#just not sure how to articulate it entirely

[herejusttosufferalong]

You know what? I understand that the questions were awkward for them but they were relevant to the story. Sometimes they were asked pointedly but regardless, that’s an obvious question to have lined up! It’s the theme of the season. The entire cast was asked the question at one point or another. Would it get annoying and redundant for L and N? Duh but that’s press junkets, babes!

So, why? Why was L being defensive? Why did N look like she was solving a difficult math problem every time was asked?

Please share your opinion if you care to. You seem hesitant to most of the time so I won’t insist but I’m interested in your insights if you’d be willing to share.

So this ask has been sitting in my drafts since the end of July and honestly, I still don't have a good answer for any of this.

One would assume that the proper coaching had taken place for the both of them to answer the "friends to lovers" and subsequently any shipping questions.

However, it always seemed to be Nic answering for the both of them regarding their "relationship."

Sure Mr. Yeah would pipe up in agreement to whatever she would say but did he not have any thoughts of his own that he could actually share with the class?

The whole point of PR is the ability to craft, promote and maintain a narrative.

Yet they struggled in this area...

We got stock answers but they weren't always articulated well. They genuinely seemed like they had no clue how to answer certain questions about their off screen relationship.

Or maybe that was the craftiness of the "PR" all along...

Because calling their relationship/friendship "unique" was not off the cuff. It was very calculated, very intentional.

It is just vague enough to invite endless speculation while setting certain boundaries, even as muddied as they are.

Now I'm not saying their answers were all PR and that everything we saw on the WT was PR either. There was too many instances where their masks dropped.

But we can't deny that the WT was designed to manipulate and evoke certain emotions and conversation around our favorite characters who were promoting an upcoming season of a television show.

[wewillbeseen-butnotbeheard]

okay. genuinely

i think there’s a subtle layer of insecurity over your entire community. it’s hard to describe but a lot of the “i hate my body” talk could be questioned. how many hate it because it’s just them? or how many don’t know how to articulate those feelings so they come to the conclusion that they’re somehow another creature entirely, instead. if it’s not all of you, it’s some of you. i don’t have to directly prove that (that in itself isn’t that important) as much as i can safely estimate

i do understand all of this though. over the last few months i’ve gained a genuine understanding of “nonhuman/alterhuman”s, etc. i don’t come from a natural stance of opposing the concept or anything. it’s actually hard to stand with my own thoughts on this, especially because i WOULD agree. why not? i don’t know. it doesn’t really matter

i don’t think i can go so far into this without contradicting myself. i feel as if my position on this subject is volatile so i apologise if i end up doing exactly that

i should again insist that your community is in fact comprised of humans, but the argument doesn’t hold up if i deny that it’s based on self-perception and you are arguably animals in some way. (arguably.) i do not know you better than you know yourself, yet outside perception is also something to consider

“why does it bother you so much that i am the way i am?” i would say that is slightly confusing and kind of vulnerable to explain. i think i have some idea but i’m not sure

i’m willing to deprecate myself in this, and “being in the wrong” doesn’t necessarily mean that i’m wrong myself, and it doesn’t mean that i’m doing to flip my beliefs

what i think i mean is that; it’s complicated. i’m not afraid to say that my own view is hard to hold up, but that’s only because i already have some understanding/experience in this sort of thing. i don’t want to do a 180 on myself(again) yet i’m not ignorant enough to NOT give the the time of day to self-reflection if it comes down to it. i hope that makes sense, sorry

i don’t think my words hold much value to people like you, and i don’t think you would be willing to listen or take it to heart, but it’s still worth trying. i would like you to realise that you are human in every way. you are not an animal, you are not a dragon. (you probably already know this. maybe you’re in denial. i don’t know) either way, none of you would actually be willing to give it even a second of thought because you’re insecure about yourself, and you’re insecure because you know you’re human. i assure you that you will not reach full personal contentment until you live out your life without pretending to be a mythical creature. wtv have a good day

Ooh, I haven’t gotten one of these asks in a few years.

So I ask this, and every other question I will follow up with, completely genuinely, and if you’re willing to really get into the weeds discussing it I’d love to do so (though I’ll probably reblog any follow-ups to my other blog): why do you think you know me and my experiences better than I do?

Why do you think you can armchair diagnose me with insecurity? What evidence do you actually have for that, besides the fact that I’m nonhuman? What evidence do you have that I’m not already content and fulfilled in my life?

Is it possible that identifying as nonhuman is unrelated to those things entirely, and you’re making a false assumption?

I get it. It looks crazy, when you’re completely new to the concept. It’s weird - it is! But pause and listen to us when we talk about our experiences for a moment.

For many of us, myself included, finding nonhumanity is a moment of suddenly understanding - of pieces falling into place, of my life experiences suddenly making sense. Awakening is something that made me more content and fulfilled, not less - there’s a sadness in it sometimes, yes, but so too is there the comfort of understanding yourself in a new way, of realizing, oh. I’m not just weird. There’s not something wrong with me. There are other people like me.

(If this sounds a lot like the experience of figuring out you’re queer, there’s a reason for that.)

To use myself as an example of the flaws in your hypothesis: there’s… honestly not much dissatisfaction with my life right now. I’ve got a stable job with decent income. I’d like to be able to cut back my hours a bit, but that will come in time. I’ve got enough free time as it is to do my art and play my tabletop games with friends in my off time. I’ve got family and friends around me. Sure, I miss my wings, but I’m hoping to pick up powered paragliding in the near future and hoping that’ll scratch that itch at least somewhat. I’m doing pretty well, honestly. This isn’t the case for all otherkin, but it’s not the case for all orthohumans (people who aren’t alterhuman in any way) either. What it does indicate, however, is that your hypothesis that being otherkin inherently means you’re insecure and unhappy with your life is false, or at minimum flawed - if it were true, I wouldn’t exist.

So, I ask again: why do you think you understand my own experiences better than I do? And moreover, why does it bother you so much that I am the way I am?

