#but I do feel like it kind of ties in with how through and oppression / privilege paradigm

[autisticchangeling]

I love that the disability Community exists, but sometimes when I see debates about what counts as disabled versus just an impairment versus whatever...

I wish there could just be a community I could join for people with -whatever- that wouldn't cause me to constantly have to question and prove that I'm really disabled and "I promise I'm not too happy to count as oppressed" and whatever. I don't know, I just sometimes want to be able to share community in the ways the disability community does without having to watch the debates about who really counts and always worrying I'm next.

If there was something for all the people who aren't "struggling enough" to belong in the disability community, I would join it just for the relief from the hypervigilance

[cheynovak]

Tell me what it takes

Characters: Dean Winchester x Y/N Female character     

Summary: REQUEST: Dean realizes after a near-death experience that he has nothing if Y/N isn’t in his life. He searches for her and finds her living in Lawrence, Kansas. When he shows up at her door, she’s shocked but lets him in. Dean struggles with small talk before finally confessing realized he needed her.

Warnings: 18+ romance, nothing too explicit, mostly making love, hurt, couple issues, friends to lovers,

English is not my first language 

*This story is my own original story, please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

The sound of gravel crunching under the Impala’s tires was a familiar comfort as Y/N stared out the window, her mind miles away from the endless Kansas road. She had been living with Dean and Sam for years now.

It had become her life—hunting, saving people, the usual. She had loved Dean for years, they started out as neighbours, friends, but over time, something had shifted between her and Dean, something she wasn’t sure either of them knew how to define.

She and Dean were inseparable, tied together by years of shared grief, laughter, and battles fought side by side. She had helped him take care of baby Sam when their father disappeared on one of his many hunts.

Dean and Y/N had leaned on each other back then, and as the years passed, that connection deepened in a way that was never spoken about, but always felt just right.

Now, though, feeling it wasn’t enough anymore. She needed more, needed to know, hear it he felt the same for her.

They were staying in a rundown motel outside of town for the night, waiting on a lead Sam had tracked down for their next hunt. As soon as they checked in, Sam disappeared to do more research, leaving Y/N and Dean alone in the room they would share.

Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, her heart heavy as she watched Dean peel off his jacket and toss it over the chair by the window. His movements were as casual as ever, but her mind was racing.

It wasn’t the first time they’d shared a bed, tangled together in moments of passion when the night was too long, and the world seemed too heavy.

They’d kissed, hooked up, and fallen asleep wrapped around each other more times than she could count, Dean had been her first and if it was up to her, also her last. It felt right with him but it always felt… temporary. As if none of it mattered when the morning came.

She couldn’t take it anymore. She knew he cared for her, more than just a one night thing, she noticed he'd stopped sleeping with other girls, he was protective of her and when a man looked at her in a way he didn't like, he held her.

Those are boyfriends trades, right? Than why didn't he ever admitted it to her, or did he made it official?

"Dean," she said quietly, her voice barely louder than a whisper. He glanced over at her, brow furrowing when he saw the expression on her face. “What’s up sweetheart?”

She bit her lip, trying to find the words that had been building up for so long. "We need to talk." Dean stiffened, his jaw tightening slightly. "About what?"

"About us." Her eyes met his, searching for some kind of reassurance, but she found nothing there but his usual guarded expression. "Dean… I need more."

His brow furrowed deeper. "More? What do you mean?"

"I mean… I can’t keep doing this. The kissing, the hooking up, the sharing a bed… It’s not enough anymore. I need to know where we stand. I need to know that this isn’t just some… convenient arrangement for you."

Dean shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. "Y/N, you know I care about you."

"That’s not what I’m asking," she said, her voice wavering. "I need to hear it, Dean. I need to know you... love me, like I love you."

The room fell into an oppressive silence, the only sound the faint hum of the highway outside.

Dean looked away, his face hardening in that familiar way whenever emotions came into play. His defense mechanism.

"Y/N, I…" he started, then shook his head. "I don’t do this type of things. You know that. I’m not good with—"

"With emotions? With feelings?" she cut in, her frustration rising. "I’ve been with you for years, Dean! I know you better than anyone, I never asked for anything, and I’m telling you, begging you, I need to hear you say it. I need to know that this isn’t just… nothing to you."

Dean’s eyes flicked back to hers, and for a moment, she saw something there. Fear. Pain. But then, just as quickly, it vanished, replaced by his usual bravado. He scoffed, shaking his head. "You’re overthinking this, Y/N. You know how I feel. Why do we need to say it?"

"Because I deserve to know!" Her voice cracked, and she stood up from the bed, her chest heaving with pent-up emotion. "I deserve to be more than just the girl you hook up with when you feel like it. I deserve to be loved, Dean. Really loved."

Dean’s eyes flashed, and he stepped toward her, his own frustration boiling over. "I’m doing the best I can, Y/N! This is who I am. You knew that from the beginning. You think I don’t care? I wouldn’t hold you all damn night! I wouldn't kiss you good morning! I wouldn't you know... hold your hand and stuff"

"But you won’t say it," she said softly, her voice breaking. "You won’t say you love me. You only kiss me when no one is around, you only hold me or my hand when you think someone is interested in me. Why is it so hard to tell me, just me Dean, you don't need to shout it of the roof!"

He clenched his fists, his expression hardening once again. "What do you want from me? I can’t just… say it because you want to hear it."

Y/N’s heart shattered at his words, the final nail in the coffin. She had hoped—prayed—that he would give her something, anything. But instead, he was pushing her away.

She took a shaky breath, her eyes filling with unshed tears. "I can’t do this anymore, Dean."

His face paled, his bravado slipping for a moment. "Y/N, don’t act like that, don't —"

"No," she said, her voice firm now, despite the tears threatening to fall. "I can’t keep waiting for you to love me the way I deserve, the way I have loved you since you moved in next door."

"I ran away from home to help you and your dad take care of Sammy. I did anything for you..." a trembling sigh left her "I’m done."

Without another word, she grabbed her bag from the floor and headed for the door. Dean stood frozen in place, his eyes wide with shock, but he didn’t stop her. He didn’t call her back.

As she walked out of the room, the weight of everything hit her at once.

Years of friendship, of love—unspoken and unacknowledged—crashed down around her. She didn’t want to leave him, but she couldn’t keep sacrificing her heart for someone who wasn’t willing to give her theirs in return.

The door clicked shut behind her, and as she stepped into the cool night air, Y/N let the tears fall. She didn’t know where she was going, but anywhere was better than staying in a place where love was always just out of reach.

Inside the motel room, Dean stood alone, staring at the door. His chest ached, his heart pounding in his ears. He wanted to go after her, to pull her back and tell her everything she needed to hear. But the words stuck in his throat, buried beneath years of walls he had built to keep himself from getting hurt.

And so, for the first time in a long time, Dean was alone. Completely, utterly alone, the only thing he truly loved and cared for in this world, beside his brother, just turned her back and walked away.

A year later

The rain fell in steady sheets, drumming against the roof of the Impala as Dean pulled up outside a modest, two-story house on the outskirts of Lawrence, Kansas. It had been almost a year since Y/N walked out of his life, and for most of that time, he’d tried to convince himself he was fine. That he didn’t need her.

But he’d been wrong.

The last hunt had been a brutal reminder of his mortality. He had come inches from death, pinned under the crushing weight of a creature whose claws had torn into him, leaving deep gashes that still ached. In those moments when the world started to blur and his strength began to fade, there had only been one thought in his mind.

Y/N.

He had always pushed people away, afraid of losing them. But in doing so, he had lost the one person who truly mattered. The one person who had seen him, broken and scarred, and stayed anyway.

Dean’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as he stared at the house. He didn’t know what he would say, but he knew one thing: he couldn’t leave without trying. He couldn’t lose her again.

With a deep breath, he stepped out of the car, the rain soaking through his jacket as he approached the front door. His heart pounded in his chest as he raised his hand and knocked. Each second that passed felt like an eternity until finally, the door creaked open.

Y/N stood there, her eyes widening in shock. She hadn’t changed much—her hair was a little longer, and there was a hint of weariness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. But she was still Y/N, the woman who had always been a part of his life, whether he’d admitted it or not.

“Dean,” she said, her voice soft but guarded.

He gave her a small, nervous smile, shifting awkwardly. “Hey.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the weight of the past year hanging heavy between them. Finally, Y/N stepped aside, opening the door wider. “You should come in. It’s pouring out there.”

Dean nodded, stepping inside. The house was warm, cozy. A far cry from the cheap motels and the constant chaos of the life they’d once shared. He could see small touches of her everywhere—books stacked on the coffee table, a blanket draped over the arm of the couch. It was a home, something Dean had never been able to give her.

Y/N crossed her arms, leaning against the wall as she watched him. “What are you doing here, Dean?”

He opened his mouth, but the words got stuck. He hadn’t exactly planned this out. He scratched the back of his neck, forcing a half-hearted smile. “I was in the neighborhood?”

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Try again.”

Dean sighed, running a hand down his face. “Okay, fine. I suck at this, you know that. I—” He stopped, his gaze dropping to the floor as he searched for the right words. He wasn’t sure there were any.

