#but that of course has an effect on how I approached this book

[joycrispy]

One thing I love about Crowley --never stated, but consistently shown-- is that he is, at heart, an engineer.

I have a few different things to say about that. Let's unpack them.

As the Unnamed Angel, we see his designs for the Pillars of Creation are millions of pages long, comprised of cramped text, footnotes, diagrams, schematics, etc. It's very...Renaissance polymath, in the way it implies a particular intersection of artist and inventor.

Also: in the naked romanticism with which he views his stars.

We already knew he made stars, but in s2 we learn that he did NOT sculpt each of them by hand. He designed a nebula ("a star factory," he says) that will form several thousand young stars and proto-planets, and all --aside from getting the 'factory' running-- without him lifting a finger. We also learn that these young stars and proto-planets stand in contrast to those made by other angels, which are going to come 'pre-aged.'

...I'm reminded of Hastur and Ligur's approach to temptations. Damning one human soul at a time, devoting singular attention to it over the course of years or decades, and how that stands in contrast to Crowley's reliance on, quote, 'knock-on effects.'

Ligur: It's not exactly...craftsmanship. Crowley: Head office don't seem to mind. They love me down there.

Hm.

I'm also reminded of the M25.

The M25 may not be as grand as a nebula (sentences you only say in GOmens fandom...), but LIKE his nebula it's an intricate, self-sustaining engine that does Crowley's work for him, many times over. Again.

That's some pretty neat characterization --and so is the indication towards Crowley's disinterest in victimizing anyone tempting individual people. It takes a considerable amount of planning and effort (and creeping about in wellies), but in accordance with his design the M25 generates a constant stream of low-grade evil on a gigantic scale.

Cumulatively gigantic, that is. Individually? Negligible.

But no other demon understands human nature well enough to parse that one million ticked-off motorists are not, in any meaningful way, actually equivalent to one dictator, or one mass-murderer, or even one little influential regressive. That's the trick of it. Crowley gets Hell's approval (which he NEEDS to survive, and to maintain the degree of freedom he's eked out for himself), and at the same time ensures that any actual ~Evil Influence~ is spread nice and thin.

It's some clever machinery. And he knows it, too:

The Unnamed Angel and Crowley are both proud of their ideas.

(musings on professional pride, Leonardo da Vinci, the crank handle, and 'the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale' under the cut)

In the 1970's Crowley gives a presentation on the M25, projector and all, to a room full of increasingly impatient demons. Maybe the presentation was work-ordered; the 'can I hear a WAHOO?' definitely wasn't.

Before the Beginning, the Unnamed Angel can barely contain his excitement about his nebula. Aziraphale manages a baffled-but-polite, "....That's nice... :)"

11 years ago, Hastur and Ligur want to 'tell the deeds of the day,' and Crowley smiles to himself because (according to the script-book) he knows he has 'the best one.'

(Naturally, his 'deed' has nothing to do with tempting anybody, and everything to do with setting up a human-powered Rube-Goldberg machine of petty annoyance. Oodles of 'Evil' generated; very little harm done.)

Hastur and Ligur don't get it, of course. That's also consistent.

Nobody ever knows what the hell he's talking about.

It didn't make it on-screen, but, in both the novel AND the script-book, Crowley was friends with Leonardo da Vinci. The quintessential Renaissance polymath. That's where he got his drawing of the Mona Lisa --they're getting very drunk together, and Crowley picks up the 'most beautiful' of the preliminary sketches. He wants to buy it. Leonardo agrees almost off-the-cuff, very casual, because they're friends, and because he has bigger fish to fry than haggling over a doodle:

He goes, "Now, explain this helicopter thingie again, will you?" Because he's an engineer, too.

(It is 1519 at the latest, in this scene. Why the FUCK would Crowley know about helicopters, and be able to explain them, comprehensively, to Leonardo da Vinci?

...Well. I choose to believe he got bored one day and worked it out. Look, if you know how to build a nebula, you can probably handle aerodynamics. And anyway, I think it's telling that this is his idea of shooting the shit. 'A drunken mind speaks a sober heart,' and all. He probably babbled about Aziraphale long enough to make poor Leo sick)

Apart from Aziraphale, Leonardo da Vinci is the only person Crowley has any keepsakes or mementos of.

Think about that, though. Aziraphale's bookshop is bursting with letters, paintings, busts, and personalized signatures memorializing all the humans he's known and befriended over 6000 years (indeed: Aziraphale has living human friends up and down Whickber Street. He's part of a community).

Crowley doesn't have any of that. It's just the stone albatross from the Church (for pining), the infamous gay sex statue (for spicy pining), the houseplants (for roleplaying his deepest trauma over and over, as one does), and this one piece of artwork, inscribed, "To my friend Anthony from your friend Leo da V."

To me, at least, that suggests a level of attachment that seems to be rare for Crowley.

...Maybe he liked having someone to talk shop with? Someone who was interested? Someone engaged enough to ask questions when they didn't immediately understand?

...Anyway.

There's also the matter of the crank handle.

This thing:

This is one of the subtler changes from the book. In the book, Crowley knows Satan is coming and, desperate, arms himself with a tire iron. It's the best he can do. He's not Aziraphale; he wasn't made to wield a flaming sword.

The show, IMO, improves on this considerably. Now he, like Aziraphale, gets to face annihilation with what he was made for in his hand. And it's not a weapon, not even an improvised one like the tire iron.

He made stars with it.

[both gifs by @fuckyeahgoodomens]

If you Google 'crank handle,' you'll get variations on this:

Crank handles have been around for centuries. Consisting of a mechanical arm that's connected to a perpendicular rotating shaft, they are designed to convert circular motion into rotary or reciprocating motion.

Which is to say they're one of the 'simple machines,' like a lever or a pulley; the bread and butter of engineering. You'll also get a list of uses for a crank handle, archaic and modern. Among them: cranking up the engine of an old-fashioned car... say, a 1933 Bentley. That's what Crowley has been using his for, lately. But he's had it since he was an angel and he's still, it seems, very capable of it's angelic applications.

Stopping time. For instance.

(This is conjecture on my part, but, I like to imagine that Crowley has the ability to stop time for the same reason I can --and should-- unplug my computer before I perform maintenance on it. Time and Space are a matched set, after all, and in his designs in particular, one feeds into the other.)

I know everyone has already said this, but: I REALLY LIKE that when he needs to channel the heights of his power, he does so not with a weapon but with a tool. Practically with a little handheld metaphor for ingenuity. One from long-lost days when he made beautiful things.

(And he loved it. Still loves it --he incorporated that metaphor into the Bentley, didn't he?)

Let Aziraphale rock up to the apocalypse with a weapon: he has his own compelling thematic reasons to do exactly that. Crowley's story is different, and fighting isn't the only way to express defiance. And if you've been condemned as a demon and assumed to be destructive by your very nature, what better way than this?

He made stars. They didn't manage to take that from him.

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale are fighters, really --they have no intention of fighting in any war. They'll annoy everyone until there's no war to fight in, for a start. But between the two, if one must be, then that one is Aziraphale. Principality of the Earth, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, Wielder of the Flaming Sword... all that stuff. Even if he'd prefer not to, it's very clear that Aziraphale can rise to the occasion, if he must.

Crowley was never that kind of angel. He wasn't a Principality. He doesn't have a sword.

...And yet.

It's Crowley who protects. He's the one who paces, who stands guard, who circles Aziraphale and glares out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near.

In light of everything else I've said here, I think that's interesting.

Obviously part of it is that Aziraphale enjoys it and, you know, good for him. He's living his best life, no doubt no doubt no doubt. But what about Crowley? What's driving that behavior, really?

Have you heard the phrase, 'loved to the point of invention'? Well, what if 'the point of invention' was where you started? What if where you end up involves glaring out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near? What is that, in relation to the bright-eyed thing you used to be?

What do we name the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale?

...Thinking about how an excitable angel with three million pages of star design he wants to tell you all about...becomes a guard dog. Is all.

[mossy-rock-in-a-field]

Several weeks ago, my retirement-age mother requested that I play Baldur’s Gate 3 for her because she has trouble with controllers/keyboards and wanted “to see what all the fuss is about with that cute wizard boy.” For context, my mother and I have done this sort of thing in the past with certain RPGs (dragon age, mass effect, etc.), but it’s been a few years since she’s personally requested a game like this. Basically, I control her Tav but let her make all the choices so she can determine how the story plays out without worrying about mechanics. She treats it like a choose-your-own-adventure book.

Anyway, here is a list of some of the things my mother has said and/or chosen to do throughout the course of BG3 in no particular order:

She is (obviously) romancing Gale. She is quite smitten with him and his passion for books and learning; she also thinks he’s polite and qualifies as “relationship material.” She also REALLY likes the things he’s said about his cat so far (my mom is a cat lady), so I know she’s gonna flip shit when we meet Tara in Act III.

She’s playing a normal druid Tav with a generally good alignment. Her favorite spell is Spike Growth because she thinks it’s hilarious whenever enemies walk into the AOE and die. I usually end up having to cast it at least once per battle per her request. Sometimes twice.

Contrary to her alignment, my mother tasks me with robbing every single chest, crate, barrel, and burlap sack we come across; this also includes people and their pockets. The party is always at max carrying capacity. ALWAYS. She doesn’t like selling things because “what if I need them.” The camp stash is in literal shambles. There is no hope of organizing it. She’s got like fifty seven sets of rags and a billion pieces of random silverware.

She MUST talk to every animal and corpse in the game. I think five hours of her total playtime so far (47ish) has been spent speaking to animals as many times as humanly possible. Like, I was thorough in my own playthroughs, but this is on a whole other level.

She did NOT get Volo’s lobotomy, but she did let Auntie Ethel take her eye in hopes of a cure for the tadpole. I did not understand the logic then. I still do not understand it now.

She is far more interested in fashion than equipment stats. Do you have any idea how much gold I’ve had to spend on dyes just to make things match? SO much. Same vibe as that “please someone help me balance my finances my family is starving” tweet but instead of candles it’s thirty thousand fucking bottles of black and furnace red dye.

We broke the prisoners out of Moonrise, but they got on the boat too early and bugged the fight by leaving Astarion and Karlach behind. Wulbren Bongle somehow got stuck in combat mode even after engaging the cutscene on the docks below Last Light; he he kept trying to run ALL THE WAY BACK TO MOONRISE nine fucking meters at a time while I frantically tried to finish the fight with the Warden, otherwise Wulbren would have run straight into the shadow curse. (I would’ve let him go; fuck Wulbren Bongle, all my homies hate Wulbren Bongle. But my mom didn’t know that, and she wanted to keep him safe. So.)