The name for the thing you’re doing here, intentionally or not, is concern trolling - trying to push me out of an identity by professing concern for problems that don’t exist. Why? Why are you going out of your way to tell other people they’re wrong about their own identity? Why is your reaction, when you see an identity you don’t understand, to decide it’s unhealthy, or just make-believe, or whatever, and then to make that the problem of the people who identify that way? What exactly makes you think this is inherently unhealthy?

Would it not be better to devote that energy to trying to understand us, instead of trying to change us?

You don’t have to answer these questions to me, obviously, but I do encourage you to answer them to yourself at least. Pick apart your worldview for a minute and see if it actually holds up under scrutiny - it’s good for you, and mental enrichment to boot! If you are willing to really get into the weeds of this discussion with me, again, I’d love to do that - I love having discussions like this, and it’s good for me to have my worldview challenged every so often too! Please, genuinely, pick at the flaws in my logic if you see them - if it can be pulled apart under scrutiny, it needs to be pulled apart and rebuilt. No one on the internet is obligated to let a stranger do that, obviously, but personally I enjoy it - it’s a meat pumpkin for me - so let’s talk, if you’re up for it. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve gotten a good interesting antikin to debate with.

[jichanxo]

Talk about Higashi my eternal bbygirl

first impression: okay i can't remember my REAL first impression (i.e. when i first ever laid eyes on him) BUT he was my first favourite judgment character, before lost judgment happened. he's still really really great. love you higashi.

impression now: almost the same but he's just gone down the rankings in terms of favourites. he's still pookie wonderful handsome cute etc

favourite moment: when the group are interrogating yui mamiya and after hearing about kuwana's plan he goes "damn i'm kinda rooting for this guy" LMAO. higashi kaito files apron is also good. also forklift driving. and also him realising that the pretty lady he saved was saori and getting mad that yagami isn't picking up her call right away. sorry it's just a lot of Little Moments yknow

idea for a story: literally nobody cares but i would love to put higashi in the same room as kuwana. watch him go from "oh this guy hates yagami? maybe this guy will get me" and then it slowly dawns on him that no. no this guy is worse. higashi might "hate" yagami but he does actually truly hate kuwana. this idea will never not be hilarious to me

unpopular opinion: his design is underrated as HELL the sunglasses + earring combo is a deadly combination 🔥 he looks cooler and more yakuza-like than a bunch of mainline yakuza characters without being tacky. prescription sunglasses king. kissing him

favourite relationship: seeing him bickering with yagami has really grown on me a lot lately… funny of them

favourite headcanon: he's well liked by the kids at the arcade (though initially seems intimidating) and a great boss ❤ and of course he has a forklift license

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Those Beyond The Wall

sequel/companion to The Space Between Worlds, set a decade later

character-focused sci-fi set in an area divided in two, the rich protected city on one side and everyone else in the post-apocalyptic desert

follows a woman who works under the Emperor in Ashtown, keeping the peace

when mangled bodies start showing up with seemingly no murderer, she’s tasked with finding the cause, and finds out that it’s the result of corruption spanning both cities and multiple worlds

explores oppression and messy revolution, police violence and apartheid

bi & polyamorous MC

[dreamwinged]

to be so honest im starting to think i really need to see a professional for my social anxiety

[potatobugz]

Noelle Holiday? (Yes this is a bingo request that I guess is a semi-sequel to the previous one for Susie)

thgey call her noelle holiday the way she. brightens up. your day

[figuringitoutasigoalong]

One of the older ladies in my Sunday School class stopped me after class and said she was praying for me, and asked how I was doing and I'm not gonna lie--

It meant so much that she had noticed that I'm not myself. That she had noticed that I'm struggling in a silent way that I can't even quite identify.

I don't think she can ever know just how much that means to me, because it just means so much.

[gxos]

i honestly forgot nk jemisin existed and now i have to remember her writing exists which is also bad

[anniebeemine]

this is modern feminism- s.r x fem!reader

warnings: minors dni, oral sex (fem. receiving),

Spencer’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head when he walked into the bedroom. You’d been keeping your Halloween costume a secret, dropping hints and leaving him to guess, but nothing could have prepared him for this.

He stood frozen in the doorway, trying to keep his jaw from hitting the floor. His own costume—an impressive take on the 12th Doctor, complete with a sharp navy coat, red-lined and flaring out dramatically, paired with a crisp white shirt and black trousers—suddenly felt inadequate compared to what you were wearing.

You turned around to face him, the tight babydoll dress hugging your curves in all the right places and pushing your boobs up nicely, paired with fishnet stockings that drew his gaze down your legs. Your hair, usually neat and tidy, was styled in loose waves that cascaded down your shoulders, and he couldn't help but wonder how it would feel to wrap those soft strands around his fist. The thought sent a jolt through him, and he quickly tried to banish the image from his mind.

But the more he tried to focus on anything else, the more he found himself staring, his eyes tracing the lines of your outfit, admiring how the dress accentuated your figure, the effect was undeniably sexy.

Realizing he was dangerously close to outright ogling you, he shook his head, trying to snap back to reality. You were just about to apply the finishing touches to your makeup when you caught him standing there, a dazed look on his face.

"Giving up on guessing already?" you teased, turning fully to face him with a playful smirk.

Spencer cleared his throat, desperately searching for words, but all he could manage was a weak, "Um..."

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly and struck a playful pose. "I'm a mouse, duh," you said with a wink, placing the little ears on your head, pointing at them. The simple addition of mouse ears and a tail completed the look, and somehow, you managed to make it both adorable and impossibly seductive.

Spencer finally found his voice, though it came out a little rougher than he intended. "You look... incredible," he said, his eyes softening as he took in the whole ensemble. He still tried to be respectful, to not let his gaze linger too long, but it was impossible to deny how stunning you were.

"Thanks, Doctor," you replied with a grin, stepping closer to him and placing a light kiss on his cheek. "You ready to go out and show the team what we've got?"

He nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah, just... let me grab my sonic screwdriver," he said, his voice a little shaky as he turned to collect himself. But as he reached for the prop, he couldn't help but sneak one last glance at you, his mind still reeling from the sight of you in that outfit.

Spencer stood frozen by the door, his eyes wide as they took in every detail of your Halloween costume. The usually composed and articulate doctor seemed to have lost his words entirely. You tilted your head, a small frown of concern crossing your face.