Y/N didn’t say anything, just waited. And for the first time in a long time, Dean felt like he needed to be honest. No walls. No bravado.

“I almost died,” he said quietly, lifting his eyes to meet hers.

Her expression softened for a moment, concern flashing across her face. “Dean…”

“No, listen,” he interrupted, his voice firmer now. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About us. About… everything. And for a long time, I didn’t get it. I thought I could just keep doing what I was doing—going through the motions, keeping everyone at arm’s length. But when I was lying there, bleeding out, the only thing I could think about was you. And how I had nothing if you weren’t there.”

Y/N’s lips parted slightly, but she stayed quiet, letting him continue.

“I messed up,” Dean admitted, his voice thick with guilt. “I was so damn scared to say what you needed to hear because… I’ve lost everyone, Y/N. My dad, my mom, even Sam, for a while. I didn’t want to lose you too, so I thought if I didn’t say it—if I didn’t make it real—then maybe you’d stick around. But I was wrong. And I know I don’t deserve it, but… I’m asking for another chance. A real one.”

Y/N’s arms dropped to her sides as she took a slow, steady breath. The silence that followed was almost unbearable, and Dean’s heart pounded in his chest. She was right to make him wait, to make him feel the weight of his actions. He hadn’t just broken her heart—he’d broken their bond. And that wasn’t something that could be fixed with a few words.

But he needed to try.

"You hurt me, Dean," she said, her voice soft but strong. "For years, I was there for you. I gave you everything, and you couldn’t give me the one thing I needed. Do you know how hard it was to leave? To walk away, knowing you’d never say what I wanted to hear?"

Dean swallowed hard, his throat tight. "I know. And I’m sorry. God, I’m so damn sorry. I should’ve told you… I should’ve told you how much...

I love you."

The words hung in the air, thick with the emotion he had been too afraid to show for so long. For a moment, Y/N just stared at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She had waited so long to hear those words, but hearing them now, after everything, wasn’t the easy fix either of them had hoped for.

"Do you mean it?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Or are you just saying it because you’re scared to be alone?"

Dean stepped closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "I mean it. I’ve always meant it. I just… I didn’t know how to say it. But I’m saying it now because it’s true. I love you, Y/N. And I want to be with you. Really be with you. No more half measures. No more running away."

Y/N’s eyes searched his, looking for any sign of hesitation or doubt. She didn’t find any. Slowly, she exhaled, wiping at the tear that had slipped down her cheek.

"I can’t promise it’ll be easy, Dean," she said quietly. "You hurt me. It’s going to take time for me to trust you again."

Dean nodded, his expression serious. "I know. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll wait as long as you need. Just… don’t tell me it’s too late."

Y/N looked at him for a long moment, and then, finally, she took a step forward, closing the distance between them. She didn’t say anything, but the way she leaned into him, resting her head against his chest, told him everything he needed to know.

Dean wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself breathe. He let himself feel.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel alone.

He was home.

The warmth of her body pressed against his was like coming home after years of being lost. Y/N lifted her head from his chest, her eyes searching his face. There was something new between them now—vulnerability, raw and unguarded. For the first time, there were no walls between them, no unspoken words hanging in the air.

Dean’s breath hitched as she looked up at him, her lips parting slightly, and without thinking, he leaned in. Their lips met, soft at first, tentative, as if testing the waters after everything that had passed between them. But it didn’t take long for the kiss to deepen, years of longing and unresolved tension flooding between them like a dam that had finally broken.

His hands found their way to her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss grew more urgent. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, needing him the way he had always needed her. The fire between them had always been there, simmering beneath the surface, but now it was consuming them both.

"Y/N," he breathed between kisses, his voice low and husky. "God, I love you."

The words sent a shiver down her spine, but this time, she believed them. There was no hesitation, no fear in his voice. Just truth.

Clothes were shed in a frenzy, their hands tugging and pulling, desperate to feel skin against skin. They stumbled their way to the bedroom, never breaking the kiss, their lips and hands exploring each other like it was the first time all over again.

Dean guided her down onto the bed with a tenderness that took her breath away, his body hovering over hers, his gaze never leaving her. "I should’ve said it sooner," he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a wave of heat through her. "I should’ve told you how much you mean to me. How much I love you."

Her breath hitched as his lips moved down her neck, trailing kisses along her collarbone, her hands gripping his shoulders as her body arched into his. "Dean…"

He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his hands cupping her face as he kissed her again, slow and deep. Every touch, every kiss, was filled with a quiet intensity that made her heart race. This wasn’t just another night—it was everything they had both been holding back for years.

Dean’s hands roamed her body, gentle but sure, like he was memorizing every inch of her. The way he touched her was different now—there was no rush, no urgency to fill the silence. He wanted to savor this moment, to show her with every caress, every kiss, how much she meant to him. His hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips as he whispered, "I love you," over and over, like a promise.

He entered her slowly, their bodies moving together in perfect sync, the connection between them electric, yet soft and intimate. Each thrust, each movement, was filled with meaning, with the words he hadn’t been able to say before but was now making sure she knew. His forehead pressed against hers, their breaths mingling as their bodies moved together in a slow, sensual rhythm.

"You're everything," he whispered in her ear, his voice ragged with emotion. "Everything I ever needed. I’m never letting you go again."

Y/N’s hands gripped his back, her nails digging into his skin as the pleasure built between them. She could feel every emotion he poured into her, not just with his words, but with the way he touched her, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered. And for the first time, she believed it—she believed him.

Their pace quickened, the room filled with the sounds of their shared passion, their breathing heavy, their bodies entwined as they climbed higher together. Dean’s lips never left her skin, whispering sweet, broken confessions of love and regret, of promises for the future.

When they finally reached the peak, it wasn’t just about the physical release—it was about everything they had been through, everything they had lost and found again. It was raw, and emotional, and when Y/N cried out his name, she knew that this time, things were different. They were whole.

Dean collapsed beside her, pulling her close, his arms wrapping around her as their breathing slowed. His lips brushed against her forehead, and in the quiet aftermath, he whispered again, "I love you."

This time, there were no doubts. No walls.

She looked up at him, her hand resting on his chest as she smiled softly, her heart full in a way it hadn’t been in years. "I love you too, Dean."

And in that moment, lying together in the quiet of the night, they both knew this was the beginning of something real—something they should’ve had all along.

--

Please like, share or comment when you liked the story. If you liked this, please check out my masterlist for other stories.

Tag list:-> If you want to be added let me know what you like to read!

@kr804573 @nancymcl @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @globetrotter28 @jackles010378 @hobby27

@call-me-mrs-winchester @winchesterwild78 @deans-baby-momma @soab1967 @livingdeadblondequeen @yvonneeeee

[n1ght0f-nyx]

woven bonds pt 3

pert'ah x fem reader

over the last few weeks of living with your arranged orc husband, you start to grow comfortable with him, curious about his culture

tags/warnings- arranged marriage, human female x male orc, gentle giant, your starting to develop feelings for big man

also feel free to request non-woven bonds related things that involve pert'ah or my other ocs (see my masterlist) i love writing for all these characters and seeing the mass of support ive gotten over the last month!

word count-1471

The forest around Pert'ah’s hut had started to feel familiar to you. The once oppressive canopy of trees, with their towering trunks and rustling leaves, now seemed to whisper secrets of their own, ancient and comforting. You spent more time outside, watching the way the sunlight filtered through the branches, how the world around you moved with a calm rhythm that you were only now starting to understand.

Pert'ah, as usual, worked diligently nearby, his large hands carefully guiding a bundle of thread through the wooden loom. The patterns he wove—so intricate, so delicate—fascinated you. Though you had watched him for weeks now, there was something different about the way you felt today. The walls you had built inside yourself, those walls of anger and sorrow, were beginning to erode. In their place was curiosity.

You found yourself wondering how he could create such beauty with hands that looked like they were made for something else entirely. You wondered about him, about his past, about the life he lived before you were forced into this arranged marriage. The thought of learning more made your heart beat a little faster.

Gathering your courage, you stepped closer to him.

“Pert’ah?” you asked quietly, watching as his broad shoulders tensed for just a second before he turned to look at you, his deep-set eyes widening slightly in surprise. You weren’t sure you had ever spoken his name with such softness before.

“Yes, [Name]?” he responded, his voice calm but filled with the kind of hope that made your chest tighten. His hands paused on the loom, waiting for what you had to say.

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded toward the weaving. “Can you… can you teach me how to do that?”

For a brief moment, you worried that maybe your question was too sudden, that he wouldn’t want to share something so personal. But the way Pert’ah’s face lit up erased all your doubts. His smile was wide, his tusks just barely showing as his eyes softened with warmth.

“You want to learn?” he asked, his voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and joy. He quickly stood up, brushing his hands on his simple tunic as if trying to prepare himself. “I teach! Yes, yes. Come sit.”