She had me reload a save like eighteen times to save the giant eagles on top of Rosymorn Monastery. Wouldn’t even let me do non-lethal damage just to get past things. I think getting that warhammer for the dawnmaster puzzle took us like an hour and a half alone. (Yes, I know you can use any warhammer, but SHE didn’t.)

She’s started keeping an irl notebook to keep track of her quests between play sessions. She writes down ideas and strategies when she thinks of them during the week, then brings them to her next game session at my house. I think she wrote about three pages on possible approaches to the goblin fortress alone.

She insists that I pet Scratch and the owlbear cub before every single long rest, no exceptions. Sometimes I have to do it multiple times until she is absolutely sure that the animals know exactly how much she loves and cherishes them. She has also commissioned a crocheted owlbear plush from a friend of hers and is very excited.

I’m sure there’s a bunch of stuff I’m forgetting, but those are some fun things I thought of. She’s enjoying the game and is telling all of her retired friends to get it and play it for themselves. She asked me “what is Discord” yesterday and I think my life flashed before my eyes.

anyway shout out to my mom for being neat

Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5

[hanaruri-tunes]

The demons’ reactions to Y/N asking them to fuck them (headcanons/short scenarios)

⚠️ As usual MDNI!!!

The MC can be whichever gender you want in this one. (Pretty sure I managed to keep it ambiguous?)

What follows are individual scenarios btw, it’s not MC asking every single one of them at the same time haha (I could write one like that as well though if people like this one? Not sure of how well it would turn out but I could.)

Anyway, enjoy 👇

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Lucifer

He could tell something was different right away. You’re not the type to be shy with them and particularly not him. Sometimes your blatant disrespect towards him is refreshing… sometimes it’s infuriating, and yet here you are now, shifting in place, fiddling with your hands and looking down nervously. It catches his attention right away.

"Is something wrong? Y/N, if something is troubling you, you can tell me. In fact, please do so freely."

"...lease …uck me."

"...Excuse me?"

Surely he heard wrong, no matter how honest you are, there’s no way you would ask something like that with no build up-

"Please, fuck me…"

"..."

Lucifer puts his hand over his mouth, trying to hide his delight in vain. He has always wondered how to go about it, what to plan, how to charm you and get you in the palm of his hands. To think that you would come marching right ahead, falling into his hands on your own just like that. He approaches you, taking you into his arms, feeling up your body against his.

"But of course, no need to be so shy about it. Shall we go upstairs Dear?"

Mammon

Mammon felt like something was a bit different about you tonight. You kept coming closer to him, more than usual, brushing over him, smiling at him in a special way. Were you seducing him? Because if you were, it was 100% effective! But well, wouldn't it be rude to point it out? What if you stop? What if it wasn’t on purpose? So he keeps quiet and you get more and more frustrated with his inaction until it explodes.

"...Don’t you want to fuck me?!"

"Wha- Yes?!?"

Thinking twice? He didn’t even think once. He was surprised for sure but when you ask for something like this, there’s only one correct answer to give. In a flash, he pounces on you.

"Anytime, anyday, whenever you want. Please only come to me Y/N…"

Leviathan

You were harder to handle today than you usually are. Leviathan is used to holding his breath when you hug him or kiss him on the cheek. He’s used to looking away when you bend down or shutting his eyes tight when your face gets too close. But today? Today was different. You kept clinging to him, not giving him any personal space. Constantly praising and teasing him. His heart had skipped at least eleven beats in total, and even that might still be an understatement. Levi ends up breaking, asking you outright if something is wrong.

"C-Could it be that you want something from me? Sorry, I really don’t know um, if uh. Well I just don’t understand where you're getting at."

You hold back the urge to facepalm, well, it’s not like you didn’t see it coming. Leviathan thinks that he’s so unattractive that no one, and especially not you, could ever want him.

You press yourself against him, circling your fingertips on his chest.

"Jeez, you really are an idiot sometimes Leviathan… I want to fuck you. You get it now?"

His third member rises immediately at the request while his mind is still buffering.

"Uhh?? Um, y-yeah? I mean, errr. Are you like, 100- no, 1000% sure? O-Out of all my brothers me??? Isn’t that um, of course I’m not judging but maybe I’m not-"

You kiss him on the corner of his lips, shutting him up.

"I only want you to fuck me, can you do that?"

"Y-Yes. Anything you want...! ♡"

Satan

There he was again, nose stuck in his books. However your perfume caught his attention right away. You always smell nice but this fragrance was different from your usual scent. It was more mature, more seductive, more… He looks up to you, even your clothes show more than usual. Your hairstyle is different as well. Are you going out? So then why did you come to him? He coughs.

"Excuse me for staring. You look very good. Is there a soirée tonight that I’m not aware of?"

You look to the side, a bit flustered. Without a word you sit next to him on the sofa, then you slide your hand on his knee, not daring to go up to his thigh yet.

"...Would you like to fuck me?"

"..."

Silence.

He’s processing your request, making sure he understands your intentions. After a couple of seconds that seemed to go on forever, Satan closes his book and leaves it on the table. Then he leans over you, encouraging your hand to go higher on his thighs.

"Well, since you asked so politely how could I ever turn you down, hm?"

Asmo

He can tell right away what you really want since he is the avatar of lust. However he lets it play out, curious to see how you’ll go about it. Will you be all shy and cute or will you be more confident? He enjoys seeing the gears turning in your head as you’re awkwardly holding your hands together, sweating from the pressure. However he doesn’t want you to be uncomfortable when asking for something as wonderful as sex, especially with him since he is quite the fanatic.

"Relax your shoulders and breathe Y/N♡"

He places his hands on your shoulders, sliding them down your arms then going back up only to fall down again, on your back this time. He starts massaging you, whispering sweet nothings in your ears, making you comfortable and eager rather than nervous and scared.

"...Asmo?"

"Mh-hm?~"

"I’d like you to fuck me, is that okay?"

He stops, then pulls you over. Your back against his chest, he whispers his answer.

"What a coincidence, that’s what I’ve wanted to do to you since the very first time we met♡ How lucky that you asked for it first..."

Beel

Beel is devouring a rotisserie chicken in the kitchen… again. It seems like that’s all he does, everytime you want to find an appropriate moment to ask, well, it never is a good moment. You look at him, your spirits down, readying yourself to leave as usual. Surprisingly, he stops you and invites you to sit down.

"Y/N… Lately you always look sad when I see you. Would you like some? You know if you’re hungry you can always ask me to share."

"That’s not it Beel…"

You look down, discouraged from asking for it. All Beel always thinks and talks about is food anyway. Will he even care if you ask him something like that? Maybe he has no interest in such things, or in you.

Beel puts the food down, looking grim.

"Beel? What’s wrong…?"

"It’s difficult to enjoy the food when you look down, somehow even the taste turns foul when you’re sad."

Your chest feels tight at his words, maybe it would be good to just be honest and get it over with.

"Beel, truth is- Uhh. ... I want you to f-fuck me… But well, I can understand if you’re not interested in that sort of stuf-"

Beel’s eyes light up, his gaze stuck on you.

He takes you into his arms, carrying you out of the kitchen, heading up the stairs.

"B-Beel?!"

"That’s all you wanted? Should’ve said so earlier, I’ll finally be able to quench my hunger for a while."

Belphegor

You came to wake him as you do every morning, since you’re apparently the most skilled at this task according to the others. Still, some days it’s a challenge even for you. Like today for instance: he keeps complaining, bitching and moaning. You’d like to make this easy for the both of you but it’s complicated to keep finding different ways to encourage him to get up. Kisses, hugs, dates, and the exact same offers rarely work for over 3 times in a row. It pisses you off, could it be that he just got tired of you already?

You give up and lie down next to him, sulking and muttering.

"Asshole… What if I asked you to fuck me. Bet you wouldn’t even care, hm?"

Belphie’s eyes shot wide open, then he turned over to you. Extremely attentive to your every move and word.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Only good boys who get up at reasonable times have a right to have a go at me."

He clings onto you greedily, begging you to repeat.

"Come on, pleeease? I’ll get up right away if you ask for it."

"Nope, too late to smother me now."

He puts his hand on your waist, grabbing it firmly and pulling you towards him into the bed.

"...Please? I’ll make you feel so good you’ll be the one to ask to stay in bed."

You ponder it for a bit… Well. Truthfully, you do want him so- Shyly, you ask him.

"Mh. Then um. Will you fuck me good…?"

You feel him smile against your neck, and he answers.

"I promise I won’t let you go until you’re completely satisfied with me. ♡"

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Doneee.

And my askbox is open just so y’all know, no promises on anything but do know that anything you send will definitely be seen/read even if I might not be able to answer to everything! I don’t know if I can say that my "commissions" are open but if you send me ideas and I like them, there is a chance I might write some stuff based on them 🫰

[feyascorner]

Astarion would never admit it, but the charming lines he uses as a constant attempt to seduce you are not all his own.

He’s talented, he knows, at coming up with the heart skipping lines, describing in detail the massive amount of so-called ‘adoration’ he says he can give. He knows how to flirt, and he knows even better that despite the way you roll your eyes, he’s starting to wedge his way into your heart.

But sooner or later, ideas come to an end. And he’s starting to think you’re incapable of falling in love if he’s used all his lines and you still haven’t approached him. Perhaps you just don’t do romance. But hope wavers. Why he’s so adamant on wrapping you of all companions around his finger, he doesn’t know. He knows you’re the most difficult to seduce, yet he can’t help himself.

You’re almost like a drug to him.

So, unable to quit, he turns to his books. They’re sappy romances, and many of the lines even manage to make him scrunch his nose, scoffing at the sheer disbelief of how unrealistic some of the scenarios are. But hours upon hours later, he picks out some of the most upfront lines, because he’s sure you’ll just ignore him otherwise.

He knows you have little interest in romance, but he wants to entice you. He wants to be good enough for you to look at him.

“I must confess that the moment I laid eyes on you, everything in my body and soul told me you were the one.”

You stare at him, eyes lidded and barely fazed. Puzzled, he has no choice but to continue.

“My heart beats terribly, my beloved, whenever I see you bathing in the glory of the sun. My breath quickens, but vanishes when you get a step closer. My very existence, it seems, is meant to yearn for you,” he rattles off the lines of the book, as enticingly as he can, with eyes so seductive that they almost appear to glow. “Your beauty is unmatched with any other. If you asked, I would die—“

“—a million times in the thorns adorning my own desire,” you cut in, and his eyes widen. “The skies could fall and I would use my bloodied body to hold you up again, against the starry nights as a star gleaming brightest in its competition.”

