#less than it is me actually addressing you in particular

[corvidcall]

tbh i would still disagree with you!! that's not really what Evangelicals believe, although I'm not Evangelical myself so I could be wrong. but my understanding is that they also believe in the idea that sin can be forgiven. the problem lies in their idea of what constitutes a sin, not the idea that you cannot be cleansed from it. you can be forgiven from your sin as soon as you stop sinning! of course, by "stop sinning" they frequently mean like... "stop being gay" or "stop being jewish". But to say that the problem with Christianity is that the theology doesn't support redemption and forgiveness is just factually untrue. That's like... the whole Bible. It's mostly about forgiveness (and sometimes about how rich people are bad and the very occasional weird sex things)

Also, I would say that the fact that angels CAN fall would suggest that they DO have free will? I don't think there's anywhere in the Bible that says that angels DON'T have free will, but that might be because like... angels really aren't that important? Their relative moral quality (or that of devils) isn't discussed much in the Bible, because like... idk who cares?? its not a book about how cool angels are and here's all their lore. theyre just god's employees. i mean, im no theologian, but from what i remember from church, jesus and his pals are the main characters of the bible, and appearances from angels are just kind of... serviceable and incidental? to me, complaining about the theological implications of the angels is like worrying about the theological implications of jesus's donkey. that's not really who in the story you're supposed to be looking at for a reflection on how God views you, or how you're supposed to behave. tbh i kinda feel like supernatural and good omens being so popular on tumblr has given people an outsized sense of how much the actual theology cares about angels. like... idk theyre neat i guess? but its not really a foundational element of the church, at least not in my experience.

This discussion ends up frustrating me a lot, because I feel like there's no way to address any actual problems with Christianity if we just lie about what it's like. If the entire theology was founded upon "there's no way to come back from sin sorry :/ guess you're fucked", why would anyone believe in it? why would people ever convert to that? are we under the assumption that every single christian is just a huge idiot who cant understand their own religion? how do we benefit critically from assuming that's the case? how can we even seek to fix any problems of the christian church if we keep making up what the problems are? and why are you giving people an argument that's so easy to refute? like... ok imagine there's a local restaurant where you KNOW the employees never wash their hands. if you go around being like "that restaurant is bad because their burgers are made with horse meat!", the owners of the restaurant are just gonna go "no? its not made with horse meat" and then continue to never wash their hands. why are we lying!!!

i hate that post about how theres fallen angels in christianity but no risen devils bc christian theology teaches sin is inescapable and you'll never make up for it. like that is fully not true??? the foundations of christianity are that sin is unavoidable because we are fallible humans but that you can always be forgiven. i mean, the parable of the prodigal son? the lost lamb? the sacrament of confession? any of these ringing any bells?

also, a devil IS a fallen angel, so a risen devil would just... be an angel? if you break up with your boyfriend, hes your ex, and if you get back together, he's not your ex-ex, he's just your boyfriend again

like... christianity has so many problems, why are we making ones up?

[lackadaisycats]

Hey Tracy! Have you heard about the new Ai called Sora? Apparently it can now create 2D and 3D animations as well as hyper realistic videos. I’ve been getting into animation and trying to improve my art for years since I was 7, but now seeing that anyone can create animation/works in just a mare seconds by typing in a couple words, it’s such a huge slap in the face to people who actually put the time and effort into their works and it’s so discouraging! And it has me worried about what’s going to happen next for artists and many others, as-well. There’s already generated voices, generated works stolen from actual artists, generated music, and now this! It’s just so scary that it’s coming this far. 

Yeah, I've seen it. And yeah, it feels like the universe has taken on a 'fuck you in particular' attitude toward artists the past few years. A lot of damage has already been done, and there are plenty of reasons for concern, but bear in mind that we don't know how this will play out yet. Be astute, be justifiably angry, but don't let despair take over. --------

One would expect that the promo clips that have been dropping lately represent some of the best of the best-looking stuff they've been able to produce. And it's only good-looking on an extremely superficial level. It's still riddled with problems if you spend even a moment observing. And I rather suspect, prior to a whole lot of frustrated iteration, most prompts are still going to get you camera-sickness inducing, wibbly-wobbly nonsense with a side of body horror.

