flicked from mine to my lips, which only further irritated me. "am im only baby after you've called me every other name in the book?" her tongue darted out against her bottom lip as i finally reached her, standing directly in front of her, daring her to break the eye contact i'd established. "you only want me when no one else is willing to let you do shit we do." i shoved her, making her stumble. 

"yo." she says, still holding eye contact. "chill out."

yeah i'm finna whoop her muhfuckin ass. 

"bro on my mama you got me fucked up." i muttered and start pushing her as hard as i could, saying whatever came to my mind. 

"you wanna fuck bitches now?" shove "that's what you wanna do?" shove "you wanna fuck them and then come here and fuck me like im just an afterthought?" shove "get the fuck out!" and then finally her back met the wall next to my door and i felt like i'd accomplished something.

....that was until she put me in a bear hug, making it damn near impossible to move. "y/n, stop bro!"

i used all my strength and ripped myself out of her hold. "NO YOU STOP!" i yelled. "do you have any idea how fucking annoying you fucking are bro?" i asked trying to catch my breath. "how the fuck do you sit there and make the 'no fucking other people' rule and then turn around and break it? you fucking slut."

 "i'm a slut?" she asked, smirking a little, but at this point i didn't give a damn. i was gonna say what i needed to say and then be done with this whole thing. 

"yes. a slut. a whore. whatever you wanna call yourself." i said, crossing my arms. "you never wanted to be exclusive. you just wanted me to be yours and only yours. but you wanna go give away everything that's mine. you're community pussy at this point." 

she practically howled at that. "community pussy is crazy." this bitch was laughing in my fucking face-

next thing i knew i was running towards her ready to molly whop her ass. 

"okay! okay! chillchillchillchill!" she put her hands up before i got to her, which made me stop. "what can i do to fix this?"

easy. 

"ask me to be your girlfriend." 

"anything but that." 

this is exactly why i was trying to smack her. because she's one of them dumb hoes. she just said 'what can i do?'... 

just stupid. 

all of a sudden an idea hit me. 

"let me fuck you." i crossed my arms and smirked because i knew she would give me the upper hand if i wanted it.  

paige wasn't a stone top. she was a switch, she just didn't do it often because i was the og pillow princess. but not today. today i was gonna do what she'd been doing to me for almost 6 months. 

ruin her. 

"oh?" she grinned. "you wanna top me baby?"

"i really wanna beat your ass but martin luther king said violence isn't the answer and i listen to my ancestors... so yes, this will do."

she chuckled a little which irked the fuck out of me but then she plopped on the couch and manspread. "do your worst." 

she had no fucking idea what my worst was.

i climbed in her lap and her hands moved to my ass but i quickly shut that down and pinned them to the couch on either side of her. then i proceeded to take her shirt and sports bra off so that her top half was completely bare. 

i took a moment to admire her. leaving paige alone would have honestly been so much easier if she was ugly but unfortunately, she's hand crafted by jesus himself, so here i was... delusional and pissed off again. 

i start with her neck, soft kisses at first, then as i felt her breathing pick up i switched to longer, more sensual movements and grind into her lap, smiling at the way her hips buck up. i place a hand on her collarbones and slide them down to her tits, kneading them and relishing in the whimpers escaping paiges lips. 

she tried to close her legs as my hands travel further down her body. 

"spread your legs." i demanded. 

she blinked a few times, her blue eyes finding mine. she looked like she couldn't comprehend what i was saying, but when i slid my hand across the space of her lap between us, she complied, eagerly spreading her legs for me. 

a soft sigh from her lips as my hands slipped past the waistband of her briefs and grazed her core. 

"yes, fuck," she breathed out, arching into my fingers that ran circles around her clit. so impatient. a moan fell from her lips as i sped up my pace, making her legs spread further as she chased her orgasm. 

which she seemed desperate for. that much was obvious by how gloriously wet she was for me. 

she gripped the cushions of my couch, moaning even louder when i slid two fingers into her. 

"right there" she breathed rolling her eyes closed as i hit her spot. she moaned especially loud when i curled my fingers into her. i felt her legs grow tight under me, which  made me want to smile with pride for myself. 

"how you feel p?" i felt her tighten around my fingers as i spoke. 

"close- im so close and- shit - it feels so good." she breathed out, chest rising and falling with each breath. 

i curled my fingers deeper inside of her to hit that spongy spot and soaked in the cry she let out. 

then i slid out of her.  leaving her hanging. 

"now how do you feel?" i asked. 

the look on paiges face was murderous and pained at the same time. like she hated this but she was gonna put up with it anyway. 

"like you're not done yet." 

i smiled. "not even close babe." i patted her thigh, stepping off of her lap. "go to my bed and wait for me." 

as i sauntered off into my hallway closet to t get he batteries i needed, i heard the soft patters of paiges sock covered feet hurrying to my bedroom. 

i grabbed the batteries and walked into my room to find paige sitting at the foot of my bed, rid of her bottoms, feet tapping the ground in what, im assuming, anticipation. 

i moved so i was standing directly in front of her, grabbing her jaw and pulling her into a kiss that even had me ready to let this whole thing go. 

luckily though, i had enough willpower to pull away and walk to my night stand. 

"lay down for me p." and she did. 

watching her like this was almost painful. bare, toned body layed out on my bed, and she was doing everything i'd asked without a second thought. 

i lived for this shit.

i was pulled out of my thoughts when paige asked what i was gonna do.

great fucking question. 

 i took my time, looking in the drawer of my nightstand, which held all of the things paige had often used to bring me to my highest points. 

not that she need them.

i decided to keep it simple and nabbed the black bullet shaped toy then made my way back to the gorgeous piece of woman that was losing her mind in my bed. 

"legs wider apart." i heard her breathe sharply as she drummed her fingers on her toned stomach. 

she was excited which made me feel a little bit better about what i was about to do. 

setting the toy down on bed beside paige, i knelt down so i was face to face with her core that was still primed from her denied orgasm earlier. 

god she was sooooo... FUCK.

"you're always acting like i'm just a quick fuck to you p." i ran two fingers up her folds, ignoring the whimper she let out, "and i don't know why." i slid a finger into her and leaned down so i fell face first into her pussy. 

her eyes rolled back as i rubbed circles on her clit and pumped in and out of her with increasing speed. 

her back arched off the bed when i added a second finger and attached my lips to her clit, sucking lightly but i used my free hand to hold her hips her place. 

i pulled back long enougt to say "watch." 

with hooded eyes she stares down at me like i had hung the moon and stars myself. 

as she fucking should.

loud moans echoed around the room as she leaned further into my touch and i knew she was getting close. 

but she wasn't getting off that easy. 

she whined my name the second i'd stopped touching her. 

but i only laughed as turned it on the vibrator, giggling when her previously shut eyes flew open. 

"baby-" she was cut off by her own gasp, jerking forward when i tapped the vibrator against her clit. 

"don't. cum." standing up so i was looking down at her i asked the million dollar question. "i wanna know why you don't wanna be my girlfriend." i murmured, teasing her her folds. "just give me your point of view." 

i knew how she was feeling because i'd been in this very position so many times before. I knew she probably couldn't even think straight, let alone speak, but that wasn't gonna stop me from fucking with her. 

she whimpered as i dipped the vibrator inside of her. 

"speak, paige." i demanded, sliding the toy back out of her, only to run it over her puffy clit earning me a frustrated groan. 

"because you're you and i'm me- shit-" she moaned, arching off the bed again as i held the vibrator softly on her clit. "w-we're just- fuck- so different and i don't wanna..." she trailed off when i applied more pressure. 