You moved to sit beside him, feeling a little self-conscious at first. His hands, so much larger than yours, gently guided your fingers to the loom, showing you how to thread the yarn through with care. He spoke softly, explaining the different colors and patterns orcs used, and how each design had a meaning tied to it—family, nature, strength. You could hear the pride in his voice as he spoke of orc culture, and for the first time, you didn’t feel the same resistance you once had.

As you worked together, your hands moving awkwardly through the motions he showed you, you found yourself laughing at your mistakes. Pert’ah chuckled beside you, his deep laugh resonating in your chest like a low rumble. There was no judgment in his gaze, only patience.

“You do good,” he said, nodding in approval as you finally managed to weave a few rows without getting tangled in the threads. “Better than first time I try.”

You grinned, feeling a strange sense of pride in his praise. “Thank you,” you said quietly, meeting his eyes. “I didn’t know weaving could be so… peaceful.”

He nodded. “It is. Make me feel calm. Like world slow down when I work. Orcs… we no always fight. We build. We make.”

You found yourself wanting to know more. The orcs had always been painted as brutish, war-hungry creatures in your world, but everything about Pert’ah contradicted that. He was an artist, a craftsman.

“Is that why you became a weaver?” you asked, genuinely curious now. “Because it brings you peace?”

Pert'ah tilted his head, thinking for a moment before nodding. “Yes. My father, he was warrior. Wanted me to fight too. But I no like it.” He glanced down at his hands, flexing his fingers as if remembering something. “I not good at hurting. I better at making things. I want to create, not destroy. So I leave fighting. I make my own path.”

There was something in the way he said that, a quiet strength, that resonated with you. He had chosen to go against the expectations of his people, to find his own place in the world, and that took a kind of bravery you hadn’t expected from him.

You found yourself smiling again, a small, genuine smile. “I think that’s… admirable,” you said softly, feeling warmth spread through your chest as you spoke. “You’ve built something beautiful here.”

Pert’ah’s eyes flickered with surprise at your words, and for a moment, you thought he might not know how to respond. But then, his expression softened, and he looked at you as though you had just given him a gift.

“I glad you see,” he said quietly, his voice full of emotion. “I make it for us. For you.”

There was something in his gaze—something so tender and full of hope—that made you feel a strange flutter in your chest. You had seen that look before, but now, it didn’t make you uncomfortable. In fact, it made you feel… safe.

The days that followed were filled with quiet moments like this. You and Pert’ah spent more time together, talking, learning about each other in a way that felt natural. You asked him about his art, about orc traditions and stories, and he answered each question with a kind of reverence, as though he cherished the opportunity to share these things with you. And the more you learned, the more you realized how wrong your people had been about the orcs.

They weren’t savages. They had a rich culture, full of art and history. Pert’ah had once shown you a collection of his tapestries—each one telling a different story of orc ancestors, their triumphs and losses. You could see how much pride he took in preserving these traditions, and it made you want to learn more.

One afternoon, as you both sat by the fire, you found yourself asking a question you hadn’t dared to before.

“Pert’ah… why did you agree to this marriage?” you asked, your voice hesitant. “Why me?”

Pert’ah looked at you, his eyes softening as he considered your question. He was silent for a moment, then he sighed deeply.

“I no want you be sold,” he said, his voice low and serious. “I no think it right. But when your father come… he say it bring peace between our people. I think… maybe, if we together, we no have to fight anymore. Maybe we find way to live better.”

He paused, his gaze lowering to the fire. “But more than that… I see you. When I first meet you, I see sadness in your eyes. I think maybe… I can make it go away. I want make you happy.”

His words hung in the air between you, and for the first time, you felt a deep ache in your chest—not from anger or resentment, but from something else. You realized then that Pert’ah hadn’t just seen you as a human, as someone different from him. He had seen you as a person, someone who was hurting, and he had wanted to help.

Slowly, you reached out and placed your hand on his, your fingers gently brushing against his rough skin. He looked up at you, surprise flashing across his face, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his hand turned, his fingers curling gently around yours.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “For everything.”

Pert’ah’s grip tightened slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “You no need thank me,” he murmured. “I do because… I care for you.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart swell, and for the first time since your marriage, you felt a real connection between the two of you—a bond that had nothing to do with politics or peace treaties. It was something deeper, something real.

As the fire crackled beside you, you found yourself leaning just a little closer to him, your head resting against his shoulder. He stiffened for a moment, as if unsure of what to do, but then he relaxed, his arm gently wrapping around you in a way that felt natural, protective.

In that moment, you knew you were falling for him. You weren’t just coming out of your shell—you were opening your heart. And with each passing day, you found it easier to see Pert’ah not as the orc you had been forced to marry, but as the man who had shown you kindness, patience, and a love that was growing stronger with every beat of his heart.

And you were ready to let that love in.

[alphacentaurinebula]

I Forgive You: Queerness in Oppressive Systems

"How much trouble can I get into just for asking a few questions?"

There are a million ways to read Aziraphale's and Crowley's relationship and choices and I love them all, but one that struck me forcefully was the idea of different reactions to being queer in an oppressive (religious) system.  The two of them are such different people (not people) from the start, and their different experiences of Heaven and Hell are entirely the consequences of their different personalities.

First let's look at Crowley. A happier angel you never did meet. His joy and absolute adorableness in Before the Beginning was one of the sweetest moment in the whole season for me, out of so many sweet moments. He is utterly himself, and can't imagine the idea that he should hide any part of his identity. He is odd, unusual, asks damn fool questions - and he can't see what's wrong with that. Just like a queer kid who grows up in a religious system and  behaves outside of gender norms before realising that was something they weren't supposed to do, he can't imagine getting into trouble for his difference. And just like too many queer kids who can't/don't hide their difference, he gets kicked out of his home and abandoned.

Now, Aziraphale. He is a lot closer to Angel Behaviour TM, but it's clear that's because he understands there IS an expected behaviour, there IS a way he's supposed to act and think. He falls for Crowley, and is made to think about the questions Crowley is asking in a way that steps outside Angel Behaviour TM. But he instinctively understands how dangerous that is. He tries to pass that knowledge onto Crowley, to protect him. As he smushes himself into the Angel box, he ties himself into knots ensuring that he fits perfectly into the system around him, which he has identified as Good and Right and therefore anything different about himself would be Bad and Wrong. Much like a queer person trying to exist under an oppressive religious system, he has repressed those parts of himself that don't fit, and tried to sand off the corners and fit himself into the prescribed shape. 

Carrying this analogy through time, the Crowley we meet in the present day has already been abandoned, which allows him to see the system that left him more clearly. But he has never understood Aziraphale's perspective, because he never tried to change who he was for any system - not Heaven and not Hell. Though he does now understand that he has to hide certain parts of himself to survive - thus his constant refrain of “I’m not kind”. Clearly a necessary concealment, given what happens at the end of the Edinburgh minisode.

Throughout most of the flashbacks and even most of season 1, Aziraphale is still trying to smush himself into the shape of an Angel TM, and is terrified of stepping outside of it. He does learn that he can push the borders, that he can maybe stick a toe out here and there, that he can even fully step outside it for a moment as long as he doesn’t get caught (ie Job). But what he never really learns or at least never really believes, despite a mountain of evidence, is that Heaven is not synonymous with Good and Right. 

We can see it with Job, where Aziraphale is jumping through a million mental hoops to pretend to himself he is still doing the will of God even though he has been expressly told and seen evidence that God’s actual will is something Aziraphale would consider ‘wrong’. In Edinburgh he drops a heck of a lot of "ineffable"s trying to convince himself and Crowley that the heavenly system as it exists is just and right. 

And throughout season 2 but especially at the end, he clearly still feels that some Angels might not be Right and Good, but Heaven is Right and Good, and if only the right Angel is in charge of it, it can return to its core essence.

He still believes that Heaven is inherently Good, and so he is still trying to fit himself into a system that would reject him if it really knew him.

And all that is where “I forgive you” comes from for me - or at least that is one of the interpretations that makes sense to me. That basically because he's still so determined to fit into that Angel Shape TM, still so determined to be what Heaven says is right, that he is forgiving Crowley for challenging that, for making him want something else for a moment, for making it harder for him to repress those parts of himself that are different and, in his/Heaven's view, wrong.

And that is why Season 3 must end with Aziraphale realising that Heaven is not Good TM and with the takedown of the Celestial system itself. Yes apparently I end all of my metas with this now.

[diejager]

Hello there! I absolutely love your stepdad!konig piece!!

I actually comment this on ao3, but I also doing it here just in case 🥺

Reader is pregnant and horangi step up as father but what if the baby looks just like konig? Her mom will be suspicious? Konig will be overjoyed? Horangi will try to breed her as soon as possible?

Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, stepcest, forced pregnancy, childbirth, implied kidnapping, gaslighting, tell me if I missed any.

There was a heavy amount of guilt in your heart when your twins were born, they stark difference between your boy who had pretty brown eyes and a smooth head, and your little girl’s gaping blue eyes, pale and blinking owlishly with small tears and a few black strands sprouting from her head. You feared what your mother would say when she saw that your sweet angel - Horangi had dubbed her Yoon-Suh - had neither yours, nor the Korean’s eyes. It made you wonder if this would be a sign for your mother, something to prove your fear and abuse, to open her eyes to your damned situation, but they had an excuse for everything.