Will the tech ultimately get 'smarter' than that and address the array of typical AI giveaways? Maybe. Probably, even. Does that mean it'll be viable in quite the way it's being marketed, more or less as a human-replacer? Well…

A lot of this is hype, and hype is meant to drive up the perceived value of the tech. Executives will rush to be early adopters without a lot of due diligence or forethought because grabbing it first like a dazzled chimp and holding up like a prize ape-rock makes them look like bleeding-edge tech geniuses in their particular ecosystem. They do this because, in turn, that perceived value may make their company profile and valuations go up too, which makes shareholders short-term happy (the only kind of happy they know). The problem is how much actual functional value will it have? And how long does it last? Much of it is the same routine we were seeing with blockchain a few years ago: number go up. Number go up always! Unrealistic, unsustainable forever-growth must be guaranteed in this economic clime. If you can lay off all of your people and replace them with AI, number goes up big and never stops, right?

I have some doubts. ----------------------

The chips also haven't landed yet with regards to the legality of all of this. Will these adopters ultimately be able to copyright any of this output trained on datasets comprised of stolen work? Can computer-made art even be copyrighted at all? How much of a human touch will be required to make something copyright-able? I don't know yet. Neither do the hype team or the early adopters.

Does that mean the tech will be used but will have to be retrained on the adopter's proprietary data? Yeah, maybe. That'd be a somewhat better outcome, at least. It still means human artists make specific things for the machine to learn from. (Watch out for businesses that use 'ethical' as a buzzword to gloss over how many people they've let go from their jobs, though.)

Will it become industry standard practice to do things this way? Maybe. Will it still require an artist's sensbilities and oversignt to plan and curate and fix the results so that it doesn't come across like pure AI trash? Yeah, I think that's pretty likely.

If it becomes standard practice, will it become samey, and self-referential and ultimately an emblem of doing things the cookie-cutter way instead of enlisting real, human artists? Quite possibly.

If it becomes standard industry practice, will there still be an audience or a demand or a desire for art made by human artists? Yes, almost certainly. With every leap of technology, that has remained the case. ------------------ TL;DR Version:

I'm not saying with any certainty that this AI blitz is a passing fad. I think we're likely to experience a torrential amount of generative art, video, voice, music, programming, and text in the coming years, in fact, and it will probably irrevocably change the layout of the career terrain. But I wouldn't be surprised if it was being overhyped as a business strategy right now. And I don't think the immensity of its volume will ever overcome its inherent emptiness.

What I am certain of is that it will not eliminate the innate human impulse to create. Nor the desire to experience art made by a fellow soul. Keep doing your thing, Anon. It's precious. It's authentic. It will be all the more special because it will have come from you, a human.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Punk Biker Floyd Leech

In a world that’s in a very distant future where cybernetics and AI have advanced the world beyond normal means

Individual desires are at an all time high

Now the days of meet-cutes and noble rebels were the stuff of ancient history

In a world where everyone’s so focused on themselves there are a select few who try

One of them being you 

Working hard enough to become the mayor of one of these decrepit cities 

You’re working your hardest to change this outlook 

And so far it’s actually going pretty well 

For the first time in awhile they’ve felt such warmth

since you’ve allocated the funds usually meant for the mayor’s paycheck 

But there’s a glaring problem 

The Underbelly–a part of any city that’s filled with the poorest and most desire-driven people

And no one represents that better than Leader of the biker gang of the Underbelly–Floyd

“Hey mini mayor, care to loosen up? Go for a ride?”

“Not this again Floyd! I’m trying to do something.”

“Aww are you the one who’s been putting up these cutesy little posters?”

“Yes, why?”

“I’ve been takin’ them back to my place, cause they look like cute napkins.”

“FLOYD!?”