"don't what?" i forced out, admiring the way her hands were gripping my sheets. 

when she didn't answer me i turned the vibration up a notch, soaking in the moans and whimpers she gave me.  

"please," she pleaded as her legs began trembling. 

"you just have to give an answer paige and i'll let you cum." i replied, turning the vibrator up again. 

with a deep moans she finally gave in. "i don't wanna lose you" she basically sobbed. 

 that's all i needed.

"cum for me paige." 

her eyes slammed shut and her head flew back as her whole body shook. guttural moans left her throat as she fell apart in front of me. 

it was beautiful, really. 

when she'd ridden her orgasm out, i tossed the vibrator on the bed and laid between her legs that wrapped around my waist. kissing her deeply, and pushing her hair out of her face, i fought the smile that was forming. 

right now wasn't about proving my point. it was about grounding paige. 

her eyes were glazed over as she stared at the ceiling, catching her breath. and then after a few seconds, her hands slithered around my waist, under my shirt. 

with a sigh, she her eyes met mine and she began talking. "of course i want you to be mine. i think.... i think i'm just scared i'm gonna fuck it up and you're gonna be done with me for real."

"you're gonna lose me regardless if you don't figure this shit out p." i said, pulling up so i was straddling her naked body. "i can't keep doing this shit. this was never just sex and you going out doing whatever with whoever is fucking me up a little." 

"i know mama." she said, pulling me back so i was flush against her chest, hugging me tightly "i'm gonna work on it, i swear." 

and even though it sounded nice in the moment, i knew she was full of shit. she'd never change, and i knew it. 

but a piece of me never wanted to stop trying. 

niyah speaks may this type of love never find you guys

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[penig]

It used to be taken for granted that married couples might have different preferred candidates, and it was used as an excuse to not vote, the concept being that they would "kill each other's vote." That a husband and wife voting for different candidates would cancel each other out, so why bother?

There is a story, I'm pretty sure in a book of connected short stories called The Nine Brides and Granny Hite,* published in 1952, featuring an immigrant, a European refugee excited to vote in her first election, who encounters this argument while going around town infecting blase Americans with her immigrant enthusiasm. She is taken aback at first, because it sounds reasonable enough, but her gut says it's wrong, and after thinking a minute she comes back with: "You and I, we are each on one end of a two-handled saw with a tree in between. If you go back, I go forward, I go forward you go back. We say to each other, We cancel each other out, so we stop. Does this cut the tree down?"

This argument was still common enough in the early 70s that my social studies teachers would feature it as a popular fallacy when talking about elections and democracy. It seems to be as old as female suffrage.

To find the argument that women will necessarily be guided by their husbands when they vote, you have to go all the way back to arguments against granting women suffrage at all. Because what would be the point? They'd just vote like their husbands anyway! Sometimes with " or fathers" thrown in, when someone remembered that unmarried women exist.

This is not a coincidence. The people disgusted by these ads would happily roll us back to before female suffrage. To before "Negro suffrage." And, ultimately, to before suffrage for adult white males who don't own real property. Don't think they won't!

*I found the link but didn't take the time to confirm the story is in there. I remember it as a distinct change of tone from the other stories, which are mostly little romances.

From the October 31, 2024 article:

“In the one place in America where women still have a right to choose, you can vote any way you want. And no one will ever know,” Roberts says in the ad as a woman on screen meets up with her husband after casting her ballot for Harris.

The voter winks at a fellow female voter as her husband asks if she made the “right choice.”

Republicans have responded to the video with outrage, with some claiming that a wife lying about her vote is as bad as an affair.

“If I found out Emma was going to the voting booth and pulling the lever for Harris, that’s the same thing as having an affair,” Fox News host Jesse Watters said on air Wednesday in a clip highlighted by Mediaite.

Other GOP members including Charlie Kirk said the thought was “nauseating.”

[serendipitous-girl]

𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒇𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒐𝒍𝒅?

⊱✿⊰ summary: the overblot aftermath except yuu has my personality lmao

⊱✿⊰ warnings: book 2 spoilers, lowkey bullying leona (but nice), yuu is reader, fully self indulgent, fluffy tho, like a few refs to reader being small cuz im smaller than even ruggie so yeah. Thats like the only physical depictor i think

⊱✿⊰ notes: i had this dream last night and boom bam i made this. I think its preppy and also its lit ny personality and also leona is like 😍

your eyes slowly fluttered open, the bright fluorescents adding to the dull ache in your head. as your vision adjusted you realized you had quite a few people surrounding you. ace and deuce and jack and grim? what happened...?

"what happened?" you muttered out, sitting up in the...cot? you were in the infirmary but why? the last thing you could remember was playing the special round of spelldrive and grim mentioned something about a special move.

"at the beginning of the second half grim threw the disc at your noggin and knocked you out." ace answered barely concealing his snort, "don't you remember?"

"no i don't remember." you grumbled, narrowing your eyes in a glare. ace gave you an apologetic smile that you weren't sure held any real sorry in it.

"i was trying to aim for victory!" grim exclaimed, pumping his fist up. he smiled widely at you and plopped into your lap. despite your annoyance you curled your arms around him, letting him snuggle into your chest.

"you amateurs need to work on your throwing skill." jack replied with an eyeroll.

deuce quickly interjected with a gentle smile, hoping to ease any tensions that might appear. "i for one am glad you're awake! i was scared the hit did some real damage."

"true, you were asleep so long you even missed the closing ceremonies. they're taking everything down now." ace said, still trying not to laugh. evem through your annoyance you couldn't really blame him. it did sound kind of funny that you got hit by a disc because of grim's terrible throw.

"which dorm won?" you asked suddenly, words falling from your lips hurriedly, "how did savanaclaw do?"

even with leona being so underhanded you still wanted him to get what he wanted. he just wanted to feel like he was good enough, something you could relate to heavily. you hoped none of them could tell the way your face warmed with your rambles. maybe you could blame it on pain meds..if this place even had them.

suddenly that growly rumble of a voice filled your ears, leona saying, "diasomia won, unsurprisingly."

your eyes jumped to where leona was, him and ruggie in cots side by side. leona looked goregous, with his long hair still braided and a few bandages scattered across his dark tanned skin. you really ought to focus instead of fangirling over his looks like a silly school girl.

"there was nothing we could do to stop it." ruggie added with a sigh, looking slightly more healed now, "it didn't help that we took a beating from every other dorm before we got to them."

you winced sympathetically, unsurprised the other dorms had gotten their revenge out during the game. even still you felt bad, but perhaps that was your annoyingly empathetic heart talking.

"housewarden! ruggie!" jack exclaimed, turning his body around to see the others in their cots. you slowly sat up, ignoring your dizziness in favor of getting the chance of getting closer to leona. you are surely going insane, why were you wanting to comfort leona after everything he did? why were you wishing to kiss his hurt away in front of your friends no less.

leona tsked, his arms crossed over his hardened chest as he said, "being stuck in the infirmary for anything other than a mid-day nap is about as lame as it gets."

his eyes wandered over to you and you felt your body warm, self conscious about the way you look. you could feel that your hair was a bit tangled and your clothes were slightly frumpled, making you wish leona would suddenly forget you existed. did he think you look bad? you looked at your hands, trying to cease your racing heart.