“Eyes are a complicated thing, ” König had the doctor explain, facing your mother with a wrinkled, but kind and gentle expression, “She’ll outgrow them within the first year, Ma’am.”

Your mother seemed to trust the doctor’s words, you would as well if you hadn’t known the truth, he was a kind man who’s face looked so disarming. Your mother exclaimed her many fears of complications happening to you and Dr. Mathews was very patient with her growing worry, promising her that he’d be one call away.

“Call me whenever you have any complications, missy. Or one of the nurses, all right?” 

You were driven home after every check ups with the twins and your body to catch any issues that might’ve occurred through childbirth, dressed in loose clothes and coddled by both men while your mother stared on in awe and glee, seeing her husband help his step-daughter with her new children and the baby daddy took responsibility and stayed. It made her feel a sense of happiness and pride unlike you, who drowned under another wave of agony and sorrow. They, however much you loved your babies and their adorable faces, would tie you down to both men, stuck under the nose of your oblivious mother.

When Yoon-Sun’s eyes only grew paler, a shade between emerald and tourmaline, a beautiful mix if it didn’t remind you of König’s oppressive character. Your mother shared her confusion, questioning her husband about the clear ressemblancein Yoon-Suh and his eyes, but he shrugged it off, reminding her that it had only been two months and change was inevitable, whichever spectrum it went, it would eventually darken into a familiar shade. She nodded and hadn’t questioned your stepdad about her eyes anymore, somewhat satisfied with his answer.

And when Leon’s hair started growing, the few dark strands that seemed black until it curled into a soft auburn that your mother was extremely familiar with. What could they use as an excuse for Leon’s hair colour to appease your mother’s suspicion, to staunch her questioning. Unfortunately - fortunately for them and their wretched minds - your mother was never one to know any… complicated information, such studies weren’t in her education in her time, but it was in yours. You knew how basic genes worked and it wouldn’t make sense for your child to have the hair colour that neither parents had, recessive or dominant.

Yet, König and Horangi had managed to convince her otherwise without as much as a sweat, their words and experience convincing enough for her. She left it at then, but her suspicion was mounting, the wound bleeding and threatening to come to life. And before she could do anything, to stop them from feeling oh so proud of themselves, they took you away. You were gone in the night, taken under the watchful gaze of the moon, gagged and tied in the old van they repurposed to hold the twins safely while they drove across borders. 

She’d been gaslighted and naively trusting until the moment she woke up to a cold and vacant home, her husband and friend gone, grandchildren taken and her daughter taken. 

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @lucienbarkbark @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @223princess @maylovesyousomuch @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

[mintacle]

My hot take is that the same people who call Jason copaganda, pr-gunviolence or etc are from the same vein as people who blame schoolshootings on videogame violence, who blamed crime on Metal and satanism.

Instead of taking a critical look at a system within which a symptom of a problem is making itself known, you look if there is an outside influence, a kind of "virus" that you can blame for making it "sick".

DC comics are a little fucked up. That's the agreement you entered when reading them. All characters are inconsistent and sometimes in the wrong. Jason is a Bat, so at least it feels like he's maybe substantial enough to blame for the whole batclans issues, in a way that Helena Bertinelli (for example) can't be, because she is less closely tied and has less appearances. Congratulations, you have an identified patient! Jason is the problem that is rippling out and causing all these nasty and unsatisfied feelings the readers have about how crime is handled in these comics.

We see crime being fought in imperfect ways and our current cultural consciousness goes off with warning bells to identify the problem. But what you were taught was to identify what outside influence happens to be present and connecting the issue, and how to justify that all evil stems from this malignant influence. So surely if we could just remove this bad thing, we could go back to the wonderful world we knew where everything was ok.

That world never existed. The thing we are nostalgic for, is the world before we became aware of it's flaws. The problem has always been there, has always been an integrated part of this whole you used to love and admire.

But because the kind of people blaming Jason for "copaganda" do genuinely and truly come from a good place of wanting social justice (I'm saying you are good people. I disagree and think you are making a logical error, but we do care about and want the same thing. Good People) because you come here with the right intentions, you use the buzzwords of copaganda. Or gunviolence. You know from what you have heard that the issue is systematic, but you are struggling to find what that system equivalent is in DC comics. You are falling victim to the fallacy of assuming a main narrative perspective. Just as irl cops are hard to identify as the problem bc you might have to first struggle through the cognitive dissonance that your old worldview of good cops was wrong (so so wrong), you experience cognitive dissonance if trying to read comics with someone like Batman being wrong and flawed.

Looking beyond any superficial similarities to cops Jason is called out for (uses a gun, kills, enforcing his vision of justice) he really doesn't have much more similarities. He isn't a figure of authority, he lacks the nigh god-given justification to do whatever he wants whatever the outcome and is questioned at every turn. Just the sheer instances of Batman or another Bat showing up to beat Jason up and lecture him on what he does.

Extending this, he does not have the pervasive and persuasive power to shape a narrative. Jason's narrative is so far out of his hands. Which has been a core truth about him since for ever. From his maleable origin story, to his death, the years of him being gone and having No Voice Whatsoever, his resurrection in utrh showing him trying, struggling to have a voice against Bruce's story and being drowned out and denied his perspective, the inconsistency of his character after, each writer trying to shape him into something. Now cops fucking have a narrative. Their narrative is the main one we are fed. Their violence is structured and oppressive. Jason is neither a structural systemic power, nor is he oppressive of anyone. If you disagree with his violence for the sake of the moral highground of condemning killing.... Then, just, there are other media, you know.

Cop violence is systemic violence. It is violence that is "justified" to the extent it requires no justification. It is above being questioned. I am genuinely willing to hear an argument how Jason is cop-coded. But to me he is the punk resistance based "violence" that is only organized in the anarchical but organical sense of caring to protect the community that surrounds you. He doesn't approach Gotham as a paternalistic force of protection shielding it from above, but as one of them from within, showing up for the people who are suffering the way he has suffered too.

[horse-girl-anthy]

this passage from the Kotani interview has long fascinated me:

Kotani: In the middle part of the tv series is the story of the Black Rose Society (Nemuro Memorial Hall). It's stylized, weird and creepy. Personally, I really liked that part. Ikuhara: That's something women like. That part was difficult for me though. Kotani: I thought the stylization was really excellent. There's the arrow symbols, and the confession in the elevator. When the elevator stops, there is a morgue-like place, with jumbled rows of coffins. It feels dark and mysterious. You know, I like bondage stuff (laugh). Basically, I like deviation, I want to escape away, but if you are not oppressed there is no way to escape. In order to deviate, you have to first be tied up. The Black Rose Society particularly emphasizes that, doesn't it? You have some worries, so first of all, someone will slowly look them over. Places of surveillance as places of bondage—e.g. a military unit, a monastery, or a dorm becomes an excellent stage setting, right? Ikuhara: I like it too. But by deviance, do you mean sexual deviance? Kotani: Deviance from the system. A community with rules, where there is someone like a dorm supervisor who runs a tight ship, and you escape from it.

"escape" has been one of the central fantasies of my life. Kotani and Ikuhara go on to talk about sexuality and the relationship of bondage to it, as well as to gender. all of that resonates with me; this kind of dynamic certainly has sexual manifestations. but it doesn't have to be expressed sexually. for as long as I can remember, I've been interested in stories of captivity, coercion, and control--with escape often as the climax of such fantasies.

before reading this interview, I didn't make the connection between my "kink" for domination/submission and RGU. it didn't make me feel the things I'm looking for in those kind of stories. I'm drawn to visceral examples of domination, like imprisonment, forced relationships, controlling communities, etc.

Kotani and Ikuhara also discuss RGU's similarities to dynamics in yaoi, specifically the Akio/Anthy/Utena triangle. that's where the "bondage" element of RGU can be felt most strongly. however, it was somehow missing the passion I found in other stories.

speaking of Anne Rice's Beauty series, Kotani says:

In the story, [forced submission] keeps happening; ordinarily, since everyone is put in a position like Anthy's, you would expect them to hate it, but in fact they don't (laugh).

I connect to this to what she said above about having first to be tied up in order to deviate. my desire for escape is so strong that my subconscious will literally create dreams in which I am first held captive and then break free. would I be this way if I hadn't been raised in a repressive community? maybe not. but the fact remains that I am now drawn to domination and to submission.

but in real life, domination is horrible. it gets under your skin and makes you feel dirty. and the more subtle its means, the more difficult it is to extricate yourself. perhaps one of the reasons I found RGU so hard to watch the first time I sat through it is that it robbed me of my enjoyment in domination/submission. the ways in which Akio exercised power were underhanded and manipulative--they were designed to go unnoticed, making them far more dangerous psychologically than, say, being physically tied up. he was even able to deny his own power in the situation, setting things up so well that he could turn things back on those he harmed.