Floyd Leech in this world is a mystery to most 

Feared by all

As an heir of the Mafia that’s running half the planet Floyd’s signature for his wildness and unpredictable attacks

One day he’s steam plowing through smaller gangs by mowing them down with his custom motor bike

But on another day he’ll be seen standing behind the mayor as you give your address to the people

Like his other actions, it’s seems so random

And it’s not that you nailed him right away that makes him interested

Honestly when his friend Azul asks him why he’s so protective of you, he can’t say one thing in particular

You always look him directly in the eyes when you have something important to say

You do sigh but you’re never annoyed with his antics

When he sneaks into the office knowing your in there still working, you so easily lean into his arms as he carries you to the sofa you have

He doesn’t really know exactly why but he doesn’t care 

Not anymore

All he knows is that for once he’s got a real tangible reason to do what he does

For once when he crushes the skull of a politician it’s because they tried to frame you

For once instead of just doing whatever's fun he thinks about you 

Will you show him that adorable upset face if he burns down this orphanage

Will you hug him again if he get’s the convicts to participate in community service

It’s all he can think about now 

And he’s decided he’d want nothing less

“Ne~Mini Mayor wear this for me.”

“Is this your earring? The one you choose to leave off for the style?”

“Yeah.”

“Hehe wouldn’t you want to keep this just in case you wake up with a need for good outfit?”

“Wear this when you come down to the Underbelly.”

“Oh yeah what’ll it do help you find me?”

“Something like that. Just promise you’ll keep it on you for me.”

“I will Floyd. I will.”

[00valentina-writes00]

Sevika x reader who performs at the last drop

♡♥︎ SongBird ♥︎♡

Warnings: Fluff, blunt Sevika, awkward flirting, mild language,

The Last Drop was always busy on a Friday night, but there was a particular energy in the air when you performed. The bar thrived off its unique mix of music and patrons, but when you sang, it felt like the entire room paused—your voice was like something out of an old movie, something raw and nostalgic. You’d chosen songs from the 80s mostly—love songs, heartbreaking ballads, the kind that hit with a punch of vulnerability and passion that caught everyone’s attention.

Sevika was no exception.

She sat at her usual spot at the bar, nursing her drink with a bored look on her face. But it wasn’t boredom at the performance—no, it was more like she was waiting. Waiting for the right moment to finally make a move.

It wasn’t as if she didn’t notice you before—Sevika had been coming to The Last Drop for a while now. The heavy-set woman with the steely eyes and the scars that lined her arms had always been a little too focused on her drinks and the brawl here and there to give much thought to the singer on stage. But one night, you caught her attention with the first few chords of “Take My Breath Away.” The way your voice reached every corner of the room, your eyes closed as you lost yourself in the music, made something stir in her chest that she didn’t really want to acknowledge.

The next week, you were back on the stage, and so was Sevika, watching as you sang with that same intensity. There was something magnetic about you—your confidence, the way you made even the most cynical people in the room believe in the sentiment behind every word. Sevika liked that, but she would never admit it.

Tonight, it was your rendition of “I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight,” and as usual, your voice hit every note with precision.

Sevika leaned against the bar, chewing on the ice in her drink, watching you like she always did. She wasn’t the type to get starstruck by anyone, but there was something about you—something she couldn’t ignore. She usually didn’t get this way with people, but for some reason, you kept catching her attention, drawing her in every damn time.

The crowd cheered as you finished your set, and she stood from her seat, her tall form towering over the other patrons. She hadn’t actually talked to you before, not really. But tonight, something was different. Tonight, she was going to do it.

You wiped the sweat from your brow with a towel and set the microphone back in its stand as the applause died down. A few of the regulars shouted your name in praise, and you smiled graciously, thanking them as you stepped off the stage.

Sevika made her move. She approached you, her boots echoing on the hardwood floor. Her posture was still stoic, but there was a slight shift in the way she carried herself—something less guarded about her approach tonight. You caught her eye, and for a moment, your heart skipped a beat. Her intense, calculating gaze never seemed to falter.

“Hey,” Sevika grumbled as she stood before you, crossing her arms over her chest.

You tilted your head, a bit surprised to be addressed, but you kept your smile intact. “Hey. You came to see me perform again.”

Sevika’s lips twitched upward in the smallest of smiles, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “I guess you could say that. You sing pretty good. Can’t say I’m a fan of all that ‘80s shit, but you make it work.”