"Is something wrong?" you asked, your voice soft. "I can change if you don't like it. I have a black dress I can wear instead."

He snapped out of his daze at your words, shaking his head quickly. "No, no, it's not that," he stammered, his voice uncharacteristically shaky. "You look amazing. It’s just…"

You waited, watching as he struggled to find the right words. His gaze flicked from your eyes to your outfit and back again, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Finally, he took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m not worried about you,” he said, his voice steadying as he looked at you with a mixture of awe and something darker, more intense. “I know you can handle yourself. It’s just… I’m not sure if I can handle you.”

His admission hung in the air, and you felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks. Spencer wasn’t usually so forward, but tonight, the raw honesty in his voice made your heart skip a beat. His thoughts seemed to be far from innocent, his eyes darkening as they traced the curves of your body. You could almost see the wheels turning in his mind, his usually composed demeanor faltering as he imagined all the things he wanted to do to you.

The images flitted through his mind in rapid succession—pinning you to the mattress, his hands gripping your wrists as he kissed you with a fervor that left you breathless. Bending you over the couch, his fingers digging into your hips as he took control, the idea of completely unraveling in the privacy of your shared space, where no one else could witness the fire between you.

A slow, teasing smile spread across your lips as you watched him wrestle with his thoughts. “You know,” you said, your voice laced with mischief, “we don’t have to go out. We could stay in, if you want…”

Spencer’s eyes widened at your suggestion, and for a moment, he looked like he might actually consider it. His breath caught in his throat, the thought of spending the night alone with you in that outfit, or out of it, sending a wave of desire through him that was hard to ignore.

Spencer caught you in a kiss, his lips pressing firmly against yours, as if he couldn’t bear to be apart from you for even a second longer. His hands framed your face, his breath coming in soft, heated bursts against your skin. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark with desire, and you knew, without a doubt, that there was no way you were leaving the apartment tonight.

“We’re staying home,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough.

You nodded, already feeling the heat building between you. Your hands moved to the clasp of your babydoll, fingers fumbling to undo it, but before you could manage it, Spencer’s breath fanned over your neck as he gently pulled your hands away.

“What?” you asked, your voice trembling with anticipation. His demand had been so soft, so quiet, that you needed to be sure you’d heard him correctly.

“I said, leave. It.” His words were firm, but there was an underlying tenderness that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your cunt throbbed at his command, your body responding instinctively to the shift in his usual demeanor. Spencer had never been one to leave your clothes on during sex; he usually preferred to see every inch of you, to explore your body with his hands and mouth. Sometimes he’d leave his shirt on, or his pants would stay around his knees or ankles, belt buckle jingling with each thrust, but never had he left anything covering you. The thought of him being so turned on that he wanted to keep your outfit on was enough to make your head spin.

He pushed you backward, gently, guiding you until your back connected with the wall. His hands roamed over the cups of your dress, fingers tracing the delicate lace that barely concealed your breasts. You whimpered beneath his touch, the light pressure driving you wild with need. As you reached out to untuck his shirt and slide his jacket off his shoulders, Spencer’s eyes never left yours, filled with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

When he finally sank to his knees before you, his gaze traveled up your body, taking in every detail of the outfit you’d chosen. “You’re so fucking pretty,” he moaned, his hands lifting the bottom of the babydoll, the fabric sliding easily over your hips.

He paused, expecting to find something modest underneath—maybe a pair of shorts or something similar. But when he discovered the lace panties that perfectly outlined your cunt, his eyes darkened further, a mix of desire and something akin to possessiveness flashing across his face. He cupped his hand over you, feeling the warmth and dampness through the thin fabric.

“You were going to go out like this?” he asked, his voice tinged with worry and awe as he looked up at you.

You cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing over his cheeks. “I knew we’d never make it out of here,” you whispered, your voice filled with a confidence that matched the fire in his eyes. “Told the team we’re sick, so be prepared to lie on Monday.”

A slow, appreciative smile spread across Spencer’s lips. “Smart girl,” he murmured, his voice full of praise. He leaned forward, pressing kisses over the fishnets that covered your legs, each one accompanied by a soft compliment. His lips moved closer and closer to where you needed him most, the tension building between you with every touch.

Spencer’s breath ghosted over the lace that covered your cunt, and you could feel the heat radiating from his mouth as he got closer. His hands slid up your thighs, gently parting them as he positioned himself between them, his mouth hovering just above the lace.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire before he finally pressed a kiss against you, the fabric doing little to dull the sensation.

You moaned softly, your hands finding their way to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as he continued to worship you with his mouth. Spencer's hands gripped your thighs, keeping you steady as he lavished attention on you, the feeling of his mouth through the lace making you tremble with need.

“Spencer,” you breathed, the sound of his name only spurring him on as he pulled the lace aside, his tongue finally meeting your bare skin.

Spencer’s tongue was a slow, deliberate torment against your bare skin, every movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. The sensation was overwhelming, like he was unraveling you piece by piece with each flick and swirl. Your breath hitched, and a soft moan escaped your lips as his mouth worked you over with an intensity that made your entire body tremble. He knew exactly how to touch you, how to push you right to the edge, only to pull you back just before you could tumble over.

The room spun around you, your world narrowing to the feel of Spencer’s hands on your thighs, the warmth of his breath against your skin, and the relentless, intoxicating pleasure he was drawing from you. You tangled your fingers deeper into his hair, pulling him closer, needing more, needing everything he had to give.

“Spencer,” you gasped again, the word barely more than a breath as he continued his worship, his hands gripping you tighter, grounding you even as you felt like you were floating, every nerve in your body alight with the fire he was stoking. His name was the only thing you could manage, the only coherent thought in a haze of pure, unfiltered bliss.

He didn’t let up, didn’t slow down, his tongue moving with a precision that left you breathless, your body arching toward him, desperate for more. You felt like you were on top of the world, like nothing else existed except for the way he made you feel, as if you were the only thing that mattered in that moment. Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, reeling your forward. He kept you steady as he stood up. 