"and what's worse? none of the diasomia kids ended up here." ruggie pouted, his ears flattening aganist the top of his head. you felt your lips quirk in amusement, finding the small boy's annoyance kinda cute. he reminded you of your friends from your world (though that thought suddenly made your heart feel heavy.)

ace nodded and started talking about the head of the diasomia dorm, apparently being a major powerhouse. you didn't doubt it, seeing as half the guys at this school were insanely large or annoyingly good at magic. they still scared you, seeing as you were neither of those things.

"with that attitude you're never going to beat them." jack said with his fist clenched, all good old determination, "i didn't beat them but i will next year! i'll do anything it takes."

"does 'anything' include your capacity for evil?" leona asked with a slightly malicious grin. you felt mildly deranged for wanting to kiss it off of his face.

"have you learned nothing?" you asked, fighting the urge to get closer. once his grin widened, deliciously evil glint in those pretty brown eyes you felt your resolve wavering.

so you did get a bit closer, sitting on the chair beside his cot. he didn't seem displeased with your proximity as he said, "i didn't realize this was an after school special."

you couldn't help the laugh that bubbled past your lips, eyes lighting up with amusement. he was insufferably wonderful. "i didn't realize you knew so much about those after-school specials."

ruggie interrupted with his infamous laugh, making you feel suddenly aware of the way you were sort of flirting with leona. you backed up and looked shyly away, grateful your friends didn't seem to notice the way you had been half tempted to settle your and leona's debate with kisses.

"there's the leona i know!" ruggie said, making jack roll his eyes. jack reminded you of captain america if he was part of the omegaverse, but the boy's brain might explode if you tried explaining that to him..

"i can already tell this won't end well." jack muttered with a slight shake of his head. you felt your lips curve into a grin at the same time as leona. even though you most definitely didn't want leona try to cheat his way to the top you also liked his...ambition. you were far gone.

deuce, ace, and grim chimed in talking about how they wanted to play in the tournament for real next year. a small part of yourself wondered if you'd still be around by next year or if crowley would have found a way home for you by then. then you quietly wondered whether you would return to your old life or stay in your new one.

suddenly a little boy with red hair bounced into the room, jumping onto leona without a care in the world. your eyes widened, surprised by the freaking kindergartener entering the infirmary. he was adorable and sort of reminded you of your younger cousins, who were all around his age.

"unca! there you are! i finally found you!" the child giggled, hugging up close to leona. leona looked shocked for a moment before his face relaxed to his usual pissed off look and he hugged the kid back.

"unca leona...?" jack mumbled, matching your confusion. all the boys seemed equally confused that this tiny person was calling leona uncle and cuddling up to him without getting beat into a pulp.

"this is cheka, my brother's son...my nephew." leona explained boredly, ruffing the boy's hair. your eyes widened, reeling at the sudden revelation.

"so this is the next in line for the throne." ruggie said in a low tone, amusement filling his expression. you were still shocked this adorable little baby was leona's nephew.

"unca! i saw you play, you were sooo cool!" cheka giggled, his hands tapping against leona's shoulder in a badly attempt at rhythm, "teach me how to play pleaseeeeee!"

"fine, fine just stop screaming in my ear." leona grumbled, plucking cheka off his body and putting him down. which made cheka notice everybody around, particularly you.

the tiny redhead ran to you, jumping onto your lap. he was very similar to your cuddly baby brother so it was easy to just wrap your arms around cheka and let him hug you. you giggled, amused by leona's nephew.

leona was about to protest, and you could have sworn you saw a light dusting of pink across his cheeks. it gave you the smallest glimmer of pride, close enough to the third year that you saw the tiniest details.

"so the source of all leona's anguish is..." jack began, struggling to understand what was happening. everybody was to be quite frank.

"this innocent angel." you finished for him, ruffling cheka's hair. cheka giggled and squirmed in your arms, eyes wide and happy as he looked at you.

"shuddap, all of you." leona grumbled, "stop gawking."

you grinned and couldn't help the way you decided to sit on his cot beside him. you were small enough that you could fit on the bed at his side. cheka seemed happy by this decision because he could now crawl freely between you both.

despite leona's annoyance, he wrapped his arms around your waist to prevent you from falling off the cot. ruggie raised his eyebrows in silent shock, probably surprised to see his big scary upperclassmen cuddle with the random girl who just appeared at the school.

cheka rambled incessantly, asking questions and talking to leona. cheka seemed to idolize leona, making you wonder if he realized that. does leona know how much cheka loves him?

ruggie was laughing like a maniac at the new side of leona they had all discovered, probably wanting to use this as blackmail. you did think it was funny, but it was also freaking adorable seeing leona so soft. leona nuzzled his face into your shoulder, glaring at the first and second years all laughing their heads off.

"are these your friends?" cheka asked, turning around to look at them all. then he looked back at you, "is she your girlfriend?"

"oh for sure. we're besties with leona." ace grinned, even happier when cheka asked about your relationship with leona. you felt your cheeks warm, lips opening to deny the assumption.

but leona didn't give you a chance as he grumbled, "i won't forget about this."

though the boys were still amused they decided to leave, laughing and talking about "unca leona". the older boy glowered, tightening his hold on your body. hell even ruggie left, feelinf well enough to leave the infirmary for a moment.

"you gonna marry her?" cheka asked, bouncing on leona's stomach. leona groaned and pulled the kid off of him, so he wasn't treating the third year like a jungle gym. cheka glanced at you and added, "what's your name?"

"my name is [name] but everybody calls me yuu." you said, ignoring his first question and especially ignoring the way your heart throb at the idea. it was silly, you were a teen and thinking about marrying leona.

leona also ignored the first question just mumbling out a quiet, "furball always trying to start stuff..."

suddenly cheka jumped up, hearing the voices of his attendants. the little redhead ran away as quickly as he came, probably going to cause more chaos. he really was lucky he was so adorable...and the fact he was a prince.

being alone with leona made you acutely aware of the way he was cuddling you. his arms wrapped around your waist and his tail curling around your shin. he was warm, his firm body pressed aganist your back in such a comforting way.

"i didn't say this earlier," he began, his low timbre full of the beginnings of sleepiness, "but im sorry for hurting you when i overblotted. i didn't mean for you to get involved."

you blinked with surprise, your heart stalling as a lump in your throat. maybe he really did feel remorse for what he did, the thought sending a flutter of excitement through your tummy.

slowly you turned so your front was against his, faces inches away. you were both laying down on the small cot, his strong arms keeping you steady and grounded.

with that delightful dizziness in your head, you leaned in and pressed a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. he froze, soft gasp of surprise falling from him. his arms tightened around you, squeezing the skin on your waist.

"its okay, leona. i'm not mad." you replied softly, gifting him your forgiveness like you were sent straight from god. not that you knew if he even had a god in his world. perhaps even without a god, you wondered if he knew how to worship one. if he might worship you like you were one.

lori © 2024. please don't copy, modify, or do anything weird with my writing! i like reblogs and comments but please be kind as this was my writing.

[batboyblog]

Strange feeling,

9 years ago I started knocking doors with two goals in mind. I wanted to elect America's first woman President, a candidate I believed in deeply who inspired me and who was amazingly qualified to take on the hardest most complex job in the world. The other goal was equally clear, our future and our progress was at risk if a Republican took office, the Supreme Court was on the line, Republican Party was fixated on getting rid of Obamacare, attacking Social Security and Medicare, rolling back our new wins for LGBT rights, and of course banning abortion. In the Summer and Fall of 2015 it became more and more clear that the Republicans would pick Donald Trump and so the goal became even more clear and important, Stop Trump.