RGU is erotic. it is erotic even in its most disturbing scenes--Akio's "nights alone" with Utena and Anthy. but there was none of the thrill in it for me that I got out of yaoi. there weren't any of the enjoyable power struggles that I found in more conventional narratives. hanging over the final 10 episodes was a sense of sickness, perversion, that didn't arise from the subject matter per se, but rather from how it was presented. there was a light touch to it, a reserve. it was unflinching but subtle.

most disturbingly, I think, the story weaved into the domination/submission narrative the question of dependency. as in, Utena and Anthy are not only in the situation they find themselves in due to coercion, but also due to their psychological need for Akio. in submission, I wanted to find a loss of responsibility--I wanted to be rendered helpless "against my own will." by being controlled, I would no longer have to be an agent, freeing me from the burden of selfhood. there was an appeal in it beyond just the desire to escape that I didn't want to admit. to face my complicity in my own subjugation was frightening--to admit it would be like saying I wanted, deserved, mistreatment.

of course, Akio does try to create and maintain said dependency, and there is a serious age/power differential between the characters. but I think the seductiveness of domination and the ease with which one can choose to submit are a major themes of RGU. I like stories of overt violence and captivity because they blow up, dramatize the far more common forms of control we experience in social systems. in RGU, the bonds are in the mind, not on the body. their slipperiness makes them nauseating, not titilating.

thus, RGU didn't give me my usual enjoyment in the sense of "being under someone's thumb." but it did give me one of the most satisfying escapes that I've ever experienced in my life.

episode 39 pulls back the curtains to reveal what submission means. I don't think there's anything wrong with bondage/escape fantasies, but there's something to be said for acknowledging reality. Anthy is the representation of the part of every woman (every person) who's ever had to take a blow, or swallow an objection, or resign themselves to cruelty. if Utena gave in to Akio, she would be not only turning away from a friend in need, but also denying herself--locking away her internal "Rose Bride."

Utena ultimately defies Akio and Anthy is freed entirely--freed even from dependency. then the show makes clear what had previously been obscured, that Akio was just as dependent on Anthy as she was on him, if not more so. this turns the established power dynamics upside down, completing the revolution. what makes this ending so powerful is that it has finality to it: the cycle of domination and submission will no longer perpetuate itself, as it is no longer needed. by dramatizing the ugliness of domination, RGU is able to paint a realistic picture of the road to liberation.

[david-talks-sw]

Okay so I watched Inside Man on Netflix. It's interesting. More importantly, it's a masterclass in crafting likeable characters and how the POV we follow in a scene affects the way we see a character. Also, this somehow relates to the Star Wars Prequels, I promise! 😆

The moral of the series is that "everyone is a murderer, all it takes is a good reason and a bad day." The main characters are:

A vicar who - through a huge misunderstanding - has now locked his son's tutor in his basement and doesn't know how to get out of this situation, played by David Tennant.

A convicted murderer and ex-criminal psychology professor who solves crimes from his cell, as he waits for his execution, played by Stanley Tucci.

So a man who locked a woman in his cellar and a guy who murdered his wife. In any other movie, these guys are the villains. Yet, both of these characters are extremely likeable!

This is achieved through how relatably they behave in their relationships (kind, humble, humorous)...

... and through the emotion and/or charisma brought by the actors playing them (it's THE DOCTOR/CROWLEY and Stanley Friggin' Tucci)... but also through the amount of screen time they get.

We're with them for most of the show. There's other characters (the journalist, the trapped tutor and the vicar's wife) and subplots, of course, but they're our two anchors.

So when I'm watching David Tennant lock his son's tutor in his cellar and consider if he should free her - only to see him and his wife make things worse - I'm not thinking "you monster" like I do when I see Buffalo Bill in Silence of the Lambs for example.

No, I'm thinking "goddammit vicar you're making things worse, it'll come back to haunt you, there's still a chance to turn back, please!" I'm rooting for him to make the right choice because I'm seeing him struggle and despair and hesitate throughout many scenes.

When I'm watching Stanley Tucci guiltily say he deserves death, after being so darn charming, humble and in clear possession of a moral compass, my instinct as a viewer isn't to go "he's right".

It's to go "aaaw, no it's fine, everyone makes mistakes."

And these characters remain likeable and/or relatable for a huge chunk of time... until, every once in a while, the show reminds you that, "remember, these guys are criminals."

"One of them's killed his wife then decapitated her, and the other one is contemplating murder, so they did/are doing evil stuff, they're the villains and you shouldn't grow fond of them."

Then it goes back to making you empathize with them again.

It's quite the emotional roller-coaster, very intriguing yet frustrating, which I have to guess is exactly what the show is going for.

But the point is: the amount of time we spend with these characters is partially what elicits this emotional reaction out of us.

If we consider the tutor's character:

For all intents and purposes, we should feel sorry for her, or full-on fucking love her. Objectively-speaking, she's:

smart but obviously scared,

we establish early on that she has a brave heart and stands up for oppressed women,

she thinks she's trapped by a pedophile or a man defending a pedophile, figures he'll inevitably try to murder her, yet manages to stay resourceful, determined and cool-headed despite it all.

She's an absolute superhero.

But that's not how the narrative frames her.

She's framed as an antagonistic force, in the vicar's subplot.

She may be the one tied up in a basement, but she's in control and the vicar is not. She's almost framed as being in a position of power (when she's really not), which leads the audience to view Tenant's vicar as an underdog.

When the vicar is trying to look for alternatives to end this situation so that he doesn't have to kill her, she's unhelpful,

and even starts pitting the vicar and his wife against each other.

Again, in-universe, she's scared shitless and in "fight-or-flight" mode. She's putting up a front because she's just trying to get outta this alive. She's the victim, here, not the vicar who captured her.

But as a viewer, you don't feel that, despite objectively knowing that. Why and how?

Because we barely see this character, compared to Tenant's vicar. So we have more time to grow to feel for him. There's "why".

Also 90% of what we do see of the tutor is her being aggressive, manipulative, sometimes downright merciless and we're seeing her from the POV of the vicar or the vicar's wife. There's "how".

Result: the viewer feels sorry for the captor and frustrated towards the captive.

This isn't a rational reaction, it's an emotional one (the goal of any visual artform being to get an emotional reaction out of the viewer).

Which means the series and Stephen Moffat effectively did their job.

How does this relate to the Prequels?

Well, a lot of people see the Jedi in a negative light in the Prequels, and Anakin in a more sympathetic one.

Even though the Prequels are about how a good man becomes bad, and even though the Jedi embody one of the major Star Wars themes (selflesness) as opposed to Anakin who clearly displays the anti-theme (selfish)... a majority of fans feels more for the latter than the former. Why?

Because the Prequels unintentionally do what Inside Man does purposefully. You react to Anakin like you react to the vicar. You react to the Jedi like you react to the tutor.

Simply put: Anakin has more screen time than the Jedi. And we don't just see him more, we see him struggle, we see him about what he knows to be morally right vs what he really wants, we see him be overtaken by his own fear...

... and just by contrast, that makes him more relatable than the Jedi, who have already overcome their character arcs and mostly all learned to keep their flaws in check.

The narrative doesn't intend to frame them as antagonistic. We do see them talk about how worried they are, we do see them emote.

And if you think about it, it's easy to see why:

their entire way of life is going to crap,

their values are being corrupted as they're forced to fight and die, alongside their clone brothers, in a war they wanted no part of,

they sense that the Force is close to the breaking point and that the galaxy's inhabitants are suffering on the daily.

But, for example, when Mace or Ki-Adi Mundi are shown expressing concern in the Prequels... as worried as they are, in-universe... out-of-universe, their measured reactions doesn't emotionally impact a viewer as much as Anakin's intense ones do.

So a big chunk of the audience will sympathize more with him than them. But like the tutor in Inside Man, the Jedi are objectively the victims and Anakin is objectively an unstable space-nazi who betrayed and destroyed them.

Just because we're not shown these characters be worried beyond just monotonously saying "I'm worried" doesn't mean they're not actually worried as Anakin is in Revenge of the Sith (if not more).

However we don't see it.

Because these three films aren't about the Jedi Order, they're about the Republic and about Anakin and about how each of these two beautiful things were corrupted (by Palpatine and by themselves) into becoming the very thing they stood against.

The Jedi aren't a factor in either of those two themes set up by George Lucas.

They became a factor when fans - who despite not liking the Prequels, still admirably chose to engage with the material - made the Jedi be more important to the narrative of the Prequels by re-framing these films as "The Failure of the Jedi".

Now, should Lucas have recognized that most fans wouldn't give two shits about why a Republic falls or the "matinee serial" format, and would've rather he focused on the Jedi, and developed them accordingly? Probably.

But good luck telling an indie filmmaker with a bunch of money how to tell the story he wants to tell.

Could Lucas have done more with the Prequels to highlight the fact that the Jedi are the underdogs of the story, not Anakin's oppressors? Yes.

But, firstly, he probably didn't think that was a point that needed explaining. And secondly, as he explained at Cannes, in 2002, feature films are a very limiting format to tell a story, especially one of the Prequels' scale. If it doesn't directly contribute to the story you're telling... it's gotta go.

A limited show would've been better to cover every aspect of the Prequels more in detail and avoid confusing the audience re: who they should be rooting for.