You chuckled lightly, not expecting her bluntness, but amused nonetheless. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared at you like she was sizing you up, figuring out if this was worth her time.

Then, without another word, she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small, crumpled-up napkin. She slapped it onto the counter in front of you with a bit more force than necessary.

“Call me if you ever wanna… talk,” she muttered, her usual cold tone laced with something else—something softer, but only just. She didn’t meet your eyes when she handed it over, like she was trying to play it cool.

Your gaze flicked from the napkin to her. For a moment, you couldn’t help but blink in confusion. “Uh… okay?”

Sevika didn’t seem to care whether or not you were confused. She didn’t wait for a response. Instead, she gave you a short nod and then started to hobble away toward the exit.

“Hey, wait—” you called after her.

Sevika paused, but didn’t turn around. “What?”

“You didn’t even—” you started, but then paused, realizing she wasn’t the type to stand around waiting for questions. You’d have to take a chance if you wanted to know anything more. You grabbed the napkin, unfolding it to see her name and a number scribbled hastily on it. There was no mistake—it was Sevika’s number.

With a nervous laugh, you muttered under your breath, “Well, this is new.”

Sevika, hearing your words, glanced back at you with that same cold expression, but her eyes were softened just enough for you to tell she was a little unsure of her own actions.

“Whatever,” she muttered, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. “Just… don’t waste my time.”

And with that, she turned, hobbling toward the door and out into the cold night air.

You stood there, holding the napkin, the beat of the music still echoing in your mind.

Did Sevika just give you her number?

The thought made your chest flutter. You had no idea what kind of game she was playing, but if there was one thing you knew, it was that Sevika never did things half-heartedly. She was intimidating, strong-willed, and seemed to keep everyone at a distance. But there she was, handing you her number like it was the most casual thing in the world.

As you folded the napkin and tucked it into your pocket, a slow grin spread across your face.

So, this was how it was going to go, huh?

You had to admit—she intrigued you.

[igotanidea]

(7) Cheater: Dick Grayson x reader

part 1/ part 2 / part 3 / part 4/ part 5 / part 6

A/N: ladies and gentlemen I give you : THE FINALE! happy early b-day @pookieisme4life 🎁🎁 (I was about to wait till 24th but it turned out impossible I am so excited to post it!!!)

***

„Who the hell are you?”

Honestly, he could care less about the ID of the mystery person, nor he hoped for the actual answer, but the initial shock did just that.

They were driving towards some unknown destination that was allegedly the location of the place Y/N was taken to.

“Nice try, Nightwing. Keep dreaming” the person, who was already deemed as a woman, laughed, swirling abruptly yet skillfully.

“Seriously you can’t just expect me to address you in a hey, you way.”

“Valid point. For the sake of it, let’s settle on calling me Shadow.”

“Fine. Whatever. Now why are you helping me?”

“I did some bad things In my life. Maybe this is my way of making up for them.”

“Huh. Seeking redemption?”

“Pretty nice trope, isn’t it?” she laughed. It was actually pretty nice to be able to use humor even in dire situations. “I was always a sucker for the character who wants to do better in their life.”

“Yeah. At least you chose a better way to do so than my brother.”

“You mean Red Hood?”

“For someone I don’t know shit about, you seem awfully knowledgeable about my family ties.”

“Intel is everything, Nightwing. And yes, I know what your other brother, Red Robin, might say.”

“Who the hell are you?!” At this point Dick was really getting curious.

“A friend.” She responded, looking right at him, her eyes shining from behind the mask.

***

“Let me go!!”

“Easy princess. Behave or this might actually get worse for you.”

“LET ME GO!!” she struggled against the binding on her wrist and the sack put on her head.

“What did I tell you, you bitch!?” She was abruptly pulled out of the car and thrown onto the ground. “Do you have a death wish?!”

“Fuck you!”

“If I were you, I’d cooperate, you little slut. Otherwise we might have to scar that pretty face of yours more than it’s necessary.”

With a sharp movement the sack was torn off her head and she had to squint her eyes from the light that hit her eyes with excessive force, reinforced by the fact she had just spent god knows how much time in a dark car with eyes covered.