Spencer’s hands slid up your legs, lifting you with a strength that surprised you, his mouth never leaving your skin. Before you knew it, your legs were wrapped around his waist, your back pressed against the wall as he held you up with ease. The new angle sent a shockwave of pleasure through you, your head falling back against the wall as he continued his relentless assault by grinding himself against you. 

The babydoll dress slipped down your shoulders, and Spencer’s fingers found the cups, tugging at the delicate fabric until it tore away, the sound of ripping lace echoing in the room. The cool air hit your skin, but the sensation was quickly replaced by the heat of Spencer’s mouth on your breasts, his tongue circling your nipples before taking one into his mouth.

You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as he lavished attention on your breasts, his free hand slipping between your thighs to continue the slow, torturous rhythm that had your legs shaking. Your body was on fire, every nerve ending singing with the pleasure he was giving you, every touch driving you closer to the edge.

When he finally pulled back, Spencer’s hands were still on you, guiding you gently until you were standing, your knees wobbling as you tried to catch your breath.

You looked down at the torn babydoll, a whine escaping your lips as you realized the damage. “You ruined it,” you pouted, the words coming out breathless, a mix of complaint and tease.

Spencer’s eyes were dark, his lips curving into a wicked smile as he pressed a soft kiss to your neck, then your collarbone, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ll buy you a thousand more,” he promised, his voice rough with desire. “If it means we can repeat this, I’ll tear them all away.”

His words sent a fresh wave of arousal through you, the thought of him wanting you so desperately that he would ruin any piece of clothing in his way only heightening the intensity of the moment. You pressed closer to him, your hands running down his chest as you looked up into his eyes. “I think I might take you up on that,” you whispered, your voice still trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure.

Spencer leaned in, capturing your lips in a deep, searing kiss that left you breathless all over again. His hands roamed over your body, tracing the curves he’d just worshiped, his touch still possessive, still filled with that same burning need.

“Good,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a low growl. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

[itsclydebitches]

Just finished Good Omens 2 and I'm honestly boggling at the Aziraphale hate because yes, his decision led to the angsty cliffhanger, but it makes SO much sense for his character. Not just in a "Religious brainwashing and sunk-cost fallacy" kinda way but also a "Aziraphale has no reason to believe this isn't the perfect solution" way. That scene among the nebula is crucial because it establishes that Crowley loved being an angel—reveled in his ability to create and allow his creations to grow kinda like plants—and the only problem was that someone else was calling the shots, someone who wouldn't listen to his criticism. Aziraphale has also spent 6,000+ years watching Crowley do good, all the while forced to deny the fact that he's "nice" lest embracing his original nature get him into trouble with hell. Now, Metatron comes along with an offer that fixes everything in one fell swoop. Crowley can be an angel again, be nice without censure, his ideas and criticisms will hold weight because he'll be answering to Aziraphale, and they'll be together.

It strikes me that Aziraphale isn't there when Crowley sees Gabriel's trial, ergo he likewise doesn't see the (non)acknowledgement that there's an institutional problem up in Heaven. There just happen to have been two archangels who called it quits. Same when Gabriel blurts that phrase out to Crowley. Aziraphale has always been more blind to the ways in which Heaven is "toxic" (for very understandable reasons) and this season he's continually sheltered from new evidence of its structural problems. The plot just preaches to the choir: Crowley. He likewise wouldn't see the conflict Gabriel and Beelzebub have caused as evidence of an underlying problem because that's a problem he and Crowley will no longer share. Why would they be worried about Heaven still being unable to accept partnerships between angels and demons when Crowley will no longer be a demon? And that's something he presumably wants based on Aziraphale's memories of him and the ongoing admission that he's lonely.

The way I see it, they got what they thought they wanted at the start of Season 2. Heaven and Hell are keeping an eye on them, but functionally they're left alone. Crowley can spend all the time he wants with Aziraphale and nothing comes of that except that they're both continually named traitors and the higher-ups grumble about it. If Gabriel had never shown up, things should have been perfect based on Crowley's "Let's just run away and have each other's company" standards. Better, even, considering that they get to be together on their beloved Earth, rather than being bored out in Alpha Centauri without any sushi, plants, books, or Bentleys. And yet... Crowley doesn't strike me as particularly happy. Because, you know, based on that kiss he wants to be with Aziraphale, not just literally be with him, but the point of this post is that his "Let's run away and be an 'us'" falls totally flat when he doesn't explain that specific desire to Aziraphale; the desire to change what an 'us' means. From Aziraphale's perspective they're already an 'us.' That was the entire point of "our side" in Season 1 and now they can continue to be 'us' up in Heaven. Plus, Aziraphale likely sees this as a sacrifice on his part. He will give up his bookshop, his Earthly indulgences, take on the responsibilities of leadership (which I don't think he actually wants for a variety of reasons), and spend the rest of eternity in a place where he's felt so small because he thinks that's what Crowley wants. Crowley was happy as an angel. Crowley wanted them to be together without risk of permanent discorporation. They were able to achieve that after not-Armageddon and he still wasn't happy... so surely those two things together will do the trick. Crowley never actually articulates how he wants their relationship to change and the kiss comes much too late, when he's already rejected what Aziraphale must see as a perfect, selfless solution he's secured for them. Even if Crowley wasn't always moving too fast for him, an overture of romance isn't going to go well after that.

Is this crushing and angsty and devastating as a hiatus? Damn straight, my heart it breaking. But it's a good setup. More importantly, it makes perfect sense for their characters, particularly when they're still talking past one another. Aziraphale is someone who has always moved more slowly as a matter of course, as an angel he has remained immersed in the rhetoric of Heaven, his main avenue of breaking free of that (Crowley) has a huge communication problem (to say nothing of his own denial. He only made headway with the help of Nina and Maggie, seconds before Aziraphale shows up), and Metatron (in a no doubt incredibly manipulative manner) has just offered Aziraphale a job that presumably makes him happy AND Crowley happy AND allows him to maintain the moral this-is-how-the-universe-works perspective he's had since he was literally created. Of course he's going to say yes to all that!! And sure, there are problems in Heaven, Aziraphale isn't completely blind, but he can fix them now that he's in charge. How? Well... he'll figure that out later! Kinda like how he's been making plans on the fly this entire season. That seems logical from his perspective, right? It's not like he's gotten a crash-course in the concept of the master's tools never being able to dismantle the master's house...