9 years of knocking doors across 5 elections I've come right back to where I started, the doors are different, I'm older, grayer, this Election Day I was not up at 5am doing lit drops (and god bless all the early birds who did that today). But I'm again voting for, and supporting an amazing, smart, qualified woman candidate who inspires me, and I'm voting to Stop Trump.

9 long years ends today, Today we finally finally FINALLY get to turn the page and put an end to Trump. How good will it feel to go weeks, even months, and years, without having to think about Donald Trump, talk about Donald Trump? 9 years is a long time to be stuck in a national abusive relationship, and no it won't fix everything, but damn it'll feel good.

9 years ago, one of the things that inspired me to work as hard as I did for Hillary Clinton was my grandma. She turned 90 in 2015, and would have turned 99 a few days ago. She was whip smart, with a razor wit, she read two books a week every week. She was a feminist before it was cool, always had her own job and her own money and her own car, in the 1950s when married mothers weren't supposed to do any of that. She seemed like she'd go on forever but I was realistic, I knew 2016 could be her last Presidential election, and I wanted her to see a woman President before the end. She passed away in 2019, and I miss her a great deal. She used to refer to Trump as "That shit" the final word said in a hiss of disgust. So I'm carrying her with me as I head to vote, and I'm voting for every tough, smart, witty woman who never got a shot because they were born in the wrong time, and for every little girl who's ever been told "no that's a boy job!" I've fought for 9 goddamn years to break this highest and hardest of glass ceilings and today is the fucking day.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

I know that Halloween is over but I still gotta talk about this Hocus Pocus au I thought up

(Human) Adam just moved to Salem, the witch capital of the U.S and the whole town is telling ghost stories of Lucifer Morningstar, the famous male witch who swore he’d be back to take revenge on the townspeople before he was hung by the neck until dead.

Adam thinks this is a crock of shit, so he and his new friend Lute and his sister Emily sneak into Lucifer’s house (which has since been turned into a small museum) legend tells that Lucifer can only return if a virgin lights the black flame candle and Adam is being less than honest about his sexual exploits to his new friend.

As a joke to freak them both out he lights the candle. Unfortunately for him, it works and the witch appears in a violent gust of wind

That’s all I got but I just like the idea of Adam trying to escape from witch Lucifer

MY DUDE I LOVE THIS!!! @fanofstuff01 @beef-brisket

And I'm going to have him and Lute be like freshmen in college so Adams like 19-20 and Emily is like say a senior in high school her and Adam are a year apart.

And yes they had Emily out trick or treating because she's short en to get away with it and said "teenagers are allowed candy too".

-

Lute: Adam come on this isn't funny, the curse is real.

Adam: It's not real because witches and magic aren't real. The trails were just so they could hang a bunch of people who didn't agree with their beliefs.

They looked around the museum house and at night it's creepy especially being in the woods. Emily turned on a light so they could see.

Emily: Can we go?

Adam: No look at all this cool stuff! And that book? Says it's bound in real human flesh...... Gross.

Lute watched as Adam went over to the black candle.

Lute: Don't light that! If a virgin lights the candle it's said that Lucifer Morningstar will come back from the dead.

Adam burst out laughing: Good thing I'm not a virgin then.

Emily raised a brow: You only dated Eve for like a week.

Adam: You can have sex in a week!

The truth was they only made out a little bit and then her folks didn't want her having a boyfriend until after she graduated from high school.

So yes, Adam is a virgin. But his fucking sister doesn't need to know that!

He pulled out his lighter and smirked, curses and magic what a load of shit.

Lute: Adam no!

Adam lit the candle: See, nothing to-.....

The house started to violently shake, the floorboards glowed underneath and a laughter could be heard.

Lute: The fuck!?

Emily glared at Adam: A virgin lit the candle.

Adam: W-what!? It's okay! I'll just blow it out!

He blew out the candle but the flame came back.

Lute and Emily's eyes went wide when they saw a man that matches Lucifer's picture come out from the back room.

Lucifer: And who do I owe the pleasure to? Hmm? Oh, you.~

Adam turned around and jumped, what the fuck!?

Lute: We should go.

Adam: Good idea.

They all turn to run out the door, Emily and Lute make it out but the door slams in Adams face locking him in.

Adam: Fuck!

Emily bangs on the door: Adam!!

Adam tried pulling on the door but it was no use. Chills crept up his spine when a low laugh echoed in the room. He turned to see Lucifer standing there with his book now in hand.

Lucifer: Oh, you weren't leaving already were you?~

[s0lar-ch3ri]

i thought about this then what i was supposed to. (writing about things)

i commonly drop things and we dont keep the lights on always. i got accustomed slightly to just looking around in the day with the light that comes around through the windows and hope to find things. itd be small things, like my phone or my glasses or some pencils i really wanted to bring to school. it takes me a few seconds, but ive started turning on the lights and it makes things easier. if i drop things under a table, i grab my phones flashlight and i make it as bright as it can go and use that to look. its not how im supposed to look for things, i should be able to see well enough with my glasses, and the flashlight is too bright for reason. however, its helpful and makes it a bit easier.

whenever i need to do something, i dont write a note, but rather tell a friend to remind me. if they forget to, chances are ill remember myself because i expect them to tell me. ive never cared when they forget, because most times i didnt. writing a note would be a lot more simple, and maybe would be easier, its the way im supposed to handle it. however, im more likely to do it if im told by someone else or know i will be told by someone else. its more reasonable for me.

i make the text on websites bigger when they dont let me. i listen to music and podcasts on my headphones in class when i shouldnt. i use my extra days to get answers sometimes for math. im learning sign when nobody else will so i can talk to myself without worry, or just go nonverbal but not noncommunicative. i draw bigger then the papers can normally handle. i use a calculator for simple problems that require more then a basic amount of thought. i reread lines in books when i lose where exactly i am. i use pencils over paper cause i know i wont do things perfectly. theres more i do.

some of these may be normal or conventional ways of handling disability related issues. some i may be seen as less for because of how i handle. its not always how im supposed to. maybe it doesnt have to be what your meant to do to handle. maybe its how it works and its enough.

do what helps you, not what your supposed to do to help yourself. its easier that way.

[dyns33]

Family protection

I missed Alfie during Flufftober, I'm not going to lie, even if it was fun

Thomas Shelby was preoccupied.

No, if he was honest, Thomas was just as terrified and furious at that moment, hurt inside, ready to devastate everything in his path, like every time he was told that a member of his family had been targeted.

It had perhaps been a mistake on his part to believe that it was not necessary to monitor Y/N after her marriage. Solomons' men took care of that.

So, when John had called him in a panic, saying that there were rumors about the kidnapping, or even the murder of their sister, he had at first remained frozen at his desk.

Since Polly had brought her back, this little girl from another mother, also abandoned by their fucking so called father, he had loved her. Maybe even more than the others.

The child was adorable. Shy at first, then smiling, with a crystal-clear laugh, asking for cuddles from her brothers, playing with dolls with her sister, and always wanting to be with them.

Normally, boys didn't accept the presence of girls. Poor Ada knew something about that. But strangely, with Y/N, it was different. Neither he, nor John, nor Arthur, could refuse her anything.

She came with them in the streets, in the countryside, in the trees. There were some limits of course, but he had shown her how to climb, jump, run. How to defend herself, if one strange day they weren't there.

Thomas confided things to her and her only when they were alone. The times he slept in the fields, she came to join him. That was often what pushed him to come home, because he didn't want her to catch her death. She stayed there, glued to him without saying anything, respecting his silence like no other member of his family, and for that, he ended up talking to her.