As you finish the line, he blinks, completely and utterly confused. “How did you-“

“It’s my favorite book,” you confess sheepishly.

Astarion, for the first time, sees you as you are. He sees you as the being who yearns for love, just as a young maiden would yearn for their prince—perhaps even more innocent. He’s read you completely wrong, and he feels his throat close up. “It’s…it’s a childish one.”

Your cheeks burn, and he thinks you almost look cute. He rips away from the thoughts though, appalled at what he just considered. “I think it’s romantic.”

“No kind of love is so ideal.”

And while your face falls, you lift your head to look at him with squinted eyes. “…next time, just make your own lines—-or, at least, don’t choose ones that don’t fit you.”

“Don’t fit me? How so?”

“I doubt we would’ve fallen in love at first sight. You had a knife to my throat.”

“A loving knife.”

You stifle a laugh, and he swears he can’t take his eyes off of you. “Well…if you want, I have other books in my tent if you want to see…I have a few you might like, or at least, help.”

He just stares at you, only realizing moments later that you were awaiting an answer. “Ah, of course, darling. I’d love to accompany you. Perhaps I’ll learn a new line or two, though I doubt any writing has as much charisma as myself.”

You smile softly, nodding. “Okay then. Come over tonight after dinner, and I’ll show you.”

And as you walk away, he thinks that rather than him doing the charming and you falling irrevocably in love with him as it should have gone, your interaction has left him charmed instead.

It seems the romance novels are more than just effective at their jobs.

[neil-gaiman]

Hello Mr Neil,

I want to share how I feel about Sherryl the supermodel from Good Omens. You've answered a question previously when someone felt that her representation was lacking empathy (re the visual effects note in the script book, although the scene was cut), and I want to offer my thoughts to help people who felt that way about Sherryl.

The book (Good Omens, not the scripts, which I haven't read) plays with dark topics and makes them absurd and fun, aiming the jabs at the systems that (mis)guide or harm people (there are Beliefs, the People who Believe them, and the odd ways of living that make sense to them). Famine's D-Plan sums up the diet industry and a culture of starvation: of course we don't laugh /at/ Sherryl, we understand (because of everything the novel sets up) that like every other human she does her best with the frameworks she's got. It's empathetic, because that's what Good Omens is. Understanding that let me reframe the knee-jerk reaction I had on my first read of the scene in the book.

[For the TV show, though, as you've explained in the past, certain things had to be adapted to the time. I wonder sometimes - because I know that you do these things well - how you felt about approaching Sherryl nearly 30 years later.]

I think the trouble for me was that the scene in the book felt cruel at first. Now, I think 'A skeleton in a Dior dress' beautifully sums up the sacrifice of her humanity to become New York's top model. It's death dressed up - that's how such extremely-ill supermodels *should* appear to us if only we were unblinkered. One should see plainly the actual violence in an emaciated person's appearance. Maybe growing up with early 2000s aggressive body-shaming British TV shows and an overweight mother of Sherryl's generation as well as personal experience of anorexia made the 'skeleton' image feel cruel, now-overdone and recognisable to the nastiest unhealed bits in my psyche.

I think the frightened human animal in me initially recoiled from the dehumanisation. The pit of me jerked at the descriptions of Sherryl that felt like real insults, pulled straight from mainstream body-shaming media of my formative years. Of course, Good Omens predates this - thin was in, religiously, and the scene was subversive then - but that was my initial bodily feeling, not a thoughtful response. I describe it to illustrate where the challenge was, after we've gone from skinny worship in the 90s, to domestic skinny enforcement, to skinny shame, to wherever we are now in the popular orthorexic fitness culture and clean-eating minefield etc etc. Starvation dehumanises, and Sherryl was sick to the point of being inhuman - the scene under a microscope might feel complicit in dehumanisation to the sensibilities of teens and young adults today (for the same reason that people in Trafalgar Square can't see England), but within the book it humanises Sherryl by showing you plainly what awful thing has happened to her.

What the book did for me was let me delight in a sense of humour that makes difficult things totally absurd and therefore perfectly understandable. It told me, everyone is doing their best (to the best of their understanding), and when the fun-poking poked at my own pressure points, it said, lovingly, yes, you too. Many things about the book are like laughing with a friend or receiving a warm hug - it makes the big things so silly, and shared, and okay.

Thanks :) x <3

I am glad that is how you saw her. That is how we saw her. (I'm reminded of the only time I was ever at a high fashion event, where I found myself profoundly shocked by the incredible thinness of the models, and how sorry for them I felt, and how I wanted to feed them soup and stew and sandwiches. And of a high fashion model I knew a little, when she went out with a friend of mine, who told me that some girls she knew used heroin to stop the hunger pains, injecting themselves between their toes, and later I learned that my friend broke up with her when he learned she was a heroin addict.)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

My Girl 3

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as possible age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your brother’s friend from work starts hanging out a lot more often. (short!reader)

Characters: Captain Syverson

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

You carefully pull the pastry over the slices of apple a cinnamon. You twist the corners together to complete the effect and hold it in place. Your blossoms are your specialty. You'll sprinkle coarse sugar over the top before you put them in the oven but for now, they'll have to rest. Your mother still has food cooking for the main course. 

You start another one, roll it out the pastry, slice it just so, wrap, and twist…  

The front door clatters and you hear Isaac say hello to your mom on her way in, “where's dad?” He adds on. 

“He'll be home soon,” she chimes. She's indulging in some wine for all her hard work in the kitchen. 

You can't help but long for your bed and the book you left on your pillow. The real world is always so monotonous. You enjoy baking but you'd rather finish the chapter. Sigh, you suppose that comes with the human condition; you're obligated to acknowledge the non-fictional slog. 

“Hey,” the deep rumble cuts through the air like the distance approach of some lingering dragon in its lair. You pop your head up and look over as Sy sets down his usual courtesy; beer and wine. He looks at you then the pan you line with pastry and fruit. “Er, whatcha making?” 

You look back to your hands and finish the twist, “apple blossoms.” 

“Mm, I like apple,” he steps closer to the counter, stopping at the counter, wavering as if he's afraid to come any further.  

“Thanks, er, oh, me too,” you shrug awkwardly, “my grandma taught me.” 

“Ah,” he nods and looks to the side, scratching his beard as he puffs out, “how's… how's your book?” 

You rinse of your hands, drying them thoroughly, “it's alright. I read it before.” 

“Tolkien, right?” He wonders. 

You nod. 

“Ahem, yeah, I… I started… the Fellowship one… pretty good so far.” 

“Oh? You did?” You face him. 

“I pick it up on my break, get a few pages here and there,” he chews his lip and pats his front pocket, feeling along it before dipping his fingers into the fabric, his brow slanting, “I… I made this.” 

He slides out a long flat piece of metal. It's slender and delicate, corner rounded to an oval, with elven patterning along its face. You squint and lean in to have a better look. 

“Wow. What is it?” 

“It's for you,” he says abruptly, “I mean it's a bookmark. I made it for you.” 

“Me?” You wonder as your eyes round, “that’s…” you look him in the face, “why– you didn't have to do that, Sy.” 

“Eh, it isn't much,” he holds it out, “be good to keep your place and all. You never drink the wine or nothing so…” 

“That's… sweet,” you smile and accept the book mark, turning it over. Your name is wrought in beautiful calligraphy on the other side, “it's beautiful.” 

He's quiet as you admire his handiwork. You don't know what else to say. You didn't expect it. You wouldn't expect him to think that much about you. 

“Anything I can help with?” He breaks the stuffy silence, made more stolid by the radiating heat of the stove. 

“Um, no, I'm pretty much done,” you move the pan of blossoms to the other counter, “but thank you.” 

“Ain't no trouble,” he assures and taps the countertop with his thick fingers, “s'pose I'll see ya at dinner.” 

“Sure,” you say over your shoulder. 

You wait until he's gone and back up, looking down at the bookmark. You can't believe how nice it is. How delicate. How can someone like him make something so elegant? Once more you’re reminded of the brutish dwarves and their renowned creations. 

You'll have to do something for him. To make it even. You don't know much about Sy but you know about Tolkien. You're sure you'll come up with something. 

📖

You sit down for dinner. It seems a lot for just a Wednesday. You won't complain even if you would rather be reading. Your mom has put together a merry feast which could feed a king himself. 

The chair beside you scrapes out and you expect Isaac to elbow you as he always does. Instead, he takes the chair across from you. Sy claims the seat to your left. He’s so big, he can’t help but brush your arm with his thick one. You send him a meek smile and he nods. 

As you serve yourselves from the glistening roast and potatoes and medley of salads and veggies, your mother flutters around offering to fill glasses. When she finally sits, she can barely stay still. 

“So, I know this is a lot,” she begins, “but I have news I wanted to share and this is my little surprise celebration.” 

You quirk your head and Isaac barely reacts as he cuts into the pork. 

“I've been given a really big opportunity at work and I'll be heading up a new project,” she's shaking with excitement, “in London.” 

“London?” You echo and look around. 

Isaac chews around his confusion as he finally reacts but your dad only smiles at your mother. You try to muster some positivity but you’re too surprised. This is a bigger twist than any book you’ve read. 

“I'll be gone for three weeks,” she says, “so yeah, I'll miss you all. I know it's all very sudden but I can't pass this up and I know you'll be okay.” 

“What?” Isaac chokes down his food. 

“Congratulations,” Sy says, “that's big news.” 

“When do you leave?” You ask. 

“Friday.” 

“Friday?” You gasp. 

“I know it's short notice but there were details to be confirmed and–” 

“Mom,” you squeak, “that's… that's great. I'm happy. Just… surprised.” 

“What are we gonna do?” Isaac whines. He dramatically sits back and rubs his cheeks. 

Sy clears his throat, “you're grown. You'll figure it out. You should be happy for your mother.” 

“He's right,” your dad growls, “your mom worked hard for this.” 

“We'll be okay,” you wisp, assuring yourself as much as everyone else. 

“Won't be long at all,” your mother beams even as she gets teary-eyed, “I'll call you every day.” 

📖

After dinner, you offer to clear the table. You want to think. You’’ll miss your mom when she’s gone. You assume you’ll be doing much of the cooking in her absence. You don’t mind, she always does so much. But that isn’t the only thing that will go away with your mom.  