[sapphicdib]

I am sure you are all aware of the current state of the fandom. I have done my best to avoid all of the controversy, but seeing how others have voiced their concerns I would like to as well.

I, as an artist, do not feel safe in the Rain World fandom.

I have expressed this in the past, but I have been the victim of false pedophile and grooming allegations with the use of manipulated and doctored screenshots. I do not have the words to articulate just how psychologically damaging it is to have an entire fandom turn on you in an instant. To have your social life destroyed. To have hundreds or even thousands of people celebrate your downfall, simply because you annoyed them, because now they have a "reason" to. Watching this fandom gleefully parade around shaky evidence and happily participate in this type of behavior is sickening to me. It makes me worry that someday, I will annoy someone enough to have another false allegation made against me, and I will have to go through that again. There is a part of me that believes I would not survive such a thing. I am not trying to be dramatic when I say that, but people need to realize that "internet drama" can cause serious harm your mental health. I still have PTSD nightmares related to the callout post made about me from 3 years ago. This is not something you can just “get over”.

People need to remember fanartists are not paragons of grace, nor are they perfect. The fact that the internet has allowed people to dehumanize artists into "content machines" that must never slip up rather than human beings who are messy and awkward and can fuck up at times is sickening. I do not feel comfortable in a fandom that jumps at the opportunity to harass someone over a mistake, that stirs up a witchunt over what boils down to miscommunications. A fandom that treats every situation as black and white and doesn't wait for all the evidence to come out.

I believe nyuuronfly put it best in their post:

"It is not inspiring to sit around and get attention in an atmosphere where the more attention you get the more you know many of the eyes that are looking toward you are searching for a weak point to go after."

I understand revealing a lot of my trauma in this post is a potentially stupid decision, but I believe my story can help make people realize the genuine harm callout posts cause. It is not fun having to deal with constant paranoia that hundreds of people are praying on your downfall. I have considered not posting about, or simply deleting my rot au many times because of worry that someone will think it's too “dark” or “problematic” and decide I am the fandom's #1 punching bag for months.

As of now, I will not be deleting, nor will I stop posting art. But I have considered it many times, and this behavior as of late brought me the closest I've ever been to doing so. I love rain world and frankly, I don't want to feel this way about the fandom! I want this place to be positive, I want better for this game. I'm not mad, just disappointed.

TL;DR:

PLEASE for the LOVE OF GOD stop reblogging callout posts.

Fanartists are PEOPLE. They are giving you FREE art. Treat them better.

You are not immune to false screenshots, mob mentality, and black and white thinking.

Rain world is a gorgeous, creative, and deeply moving game. Please, let's work to make this community reflect that.

[artbyblastweave]

A tool I find generally pretty useful for thinking about and classifying superhero systems is the Wild Talents Axes of Design, a worldbuilding tool from an RPG that I have not and most likely will not ever play. The system categorizes and ranks superhero settings on four axes:

The Red Axis measures Historical Inertia, how much the existence of superhumans causes the timeline to diverge from our own. A high-red setting represents the standard implausibly-recognizable like-reality-unless-noted world-outside-your-window model. A low-red setting is a total alternate history.

The Gold Axis measures Superhuman Inertia (talent inertia in their internal jargon, but we've all got our own names for these assholes.) This one measures how closely superhumans hew to classic paradigms of heroism and villainy, as opposed to branching out into other societal roles or life outcomes. A high-gold setting is the prototypical endless monthly game of cops and robbers; A low-gold setting would be something like Wild Cards or Top 10, where career superheroes are a rounding error (or even a downright oddity) compared to people with powers.

The Blue Axis measures what they term The Lovely and the Pointless- essentially how much weirdness exists outside the superheroes themselves, or, more practically, how unified the setting's cosmology and power sources are. High-Blue settings are the bizarre and irreconcilable genre kitchen sinks full of aliens, gods, magicians, one million ways to get superpowers and three different kinds of time travel. Low Blue settings would be The Boys, Worm, or Wild Cards- any setting where there's a discrete reason that superhumans happened and nothing supernatural going on outside of that point of origin.

The Black Axis measures Moral Clarity, which is about what it sounds like. High Black Settings are the cartoonishly-clear-cut battles of good and evil, low black settings are omnidirectional amoral clusterfucks where the participants have superpowers.

(The joke, of course, being that if you crank all four colors up all the way, you end up with a full CMYK print, and a reproduction of the aesthetic of classic golden and silver age superhero faire.)

Obviously this isn't a perfect system- it suffers from the perennial, probably inevitable issue that the four of these don't granulate equally well but they feel the need to articulate five nodes for each of them, just to keep it neat- and consequentially it sometimes feels a little like they're struggling to justify why some of the arrangements that they're describing are meaningfully distinct from the nearest tick up or down the axis. I'm also not entirely sure how it integrates this fifth axis I think is pretty important- the question of the degree to which the public is aware of superhumans at all.

But it does provide some interesting and useful language for quick-and-dirty compare and contrast work. Watchmen is Low Blue, Low Black, Mid-Red High-Gold. Invincible is High-Blue Mid-Black High Red Mid-Gold. Worm is Low-Blue-Mid-Black-Low-Red-Mid-Gold. I don't even stand by these ratings necessarily, I just think it would be super neat going forward if I were able to throw out a phrase like "High-Blue interpretation of Superman" and successfully convey that it means we're finally gonna get to see Superman fight a wizard in live action, for example. I think there's slept-upon terminology available to us here

[radioactive-mouse]

i keep thinking about like. how the brutality levels vary between seasons and how secret life is the natural culmination of everything these people have been through and the watchers pushing everything to extremes. i’m going to try to articulate how crazy this makes me

3rd Life: god. 3rd life was a clear cut war. we haven’t seen a season since where nearly everyone has such an intense devotion to their chosen faction. the fact that there’s no precedent that they’re coming back next season, the fact that as far as they know, dying means staying dead, makes just how much they’re willing to go down with the ship that much more heartbreaking. grian ended the season exactly how it was played by damn near everyone else— i love you, i would do anything for you, i would rather die than keep going without you. the season of widows.