It was a false secret, that Y/N was his favorite. A secret that didn't bother anyone, since she was everyone's favorite.

So Thomas Shelby was preoccupied, because it was said that something had happened to his little sister, without anyone being able to clearly say what.

"She was in a bookstore." Arthur mumbled. "She goes there several times a month, to get books and read to the kids. They like it, she has a beautiful voice. After the session, she often has tea upstairs with the old owner. Men came in, beat up the employees and customers, before going upstairs. Then there was a fire. We don't know anything else."

"And Mr. Solomons ?"

"Haven't managed to reach him. His little assistant says he's… busy."

You'd think the same guys had come to Camden Town to destroy the King's Bakery. Because everything was in a pathetic state, and it was the doing of one man, who shouted orders from his office when he wasn't breaking anything that came his way.

If Thomas was preoccupied, Alfie had lost his mind.

During an important meeting with the Irish, he had let Ollie handle the business, and since the men had to be watched, it was a new kid who answered the phone.

He learned only two hours after his return that a woman had called. Not just any woman, his wife. Who was worried, because there were men in front of the bookstore, whom she didn't know.

She was smart, his wife. His tender Y/N, well raised by the Shelbys. Even if she was normally safe, she remained wary, thinking of looking behind or through the window, knowing all of her husband's employees.

The incompetents who followed her that day had been found with their throats slit in an alley.

Even though his patient was at his limit, Thomas let Alfie finish his tantrum, noting that he had left only the phone and the record player intact, which was playing opera to try to calm him down.

Y/N had disappeared for four hours now. He wouldn't calm down.

"They would have called, huh ? To give their fucking instructions. Or maybe they're scared, they know that my men, the most competent this time, and yours, are all over town, and that as soon as we know who did this, they'll be dead. But… If they don't have her… Tommy, if they don't have her, if she's in that still smoking pile of ashes… I'll burn everything."

"Arthur and John are going to find her."

"Yeah, huh ? You can sense it with your gypsy powers ? Your witch aunt read the cards and saw that my Y/N was healthy ?"

"Not now, Alfie."

Solomons growled, turning his office chair in anger and slamming it against the floor until it was all crumbs. It was only because it was his wife's family that he was acceptinf Thomas' presence.

And for his part, even though he wanted to blow his head off for not protecting his sister properly, Tommy sat there smoking his cigarette, remembering how it had felt to hold Grace in his arms.

When the phone rang, he stared at it for a moment, before looking at Alfie, frozen in the middle of the room, staring at the wall. He wondered if he hadn't heard, before realizing that the wandering Jew was afraid to answer.

It might have been the famous ransom demand, which would teach them that a lot of harm had been done to Y/N, and much more would come if they didn't do what the kidnappers wanted.

It might also have been the coroner, who had finished putting names on the bodies following the fire.

Slowly, Thomas put down his cigarette, before answering.

"… Tommy ?"

"… Y/N ?"

"Give me that !" ordered Alfie who immediately came back to life, snatching the phone from him before finding a softer voice. "Treacle ? Love ? Are you okay ? Where are you ?"

It turned out that despite the lack of practice, taking young Y/N into the woods to teach her how to climb, jump, play tightrope walkers and hide, had been a good thing.

Realizing that something was happening and since her husband was not reachable, she had climbed through the upstairs window on the courtyard side, hoisting herself up onto the roof, until she found a secluded spot to climb down.

Then, not knowing who to trust, she had stayed hidden until nightfall, to go to the closest and safest place from her position, which was her sister's house.

"Faster, Ismael !"

Thomas could have muttered that it would be better to get to Ada's alive, but he only clung to the door handle while the driver obeyed Mr. Solomons without worrying about pedestrians or other cars.

It was also useless to stop Alfie from jumping onto the sidewalk, forgetting his cane in the car to go and bang on the door like a madman until someone opened it.

Calm only returned when he laid eyes on Y/N, settled in the living room and already surrounded by all the other Shelbys who had been called after them.

"Treacle. Forgive me." he sobbed as he threw himself at her knees, his arms around her and his head against her stomach. "I was so worried, love, I thought I was going to die."

"Oh, Alfie. I'm sorry, I wanted to call you before but I didn't have access to a phone."

"I'm the worst husband. I didn't protect you. If my men weren't dead, I'd slit their throats myself."

"Let's try to talk about something happier." Thomas coughed as he approached, placing a hand on his sister's shoulder who smiled at him. "Did you hurt yourself jumping off the roof ?"

"No, I'm fine. Just a little tired."

"Strange clothes."

"Yes, love. You weren't wearing that this morning."

"Oh, I…" Y/N said, visibly embarrassed. "I may have "borrowed" a disguise. And money. And a car."

"She's our lil sis !" Arthur declared proudly, oblivious to the dark looks from his aunt, sister, brothers, and brother-in-law.

Maybe they had also shown young Y/N how to steal, but only once or twice, for fun, telling her that it was wrong, and that she would never need to do that because they would take care of her.

Alfie mumbled in Hebrew, which made her laugh. Probably insults without malice. He only let go of her to allow the others to kiss her before he took her back to their home, returning worse than a leech at the first opportunity.

When he proposed to add some of his men to Solomons' for her next outings, the king of Candem was at first outraged. He didn't bark only because his wife had already experienced a lot of emotions, but he would not let Thomas humiliate him.

However, in the middle of the night, certainly when Y/N was sleeping, Solomons contacted him.

"How many men, and what price ?"

"I'm the one who feels insulted now, Alfie. She's my sister, that will be the necessary number and for nothing at all."

"Hmm… You know, they all have something to say about you, your siblings. All of them, while you take care of them. I know it, I see it, but they are never happy. But not Y/N. No, my treacle has nothing but compliments for her big brothers, and you the first. Tommy this, Tommy that. She adores you."

"I adore her too."

"Hmm. Not as much as me, and so there will be fewer men than mine, but… I accept the offer."

"Glad we almost agree on something, Mr. Solomons."

He did not sleep that night, because Thomas Shelby was a preoccupied man by nature. By business, by his family, by the future and the past.

But as for his favorite little sister, he could have slept peacefully, knowing that her husband was there to ensure her happiness and protection as he had sworn during their marriage.

And if something were to happen, they would join forces, then Thomas would probably kill Alfie to punish him, if the madman didn't kill himself first to join Y/N whom he loved at least as much as her brother loved her.

[s-che]

a game where we hurt each other

Last month, I played perhaps the most intense TTRPG session of my life as part of the Dream Library’s discussion of Bluebeard’s Bride, a game of “feminist horror” (more on this later) published by Magpie in a gorgeous print edition. Over the course of the month of October my guest lecturer/collaborator @marvelousmsmolly I collectively hosted three sessions of what was by far the most challenging game the Dream Library has ever discussed. 

We came to Bluebeard as the second part of our fall semester covering games of intimacy and monstrosity — a unit which began in September with Avery Alder’s Monsterhearts 2 and is continuing this month with Vampire: The Masquerade (If you want to get in on the VTM discussion and future semesters, please, come join). Both Molly and I suspected that Bluebeard was going to be both a quieter month and a riskier text — but opted to play through it anyway, albeit with some tools in place to make sure everyone knew what they were getting into with a book that doesn’t pull many punches. And with all that, the first two sessions went... fine? We had some lumpy pacing, some conflicting styles of play, some questions about how a game that really seems to encourage player bleed can possibly be played online, but for the most part things were fine. Not great, not bad — not worth the anxiety we’d had about them.