“Shit…” there was no possibility to hold back the hiss and a few tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Yes. Yes sunshine, you’re in deep shit.” The kidnapper kneeled to her level and caressed her cheek in a condescending gesture, obviously misreading her tears as a sign of fear and submission. “So pretty…”

“Piss off!” she acted instinctively, ending up with a slap on the cheek and stinging sensation that only added to her anger.

“Didn’t I tell you to behave?”

“I had a stinking sack on my head, maybe there was something wrong with my hearing at the time and – “ her head spun to the side as another slap, this time far harder landed on her cheek.

“Well you definitely heard me now. And if you didn’t I won’t hesitate to remind you again. Now get up, we’re taking you to the boss.”

Great.

She was in a freaking video game, when two brainless thugs captured her for a reason that was still a mystery to her and was now taking her to the den of a final boss on the level.

***

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

Should she even be surprised that said den had a design of a video game? Dark, cold, adjourned with different kinds of weapons scattered here and there, huge desk in the middle and three monitors that took up the entire wall?

Almost grotesque.

But hey, who was she to judge the taste of Gotham’s criminals, right?

She probably should have been terrified, praying to every higher power to be saved by Batman, Red Hood, Robin or – damn – even Poison Ivy in the worst case, but for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to that particular emotion. It was like her brain refused to anchor in reality and everything turned into a freaking dream she was sure to wake up from any second now.

Though maybe getting back to reality in which Dick was still with Sienna and she was brokenhearted wasn’t really a good alternative.

Right. Dick.

Did he even notice her gone? Or was he too busy patching things up with his girlfriend, already forgetting about Y/N? The girl he claimed to love?

A kick in the back of the knees that send her to the floor (again) made her realize that while getting lost in her thoughts she missed the obviously very important and very detailed speech of the villain who was describing his wicked plan to take over the world and –

“Ouch!”

“Stupid bitch.”

“It hurts!” she tried to squirm away from the kicking but it was immensely hard with her hands still bound.

“Hold the fire, boys. Easy. The lady is our guest after all and this is not how we treat guests, is it?” The goons chuckled darkly, because clearly guests were deserving of a far more cruel and brutal treatment. “Now, now, don’t be scared little one. We won’t hurt you. Much. At least not until you give us what we want.”

The owner of a deep, husky voice, who clearly was the host of the party finally decided to step forward and show his face.

Well.

Not exactly showing his face.

***

 “Could you at least tell me who we’re dealing with here?!” Dick muttered, keeping his voice low as he and Shadow pulled at the abandoned building on the outskirts of Gotham. “Do you even know?”

“Why? Does it matter?” Shadow joked “Would you use a different contingency plan for Riddler and another one for Two Face?”

“Could you please stop joking about it? This is my girlfriend we’re talking about!”

The emotions started to come to the surface, and Nightwing started becoming uncharacteristically scatter-brained.

“Idiot. Keep it down!” Shadow hissed, pulling him behind the corridor crease, miraculously avoiding the watchful gaze of the guardian. “Here’s what I get for putting myself at risk. Nightwing announcing his presence to the entire compound filled with criminals. Get yourself together. Or is it too hard for you?!”

Dick grimaced. He hated himself at the moment. For both losing his cool, especially in front of someone who could hold it against him and for missing on precious time since every second counted.

“Y/N. Think about Y/N.” he muttered to himself “She needs your help. Now more than ever.”

He took a few deep breaths, calming down the storm inside him to the point where he was actually in control and capable of turning the fear and concern into anger.

If anyone touched his Y/N….

“You back?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m back.” He opened his eyes, completely focused, eyes sharp, instincts on high alert. “Tell me who’s the fucker who dared to take her.”

“Black Mask.”

“Fucker.” The word left Dick’s lips without the involvement of his brain. That was how much he loved her. The golden boy, teasing, joking and playful nightwing turned into a machine, swearing and ready to freaking kill, almost Red Hood like.

“So? Ready to kick some asses?”

“After you.” The predatory smirk blooming on his face was a sign of incoming violence and spilling blood.