It’s just disappointing that you were away for college and finally get back home and she’s leaving. You wasted the time you did have. You shouldn’t have spent all those hours with the Fellowship. You should have spent it in reality. Funny how fast your perspective can shift. 

You finish up tidying as you hear the voices from the front porch. The smell of the apple blossoms lace the air with cinnamon. You take them out of the oven, they’re perfectly golden and some of the apply good noose oozes out the little slits in the side. You plate each with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and take them out two at a time. 

You elbow out onto the porch, the snap of the screen door announcing your arrival. Your mom and dad sit on the porch swing as Sy stands across from them leaning on the railing. You force out a ‘hi’ and hand your parents their plates before you step back. 

“I’ll grab yours,” you say to Sy, “does anyone want tea or coffee?” 

“Oh, peanut, you’re so sweet, I wouldn’t mind some tea... even though I’m sure I’ll have more than enough in England,” she chuckles. 

“Decaf, please,” your dad grins. 

“Alright, will do,” you say. 

“I’ll help,” Sy stands straight, “you’ll have your hands full.” 

“Aw, Sy, you are too much,” your mother preens. 

“Where’s Isaac?” You wonder allow as your hand hovers on the screen door. 

“Moping, somewhere,” your father scoffs. “let him come out for his own dessert, if he wants it.” 

“Oh, right,” you accept and as you turn, a hand grabs the door above yours and pulls it open. Sy is close as he reaches above you to let you inside. You flit ahead of him and he follows with his sturdy steps, pausing to leave his boots on the mat. 

“You don’t have to help,” you say as you grab his plate and offer it to him as he enters the kitchen, “I just gotta put the water on.” 

“Wanna,” he says, “leave mine there. Why don’t you have some?” He insists. 

“I will,” you assure him and reluctantly put the plate back on the counter. 

You turn and flip on the electric kettle. You take out your mother’s favourite mug and a tea ball. As you do that, Sy nears the counter next to you. 

“Where’s the decaf?” He asks. 

“I said you don’t have to,” you giggle out your nerves, “really, I got it.” 

“I said, I want to,” he shrugs, “I don’t mind.” 

You don’t want to argue. How can you? He’s being helpful and you won’t have much of that. Isaac and your dad work so naturally, you’ll be taking on more of the housework. You’re not unhappy at that prospect, you just don’t want things to change so fast. 

“You’re gonna miss your mom?” Again, his questions sound like statements. 

You wince and nod, “yeah,” you close the tea ball and hook the chain on the rim of the cup. He works diligently to loud the coffee maker, measuring out the grounds deliberately. You can’t really explain everything you feel. 

“Well,” he snaps the lid down, “if ya need anything, let me know.” He backs up and goes to the other end of the counter. He slowly turns the plate of pastry and ice cream, “make sure you get some too. Can’t be doin’ all that hard work for nothing.” 

He slides the plate towards him and lifts it. He turns his broad shoulders to you and stalks out. You hear the spook clink into the porcelain before he reaches the front door and he lets out a rumbling purr. Well, at least the dessert turned out. 

[butteronabun]

You’ve been reading too many romance books lately.

Of course, reading is one of your favorite past times, so it’s no surprise to the people if they encounter you occupied with a book. Either the genre be true crime or fantasy, romance books are an indulgence - you give yourself a special time for romance.

You take note of this one particular story: where the female character is a cheeky girlfriend who likes to tease her clearly embarrassed boyfriend. The dynamic is already up to your standards - the standards being: you and Diluc.

In that page, that lady grabbed her man’s waist. The man blushed, not expecting the contact at all, and his lady was delighted by his reaction.

You, who wanted to try this out, did not waste any spare moment. You head to Diluc’s office. You find him standing near his desk, reading some documents, and you approach him with a playful smirk.

Your man is built – crafted and sculpted by the gods who blessed him tremendously; he is a beautiful man with a stocky body due to years of training. With his physique, everything is to die for. You won’t ever let him forget how much you adore him. Not only do you praise him but comfort him in his darkest days - you remind him continuously of how great he is, and kiss his scars in his private quarters.

Diluc notices your presence, and turns around, paperwork seemingly forgotten. ( He must’ve heard your footsteps. ) You don’t hear his term of endearment and his question of what are you doing – you simply face him and grab him by the waist, startling the ever–so composed Master.

“Hey,” you greet with a wink.

Diluc stares at you, and you celebrate when you see his cheeks grow slightly pink. “Hello.”

“Fancy seeing you here.”

“. . .This is my office?”

Imagining such romantic scenarios will always be entertaining - this is why you love reading books. It makes your heart burst. The characters, the stories the experience - everything in a book makes you feel.

But nothing will ever, ever compare to the real thing.

“A table for two, Mr. Ragnvindr?” The waitress asks, with the menus already in her hold.

Diluc gives her a small smile. He casually puts a hand on your waist, and you stiffen in your position. You do not know if Diluc has noticed, and if he does, he chooses not to show it. “Yes. May I request a table with the best view?”

While the two of them are busy conversing, you try not to reveal to the other guests the effect Diluc has made on you. You can feel your cheeks heat up - this isn’t what you signed up for, not at all. It was supposed to be you flustering Diluc!

You feel your knees getting weaker when Diluc’s thumb starts rubbing your waist slowly and sensually through your dress.

As if he is teasing.

As if he —

Oh, gods.

Dinner’s going to be tough.

[wondersinwaynemanor]

Wally meeting Dick's brothers.

Jason

Dick enters the Teen Titans Tower's game room with a boy a few inches shorter than him, wearing a Wonder Woman shirt.

Dick: Kid Flasheroo!!! I'd like you to meet Little Wing, my brother, Jason.

Wally: OH MY GOSH, DICK!!!!! *drops the game console* YOU HAVE A BROTHER? AND YOU CALL HIM LITTLE WING????? That's so adorable!! That makes you Big Wing then?

Dick proudly smiles and brings Jason closer to him.

Wally: Aww. Hi, young man. I'm Wally, Dick's best friend. *he offers his hand and young Jason takes it*

Jason: Hi, Wally. *young Jason smiles brightly and Dick and Wally coo at him* Dick said you have a cool power. What is it?

Wally:*shows his powers by quickly (that doesn't even describe it) buying some pizzas* I got two kinds of pizzas cus I didn't know what you wanted, Little Wing.

Jason: *repeatedly blinks* WOAAAH. Sweet! Thank you, Wally.

Dick: Hey.... *playfully nudges Wally* I get to call him Little Wing. Hmmpf. *he points at his chest* Only. Me.

Wally: *salutes* Aye, aye, Captain. Of course, Robin-O. Your wish is my command. I need my spot in Teen Titans.

Dick: *rolls his eyes, smiling* I don't know what I'm gonna do without you in the group.

Dick and Wally don't even realize that Jason has started eating the pizzas.

Wally: WOAH. The kid is fast.

Dick: Watch out, Kid Flash. Little Wing is after your job.

after the three boys enjoy their pizzas, Wally cradles Dick on his arms while Dick cradles young Jason on his as they speed to the store to get some ice cream. and they go back to the Tower to play some games and read some books.

Tim

Wally: Genuis, hey! I know you're a genuis and all, but all you have to do is call me so I can let you in. *munches on some chips as he lays on the couch of his apartment* Don't do that Batman shit on me.

Dick: Guess what? I'm not the genuis one anymore. *smiling widely*

Wally: What you talking about? *about to stand up to get another bag of chips in the kitchen*

Dick: Presenting... *somersaults for dramatic effect* Tim, my brother.

A young boy with similar features with Dick and Jason, dark hair and blue eyes, enters the apartment.

Dick: Mostly known as Baby Bird. He figured out the code of your apartment and I didn't even tell him. How awesome, huh?

Wally is already beside Tim in less than a second.

Tim: Hi, Wally. *young Tim waves shyly* I know you. You're... *whispering* Kid Flash.

Dick: He figured mine and B's identities. Figured he knows yours too. *proudly says as he gently pats the top of Tim's hair*

Wally: MEGA AWESOME!!!! *he shakes Tim's hand* You're the new Genuis, huh. Can you tell me more secrets? Like what's Dick's favorite... No, wait. Second, no.. Hmmm. Sixth? *he counts with his fingers* Twelfth favorite place to visit? I've been trying to figure it out so I can take him there this year.

Tim: *looks at Dick* Hmm. I'm sure I'll figure it out with a few clues.

Wally: That's my man!! *he offers a high five and Tim tiptoes to hit Wally's palm*

Dick: *laughs* Hey, I'm right here.

they sit on Wally's couch as they enjoy some documentaries cus of course, Tim suggests it. Dick and Wally go along for the ride. Wally pleads for Dick to give a clue on his 12th favorite place in the entire world to visit.

Damian

Wally: Your cookies are still the very best I've had, Alfred. *says in between as he drowns his mouth for more cookies*

Alfred: *smiles as he cleans the kitchen at the Manor* Thank you, Mister West.

Ahem.

Damian: Excuse me. Aren't you supposed to be the new Flash?

Wally: OH MY GOSH!!! *he nearly jumps back from his seat and looks down at the small figure of a boy with a cat on his arms* Hi, little man. Yes, I am. I'm Wally. You are?

Damian: Tt. I thought you'd be able to quickly notice my approach. But when the stomach has a goal, you don't really pay much attention to your surroundings.

Wally: *opens his mouth and looks down at his stomach* Well, I'm always hungry.

Alfred: *warns from the kitchen* Master Damian.

Wally: Wait.. Damian?.... Aren't you Bruce's kid-

Dick: Dami! DAMI! *enters the kitchen and blinks at Wally then at Damian and then vice versa again* There you are, Dami. *approaches the two* Hey, Wally. Sorry to keep you waiting.

Wally: Hey, don't sweat on it, Dick. I can wait. Besides, I'm all comfortable here. *shoves another cookie on his mouth which earns a smile from Dick and a look of disgust from Damian*

Dick: Looks like you two have met already. Wally, this is Damian, my littlest brother. Dami, this is Wally, the Flash -

Damian: I know who he is. And don't use the word little on me, Grayson. *Dick and Wally watches Damian as he puts down the cat and grabs two cookies for himself* It's nice to meet you, West.

Wally: *looks at Damian's tiny hand and he thinks how much he wants to pinch his cheeks* Nice to meet you, Damian.

After Wally thanks Alfred for the cookies and pinches Damian's cheek gently, which earns a tt from the boy, he walks with Dick to his car parked outside of the Manor.

Wally: He has a few of Bruce's features. He's so cute!

Dick: Well, I'm lucky to have the cutest brothers.

Meanwhile in the kitchen.

Damian: Does Father know?