And “fine,” of course, doesn’t make for interesting conversations, so Molly and I took a step back. We talked about what was going wrong: a sense that neither of us quite felt comfortable hitting hard enough, even though we asked players ahead of time and at the start of sessions to tell us what was off the table. A frustration that player choice had trended towards the Bride as a detective/hero and not someone embodied in a world of horror. A confusion — once again — over what it means to “shiver with terror” in a discord call with some friends online. Out of that conversation came a new idea: rather than two more one-shots, Molly took some time to charge up a spirit bomb and put together some more formal prep, then recruited a group she felt could get together for a more curated experience. She wrote up her own excellent thoughts on what went down — along with a lot of session details — but you’ll have to join the Dream Library for that. 

The result of all that curation and preparation was that on October 23rd a group of four trans women — Molly, @jdragsky, our friend Mars, and I — sat down to play Bluebeard’s Bride knowing exactly what we were in for. We would be playing a transfem Bride, Bluebeard would be cis, and we would be hitting transfem-specific horror as hard as we possibly could. 

I’m going to quote from Molly’s reflection, where she wrote:

“Another really great aspect of running this game for this table is there was such a clear feeling that we all understood, wordlessly, what was going on... There are some moments in Allison Rumfitt’s gothic horror novel ‘Tell Me I’m Worthless’ where it felt like the author, a trans woman, was dropping phrases knowing exactly how her transfem audience would react... This had a twofold effect of both giving the players a chilling moment but also, a very brief but appropriate separation between fiction and player where could all grimace and be together in that discomfort before pushing on. People knew what I was doing. The problem with the original game is it doesn’t really want to discuss the politics of what “feminine horror” means. Because of this you’re really lacking some focus. I think a table of cis women could actually play bluebeard’s bride in the way we did last night and have it hit hard for them if they approached it correctly, I don’t think our experience was uniquely elevated by our trans reading, however that was one of several tools we used for that elevation.”

Setting aside the strengths and weaknesses of the original text, that sense of shared experience was key to our game and key to allowing us to hit — and get hit — really hard and trust that our coplayers were there with us. Compared to our earlier efforts (prioritizing safety by taking things off the table via lines/veils) tightening the topical scope from an ambiguous “feminist horror” to a specific transfeminist horror in the context of a chaser bf, in the context of an economic disparity, in the context of the medical pressures of transition in the contemporary U.K. allowed Molly, our lovely host, to hurt us knowing that we were all in it together and choosing to play this game. It transformed the horror from an obstacle in an adventure game into a thing we were seeking out: a pleasure/pain we asked to feel. 

In a games discourse that is — understandably — interested in protections which might be implemented anywhere, including at cons and home tables with much less of an art-and-politics interest, safety tools are often thought about as a negative thing, a preemptive cutting away of all the things which might end up hurting us. I think that’s part of why people can have a hard time filling out a lines/veils list in advance of a session. What are all the things in the world I’m sensitive to? What are all the contexts in which I’m sensitive to them? Good sensitive or bad sensitive? Sensitive enough to cause a scene? Sensitive enough to make it off the table? 

In place of that — and in a table with a really remarkable amount of trust — this final Bluebeard session leaned in, hard, to the things that hurt us. That was the game. Molly wrote a lot about kink in her reflection, and I think she was right to do that. The point of the game was to hurt each other and to feel, and it was a better game for keeping that in mind. It was an actual horror game, and not just a game with horror aesthetics. I agree with Molly that there was nothing essential about having an all-transfem table — I think what we did could be done by anyone, even with the base Bluebeard’s Bride. What was essential was having a table where we all trusted each other enough to play a hurting game and to know that we were there on purpose. It elevated Bluebeard’s Bride into a really fascinating, messy experience — one I can’t wait to play again.

[cwicseolfor]

“I don’t notice, because I won’t” is a recognition of capacity in that context, not willingness.

Literally everything you “shouldn’t have to be told” was likely in fact told to you at an age young enough you don’t remember it.

But the post isn’t about chores. I’ll talk about chores for a bit here though:

In every romantic relationship I’ve been in (being a het woman, this means men) I am the clean one by far and the tidy one only sometimes, and even then by half an inch.

In several roommate situations I’ve been all over the board. The tidy one, the walking tornado. The clean one, the careless one (not reliably mapped to the same venn diagram of people!)

I say this to lay out that I’m very familiar with unequal division of housekeeping. I’m a straight woman. None of the men I’ve dated realized sinks and toilets and mirrors don’t just magically stay shiny and floors stay un-hairy without being taught so - by me. (But none of us who didn’t have to be reparented by our partners just came out of the womb knowing, either - we just had the lesson laid out earlier in life by someone else!)

“Noticing” is predicated on the idea that there exists a known and shared standard to adhere to and those standards are not in fact universal. Especially that first example given - “I left my wallet on the table to see if you would notice” - there are people to whom this is the obvious place to leave a wallet. There are people for whom doing such a thing is anarchy, everything needs to be in a dedicated container at all times. And both of those people likely have reasons unrelated to the division of chores! It took active effort for me to even comprehend this explicit example when I first read it - my first thought was worrying they left it on the table at a restaurant or similar, the implicit question being not “did you see me being Untidy?” but “are you looking out for me?”

The problem the OP is describing is ask culture vs. guess culture, in which ask culture accommodates a wider variety of social standards and expectations (“mud people” and “dirt people”) and guess culture demands people have internalized, or have the innate social skill to intuit (even with deliberate and concentrated effort), the (highly cultural and local and arbitrary) standard to which they are expected to conform. When you have a high degree of heterogeneity in society - diversity, whether cultural or neurotype - you MUST ENGAGE A DEGREE OF ASK CULTURE to get results without social disharmony.

So again, it’s not about (just) chores, which are merely a really easy example to pull in addressing this issue because they are tangible and visible (…at least to some people.) But many of the examples OP gave are not household duties, they are relational ones centered around preferences and needs.

Only 1 and 3 are directly about chores.

2. “I’d like you to ask me how I’m doing more often.” 4. “I feel like the onus is on me to initiate X, and it’s wearing me down. Could you try making the first move more? Like 3-4 times a week?” 5. “I’m feeling upset right now and I’d like to spend some more time with you.” These strike me as pretty explicitly and solely relational, and though I suppose it’s conceivable that one could “make the first move” on cooking dinner, it’s become something of a fixed expression about sex. These are about what A and B find personally meaningful as modes of emotional relation.

7. “I’m feeling neglected, could you do X?” could mean “perform a housekeeping labor for me” but just as easily “could you give me a hug/ put down your book and go for a walk with me/ tell me what is going on at work or school that seems to be troubling you/ look me in the eyes more often.” 9. “I feel like I’m the only one putting effort into X” might be the kid’s tutoring or the hedgeclipping, but it could just as easily be “household water usage,” or “talking about our hopes and dreams instead of day to day matters or entertainment.” Ditto for 6, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, and quite possibly 14. They’re about differential values and priorities and might not be anything alike, or even register as values to different people.

The idea that “some things shouldn’t have to be told” cannot exist without a shared cultural context and agreement not only on values but underlying circumstances, and resultant beliefs and knowledge about the world. How long can an infant be in a stroller unattended outside a cafe? Is that rag hanging in the kitchen for drying clean hands, or wiping up the floor? How long are eggs safe to eat if left out at room temperature?