Last Life: and then they come back. and then ending things isn’t an option. and all of a sudden it’s not a war, it’s a death match, and damn is the competition is vicious. deaths are more often than not a vague, impersonal thing— not get away from my king, my husband, my charge— just the flash of a knife and a quick sorry, just playing the game! if 3rd life told you to hold the ones you love close, defend them to your last breath, last life urges you to burn that love out of your chest entirely.

Double Life: but everything slows down eventually. no more dying for the one you love— just learning to live with them. double life is about knowing that when you die, you will go together, hand and hand into the dark. a soap opera, the players joke. a small kindness, the universe replies. again, pearl wins the same way everyone else lost— no, not yet, please, just give us a little longer together, i’m not ready, i’m so sorry—

Limited Life: but the clock, unyielding, ticks ever onward. and god, everyone is starting to feel it. that sick, nauseating feeling of dread creeping up on them: what if it never ends? what if this is it, this is all that’s left for us— tearing each other apart over and over and over again, and for what? for a show? to feed those hungry things lurking in the dark? we’ll give them a show. bombs rain from the sky, the world shaking under the weight of it. there isn’t a thing left by the end that’s not rubble. we’re all doomed! the players cry, laughing with nothing but nihilistic, unrestrained joy. none of it matters! we come back again, and again, and again, have a little fun with it! light the fuse, collateral be damned. when death means so little, what’s the point in pretending they don’t take a little joy in it? we settle this like grian and scar before us, scott jokes, armor and weapons tossed to the side. are you insane? martyn thinks, remembering the hollow look that would wash over grian’s face when he thought no one was watching. it ruined him. it will not ruin me. this is a death match for a reason.

Secret Life: and here it is. the natural conclusion. this season is candy colored, the map dotted with cute pink houses and silly builds, the players all running around doing these ridiculous tasks. it’s so easy to forget how bloody this season was. unclosing wounds, bruises that don’t fade, the sting of fire or falling from a simple misstep. the hurt never goes away, but it gets easier to ignore— distract yourself with something silly to pass the time: spyglasses and frogs and the ugliest house you’ve ever seen and matching leather jackets and the doghouse and the relationSHIP and a weird tunnel full of doors and secret soulmates and god it’s almost, almost, enough to forget how much it all aches, how much the grief weighs on you, how many times someone you love has died, sometimes to your own blade. almost none of the grudges you hold are real by now, not really. not when you’re going to live and die with these people for as long as the hungry, many-eyed things delight in your suffering. you love each other, in the strangest way— sure you’ve all killed and betrayed each other in a thousand different ways, but at the end of the day, they’re all you have. clinging to each other in the face of the vast, unknowable horrors that drive you to slash each other to pieces. it’s still a game, after all. they’ve gotta figure out how to be good sports about it eventually.

[capseycartwright]

you're my sun, my moon, my guiding star

“Fine, let’s have it your way then,” Eddie slammed his phone down on the kitchen table. “You set me up a dating profile then – Hinge, Grindr, whatever you fucking want, Buck. Set me up a dating profile, and you pick which random man I need to sleep with to make it so you feel okay about wanting me.” 

in which evan buckley gets dumped, gets drunk with his best friend, realises he's in love with said best friend, and lets his abandonment issues get the best of him. because your first is never your last, right? so buck can't be eddie's first: he needs to be his last.

ao3 link

Buck was driving himself to Eddie’s before he could really even think about it, the autopilot of his brain engaging and getting him behind the wheel, and on the road to his best friend’s house without needing much thought at all. Eddie was who he needed, in that moment – not Maddie, and her sage advice, not Hen, who’d be clever, and logical about it all. No, he needed Eddie. Eddie, who inexplicably opened the front door in his underwear and a pink shirt. Eddie, who let them sit in silence, a playlist churning out eighties rock for a full twenty-three minutes (Buck checked) before Eddie said anything at all. 

“So,” Eddie set his empty drink down, gesturing to Buck for a second. Buck twisted the cap off before he handed it over, adding to the pile on the coffee table. “What happened? You said that you and Tommy were going to the movies tonight.” 

Buck groaned, the sound loud in the quiet of Eddie’s house. “I was supposed to be,” he slumped back onto the couch. “But then he dumped me.” 

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “He dumped you?”

“He dumped me,” Buck confirmed. “Because I am a deeply unlovable individual who is going to die alone.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I think you might be being dramatic there.”

“I’m not!” Buck protested. “Eddie, everyone I date dumps me – or leaves me. That apparently doesn’t even change when I’m dating a man. It’s not – I thought it would be different, with Tommy.” 

“Because he’s a man?” Eddie’s confusion wasn’t judgemental – no, Eddie never judged him, Buck was sure of that much. It was sincere confusion, his best friend wanting to understand where Buck was coming from.

“Yeah? No? I mean – maybe,” Buck huffed. He wasn’t entirely sure how to articulate himself. “I guess – I guess I just thought that now I know who I am, that I’m like – consciously aware I’m bisexual – it might be different. That maybe it didn’t work out before because there was this part of me that I didn’t know, or understand, and that had affected my relationships because I wasn’t bringing my like, whole self to the table. But if it didn’t work with Tommy, then that’s not why. Right? Then the problem is me.” 

Eddie’s expression softened. “I don’t think the problem is you, Buck.”

“It has to me! I’m the only common denominator here.”

Buck wanted to cry. He wanted to lie down on Eddie’s couch and cry until he had nothing left – and it wasn’t about Tommy, really, because Buck had liked Tommy, but the end of their relationship wasn’t what was making him feel so devastated. It was the idea of Tommy, more than anything else – what Tommy represented. A happily ever after that Buck was falling short of all over again. 

“What did Tommy say, exactly? Maybe – maybe you’re spiralling, and he gave you a good reason that you’re not seeing.” 

“He – I asked him to move in with me.” 

“Buck.”