Alfred: About what, Master Damian?

Damian: About Grayson and West.

Alfred: He's a detective. I'm sure he knows.

Damian: I doubt it. *eats another cookie*

[chireikiden]

Might be a pretty basic take by the standards of more seasoned yuri fans, but it's my perspective as someone who's mostly read yuri in a Touhou context (though a lot of it), and exclusively manga from the Japanese fans as opposed to i.e. written fics.

Touhou yuri (using it very broadly here to describe any kind of wlw shipping present) is, across the board, in a pool of fan literature going back twenty years, remarkably good at taking the lesbian part for granted. Not counting outright het content or works that simply don't bring it up, I have only very vague memories of a character's lesbian orientation being either denied or even brought to question (even in the cliche "But we're both girls!" manner, which even as a somewhat dead horse trope you might still expect to see, given plenty of doujin writing isn't exactly highbrow). You might be able to read "Does she like girls?" between the lines in the usual question of "Does she like me?" if you really want to, but the way it's still basically treated as default is fun to me. There's a reason Touhou basically has honorary yuri status on e.g. Dynasty Reader, even the stories with effectively zero shipping in them. You might not notice if you haven't browsed the site, but it's literally nothing but yuri + Touhou. We even got upload rights just so we could post more Touhou.

(Of course, Touhou being yuri city is part of the reason any hint of straight romance gets a really strong kneejerk reaction from people, including me. But that's also because the lack of usable male characters makes that shipping inherently hamfisted, up to and including literally making up cardboard villager OCs. Basically the only positive example I can remember off the top of my head is Hisona's An Old Poem for the Cuckoo Bird depicting Youki with a 1000-year-old mostly joking crush on Nue, which after some chin-scratching I decided I liked alright. And Hisona of course has plenty of yuri cred to cover for it.)

But although taken for granted, most Touhou yuri is one or more of: a.) On a "blushing maidens thinking about holding hands" level in its approach to romance, b.) Only depicting the starting moments of a relationship, at best - usually just pining, c.) Only off-handedly teasing, basically to acknowledge the ship is there, d.) Showing a very close and loving relationship but leaving the romance part subtextual, even if thinly veiled.

While those are all fine - some of my favorite artists like e.g. Ashiyama undeniably fall under d.) - it means that artists who depict more established couples, and couples that get depicted as more established, stand out. I love when a story is very blunt about two characters, whether the focus is actually on them or not, already being an item. Be it due to a difference in target demographic or what, many of these works seem to have a slight lean towards being more raunchy/horny even when not outright R-18, but I don't actually mind that too much when it does happen - as long as they're fun and raunchy, as opposed to only raunchy or, god forbid, unfun in raunchy ways.

I like how Moyazou depicts Mokou and Keine as basically-married. I like how Atoki depicts YuuParu or SakiYachi after drawing like twenty books of them (each). I like when Kawayabug depicts Tojiko as Miko's beleaguered wife. But the example of the day is obviously risui (of Ladies of Scarlet Devil Mansion), who you might have guessed inspired this ramble. Funnily enough, in LoSDM she seems to have walked back Meiling and Sakuya's relationship coincidentally at the same time she toned down the content to fit SCoOW's guidelines, compared to her usual works that have MeiSaku at a much more established and mutual stage.

But the point stands that it's really fun to see LoSDM almost rub it in your face from the very start - from Meiling's dream to every other conversation she has - that everyone in it is unapologetically and openly lesbian, assumes everyone else to be a lesbian, and doesn't hesitate to talk about it like a (romcom idiot) adult.

Also, risui draw lady very good

[fefairys]

"The way Vriska introduces herself to John says everything about her, and about their relationship, and really, her relationship with everyone. She forcefully interrupts a moment that is deeply important and emotional to him, thereby probably denying that opportunity from ever happening again, just so she can insert herself into his life and force him to pay attention to her. Now here she is again, being kind of rude (e.g. calling him stupid), but more than that, being vaguely obsequious overall, which is something about her I was harping on in the last book. Vriska cozies up to certain kinds of people, namely those she wants something from or feels will elevate her status by association. John's the perfect mark for the manipulative, ass-kissing games she plays. Since we're in the Vriska Zone now and forever, I'll just keep talking about her. It bears more examination of how her manipulation strategy seems to deftly blend ass-kissing and aggression. Successfully manipulative, sociopathically charismatic people tend to have this balance down to a science. The strategy seems to involve controlling the interplay between flattery, appealing to common interests, charming or flirtatious rhetoric, and little jabs, negs, or outright insults to keep the target off-balance. The target gets sort of hooked by the fascinating spectacle, intrigued, and strangely disarmed. Too much flattery results in suspicion, too much negativity is a turn-off (or taken to an extreme like Karkat, results in not being taken seriously at all). The barbs mixed in with the flattery are effective because they lead the target to think, "If this person really wants something from me, why would they insult me?" Of course, this is how pick-up artists operate, which isn't far off from Vriska's mindset when pursuing her goals—which, although more broad than romantic goals, are still mixed in with them, with the end result being part of the overall power play. Over the course of her tactics focused on John to make herself more relevant, when actual romantic designs start seeping into the fabric of her manipulation campaign, that's when it all starts to get...A Little Bit Weird.

We've already seen a lot of Vriska's tactics on display in Hivebent, with mixed results. By now she's had a lot of practice, and she's bringing all her skills to bear on the perfect rube for her schemes, this nerdy, gullible Egbert kid. The romantic angle that surfaces from this effort, as I just implied, is vaguely troubling. How else to describe it... ? Icky, maybe? Something is off about it, and we feel that more than John does, obviously because we know a lot more about her than he does. For Vriska, are the romantic desires real? Is she such a mess inside that she wouldn't be able to tell whether the feelings are genuine or not? It's more likely that it's all about the ego boost, the power trip involved with grooming this hapless fool into the thing she wants him to be, and hoodwinking him into feeling something for her. But for him, it's probably more sincere. His first awkward experience with romance, albeit one contrived by a manipulator. Too bad he has no idea that none of this even has anything to do with him. It's still just about Vriska's gamesmanship with Terezi, who is another person exhibiting many of the aforementioned qualities of a manipulator. Terezi just uses hers to target a different boy. Both are highly successful with their boywork, but they take very different approaches." -Andrew Hussie

[eldritch-spouse]

What if Santi's Minx was a woman in a loveless marriage looking to take revenge on her cheating husband?

 

Basically, s/o is married to a rich man who would rather have sex with his mistress, s/o, who has a high sex drive (obviously she's Santi's match for a reason), so of course she is extremely unsatisfied, and the toys she's bought are just not cutting it anymore. So she thinks, "You know what? The children have left the nest, and I don't have to pretend to be happy with their father anymore."

There was a popular club nearby; she dolled herself up to the nines and left her husband a text she was going out, which he probably won't read anyway. As soon as she sat down at the bar and ordered a drink, the regret started sinking in.

This was the nightmare of every introvert. In that moment, she wanted to come and find somebody to screw, but now that she's faced with the options, she would rather drink herself half-blind. It wasn't until a handsome stranger with bull-like horns and hypnotizing eyes approached her that her night lightened up.

He was a charming fellow and very persistent, even when she stumbled over herself and stuttered like an idiot. She couldn't help but zone in on the fact that he wasn't human. Being raised among humans and only feeling the touch of a human made her curious about monsters, especially monster cocks.

Santi was his name; she would never forget it after screaming it throughout the night. Speaking of night, she was pretty sure none of her holes were left unstretched; all her demands were satisfied, and she came thrice as much with Santi's fucking as with her husband's. It was no wonder she eagerly snatched the card with his number on it.

Every day she had him, the more she started noticing small details about him: the way his facial expression twitched while reading a book, the genuine smile he would give her, and the way he looked at her with that soft look in his eyes. He was everything her husband wasn't. Sure, he slept with others like her husband, but he did it to survive; he did it to not hurt her. But her husband? Whatever excuse that bastard had, she didn't want to hear it. Santi was warm and her husband was cold; she'd no longer have to pray that her husband would find his way back into her bed so that she wouldn't feel so cold and alone, not when Santi was as hot as a furnace and all too happy to whisper, 'I love you's, back to her.

She decided not to drag herself along anymore; she was ready for divorce, but for a final time, she'd make sure to rub how much better she's doing with Santi in her soon-to-be ex-husband's face.

 

I can just imagine Santi's Minx planning a dinner of four for the two of them with her husband and his mistress. The husband's face pales when he sees Santi walk in, and he realizes his wife can do so much better than him.

Oh your plan is utterly devious. He likes it.

Santi's actually looking forward to meeting the loser that would rather be in bed with subpar scraps than a vixen such as you. He's heard this story a million times, men intimidated by the appetites of their partners, becoming distant, leading those partners crawling to fiends like him. That he'd meet his match in such a way is a massive stroke of luck.

Before Santi walks in with you, he makes it a point to ruffle your feathers and stuff his tongue down your throat. Enough so you walk in with some color on your cheeks.

The high-ranker gives you an award winning smile before handing you a small vial and promising to do something you're going to love. He usually doesn't deal in the kind of substances your vial contains, in fact, he's made it a point to destroy sources of such throughout his life. But what you carry is a certain monster's type of numbing "poison" which makes an incubus' charms and pheromones have little to no effect in you. If you trust him enough to down it, then you're in for a very fun dinner date.

The demon makes sure his hand is around your waist when he walks towards the table you requested, hugging the squish of your body as if it had always been his. He hardly muffles a snort at the little man you got married to. An absolute waste of time, the kind of male that does nothing in bed, something he'd bite for breakfast and promptly toss out the door. And the woman beside him, surprisingly looking more bored than anything. A woman who no doubt already noticed her only gain in being a side-piece to this man is the money.

Sad.

The dinner starts out cordially. Well, as cordial as it can be when you and your ex-husband are clearly having a peacocking competition. All of you order something to eat, Santi orders something to drink, many subtle digs are made at your husband's lack of sexual finesse, with Santi effortlessly setting up traps amidst the conversation, which your agitated and insecure ex-lover readily falls for. He doesn't make a single pass at his mistress, but she's looking at him anyway, for rather shameless amounts of time.

Then the fun really starts, as Santi begins silently pumping his pheromones out and shooting stares at both your ex and his mistress. It works like a filthy charm. While you are relatively composed, the man and his lover begin to sweat in place, to lose their cool, fawn over Santi restlessly. He brings them down to unfathomably horny lows where they not so subtly proposition him. And then, all control is handed to you.