This matters a great deal because it is entirely possible for reasonable, kind, considerate people with totally normal interpersonal people-reading skills to be putting in conscious effort toward the others’ comfort and still have zero idea whatsoever that others’ orthogonal priorities even exist. And no amount of intention makes everyone else’s motives accurately legible to an observer with a different cultural or personal context.

(Children in parts of Europe are routinely left to sleep outdoors unattended in all weather, possibly a holdover from the days when all indoor heat came from smoky combustion - unlike adults, babies don’t need their hands free for labor and can be warmly swaddled - so a few hours while the parents have lunch is nothing, whereas in the US and many other places child protective services would be called and most likely immediately separate the child from a perceived dangerously negligent family. Washing cleaning rags every single time they’re used would be onerous where mechanical laundry is not available in the home, so the dirtiest cleaning rags in some cultures are hung up between uses at eye height - to keep them out of reach of children. Eggs in the US are washed of their protective pellicle and thus must be refrigerated for storage within hours, unlike the week or so expected shelf life at room temperature elsewhere.)

Obvious cultural variations are easy. If I have enough context to know there’s such a thing as unlucky gifts, I can look up information and learn that I should not pool my team to give my Chinese boss a watch for their retirement. But I would more likely have to be told, however, that it would be intensely rude to make direct and ongoing eye contact with my Iranian roomate’s visiting father if he is addressing me - because my culture says that eye contact shows deferential respect, and until I have been in another culture with a significantly different expectation, I have no way of intuiting that it’s not a human universal standard before fucking it up. It’s arbitrary.

A lot of other cultural variations are more subtle. I was stunned to learn that it isn’t bog-standard basically everywhere to feed children visiting your home during mealtime (and without even asking the parents first.) I’m from the South. Apparently there are parts of the States where this would be considered rude because it might spoil the kid’s dinner when they get home. Traveling elsewhere in the country as a tween, occupying the role of quasi-babysitter as the oldest child at a gathering, a woman called us to the kitchen for popsicles of choice but was unable to hide her surprise when I too, going last, specified the kind I wanted - mistakenly assuming she had meant to include me - and I immediately felt terrible for having asked for hospitality when I thought I was merely receiving it.

Likewise I picked up the habit of wearing no shoes in the house from living in urban, Chinese culture for a while - but in more rurally-influenced local US Southern culture this is not something I’d expect others to do unless I discussed it with them (even though it has very practical effects on the amount of indoor cleaning I end up doing.) To them, me taking my shoes off would be a choice about comfort, not sanitation, especially if I had been wearing heels. They’d notice my doing it, but the why is invisible - and they’d not necessarily infer they should do likewise.

Neurotypes and psychology are a whole other thing and really do manifest most often in chores on the less extreme spectrum of difference - I mentioned above I’m often the clean one. Reusing an unwashed dish hours later gives me anxiety - if there was a fly in the house, it could have been waltzing over that cup rim immediately after a visit to the kitchen sink drain, ew ew ew ew ew. But to other people that’s normal and my habit of putting their “dirty” dishes in the washer when I saw them unused was making them nuts - I’d moved their cup, again! And I only thought I was helping! They went on in ambiguously passive-aggressive annoyance for months before finally mentioning - on seeing me do it in front of them, and that it wasn’t some nefarious cup-theft side-hustle - that they’d meant to leave the cup on the stove for reuse, which is to say that they had a different expectation than I do.

Conversely I’ve also had friends horrified I don’t do the dishes immediately after a meal no matter what. Until I negotiated this - out loud, with words - with one roommate they essentially assumed I was leaving it in the sink for them to do, when my preference is to do it in the morning after when a party runs late.

But it’s also come up that one person’s “hanging out” in parallel play is another person’s idea of getting the silent treatment. Dedicated attention and concerned questions, or scrutiny and interrogation? Romantic planned evening or overly-regimented itinerary? Blessedly open vacation schedule or secret demand to be entertained? Spontaneous suggestion or terrifying change of plans? These don’t overlap in the ways you might imagine, either.

The ways that people can inhabit the same space or interact with each other are as infinitely variable as the people. Assuming that everyone else is coming from the same context, with the same needs, expecting you to overfunction to fill them without bringing it up to check is unfair.

Relationships have to be negotiated and will not always map to anything you’ve experienced before. Respect takes a thousand different forms, because needs do. Ask. If things aren’t addressed after asking, then you have a right to be aggrieved, but not on point of projecting specifics and assuming motives. You can choose that you don’t want to associate with someone who doesn’t share your expected common ground, but that doesn’t make them lazy, selfish, or invalid.

I hate that thing some people do where it's like. "I left my wallet on the table to see if you'd say anything" or "I wanted to see if you'd wash the car if I stopped doing it"

Cause like

I dont know about anyone else

But I am perpetually hovering three inches above the strong subconscious belief that everyone knows what they're doing at all times except me, so if you change your normal patterns and I notice, then I will assume it is an intentional choice with a thought-out plan behind it and I will avoid interfering

And if I don't notice, because I won't, because why would I, because not much bothers me and if you don't say anything to indicate you are bothered then how would I KNOW

[snakeunderyourboot]

sometimes I think about how the book that contained John wasn't meant for Arthur.

At any point in time, before it reached Arthur and Parker's office, anyone could open it. It could have been Noel before he sent it. It could have been Roland. It could have been the guy from the bookstore or a random customer. It could have been even just Parker.

But it was Arthur who opened up that book, it was Arthur who miraculosly survived and it was Arthur who managed to retain most of his body. Out of all people who held this book in their hands it was Arthur who eventually got John.

And sometimes I think how much does this fact matters towards John's journey to humanity. Considering that Kayne only talked about other Arthurs and Johns I can only assume that only they managed to get as far(or as far as they could)

Just....this idea that neither Arthur nor John were meant for each other. If fate was a little bit different, they would completely miss each other. John would be in some other body and maybe he wouldn't even be "John". And Arthur would be still in Arkham, working as an PI (even if he continue to do so)

They weren't meant for each other, but the idea that despite that they are ultimately perfect for each other. Because only if it's them they manage to get this far. Only if it's them they manage to continue their journey. Only if it's them they are on the path to becoming a better version of themselves.

And I think that this particular instance of them being two different entities that ended up together by a stroke of fate but despite that managed to carve something beautiful is super annoying to Kayne. Considering how much he states himself as the one who controls the narrative, who can change the location and time and fates of characters how he wants - THIS ONE moment he didn't change. It just happened. And we deal with waves that this caused.

I think it's beautifull

[xxplastic-cubexx]

reading Krakoa era out of order bc reading lists online make it confusing and my local library only has so many books

just as god intended right on my friend you're doing everything right and don't let anyone tell you otherwise

[wraithdance]

https://www.tumblr.com/wraithdance/765961917651140608/i-really-liked-your-explanation-of-the-whole?source=share

I am really bad at articulating my thoughts but I think about this a lot as someone who hopes to 1- major in neuroscience (i'm 18, going to uni next year) and 2- is trans. I know being trans is not the same thing at all as POC experiences with fic, very cognizant of that, but more to the point where I relate to the aspect of not being able to get over the like mental wall of seeing "neutral" readers as me? I don't know what my brain is doing when i read certain fics but sometimes i can't do it.

I feel like I should close read some of my favorite fic and least favorite fic to see if there are triggers I didn't notice on the first read. does that make sense or seem similar to what you experience? Again I know it's not the same thing, but like i am so curious as to what cis straight white people put in their fic that makes it so obvious that they're cis straight white.