Which is why it's interesting, to me, that Stephen Moffat used his limited show to INTENTIONALLY confuse the audience! 😃

[anthurak]

How do you see Lilith being portrayed as a character in the future? Particularly when it comes to her relationship with Lucifer and Charlie as well as whatever deal she had with Adam and her potential connection to Alastor? I for the most part view her as a morally grey sort, having genuine love for her family and wanting what’s best for them but also willing to do some messed up shit do what she feels is best for them and herself.

Oooh, yeah this is a good one. Mostly because it lets me talk about a few theories I’ve never gotten around to discussing :)

I think Lilith is basically going to end up being Charlie’s big ‘Ideological Antagonist’ and ‘Shadow Archetype/Foil’ for the story. Note that I specify ‘antagonist’ and not full on ‘villain’ because I think Lilith is NOT going to be a character Charlie needs to ‘defeat’, but rather prove wrong.

The key thing about Lilith is that I think she ultimately wants the same thing Charlie does deep down: To protect Hell and its people and stop heaven’s extermination/oppression of Hell. I think we’re going to find out that just as Charlie has HER plans and ideas to help her people and stop the extermination, Lilith has her own ongoing plans. Indeed, I think this is EXACTLY what led to Lilith disappearing seven years ago and is tied up to what exactly she’s doing in Heaven now.

However, whatever plans Lilith has will not only directly conflict with Charlie’s, but also represent a dark, much more ruthless foil to Charlie.

For example, whereas Charlie might be working to establish some kind of peace with Heaven via working with sympathetic angels like Emily and Serpentious, Lilith is at the same time scheming to undermine and ultimately DESTROY Heaven from the inside. Which in turn is what brings the two into conflict.

And of course, it’s also made clear from the outset that Lilith is doing all of this out if love. Love for her people, love for Lucifer and most of all her love for Charlie. But at the same time, Lilith is unable to forgive Heaven for what they did to her, Lucifer and her people in Hell.

Ultimately, I think Lilith is going to represent the darker, more ruthless foil of Charlie. Driven by the same good-hearted motivations, but twisted by guilt and trauma that she’s never been able to let go of. Which incidentally would make her a very nice foil to Vaggie as well, continuing the trend of both Charlie and Vaggie having parallels and foils to both Lilith and Lucifer.

Speaking of which, I imagine Lilith and Lucifer, as well as their estrangement, will likewise be acting as a foil to Charlie and Vaggie. Showing us that Lilith and Lucifer went through similar relationship problems that Charlie and Vaggie had/will-have. And not only showing Charlie and Vaggie pointedly NOT repeating the mistakes of their predecessors, but also helping Charlie’s parents get back together.

Basically, as I’ve said in other posts, I think Hazbin Hotel is setting up a major theme of ‘children/next-generation not repeating the mistakes of their parents/predecessors’ with Charlie/Vaggie to Lucifer/Lilith, and potentially the rest of the ‘Eden Quartet’ with Emily and Lute as parallels/foils to Eve and Adam.

As far as how Alastor factors into all this, at this point I’ll admit that I’m now thinking the one holding his leash isn’t Lilith, but rather Roo/Eve. That being said, Alastor having disappeared at around the same time Lilith did is obviously NOT a coincidence, though I’m thinking it hints less to any connection between Lilith and Alastor, and more to some kind of connection/collusion between Lilith and Roo/Eve.

[leoneliterary]

i love how you write SO MUCH, youve inspired me in so many ways, and one of the mcs i made for your game has turned into a personal oc who i love DEARLY. do you have any writing tips, specifically on description? i love how you describe things and show not only emotion and actions, but the WORLD AND HISTORY of hashind itself! its all so amazing and im just RLLY eager to see if u have any tips i could use to improve my own writing

Aww thank you so much! This is so kind, and I don't feel like I'm equipped to give anyone advice, but here goes nothing!!

First, don't focus too much on emulating another writer's style. Some people prefer their descriptions short and punchy, others like them long and flowery. You can like to read all of them, but prefer to write in one specifically.

As for how I write my descriptions of settings, I lead with the sensations. If it's sunny, I think about the warmth that you feel on your skin, how the sun heats the rocks under your feet. Then I try to tie that with mood. The beginning of HAT is dreary and has an air of hopelessness, so the heat needed to feel stifling, dire, and oppressive. When the MC is an adult, Cusmo feels less large and looming and your character has more mastery of it, so I try to describe things as if the character is used to them, with minimal discomfort.

Writing world and history ties into worldbuilding. There are plenty of resources for how to do it online, but nothing beats actually doig it. Draw on real history or geography (always with respect and sensitivity of course) but also rely on your imagination. Some people create a world aound their characters, while others think of what characters and stories would inhabit the world they've created. You have to explore that for yourself.

Ask yourself if your characters are outsiders to the world or actively live in it. The MC in HAT knows Cusmo, but not the palace or outside Hashind. So I describe these places differently based on level of familiarity.

Finally, emotions are difficult. People may say show, but don't tell, and I say that there is a time for both. For a main character's internal thoughts, sometimes I just tell the reader. With characters like the ROs, sometimes I tell, hint, or show through mannerisms. It just depends on the scene.

Do whatever works for the story you want to tell, and learn to love and improve your writing style. Don't be disappointed if it doesn't look or sound like someone else's and take all advice (especially mine lol) with a grain of salt.

Thank you for the ask and I hope this was helpful!

[vexingwoman]

Uh not actually here to hate but to say thanks???? Ive been thinking alot on my self expression and trying to figure out how to word it, and seeing some of your comments with other people really helped to put in perspective what I was trying to come to terms with. Ive always struggled with my gender but acknowledge fully that I'm biologically female. (Stay with me here till the end please i know lol) I genuinely dont care what pronouns I'm called either and none have ever felt right if I'm honest and nothing I've read or tried has been adding up for me over the years to help me feel any better.

Kinda realizing over the past year or so that I just have this deep ingrained idea from being surrounded constantly my whole life in a woman hating environment that I just have a *really* heavily masked hatred for what general society treats women as and was trying to remove myself from it hoping itd somehow save me from the terrible shit we all go through daily. And it just made me feel even more alienated doing that to myself. Its been a long time of coming around to this and I know how it sounds but I dont wanna consider any of my time wasted. I dont remember what it was but something you said to someone in a long ass comment fight clicked for me and rn I'm sleep deprived and wont even remember what it was in the morning either but I feel like some kind of weight has been eased off me. Im doing my best to unlearn the sexist misogynistic bs ive had shoved down my throat my whole life that made me think being a woman was something to be shameful of and better off without.

Its been hard trying to look into this radfem community and find someone who didn't immediately just insult and exclude ppl that werent already on the ball agreeing. Basically I appreciate your ranting with strangers. Amd indulging some of their curiousity as clearly as you can+defining everything you say constantly so I dont get lost in a whirlwind of hard to understand metaphors. Idk you get it. Something clicked and i dont feel ashamed for the time gone bc I know it was heavily influenced by the oppression of all things normal-human-womanly around me. I hate that we're all so tied into these stereotypes. Its painfully hard to unlearn. Thanks for the help. Have a fat block of text as thanks cause I'm not sure how to sound as genuine as I feel rn. Have a nice day and an even better tomorrow. Im gonna get some sleep now💀(stayed up WAY too late painting lol) bye!

This is so wonderful to hear. I know how dreadful it is doing serious introspection and making yourself aware of how deeply and unconsciously your internalized sexism runs. I’ve been there, and I know it’s even more difficult to deconstruct the subtle sexist attitudes which have been ingrained into to us since birth. Often it seems as hopeless as chasing smoke, because some of our internalized sexism is so deep that it’s invisible, and worse, inarticulable.

Some women will never think on these subjects beyond their surface level—will never dissect their preferences, will never concede that their choices are influenced by sex-based socialization, will never seriously reflect on why they are so desperate to identify out of womanhood. And in a strange way, I sympathize with these women, because I understand that it’s easier to shut your eyes and convince yourself that you were born in the wrong body than it is to open your eyes and acknowledge how much sexism has seeped into and corrupted our own minds.

Basically, I’m proud of you for putting yourself through the pain of deconstructing your own internalized sexism. You are better for even attempting it, and I hope you continue to do so.

P.S. I know exactly which long-ass comment fight you’re referring to, because I only put myself through that once. At least someone benefited from the literal month I spent arguing with that stranger. They blocked me, so unfortunately I can’t even go back and analyze the conversation if I ever wanted to. I would love to know what you took away from it, if you ever do remember.