Eddie sounded long-suffering. Buck had earned that. He knew that much. “I know,” he knew it had been the wrong move. The words were barely out of his mouth, and Buck knew it had been the wrong move – but that was sort of his thing, to cling desperately to relationships that didn’t work because he was so terrified of being alone. “I just – I felt comfortable with him, and the whole Abby thing was weird.”

“Really weird,” Eddie agreed, wincing. 

“But not the kind of weird I couldn’t get past. Right? He came over tonight, and I told him – why be apart when we could be together. Then, he said he couldn’t move in with me, because if he did, I would only break his heart,” Buck sighed. He wouldn’t intend to. That’s what Tommy had said – but who ever planned to break someone’s heart? No one was that cruel. Maybe they were – but Buck wasn’t. He’d never wanted to break anyone’s heart, even if that had been the end result sometimes. 

Eddie was quiet for a second. “Did he say why he thought you’d break his heart?”

Buck’s beer burned his throat as he took another gulp, the sour taste lingering. “He said that he was my first, but he wasn’t my last.” 

read the rest on ao3

[diamonddaze01]

tarararara my love! for your drabble game i wanna do prompt no. 6 but with a twist-

Do you like me? Check yes or yes

the ball is in your court now bub!

do you like me?

pairing: wonwoo x reader, law school au | wc: 944 prompt: "Do you like me? check yes or yes" | warnings: none a/n: dedicated to both @svtiddiess and @tusswrites bc the greatest minds think alike

The library was quieter than usual, the usual hum of stressed-out law students replaced by the rhythmic scratching of pens and flipping of pages. You and Jeon Wonwoo had somehow claimed a table near the window—a rare truce in the ongoing cold war of your academic rivalry.

You weren’t entirely sure how it started. Maybe it was the time he answered a question in Contracts class before you could, perfectly articulating the rule of consideration in a way that had the professor beaming. Or maybe it was the time you aced your Civil Procedure exam, and he shot you that unreadable glance as he exited the lecture hall, his graded paper tucked discreetly under his arm. Somewhere along the line, though, it became a thing: Jeon Wonwoo vs. You.

You were loud, unabashed, and utterly relentless in debates. Wonwoo? Quiet, methodical, and terrifyingly sharp. It was as though the universe had handpicked you to be polar opposites, with one mutual goal: finishing top of the class.

It wasn’t just about ego—though you’d never admit how much satisfaction you felt when you won. For you, being at the top meant proving that your voice mattered, that you could command a room even in the cutthroat world of law. For him, you suspected it was different. Wonwoo worked with a quiet precision that seemed to come from something deeper, something you couldn’t quite place. He was impossible to read, and maybe that’s what frustrated you the most.

The rivalry only grew fiercer with time: whispered debates in the hallway after class, stolen glances at each other’s grades, the occasional sarcastic jab when you passed in the library. It had become a fixture of your law school experience.

So why were you here, sitting across from him in the library? That was another story.

It started two weeks ago, when the Professor of Legal Ethics—who clearly took pleasure in student suffering—had paired you two for a moot court assignment. The project was simple: argue a mock case against each other, with grades determined by individual performance.

You’d scoffed at the announcement. “Of course,” you muttered under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

He’d glanced at you, an amused glint in his eyes. “Don’t sound too excited.”

The idea of working with him—of watching him meticulously dismantle your arguments before you even had a chance to deliver them—should have been unbearable. But instead, you’d found yourself suggesting, “We should prep together. You know, scope out the competition.”

Wonwoo had hesitated, his lips twitching in what might have been amusement. “You’re offering to help me beat you?”

“Who said I’m helping you?” you’d shot back, grinning. “I just want to see if you’re as good as everyone says.”

Now here you were, begrudging study partners, buried under stacks of legal texts and sharing a tense but surprisingly comfortable silence. Except you couldn’t focus. Not because of the assignment—your case brief was flawless—but because of him.

Wonwoo, with his quiet determination, his maddening focus, and his infuriating ability to make your heart race with just a glance. You didn’t know when it started—when the rivalry began to feel less like competition and more like curiosity. When his sharp intelligence stopped annoying you and started fascinating you instead.

Maybe it was last week, when he had stayed late after your prep session, walking with you to the parking lot under the glow of the streetlights. The conversation had been light, easy—unexpectedly so. You’d caught him smiling, not his usual smirk but something softer, almost shy. It had lingered with you far longer than it should have.

Or maybe it was the other day, when you’d caught him lost in thought, glasses slipping down his nose as he scribbled something in the margins of his notebook. He had looked up at you then, catching you staring, and raised an eyebrow in question. You had blurted something incoherent about “legal precedents” before burying your face in your notes, your cheeks burning.

You were doomed.

Tonight wasn’t any better. He was scribbling furiously in his textbook, his pen tapping softly against the edge of the page. You should have been working on your counterarguments, but instead, you were folding a piece of notebook paper into an origami crane.

After a few moments, you slid the crane across the table to him. Wonwoo didn’t look up at first, too engrossed in his notes, but when the crane nudged his hand, he paused. His sharp eyes flicked to yours, and you gave him your best innocent smile.

He carefully unfolded the crane. Inside, in your bold handwriting, were the words: “Do you like me? Check yes or yes.” Below, you’d drawn two boxes, both labeled “yes,” along with a winking face for good measure.

Wonwoo blinked at the note, his expression unreadable. But then, his ears turned a shade of red so deep you could practically hear your heart screaming.

You stared, waiting, your pulse thundering in your ears. And then, to your surprise, he smirked.

Pulling out his pen, he checked one of the boxes. Then, with deliberate care, he tore off the bottom half of the paper, scribbled something, and slid it back to you.

You unfolded it, your chest tight with anticipation. Written in his small, neat handwriting was: “Can you quiet down now? I’m trying to focus.” Below it, he’d drawn a tiny, lopsided heart.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re impossible,” you murmured.

Wonwoo didn’t respond, but the pink flush creeping up his neck and the faint twitch of his lips told you everything you needed to know.

Somehow, the rivalry didn’t feel like a competition anymore.

send me an ask for my drabble game!

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 1 - The One About That Weird Ass Cressida Post

This is my first blog entry and, before you start reading, let me just drop in this little disclaimer: 

You will find that I bounce between fact and speculation with a mix of sarcasm and [I hope] level-headedness, common sense, and deductive reasoning.