I am sorry if this bothers you, really not my intentions, I am obviously a future brain nerd and i can't stop thinking about this

Congratulations fellow Nerd! You've activated my interest in Race theory and fandom writing from an academic perspective!

Writing reflects life and to answer this question properly, I have to talk about life shit to catch you up to speed, (this should help if you take a sociology or cultural anthropology class lmao) So, Welcome to:

Calvary yaps: Sociology & Intersectionality in fandom writing 101!

Disclaimer: I'm just a random bitch on the internet who loves English and the ridiculousness of social hierarchies, this will be referencing American social constructs and in groups only, with a focus on my experience as a Black American woman who reads a shit ton of books. Don't fight me if you hate my explanation, I will simply not respond.

Read my house rules before sending me an ask, I'm just being a dumb ass rn and word vomiting my interests, so pls i beg no follow up questions unless I say I'm open to em later.

Definitions to know:

Socialization: the act of preparing individuals to participate in society by learned social norms taught in ones family or social settings like school/friend groups. (one can be socialized in gender, race, cultural practices, etc.)

Social Hierarchies: systems of social organization in which some individuals enjoy a higher social status than others (in my opinion this is a lingering safety measure from lizard brain cavemen hunter/gatherer days)

Intersectionality: A term coined by Kimberlé Crenshaw; The process of acknowledging the unique parallels a marginalized person experiences when they have more than one marginalization (ie: race, class, gender, sexuality, ability, size, etc.)

Matriarchal society: Social groups/family structures that center female figures as representatives of authority.

Implicit Bias: Unintentional bias a person may have towards a group or individual based on learned stereotypes, prejudices, perceptions based on another's background or state of being.

first, yes anon you are making sense! So the main question:

'What cis straight white people put in their fic that makes it so obvious that they're cis straight white?'

I've been mulling this question around in my head for a few days and tried to figure out how to articulate this without going into depth in Sociological theory, but I can't! So here we are lmao, this is long as fuck so TLDR here.

I've talked to a LOT of Black and PoC people over the last months because I thought I was the only one who felt strange or could tell immediately when a writer was white, despite doing the best job they could to be neutral.

Every person I spoke to agreed they could tell right away even if we don't share similar racial backgrounds.

The answer I've come up with to why that is, is because white people are socialized (taught by society/their parents how to behave) in a way many black and PoC people are not, so their reader characters will often act in a way PoC people have learned not to, so it flags for many of us.

I plan to answer another question about this at a later date so an example is with shit like:

An over deference to hyper masculine male characters (for PoC cultures like certain Black/Latine groups that are often matriarchal in nature and don’t ascribe to as many traditional gender roles, this is a flag), lack of interpersonal/familial connection, over meekness, no challenging of external factors so things just HAPPEN to the reader and lack of awareness of surroundings to name a few. 

A lot of the language of the irl world places white cis people from Western countries as the default and everyone else as others. In which, PoC people have learned to navigate the world very carefully with a hyper-focus on what will potentially bring them harm/scrutiny/ostracism especially in white dominant spaces.

That extends to when we have down time while reading or partaking in media smfh.

I'm sure you've had to learn the same as a trans person navigating cis spaces and it's the same with any marginalization! If you are disabled you have an awareness of able bodied people and their expectations, same with being fat amongst skinny people, etc.

The more marginalizations you have, the louder the rules of social hierarchies become. Which is why many marginalized ppl stick close to those who 'get it' in their social groups as an act of safety in numbers. (Many of us attempt to have strong family connection/harmony because of this)

So referring to your comment about being trans is not the same thing at all as POC experiences with fic, it is when you are a Black or PoC trans person! My angel face @/buttdumplin has spoken a lot about that as a Mexican transman reading fics by cis people!

(Please for the love of God no one come to me explaining how marginalized they are so they shouldn't be lumped in with the white ppl PoC are cognizant of, I will check myself into a psych ward)

So what does that gotta do with reading fics?

No matter what anyone thinks, it is damn near impossible to not frame your writing from the perspective of your lived experiences. It's why even when I try my hardest to make my characters not sound Black, they will always read that way because I have been Black all of my life!

And it doesn't just happen with race, go on tiktok and search male authors writing women. (or here's another article lmao)

Also ask a Southerner how they know someone has never been to the South and don't know shit about our accents when they write Graves. There are linguistic tells that flag off and why we flame actors who pick up southern accents for their roles.

(They chew on that terrible goddamn Appalachian or Louisiana Accent not realizing Southern accents come in many fonts.)

So when I read a fic about Kyle Garrick from a non black person, I can tell the writer is non black by linguistic implications, the things they emphasize about him and what they don't. It doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy reading fics from non black people, I can just tell!

And sometimes that means I, and other PoC's associate the Reader as a white OC while reading fics.

For example, all black people are not monolithic because of our cultural and regional experiences, but many of us share common threads. That's usually family involvement, colloquialisms, that stupid fucking cookie tin our elders put sewing supplies in...

Other non Black PoC people might share similar cultural practices, so when I'm reading fics from say a latina, I will cock my head and go wait.... are you...? And surely enough, they are a person of color. 

But even while reading from a non black PoC, I have to tread carefully because anti black sentiment exists in many cultures, which is why you'll hear me say Black and PoC/Non black people interchangeably.

It’s how the conversation of Implicit bias comes up, because unknowingly non white characters can sometimes be written with a hyper focus that makes them seem inhumanly one characteristic or with little to no background while the other characters are fully fleshed out.

like the character of color is just a stand in to move the plot around white characters forward. 

So all that to say, without sometimes meaning to white writers will always sound off to me in a way that my brain can pick up on in the most minuscule ways because my awareness of my blackness/otherness has been drilled in from birth and reinforced by social norms.

I can even tell immediately if a white person has been around only white spaces their whole life with the jokes they tell lol.

In the grand scheme of things the race of the writer is most important to me when something jarring comes up that slaps me away from the experience, it explains so much of the disconnect.

Every marginalized person has a threshold for what they can ignore as a ‘trigger’ before they’re ejected from reader inserts, mine is usually the association with racial historical happenings, certain gender dynamics, etc.

It's why I mention crying like a little bitch when I read my friend Jess's (Kyletogaz) TF 141 Hair series, Dragon’s (Dragonnarative-writes) Transferrable Skills, and even Xavi's (Buttdumplin) Piercing fic.

Reading those fics felt like safety and familiarity. It was a moment where I realized I could drop the mental load I had no idea I was carrying, where I was trying to prepare myself for potential emotional damage and just READ.

It's also why as a Black person who fucks with kink and sex work it's been so touch and go when navigating dark fics/kink fics/fics about Sex workers.

Because there are different rules of engagement non white kinksters have to be aware of and that leads to a point on the collective vs. Individual experience as a PoC in kink, that I’ll eventually make a post about at some point or another. Maybe…

So yeah I’m tired of yapping. I hope this long shit was enough of an explanation!! Thanks to my friends Kiko, Jules, Xavi and Folded for yapping with me so I could articulate this better!!

[daylilys137]

The way I literally make almost every other book character with dark hair look like Ben Solo... also, seriously, my favorite movie is The Last Jedi. I know not everyone will like the same things as me, but that's ok... also can we talk about Talon Card from some of the old books? Because there is just something about him. And I will die on the hill that Grand Admiral Throng is the best Star Wars villain ever created.

Ok you know what, let's spread some positivity. Reblog this if you actually like Star Wars

And I am refering to all of star wars and not just select parts of it. Even if you have issues with parts of it, you still enjoy it.