[riotdyke]

hey could i ask, what does being butch mean to you? all my friends tell me I've got butch vibes, or I'm butch-adjacent, or whatever, and it feels good, it feels right. i feel so much euphoria when people see me that way. but I'm not really even sure what it means. I'm sporty, I'm handy, i don't dress very feminine, sure, but that feels....kind of surface level? i guess I'm wondering, surely there's something deeper to it than that? i feel like i want it to be something more meaningful about who i am at my core i guess

Okay so this is a question I've answered a couple different ways over the years, and it always ends with me rambling a bit so stay with me: For me, being butch has a lot to do with how I interact with the world around me. In Gender Outlaw, Kate Bornstein has an interesting idea of relating gender to a language we speak to others to tell them how to perceive us - it can signify our class, our ideals, our relation to patriarchy, and what defines us most. I think that speaks a lot to my conception of what being butch means: I want people to know my values just through my looks, my deeds, and the way I hold myself. I want them to know that I value forms of masculinity and femininity not defined by an oppressive patriarchal cishet culture, that solidarity and understanding for those who are shunned by society is a priority for me, and that I won't be forced to accept what that same society thinks a person has to be. In that way I find my butch identity to be very closely tied to my politics. The forces that systemically keep these forms of oppression alive can only really be halted by a movement built on loyalty to one another and love for community, and I think many of us hold compassion and fidelity very near to our hearts because of that.

But to get back to the point - I think the fact that it gave you such euphoria is already a good sign you might be exploring in the right direction. Sporty and handy can definitely be a part of it for you, it is for a lot of folks, but you're right that it is so much deeper than aesthetic and interest and I'm hoping that delving those depths is something that might be in your future. Even if you don't end up feeling like calling yourself butch is quite right, I think we always get value out of that sort of introspection. What do you want people to see when they look at you, to know about you? What do you want to tell the world? Like words and languages, the possibilities are endless.

[whatsthisascianbullshit]

I saw the "in my cups over them," so consider this a general prompt to ramble about them! Tell me anything and everything. I have to know more. 👀

Hi @halfalgorithm-halfdeity I struggle to get a lot of my Muireann and Hien thoughts wrangled down because they're tied up in the "chewing through tables over rediscovering your culture after being colonised and the systematic erasure of your culture and heritage" that Stormblood sends me through (truly, an expansion for My Interests /gestures at Ireland's 800 years of oppression BUT I DIGRESS)

Hien and Muireann meet each other at the best possible time to work but also it's the worst time for them to realise it. (on reading back I do not actually explain this - basically if they met earlier Hien wouldn't have made his own plans for sacrifice/rebellion and Muireann wouldn't have been running from her feelings and grief, and if they met later Muireann would have had a chance to fully wall herself off emotionally. But because they meet when they do, Muireann is still wrangling with her emotional mess and cannot admit that she has feelings for Hien and that makes it a mess for both of them)

THIS GOT LONG AND IS STILL SOMEHOW THE CLIFF NOTES VERSION LMAO

Spoilers for ARR through to Shadowbringers intro under the cut, mostly Stormblood.

Muireann is fresh off of Y'shtola collapsing a tunnel on herself at the end of ARR, Haurchefant fucking dying in her arms, then Y'shtola coming back but now they're both different but maybe there are feelings but it's Complicated now, and then Y'shtola getting almost killed by Zenos and Muireann goes with the contingent to help in Doma in large part to avoid all the feelings that seeing the woman she fully changes the course of her life for get cut down right in front of her and she couldn't do Anything. Muireann is going to Doma to harden her heart back up. Because heartbreak causes mistakes in her calculations and mistakes cost lives, and against Zenos that could mean an absolutely devastating loss of life.

Hien has spent the last year-ish of his life recovering from almost dying after watching Zenos kill his father in front of him. The smart move would have been to then flee but he put his people above his own life (also likely a Terrible way to cope with seeing your dad sliced open in front of you but yanno). He knows that what little military might they had before that rebellion is gone. So he makes a plan. One that only works if several extremely unlikely things happen in succession because he has this plan before the Scions turn up.

So when they first meet and Hien's response to "we have spent days changing their minds so the people ask for your sword" was "I will simply win the Naadam even though I am only a little while recovered and have had maybe a few months to attempt to get back into fighting shape" it honestly kind of short-circuited her brain. Because it was the only logical path forward but it was an incredibly risky plan with so many opportunities to go horribly wrong and it was presented as though it was simple. Because it also was a very simple plan. For the best chance of success with the least amount of lives lost they needed more fighters. This is the most efficient way to gain social standing with the most amount of people in order to make this request. It's essentially then just a process of Muireann's own feelings wearing down her bullheaded stubbornness to get her to admit the fact she has feelings to herself after she had decided that she Was Not Going To Care About Anyone Else Like That.

Hien was faced with a pretty elf that was quiet and reserved but when she did speak up it was largely related to tactics and strategy. Someone who clearly knew what she was talking about but that did not align with how she would have been described (powerful mage, vicious witch, breaker of gods). Then he sees her in battle. And she summons a dragon. To save him? Probably her brother. But maybe also him? Maybe just him?

The two proceed to flirt with each other obtusely while internally talking themselves out of the sheer notion that the other person is interested in them. The post-Naadam Doma arc for these two drives me fully insane I am obsessed with them.

When they eventually do get their shit together at the end of Stormblood they continue the trend of internally making assumptions about the other person and what kind of future they want. And so they pointedly avoid any and all conversation about the future and their feelings beyond "enjoying each other's company". At this point they're both fully smitten, head over heels, cannot imagine a future without each other. Neither of them say this to each other.

Then the strange headaches start.

Then people start falling into magic, soul-snatched comas.

Muireann initially continues to assume that she'll be fine because she has the Echo. Then during the fight at the Ghimlyt Dark where Hien, Yugiri and Lyse hold off Zenos until Murieann and the rest of her party arrive Muireann and Hien both have to face the fact that they are in fact In Love with the other person. Do they say this to each other? No. Of course not. (though in their defense this time Murieann was whisked back to Ishgard with the rest of the gang to recover closer to the rest of the Scions).

In Ishgard Muireann finds out that her brother has fallen into a coma. She's completely distraught both at the potential loss of her brother and also at the realisation that the Echo won't protect her. And she has never told Hien how she feels. She hastily writes a letter because she needs to get it out of her before the fear strikes again, and also because they have a lead at the Crystal Tower that she needs to follow up on. That letter is dispatched and mere hours later Hien is notified that Muireann has also fallen into a magic coma.

Hien then bullies convinces the remaining Scions to let Muireann's body rest in Doma. The offered logic being that if all the Scions and Warriors of Light are resting in the same spot, it would be very easy for Garlemald to blow up one building and be rid of the most persistent thorn in their side. A larger reason is because Muireann's confession letter opens with "I wish I could tell you this in person" and he stops reading. Gets her body safe in Doma. And waits.

Because there is something she wanted to tell him (and something he wants to tell her).

Anyway that's the cliff notes version of Them leading into Shadowbringers. They give me fucking Hives (I am obsessed).

Just two people piecing together what their heritage means to them in the present after attempts at destroying it.

A disaster-sexual wizard and a prince who loves women who can kerb stomp him.

[fanartbyherd]

Here are some of the earliest drawings I made for this Au. Even before it was really made into an au.

Speaking of old here are some notes I made to myself about the au… some of these things have changed but I think it’s still somewhat accurate to the current AU rules:

Au

So there’s people who are only slightly touched, there’s people who are aligned, there a people who have a dedication and then finally there are people with names powers and then there are those who have a title

Those with a title are technically canidets to become demigods

Though I made a note in my writing that there has not been any demigods since antiquity.

The last demigod for the power of the knowing was the last orical of Delphi kind of old

And those with titles are rare to, I made a note that no siren, the title for the power of agape , has been seen since ww1

Anyways each individual aspect of a pantheon can also be broken down to smaller sections that demonstrate what they can do Though I’m not very certain what each one is

I do know that the power of beholdin is broken down into three talents, the ability to convince others to give you the information you want, the ability to learn things you are not meant to know and the ability to identify things around them

Meanwhile the smaller talents of its closely related power of the knowing is the ability to understand what you are looking for, having a gut feeling about what is the right or wrong awnser, and the ability to understand what they should not understand

(Understanding something is different from simply knowing something)

There are also several powers that have links or strong overlaps

The slaughter and strategy are based off the two aspects of war, think the relationship between the goddess Athena and her brother Aries, one is carnage one is tactics. Just in the same way are the powers. And neither the slaughter or strategy are tied solely to war.

The twisted maze, the navigator and loneliness are all essentially able to teleport, The twisting can do so by accessing a void called the backspace, (the maze, the in between, the reflection etc.) and the loneliness makes use of a foggy void called Limbo (the near shores, the here neither, purgatory, etc.) The navigator uses a bit of both and carves out tunnels through these void spaces and uses them to travel

The majority of navigators are not able to move more than a few people at a time and sometimes only themselves and they seem to have a personal limit on how far away they can move between these places

The twisted maze is also called the spiral and thier teleportation occurs by moving through the backspace that they can access, but the backspace is exceptionally dangerous as you are likely to get lost or eaten by some monster that lives there.

You can also fall down into the deep place, which is tied closer with the Dreams and the End…

The loneliness of the limbo is dangerous because of its draining quality, the more time that is spent in limbo the more it drains out your color, your emotions, filling you with a deep void in the chest, a loneliness that is oppressive and all consuming

Eventually those who travel limbo fade into a disembodied voice and finally to nothingness Other powers are connected for storage reasons, things like end (death) and dreams Title for the end is phycopomps and for dreams is sandmen

Some powers are each others opposites, things like light and dark, the endless vast and the buried

There’s also things that can be used to strengthen or weaken powers, things like evil eyes or dream catchers are objects that use power to keep other powers at bay Evil eyes are also used to strengthen the ability of the knowing and beholder

But also weaken them at the same time.