***

Her screams mixed with the ones coming from the corridor in a beautiful, gory cacophony of sounds. An ode painted with blood and pain. Maybe that was why for a longer moment no one in the room actually paid attention nor was willing to try and differentiate the sources of notes in the song.

 Or maybe it was the fact that the goons’ cries were extremely high-pitched, almost reaching the same key as the yelling of a woman trapped in the torture machine, losing strength with every passing second.

“Oh no, no, no, no.” Black Mask laughed cruelly “you don’t get to pass out on me yet. Info first.” The iron grip on her wrist tightened even more, as if that was even possible, cutting into skin and muscle, amplifying the blood loss.

For the last whatever-time-passed she was kept on the edge of consciousness as if Black Mask was hoping that choking, hurting and injecting with some substance would cause her to lose inhibitions and finally blurt out the information he was so dead set on getting.

Who is Nightwing.

Who is Batman.

Any piece of information would turn out to be useful, but since the beginning of the questioning it became painfully clear that that stupid girl was either too weak or too strong to answer.

Too weak because it seemed that even the slightest amount of pain made her repeatedly pass out and too strong because on those intermittent periods where she actually was conscious and aware of the surroundings enough to talk was the one making her extremely stubborn and uncooperative.

And Black Mask was losing his patience.

Here he was, gracing that little scum with his presence instead of submitting her to the treatment of his lower men, with less than gracious methods and she had the audacity to be bratty.

A vicious circle in which he was using the moments to get information only to be refused, beating her again and ending up with a thoughtless body, achieving nothing, over and over again.  

He should have just stuck to using his rat, skillfully planted in Gotham.  

“Fuck!” he yelled seeing as once again she went limp on the chair only because he pulled her nail. “Stupid bitch!”

“Mmmmm…” Y/N muttered and for a moment the room was completely quiet save from her little whimpering.

And then –

“OUCH!”

“FUCK!”

“RETREAT!”

“The hell?” Black Mask walked to the door and looked through the peephole. “Fuck!” Seeing his guards and men being thrown in different directions, sounds of yelling and snapping bones alongside with blood streaming on the floor was not the best view before 7 p.m. and definitely not the best without his favorite drink. Under any other circumstances he would be giving zero fucks about the violence outside the safe door, but now – he had a plan to complete and no one, fucking no one would prevent him from succeeding.

The loud sound of a door’s guard crashing with the metal surface and pictorially sliding down with crushed skull caused Sionis to quickly recalibrate his plan.

Seemed like Red Hood was in the house. And not that Sionis was scared, but-

“Hold them back!” he yelled, grabbing the limp body of Y/N and rushing towards the safety exit, to the roof where his private jet was landed just in case of emergencies.

And this was clearly an emergency.

***

The door broke about 30 seconds after Black Mask rushed to the passage.

“You carry explosives with you everywhere?” Dick muttered, equally impressed and shocked.

“What? It comes in handy and -”

“AAAAH!” Both goons rushed at the two vigilantes before Shadow could finish a sentence, but their brave loud cries quickly turned to quiet, broken sobbing as they were laid down.

“Be a sweetheart and tell me where he went?” Nightwing leaned over the goon with an almost soft smile.

“mhm…” inert waving towards the passage was enough of an answer.

“Good boy. Thanks.”

***

“NO!!” she yelled as Black Mask was dragging her through the roof. Sudden realization of all the things that could go wrong making her much more valiant and strong. As long as she was still in Gotham and not exported to another city or – god forbid – country – could result in being deemed as another missing-without-trail- person.

That is – if someone was even looking for her in the first place.

Tears pricked in the corner of her eyes at the thought that she could be so easily forgotten.

And the terror she was holding back for so long, since the moment of being dragged into that black SUV, finally found a way out…

“NIGHTWING!!!”

***

“Y/N!!”

A dead man would hear that cry and even a dead man would rise from the dead at the sheer desperation beaming from the voice.

“Y/N!!! I’m coming!”

***

“You’re becoming a trouble!” Black Mask hissed, slapping her repeatedly, drawing another stream of blood this time from the broken lip.

“I – “

“I’m so done with you. Should have just killed you the second you turned out to be of zero significance to the cause. Now come here you little bitch-“

“No!!”