In this state, they will do anything he commands them to under the velveteen promise of relief. So what would you have them do, minx? Crawl outside on all fours? Clean the soles of your shoes? Would you like to see Santi make them orgasm in their own clothes?

He wouldn't mind fucking them into putty just as a sign of dominance, but you get to decide whether or not that happens. After all, this is your special night.

[mororlesbian]

I think that what the PJO TV series is doing, at least so far, is impressing just how dangerous monsters are to young demigods and how lucky our main trio is in surviving this long. The books did this too, of course, but when comparing them to the TV series and the minor changes made when adapting them and being able to fully realize that yes these are 12 year old kids facing ancient terrors ready and willing to murder them, they accomplish slightly different things. Namely, in TLT, the Disney+ adaptation shows us the dangers of the world demigods live in, while the books communicate, sometimes unintentionally, just how strong Percy is and how much potential he has.

For instance, the Furies. Mrs. Dodds is the first monster Percy faces in both, that stays the same. However, in the books, Alecto takes Percy away to a secluded place, interrogates him, then tries to kill him. In the series, for simplicity's sake, we skip the seclusion and jump straight to the interrogation. Percy, scared and confused out of his mind for good reason, stumbles and falls over, and manages to stab Alecto before she reaches the killing stage, taking her by surprise. IN THE BOOK, Percy immediately starts fighting for his life. He dodges a godsdamn Fury, catches a pen out of the air, and then does 'the only thing that [comes] naturally': SWINGS THE SWORD and KILLS A FURY. A reminder that Furies, in the original myths, were ancient creatures of violence and destruction that Athena herself had to pacify, thus earning them the moniker 'Kindly Ones.' And Percy, a 12 year old child, kills one with no training. Like, yes, she clearly didn't expect him to be armed, but she's older than the Olympians. She and her sisters hunted Thalia down, too, so it isn't like she's out of practice or something. Percy just has killer instincts and intrinsic talent to match. This sets a little bit of a different tone going forward: where in the show, Percy survives purely by catching Alecto off guard, showing the full danger of the world and the monsters and gods within it, in the book, he beats a Fury with just about every disadvantage imaginable. He's still terrified, and it effectively communicates just how much danger a demigod is in at any given moment, but it also shows that Percy is ridiculously dangerous in his own right.

The bus encounter takes this a step further. Whereas the book places Percy, Annabeth, and Grover in imminent danger, the show takes a different approach, instead opting for the Furies' goal to be somewhat clear, to the point of Alecto talking to Annabeth and proposing a deal. Annabeth, with all the skill of 5 years of training, distracts a Fury and lands a knife throw, but even as the trio escapes, Alecto is largely unconcerned. She lets their diversion play out, allows them to run, and confronts them at Medusa's lair knowing full well that she has the upper hand. She's not distracted, she knows every trick each of the questers could pull out. To her knowledge, there is absolutely no way they can win as they are, and the audience recognizes this by the way she acts. The only way they beat her is by, once again, taking her by surprise. Medusa's severed head made invisible is something Alecto never expected, and thus the danger of the world and the luck and genius of our trio is reinforced. The bus scene in the book, though, continues with the trend of making Percy an inexperienced threat to the status quo. Upon revealing himself, the Furies hesitate. Dodds wraps her burning whip around his hand, impeding him and making his hand feel like it was 'wrapped in molten lead', but Percy is still able to fend off both of her sisters at once, knocking one away and killing the other. Again, these monsters are older that the Olympians and wildly dangerous. Annabeth and Grover both take on Alecto, and in the time it takes for them to restrain her, Percy kills the third Fury and has a moment to tell Dodds to eat his pants in Latin. It's a tense encounter, and the risk posed to all three heroes is felt throughout, but once again, Percy is shown to be a force unto himself, taking out two Furies with his sword hand not at full capability.

The books definitely aren't always the most accurate in terms of in-universe power balancing, but I think we can look at The Lightning Thief like this. Book!Percy is an example of why Big Three children were forbidden. With no and minimal training, and very little in the element of surprise, he manages to amass kills on all three Furies. The world is deadly, and the books and his narration definitely get that point across, but it also gives us a glance of what Percy has the potential to be, if he survives long enough to grow into it. The series, with the visual of three literal children on a quest while being hunted by terrors, some older than anybody they know, including Mr. D and Chiron, shows us exactly why Camp Half-Blood's population is so sparse and young, why Thalia never made it to safety, why Luke's quest was the last until now, and why the gods ignoring their children is such an issue, aside from the obvious of making their kids feel unloved and unwanted. Their world is hazardous, and the demigods are in constant danger outside of Camp. The Furies are relentless, only able to be beaten when caught off guard and largely unconcerned by the heroes they face. Monsters are forces of nature, overcome with a combination of luck, surprise, and skill. The danger is pervasive, even in media made suitable for kids, and the alternative perspective this medium is able to take is going to make the progression of the series so satisfying.

[fliflaflux]

Sharess Caress with Astarion - a little analysis

CW: The following text deals with coping with the trauma of sexual and physical violence.

» When you met his eye for a moment, there's a look about him that reveals he's a milion realm away «

The scene with the Drow twins is often discussed - But what was astarion thinking in agreeing to the whole thing in the first place? I try to analyze a little what might be going on in the head of our favorite vampire. Might is important here, because of course I cannot know exactly.

First of all, what will I be referring to when I write about Astarion's trauma?

» "In the immediate aftermath of trauma, the victim's personality organization is disintegrated, and experiences of self and world are fragmented and chaotic. With the passage of time, the survivor's symptoms consolidate into recognizable patterns, such as intrusive memories, emotional numbness, and exaggerated startle responses." « (From: Herman, J. L. Trauma and Recovery: The Aftermath of Violence--from Domestic Abuse to Political Terror. Basic Books.)

Or in short: it's a mess.

Trial-and-Error

Treating trauma is a complicated matter and in many cases requires the help of a therapist. However, I have not yet heard of any therapists in Faerûn - so Astarion is on his own (Or he and Tav.) So I theorize that he's trying the trial-and-error method to find his own boundaries after Cazador is defeated.

Trial-and-error methods in trauma therapy refer to the process by which therapists and patients try and adapt different treatment approaches and techniques to identify those that are most effective in addressing trauma sequelae and promoting healing. In this approach, therapy is viewed as an iterative process in which both therapists and patients experiment together to find the best treatment approaches that best meet the patient's individual needs, resources and responses.

It is important to note that trial-and-error methods in trauma therapy are typically not used in isolation but as part of a more wide-ranging therapeutic approach. Here's from the book "The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma" by Bessel van der Kolk: » "The healing process often involves trial and error as therapists and clients explore different techniques and approaches to determine what works best for the individual." «

But the thing is that Astarion doesn't have a therapist. His approach of agreeing so quickly may be one to find his hard boundaries in order to be able to work with them. However, in this case he had no one to support him. No one to catch him when he started to disassociate (when he is miles away). Not to mention that jumping into bed with two strangers and his love might have been a bit too much of a jump from 0 to 100.

He certainly wants to have a 'normal' relationship with Tav, which includes sleeping together. Just because he is traumatized in this way doesn't mean that he doesn't want any more physical closeness. On the contrary: I even think that he really wants this unforced closeness out of his own desire. But he's not completely ready for it yet. But it's in character for him over the course of the game that he doesn't think long about the offer with the Drow twins, but agrees straight away. And completely overreaches himself.

Good or bad decision?

So is it a bad decision to suggest Astarion visit the brothel at all? No. I have and will always make it dependent on my player character and how it fits into the roleplay. Because Astarion agrees of his own free will. Part of his character arc is that he learns to make his own decisions and have his own experiences. This also means that he has the right to make wrong decisions. These can also be learned from in the process of healing. Every experience is important.

Cheers! -Flux

[beigetiger]

I would adore a post about how Skulduggery treated Valkyrie in phase 1, your stuff is so fun to read

HEHEHEHEH IVE BEEN ENABLED

There is so much stuff to unpack in phase 1 it’s kind of ridiculous, but I’m going to talk about literally whatever comes to mind because this would be SO fun to talk about.

The first thing that comes to my mind when I think of their super early dynamic is that Skulduggery really neglects Valkyrie’s physical needs as a living human. In book 2, Valkyrie mentions how she hardly ever gets the opportunity to eat or sleep because she spends so much time doing things, but brushes it off as just another sacrifice it takes to be with him. This was one of the first things I noticed while also reading this book. Skulduggery doesn’t need to eat or sleep, and Valkyrie doesn’t want him to leave her behind and so just…doesn’t tell him that she actually needs something, and he’s too caught up doing his own thing and viewing her as a fully responsible adult to note that she’s not getting the basic necessities for a teenager. He does eventually get better in this way of course, doing things like adjusting parts of his house so Valkyrie can eat and sleep without the back and forth of going home.

There is also, of course, the repeated endangerment. Phase 1 Valkyrie never holds it against him of course (even phase 2 Val barely mentions it), but he definitely has no problem bringing her into situations where she’s likely to be killed, including situations that are kind of unnecessary (like him telling her to drive a truck when she’s thirteen on account of the fact that it would be funny). I think a big moment of reflection for him was in The Faceless Ones where Valkyrie’s tooth gets broken and it’s a really traumatic experience for her, but she holds a brave face for Skulduggery and only breaks down crying when Kenspeckle expresses worry over her. The book kind of brushed over his reaction to it, but I really think he realized in that moment that he was actually hurting Valkyrie with the standards he was enforcing on her. This point is honestly pretty straightforward, but it’s also pretty relevant to their phase 1 dynamic and so I wanted to mention it. Pretty much all the trauma Valkyrie has can be arguably traced back to Skulduggery.

Because while Skulduggery definitely loves her and has his protective moments over her, he really does have an insistence on treating her as an adult, even at the points when she was barely a teenager. It gives Valkyrie a life where she has no safety bars on anything she does and is free to make her own mistakes and possibly get herself killed. And while he is willing to step in and help if she requests it, Valkyrie is also ridiculously independent (a trait that Skulduggery also encouraged) and clearly tried to avoid going to him with personal problems as best she could. While there are definitely issues to this approach to raising Valkyrie, I think Skulduggery was hoping to avoid becoming overly controlling of her and instead overcompensated by giving her full control of her own life, for better or for worse. Alternatively, it could be that Valkyrie’s extended freedom originally came from a branch of Skulduggery’s neglect of her, and later on in phase 1 just became a thing of habit.