[the-raging-tempest]

For Lariel:

16. What makes their stomach turn?

20. If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

38. What memory do they revisit the most often? 

For Zrise:

21. Why do they get up in the morning? 

28. Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth? 

38. What memory do they revisit the most often? 

DUJOUR! Thank you for the ask!! This one took me quite awhile because there are so many good ones!

What makes their stomach turn?

When someone disregards or uses their power to abuses others. Something that will make her especially angry to the point of immediate action is seeing people enslaved, exploited, oppressed, or dominated against their will. Those who are persecuted for things out of their control. Lariel is usually a quiet and respectful person but encountering this makes her see red and she will hear no excuse in trying to justify it.

If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

Lariel would describe romantic love as passionate, the kind of love that makes you feel butterflies, that keeps you up at night. Makes you wonder what someone is up too. Romantic love is about loving what someone is now and what they will be. What they have been and what are not. A longing of two becoming one. Though she will freely admit this is also because she read about it. Rather than experiencing it.

Platonic love she would describe as worrying if someone has eaten enough food. Wanting to see them smile. Feeling comfortable and happy around them. They are the love you choose and continue to every day. A love of two separate but equal people. She would also say that ‘true love’ has both elements of platonic and romantic love. This is the type of love she most often and freely experiences as she can more easily take an observant role.

Familial love. She very much sees as the love you do not choose. You feel it as much against your will as romantic love but you are born into it. It is a love that is not freely given as much as it is freely taken. It is a love that is built on obligation and duty. A wish not to disappoint. A desire for approval. Someone who watches over you. A kind of love that does not mean you feel loved in return. Her bias is obvious…

What memory do they revisit the most often? 

This is a tough question. This one took me forever. Let me tell you. I think I will go with what she thinks about against her wishes. Not the memory she chooses if that makes sense.

I think Lariel doesn’t often actually think of memories as in specific events. More amalgamations of things. So often her memories bend and bleed together because she spent so much time in the same place doing the same thing. Over and over. She spends so much time in her head. This is why she collects objects and things. They are a way to better hold onto a moment for her. Letters or journals help her.

I think the one that she often remembers against her will is when she is sorting through and sees the letter Eithon gave to her. She saved because she was excited he said he’d come to celebrate her birthday. She ties that with the memory of holding onto it clinging. One of the few times she visited the chapel on her family’s estate. It is dedicated to Calistria but she prayed and prayed. The night after he died. Begging and begging. Falling asleep there and then she became quite sick from sleeping on the cold stone.

Why do they get up in the morning? 

This depends on his mental state. A lot of the time it’s just thinking about what he has to do. He needs something to do. Like what obligations he has to do. It’s that he doesn’t want to be asleep, or try to sleep anymore. I can’t remember if I’ve said it before but in the morning he’s a little robotic. Going through the motions of habits. Things he’s been trained and told what to do. If someone asked him this question in the sense of asking what motivates him he would very much not like this question. He’d get very defensive about it. There are times he even spirals when he asks himself. He really doesn’t like to think about it.

Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth? 

Such a good question for him. I think he believes he prefers a lie. Most moments where he feels weak and vulnerable he will happily take a lie. But I think they eat away at him. Slowly but surely. Especially if he knows it’s a lie. He’s built a lot of his life on lies. Often feels he’s made of them. I think the unpleasant truth would give him a worse reaction in the moment. But would overall be much more healthy for him. If you survived telling it to him…

What memory do they revisit the most often? 

Once again. I’m taking this as a memory they don’t intent to revisit.

Zrise does not sleep well. It takes him forever to fall asleep. And he’s often up early. He often has nightmares of the day he died. The memories are very vivid to him. Sometimes out of body. Watching himself be drown. Sometimes it’s dreaming he’s sinking and he can’t swim. Sometimes it’s just the force of his mother’s hand on his neck as his lungs fill with water. It’s why he hates sleeping. The memories of waking up in a strange and terrifying body that became his reality. One he was disgusted by. Sometimes its dreams about laying under the stars and waiting for his mother to return. Sometimes its dreams about Pharasma’s court. In horrible terrifying divine authority. He stands there dripping wet before he’s ripped away. Being told in attempting to escape he will face a fate worse than death when they meet again.

[enigmatist17]

Anon Pt 3

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

Ahsoka didn't normally fear her cramped bunk. The Resolute was her home in this war, and being a padawan, she'd been allowed to lightly decorate her space to make it feel closer to her room back in the Temple. However the candles and expansive rug over the floor felt alien, and the bed built into the wall had been raided of its mattress in preference to the floor.

Oppressive heat that climbs as the air grows sparse, limbs growing heavy and fear climbing as they hope the call for help will be answered

Sufficed to say, Ahsoka can't handle the limited space.

So she sleeps on the floor, and for a few weeks just does her best to go back to things as normal. However, when tasked with getting into a fighter for routine flight training, the confined space felt like a death sentence as she managed a few minutes flying around the Resolute.

She's going to die, it's so tight and cold and she has to GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT

"Commander where are you going?!" Rex's voice felt so far away as she sped towards the docking bay, her landing definitely a rough one as some men scramble to get out of her ships way. None of it registers as she heaves herself out of the fighter, collapsing onto the ground while trying to force air into her lungs that screamed for it. There are voices as she's surrounded by a few clones, and Ahsoka hugs her legs to her chest as she ties to make sense of what just happened. It's just all too loud, too jumbled, too much as she presses her forehead against her knees to try and block it all out.

"Okay okay give her some air!" Jesse's commanding voice seems to cut through the clamor like a vibroblade, and his familiar armor is the first thing Ahsoka can look at for longer than a moment as he kneels in front of her and gently nudges her to look up. "Hey, look at me, sir."

"Jesse...?" The other gives Ahsoka a soft smile, and finds himself pushed back onto the floor when Ashoka launched herself into his arms. Propping himself up into a seated position, Jesse motions for someone to get him a canteen while he hugs her close with his other arm.

"You're alright vod'ika, just focus on your breathing." Jesse hopes he's saying the right thing as the commander in his arms struggles to regulate her breathing, but figures he's doing something right when ever so slowly the trembling starts to ease. By the time Rex and the others have all landed and had booked it over, Ahsoka has almost fully stopped trembling as she sipped her water, looking absolutely drained as she's surrounded.

"What happened, is she alright?" Hardcase asked as Rex knelt beside the two, at least relieved not to see any blood or obvious injuries.

"I think she had a panic attack." Jesse replied, the lack of joke from Ahsoka a bit unsettling. "Geonosis if I had to bite."

"How..?" Ahsoka nearly winced at how scratchy her voice was, but was far too exhausted to really care at the moment.

"You've been sleeping on the floor since then, not hard to guess." Fives knelt down, giving a small smile. "If it helps, we get it."

"You know, you're always welcome to come join us." Dogma spoke up, gaining a few looks from the normally quiet man. "It helps us to be around each other for support, and that extends to you."

"Grumpy there is right." Fives grinned, earning a grumble. "Better than being all alone in your bunk right?"

"Well...it does sound nice." Ahsoka hummed, sitting up a little big straighter while remaining in Jesse's hold.

It was the first kind of warmth in weeks that didn't make her skin crawl.

"I'd take them up on it, Rex makes a comfy pillow." Anakin's voice made most of the group jump in surprise, having not seen the Knight come down to the hangar bay. "You alright Snips?"

"i...I've been better." Ahsoka watched as Rex stood to let Anakin take his place, a gloved hand being placed on her shoulder. "It..it was like I was back there, trying to get the stupid comm working and hoping you'd find us."

"You don't have to explain anything to me, I know." Anakin's smile was like a balm, and the dread from a few minutes ago has eased to a reasonable thrum of anxiety in the back of her mind. "Why don't we move to a place that's a little less drafty huh? I'll make some of those biscuits that Obi-Wan makes for you, sound promising?"

"The ones that you make the, what's it called, icing for?" Echo asked curiously, and grins when Anakin nods. "Those are amazing sir."

"I call the first ones!" Hardcase yelled at the same times Fives did, and the two glare in challenge. "I said it first!"

"You did not!" Fives complained, and reaches over to shove Hardcase once he's back on his feet.

"Oh you've done it now!" Hardcase grinned before grabbing Fives and pinning him in a headlock, the others giving the two space to wrestle as Jesse and Ahsoka get up off the floor. Ahsoka watched the good-natured fight while leaning into Jesse's side, laughing a bit when Rex broke them up with an exasperated sigh.

"Come on guys, lets see if you can beat Ahsoka to the first batch." Anakin grinned, and Ahsoka finds herself in the middle of the grouping of 501st soldiers, with Anakin's arm around her shoulders as they walk towards the bay exit. Their laughter and chatter is more soothing than anything Ahsoka could ever hope for, and as they all pile into the elevator, she smiles.