I am a Lukola. Plain and simple. You will not change my mind. It’s an all or nothing thing for me. How I got here, I’m not exactly sure – wait, no I do know how I got here (thank you Nicola and Luke for being so fucking charming).

Of course, I knew what Bridgerton was before I joined the Lukola fandom. In fact, I watched both Seasons 1 and 2, and they were okay. Yes, just okay.

I knew that Season 3 was about Penelope – the only character I found remotely interesting – so when I saw an article on People’s page showing Nicola and her costar holdings hands, I admit I was intrigued.

Were they dating?

Let’s ask Mr. Google and find out.

No, apparently, they were not.

Okay, fine.

I then made the mistake of clicking on a video of Nicola and Luke being interviewed in Australia. And, motherfuck, they were like lightning in a bottle! Luke – being asked if he believed in friends to lovers – responded in a way that left me feeling a bit blindsided. My immediate thought was: “He fell in love with Nicola the moment he met her.” It’s funny how many people I’ve spoken to since who had an identical reaction and, to be honest, Luke’s response won’t make your heart flutter. But, it was something in the way he said it.

Now, let me explain my feelings about love at first sight. Actually, Nicola explained it best when she said lust at first sight is often mistaken for love at first sight. This, I agree with wholeheartedly. To me, love at first sight does not have to be lusty. It can be, sure, but it can also be something entirely different. Maybe it’s a fleeting feeling of recognizing someone in a way you cannot possibly articulate out loud. Maybe it’s a palpitation of your heartbeat. Maybe it feels like home. Regardless, when you experience it, you’ll know it.

That, my friends, is how I got here, and why I [sometimes begrudgingly] stay here – walking alongside this rather long, winding, and often pothole-filled road waiting for two people to admit to the general public – whether it be in a blatant or subtle manner – that they are, in fact, together.

I’ve noticed in this fandom we seem to have three types of people.  We have the Sincerely Ignorant, the Conscientiously Stupid, and the Fact Finders.

The Sincerely Ignorant are those that are easily persuaded. They are like sheep following their shepherd. In fact, the Sincerely Ignorant are the most dangerous as they tend to spiral hard and fast – and often without reason.

Next, we have the Conscientiously Stupid. These are the shippers that choose to live in error because it fits their narrative. We are all a bit Conscientiously Stupid but there are those that push an idea so hard that they omit certain truths from their storyboard. The danger here is obvious and their victims always include the Sincerely Ignorant.

Lastly, we have the Fact Finders. The people who track information – key players, side characters, dates, places, statements, etc. These are the people who often find themselves pulling the Sincerely Ignorant out of the water when they spiral, usually due to narratives being pushed by the Conscientiously Stupid.

I am a Fact Finder. Am I perfect? Fuck no, but I do find it fun to collect and analyze information and share it with my fellow Fact Finders. Plus, collecting data helps me maintain some indifference towards the USS Lukola because, let’s face it, this god-damned ship has been blasted by quite a few cannonballs at this point. Some days, I’m surprised we’re still afloat.

Let’s start with Cannonball No. 1. Pap-fucking-smear. June 12/13, 2024. What a fucking shit show. Who shows up to the London premiere? Antonia, Luke’s – I honestly don’t even know what word to use here because I have a lot of different thoughts but out of [a small amount of] respect I will call her – “girl friend” [yes, that space was intentional]. We all know the story, Luke was papped outside his hotel with Antonia on premiere night and he was pegged an overnight dumpster fire.

And, oh my God, the Sincerely Ignorant and Conscientiously Stupid ran with it. I mean, they practically became wild dogs chasing down a fox under the command of Nicola the Huntsman. However, Nicola, almost immediately, came to Luke’s rescue by posting an “in support of” style story to her IG. I’m not saying Nicola wasn’t affected by this mishap. At the very least, the post-premiere PR efforts were dumped squarely on her tiny shoulders. At the worst, she’d had her heart broken.

I never liked the Papsmear pictures. Not because I disliked what they depicted but because there was something “off” about them. Luke didn’t look like a man happy to be out with his lady friend. He looked like a man who had been hoodwinked and whether that was because he knew he’d just made a major PR misstep or because he knew the narrative that would follow was false doesn’t really matter because it’s all speculative. But, what makes me believe it was the latter is what Luke did next.

On June 15, Luke put a story on his IG promoting Season 3. That isn’t all that interesting but the scene it depicted made me do a double take.

Could it be?

No…no way…

But…it was.

It was the scene in Ep. 6 where Cressida entered the Mondrich Ball and Colin pulled Penelope aside and told her he wouldn’t let Cressida ruin their evening.

What in the hot fuck? I mean, really, what in the hot fuck??

Did Luke really just blast out an IG story where his character tells Nicola’s character not to let the Cressida character ruin their evening? Was Cressida…Antonia?

Because that’s fucking loud.

I mean, of all the scenes over four episodes, Luke chose THAT one to promote Pt. 2?

Surely, Antonia or one of her friends or family members would have picked up on this, right? And, told Antonia.

No one is going to convince me that Luke and Antonia were in a blissful relationship after that IG story was posted. Why? Because the deductive reasoning part of my brain tells me Luke chose Nicola straight outta Pap-gate.

The Conscientiously Stupid may [rather they WILL] argue that it was just for PR. Okay, but that would mean Antonia accepted the comparison between Cressida, the Evening-Ruiner, and herself. Take a moment and put yourself in Antonia’s shoes. Would you accept this from your partner? (P.S. If you said yes, you have bigger problems in life than following real people’s relationships.)  We know Antonia accepted this role to some extent because we have evidence she attended events with Luke over the summer. So, what the fuck?

In my opinion, Luke’s IG story is a defining moment in the Lukola narrative, but one that was overlooked in June and one that continues to be overlooked – and ignored – now.

Luke’s character is telling Nicola’s character he won’t let another woman ruin their evening.

Let me repeat that again for you:  Luke’s character is telling Nicola’s character he won’t let another woman ruin their evening.

Now wrap your head around that.