Now, Valkyrie is a pretty independent person in phase 1. BUT. Since she has so much control over her own life, she refuses to socialize with other kids her age, which does lead to an emotional dependency on Skulduggery that is really apparent in the earlier half of phase 1. He’s effectively the god of her world, and even if she isn’t forced to do what he wants, she will do it with no hesitation or regard for her own well-being. Even when she’s an older teenager (16-18 range), it’s still pretty apparent that Skulduggery and whatever he wants or says is the first priority in her life, with everything else coming second. I also think this is a big reason as to why she dated Fletcher for a bit, because he was literally the only person she was hanging out with at the time who wasn’t literally hundred of years older than her.

Another thing I wanna point out that I always found really amusing is how physically comfortable they are with each other. Like, they’re detective partners who get into fights together, of course they’re gonna be pretty comfortable with each other, but it’s just so fucking funny. There is an entire scene in Death Bringer where Valkyrie is going about her morning routine (taking a shower, getting dressed, etc) and the whole time Skulduggery is following her around and chatting with her, and neither of them are weird about it or mention it at all. This is literally just normal for them (and also they’re conversation is kind of unhinged, I need to reread DB because there was SO much weird stuff in there). Valkyrie literally sleeps at his house on the regular, sometimes even more so than her own house. When Valkyrie finds out that the man is casually standing in her backyard, her reaction is to let him into her room through the window, which is so weird that even SOLOMON FUCKING WREATH commented on it. And while I do love having characters not being weird about other characters having bodies, having that dynamic between a teenager and an adult that her parents don’t know she hangs out with is absolutely wild.

And speaking of absolutely wild, having a “I’d fight loyally by your side until the end” scene with a fifteen-year-old is crazy, but so in-character for this series. I’m not complaining about it though, because the continual use of that phrase throughout this series sucker-punched my emotions every time and that’s exactly what I’m going for.

Something I also really liked throughout the series is them learning to place more trust in each other. In book 2, Valkyrie actually has a moment where she’s worried he’s going to kill her. In book 4, she’s worried his emotional breakdown will push him to physically harm her. In the first part of book 5, she’s subconsciously worried that he’ll kill her for being Darquesse. In the last part of book 5, she puts up no resistance and instead lies in his arms when he puts a gun to her head and threatens to shoot her. In book six, Skulduggery is brave enough to actually have a discussion with her about being Lord Vile. There are so many more examples of this, but I really adored their slowly growing relationship and how it was depicted throughout phase 1.

Don’t get me wrong though, the whole fiasco with Lord Vile in Death Bringer was really toxic. Specifically the fact that Skulduggery sort of emotionally blackmailed Valkyrie into forgiving him for being Lord Vile? I know that he didn’t mean for her to find out, but taking advantage of an emotionally vulnerable teenager who’s going through an especially rough part of her life right now is not a great thing to do.

I do understand why he did it though, because Skulduggery is really not normal whenever Valkyrie leaves, and he might have gone through another bout of mental instability if she actually left him because of Lord Vile. I think this part of him is best seen in the second half of LSoDM and the first half of DotL. He’s angry, lashes out, emotionally cold, and he threatens tries to shoot an eighteen-year-old for the crime of being Valkyrie’s reflection. He’s also so aggressive when they have to revive Valkyrie with the Sunstone, because he’s scared that he messed up and that he’s now going to lose her forever, which causes him to act really scary towards everyone around him. It’s definitely not a side of him that he likes and that’s why he’s so determined to stay with Valkyrie no matter what. Not phase 1 related, but I will always find Skulduggery’s explanation for what he was doing while Valkyrie was in Colorado hilarious because what do you mean you decided that a lapse in morals would be fine until Valkyrie gets back.

Skulduggery also seems to have a really hard time admitting with words that he loves someone (and given his history, I really do not blame him) but Valkyrie casually saying that she loves him in KotW and teasing him about it while Skulduggery will express that he loves her in literally any way other than actually saying the goddamn words (it takes him seven fucking years to actually say “I love you” yahoo) and it made for some really sweet but also heart-wrenching moments in the last three books of phase 1. Because Valkyrie doesn’t really need him to say that he loves her, because she knows it already. But still having him refuse to say it does kind of sting, and it’s fun to watch the two of them dance around their emotions like funny little acrobats.

What makes Skulduggery and Valkyrie’s dynamic in phase 1 so wild to me is the way that it kind of casually glazes over the raging abuse going on, but I actually really like that because it highlights just how much this series is written from Valkyrie’s perspective. She loves him so damn much, and you really can’t blame her for it. He gave her a life where she could express herself and do what she wanted and be with people that made her happy instead of being stuck in a school she hated, with people she hated, in a life she hated. She was traumatized and scarred by him but he gave her the opportunity to actually live, and no way in hell was she ever going to risk giving that life up and going to back to what she had before. Toxic as their phase 1 relationship was, he represented her freedom and autonomy and Valkyrie viewed any hardships she went through as a simple sacrifice necessary to keep what she had. It’s not healthy, but you kind of get it.

I love their phase 1 relationship so much, but there is so much to unpack between them and I definitely missed a lot, so everyone else feel free to add on your rambling.

[jacksprostate]

Treatise on why No, the doctor just giving the narrator of Fight Club (full name) his requested sleep medication or sending him to therapy would not have Fixed Him

Firstly, saying giving him the insomnia meds would’ve fixed him ignores the reason he has insomnia in the first place. He is so deeply upset by his place in society that he literally cannot sleep. Drugging him to sleep would not change that. That, of course, is the easy, quick response.

But with regard to therapy? The biggest flaw is that it ignores a central tenet of the book. Part of what tortures the narrator and drives him to invent Tyler is that his feelings about this collective, systemic issue are constantly reduced to a Just Him thing. His seatmates ask what his company is. He’s the only one upset at the office. He gets weird looks if he says the truth of what he does. People will do anything in their power to pretend he is the issue, as an individual, because it is far scarier to consider the full implications of the systemic issues implied by what he is saying. Everyone treats it as if the issue is him, so he goes insane. He does anything to get someone to say, holy shit, that’s fucked up, what you’re a part of is wrong. In an attempt to feel any sort of vague sympathy and catharsis, he goes to support groups to pretend to be dying, because then at least people don’t habitually blame him for his anguish. 

Saying therapy would fix him ignores that his problems are not individual. They are collective. It’s the reason the entire story resonates with people! Something deeply, unignorably wrong with society, where people would rather blame you for bringing it up than try and address it, because it feels impossible. I don’t blame people for this, really, because it IS scary. It’s terrifying to sit and feel like you’ve realized there’s something deeply, deeply wrong, but if you say something, people will get mad at you since it’s so baked into everything around you. Or, even if they agree, it’s easier to deal with the dissonance by pretending it’s individual.

And it’s not like that’s not the purpose therapy and medications largely serve, anyway. Getting into dangerous territory for this website, but ultimately, the reason the narrator was seeking medication was because it’s a bandaid. A very numbing bandaid. For these very large, dissonance causing problems, therapy does very little. Medications do what they always have, and distract you with numbness or side effects. It’s a false solution. He is seeking an individualized false solution because he has been browbeaten with the idea that this is an issue with him alone, when it's plainly clear it's not. 

Don't get me wrong. Obviously he has something wrong with him. But it's a product of his situation. It is a fictional exaggeration of a very real occurrence of mental illness provoked by deep unconscionable dissonance and anguish.  There is a clear correlation between what happens and his mental state and his job and how isolated he is. 

The thing is, even if he were chemically numbed, I do think he would’ve lost it regardless. Many people on meds find they don’t fix things. For reasons I’ll get into, but in this case because even if numbed or distracted, once you’ve learned about deep, far reaching corruption in society, it’s very hard to forget. Especially if, in his case, you literally serve as the acting hand of this particular variety. He’s crawling up the walls. 

So why do people say this?  Well, it's funny I guess. Maybe the first time or whatever. But also, often, they believe it, to a degree. Maybe they've just been told how effective therapy and meds are for mental illness, they believe wholeheartedly in The Disease Model of Mental Illness, maybe they themselves have engaged with either and have considered it successful. Maybe they or someone they know has been 'saved' by such treatments. 

But in all honesty.... What therapy can help with is mentality, it's how you approach problems. For issues on a smaller scale, not meaning they are easier to deal with my any degree, but ones that are not raw and direct from deep awareness of corruption; these are things that can be worked through if you get lucky and get an actually good therapist who helps build up your resiliency. But when your issue is concrete, something large and inescapable? It's useless. At best it can help you develop coping mechanisms, but there is a limit for that. There is a point where that fails. To develop the ability to handle something like this requires intense development of a comfort with ambiguity and dissonance and being isolated and a firm positioning of your purpose and values and and belief in wonder and all the other shit I ramble about. The things that the narrator lacks, which lead him to taking an ineffectual death knell anarchist self-destruction path. Therapy, where the narrator is, full of the knowledge of braces melted to seats and all the people that have to allow this to happen? It fails. 

And meds — meds are a fucking scam. We know the working mechanism of basically none of them, the serotonin receptor model was made up and paid its way into prominence. We have very little evidence they're any better than placebo, and they come with genuinely horrific side effects. Maybe you got lucky. I did, on some meds. On others? I don't remember 2018. The pharmaceutical industry is also known for rampant medical ghostwriting, and for creating 'off-label' uses for drugs that have gained too many protests in their original use, then creating a cult of use to then have 'grassroots' campaigns for it to be made a label use (ie, legitimize their ghostwritten articles with guided anecdotes). 

The DSM itself is basically a marketing segregation plot. It's an attempt to legitimize the disease model by isolating subgroups of symptoms to propose individualized treatments for subgroups that are not necessarily all that separate. But if the groups exist, you can prescribe more and different medications, no? Not to mention, if you use the disease model, you can propose that these diseases are permanent, or permanent until treated, considered more and more severe to offset and justify the horrific side effects of the medications. Do you know why male birth control doesn't really exist? Same reason. They can justify all the horrible side effects for women, because the other option is pregnancy. For men, it's nothing. 

And they're not bothering to invent new drugs without side effects. When they invent new drugs it's just because the last one got too bad of a name, or they can enter a new market. Modern drugs don't work any better than gen1 drugs. They still have horrific side effects. At best, the industry will shit out studies saying the old one was flawed (truth) so they can say this new gen will be better (lie). They're doing it with ssris right now. 

Fundamentally, the single proposed benefit of any of these drugs is that they numb you. To whatever is torturing you. It's harder to be depressed if you can't feel it, or if you just can't muster the same outrage. Of course, there is people who find that numbness to be helpful, or worth it. But often, it's stasis. For the people who have problems that can be worked on, it serves as a stopgap to not actually work on said problems. The natural outcome of the disease model is stagnation for those whose need is to develop skills and resiliency. It keeps them medicalized and dependent on the idea that they're diseased and incapable. Profitable. Stuck in the womb. 

I’ve been there. It’s easier, to wallow, and resist growth because it’s difficult and painful and unfair and cruel and you can think of five billion reasons to justify your languishing. But don’t listen to anyone who tells you you’re just permanently damaged, no matter how nicely they word it, no identity or novel pathologization, no matter how many benefits they promise, especially if they swear up and down some lovely expensive medications with little solid backing and plentiful off-label usage and side effects that’ll kill you. Some days it feels like they want us all stuck in pods, agoraphobic and addicted to the ads they feed us to isolate the markets for the drugs they’ve trained us to beg them to pump us with. Polarization making it as easy as flashing blue light for go, red like for stop, or vice versa. I worry about the kids, for fucks sake. That’s a bit dark and intense, and I apologize. But I want you (generic) to understand, there is a profit motive. Behind everything. And they do not mean well. They do not care about your mental health or your rights or your personhood or your growth. They care about how they can profit off of you.

For those struggling with immovable, society problems, like the narrator grappling with how his job fits into and is accepted by society while his rejection and horror in the face of it does not, it can work about as well as any other drug addiction. Your mileage may vary. From what I've seen, recovering from being on prozac for a long time can be worse than alcohol. They put kids on this shit. They keep campaigning for more. Off label, again. A pharmaceutical company’s favorite thing to do has to be to spread rumors of someone who knows someone who said an off label use of this drug helps with this little understood condition. Or, in the case of mental illness, questionably defined condition. And like, damn, I know I'm posting on the 'medicalization is my identity' website so no one will like all this and has probably stopped reading by now, but yall should be exposed to at least one person who doubts this stuff. Doesn't just trust it. Because I mean, that's the thing right?

It's so big. What would it mean, for this all to be true? Yeah, everyone says pharmaceutical companies are evil and predatory and ghostwriting, but to think about what that really entails. Coming back to the book, everyone knows the car lobby is huge and puts dangerous vehicles through that kill people. What does it mean if the car companies all hire people to calculate the cost of a recall and the cost of lawsuits? No one wants to think about the scale that means for people allowing it or the systems that have to be geared towards money, not safety like they say. Hell, even Chuck misses the beat and has the narrator threaten his boss with the Department of Transportation. And shit, man, if every company is doing this, you think Transportation doesn't know? That they give a fuck? You're better off mailing all the evidence to the news outlets and hoping they only character assassinate you a little bit as they release the news in a way that says it's all the fault of little workers like you, not the whole system. Something something, David McBride, any whistleblower you feel like, etc. 

So I don't blame you, if your reaction is "but but but, that can't be right, people wouldn't do it, they wouldn't allow it" or just an overwhelming feeling of dread that pushes you to deny all of this and avoid thinking about it. Just know, that's in the book. That's all the seatmates on the flights. That's all his fellow officemates. It's easier to pretend, I know.

But think about, how the response fits in with the themes of the book. The story, as a movie too. What drives the narrator’s mental breakdown? How would you handle being in his position? How would you handle being his seatmate? It’s easy to say you’d listen. But have you? Have you had any soul wrenching betrayals of how you thought society worked? How about a betrayal by the thing that promised to be the fix of the first? Can you honestly say you wouldn’t follow that gut instinct, saying follow what everyone says, that person must just be crazy, evil, rude, cruel, whatever it is that means you can set what they said aside?

For a lot of people, they can do that, I guess. Set it aside. Reaching that aforementioned state of managing to cope with the dissonance and ambiguity and despair is very hard. The narrator made the Big Realization, but he couldn’t cope. He self-destructed. Even when people don’t make the big realization consciously, they’re already self-destructing. It’s hard to escape it when it feels easier than continuing anyway. When it feels like the only option,

Would therapy fix the narrator of Fight Club? Would meds fix the narrator of Fight Club? No. He knows too much. All meds will do, by the time he’s in the psych ward, is spiritually neuter him. A silly phrase, but really. Take the wind out of his sails. 

Is he fixed if he doesn’t try to blow up town? If he just shuts up and settles in and stops costing money? If he still can’t cope with the things he’s unearthed? Do you see how this is a commentary in a commentary in a commentary?

Fight Club is an absolutely fascinating story because of this. The fact that it addresses the fallout of knowing. The isolation. The hopelessness. The spiral that results from a lack of hope. This is, I think, what resonates most with people, even if not consciously. Going insane because you’ve discovered something you wish you could unknow. It’s a classic horror story. Should our society be lovecraftian evil? I don’t think so. 

Do I think changing it will be easy? No. Lord knows a lot exists to push people who make these sorts of Realizations towards feelings of individuality and individualized solutions and denial and other distractions and coping methods. And to prevent people who make One realization from expanding on it and considering further ramifications. Fight Club itself gets into this; the isolation of men being a strict part of the role society shapes for their sex leaves them very vulnerable to death fetishes, in a sense, and generally towards self destructive violence. It helps funnel them away from substantial change and towards ineffectual change. Many things, misogyny, racism, serve to keep people isolated from one another, individualized, angry, and impossible to work with. Market segregation; god knows even appealing on those fronts has become such a classic ploy that companies do it now, the US military frames its plundering that way, etc. 

I’ve wandered a bit but ultimately, my point is this: Fight Club is a love letter to the horrors of critical thinking, and the importance of not falling into the trap of self destruction and hopelessness in the face of it. The latter is why Tyler was an anarchoterrorist instead of anything useful. The latter is why it was a death cult. It’s important to work through the horrors of critical thinking so you can do it, and stand on the other side ready to believe in each other. It’s worth it.

[lailoken]

What are your favorite pieces of media that you think accurately represent magic and spirit work? Movies, books, even music..

This is an interesting question, but one that requires a lot of thought, as I have read and watched an inordinate amount of books and movies. Plus, even really good fiction with pagan themes that I've read/watched is generally inaccurate in most ways, with some realistic aspects of magic woven in here and there. Some of my very favorite media relating to the subject can't really be included, simply because of how inaccurate it is overall, but there are a few that have caught my notice.

I'm sure I'll end up missing ones, which bugs me, but I'll do my best to recount some examples that I can think of:

The Love Witch (2016) is a movie that I think presents a strikingly realistic portrayal of what magic can look like. It manages to show some of the ways one might use magic to great effect, without actually skewing into fantasy at all. Clearly, the magic shown isn't going to line up with every paradigm, and its not exactly a heady or spirit-based story, but I think it's a very real look at how ritual and magic is/can be approached by many folks in the modern day.

The Witch (2015) is, above all else, a great slow-burn horror film and an excellent period-piece. However, it also portrays quite an accurate conception of folkloric beliefs about Witchcraft in the 17th century, which inexorably inform the realities of modern Witchcraft traditions. It does just barely skew into fantasy horror, but the actual folkloric information being presented is quite sound.

A Dark Song (2016) is a film that portrays ceremonial magic realistically in many ways. Ultimately, it is still a supernatural horror film, but the bulk of the magic in the movie is based directly on the Abramelin Operation, which was interesting to see. A lot of the ways that the magic "takes shape" in the film feels real enough to me, too (though it certainly takes it to extremes at points, as horror movies are wont to do).

We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson is a horror novel I much enjoyed when I read it a coulple years ago, but I also remember that it happens to contain small, but meaningful, instances of sympathetic magic within the story that I appreciated as a practitioner looking in. This one has been made into a movie as well.

Cunning Folk by Adam Nevill is one of the more realistic looks at magic—including the uncanny side of it—that I've come across. It's still definitely a horror story, first and foremost, but there's an oomph to the ritual and magic described therein that a lot of other similar fiction lacks—even when the ritual act being described isn't necessarily accurate in terms of historicality or my personal experience of the Craft.

The White People by Arthur Machen is a Welsh short horror story from the turn of the century, which I think is worth including here. There are elements and aspects of the story that feel surprisingly real in terms of Gloaming initiation and the Gloaming Spirits—though, of course, it takes creative liberties informed by the paranormal beliefs and trends of the time (1890s).

The Craft (1996) is a movie that I'm sure a lot of pagans have of nostalgia for in one way or another, myself included. I struggled with whether this movie should be here or in the Honorable Mention section, but I included it here in the end because a lot of the ways magic and ritual are presented in the film are accurate enough. I also think it did a fairly good job of capturing how it can feel to discover, revel in, and then become overwhelmed by magic. However, since it is a supernatural horror film, a lot of magic shown is portrayed more fantastically than the real thing, and there are aspects of the magic (rituals, entities, etc.) made up entirely for the sake of the story.

As implied above, there are also some pieces that, while largely inaccurate or too far into the realm of fantasy, still manage to succesfully capture some essence of realistic feeling magic in them. I will list those here as Honorable Mentions:

Practical Magic (1998) is another movie that I'm sure a lot of Pagans have nostalgia for in some way or another. I won't claim that it's a genuinely "accurate" representation of magic—and it certainly strays into outright fantasy at times—but there are little things throughout the movie that managed to ring a bell for me, as someone who grew up with magic in my family. I know this was originally a book, but I actually haven't read that as of yet, so I can't speak to it.

Pan's Labyrinth (2006) is a movie is squarely in the fantasy-horror genre to me, but even still, I include it here as an honorable mention because a lot of the lore depicted is drawn from real lore, and the overall ambience it manged to evoke strongly reminds me of some of my own experiences with chthonic journeying.

The Good Witch franchise isn't one I have ever actually watched any part of before, but I include it here because, oddly enough, multiple practitioners have mentioned to me that they think the magic is surprisingly realistic for a Hallmark series. As I understand it, the main character is a sort of local Wise Woman who helps the folk in her little town using things like folk-knowledge, remarkable intuition, and an uncanny ability to seemingly sway people and circumstances. Since I haven't seen it myself, my take on it may be somewhat lacking, (which is why I listed it as an honorable mention), but based on the description, it actually sounds like it may be one of the more realistic interpretations of magic on this list.

I know this is a strange addition, as it's not exactly magic, per se, but much of how Stephen King writes about psychic abilities like clairvoyance and healing throughout his works manages to touch on something all too familiar for me. I think, sometimes, that he may have known someone with the Sight and/or the Touch in his real life, as it comes up a lot in one shape or another in his writing.

As I said, I'm sure there's stuff I'm missing, but this at least a serviceable overview. I encourage others to share any other media that they think deserves a mention, too!