She blindly started to run away, only to trip (obviously) and ending up back in Sionis’ grip.

“NO!!”

He was too strong and she was too scared and stiff to fight anymore. Digging heels into the ground did no harm and was definitely no hindrance in being pulled towards the ledge of the 10-stories building.

“NO!!!!”

“Y/N!!”

Both the girl and Sionis froze for a moment as another male voice cut into the screaming match.

But it was too late.

***

“Go!” Shadow was probably the only one who didn’t lose cold blood.  “GO!”

***

She was falling.

And it was beautiful.

Knowing that she would finally be free of all the pain, of all the heartbreak, of the guilt coming with betraying another girl by sleeping with someone else’s boyfriend. Liberated from being stuck in the memories of the past when she was actually happy, before everything went to shit.

“I love you Dick…” she whispered, finally crashing to the ground.

***

“Who the hell are you?!”

“Oh, come on, not this again!” Shadow hissed, extremely dissatisfied with the fact that everyone she encountered was far more interested in getting to know her personality, rather than fearing her killer skills.

For Black Mask it took a record time of ten minutes before calling defeat and ending up bound and being taken by the GCPD.

***

“Y/N.”

She opened one eye and much to her surprise found out that she was not a celestial body looking at her bloodied pulp of a body on the pavement.

“I love you too…” the warm embrace around her was welcomed but in time started to become a little suffocating and her battered body refused to be squeezed.

“Dickie…”

“Shh… shh, I got you.” He whispered again, caressing her hair, kissing her forehead, doing everything to assure both her and himself that it was all over and that he got her, that she was safe and he would never let it happen again. Never.

“H-How? W-what happened-? I – I thought-“

“You thought so little of me, didn’t you?”

“Idiot.”

“Hey!”

“Fucking prick! I swear if it wasn’t for this – “ she swung her injured arm in the air “I’d slap the hell out of you!”

“I saved you!”

“I almost died and you’re making jokes!”

Oh. Right. Maybe, just maybe given the circumstances it was slightly inappropriate.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah. You better.” She pouted, but he knew better, wiping the unshed tears. “It’s over.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“What happened?”

“I’m an acrobat, remember? I jumped. And damn, I wish someone had that on video because it was really one of my best – Ouch! Ouch! Ok, ok! Stop it! Point taken!”

***

“How are we doing here?”

Once Sionis was seated in the back of a police car, hands were shaken and words of gratitude exchanged Shadow walked towards Dick and Y/n.

“I think she’ll live.” Dick teased with a smirk, predictably moving a safe distance away from his -- .

Right.

Maybe there was no happy ending after all with that messed up relationship thing hanging over their heads like a freaking axe.

“Can’t say the same about Nightwing though” Y/N pushed the thought away, settling on sending him a death stare for making fun of her again.

“Good. I’m glad.”

“I think you made up for whatever crime you were trying to redeem, Shadow. Thank you. I owe you. You saved my –“

“Girlfriend?” Shadow prompted, looking between Y/N and Dick, making them both blush in a bit of embarrassment.

“It’s complicated-“ they both said at the same time.

“Oh, trust me, it’s not complicated at all!” Shadow laughed

“What do you mean? You don’t know-“

“I know more than you think. Haven’t I proved that already?” Shadow turned around, making sure no one was watching and slowly took of her mask.

***

Fast forward. One week later.

Y/N was walking out of the hospital. It seemed like her arm was healing nicely and there were no complications, though her doctor was very stern while telling her she was supposed to rest and not get herself involved in any form of physical activity.

If he only knew that she was in a relationship with Gotham’s and Bludhaven vigilante.

“Y/N!”

Speaking of which, said vigilante was now honking at her from his Porsche.

“Showoff!”

“Get in loser, we’re going shopping!

She laughed and jumped inside the vehicle.

“You’re supposed to hold the doors open for me!”

“Mh. Missed you too, sunshine.” He leaned over the gearbox kissing her with a cheeky grin. “How’s the hand?”

“She’ll live.”

“Quoting me already, princess? Careful, I might think you consider me a superstar or something.”

“Idiot!”

“Ouch! You’re hurting me. But I’m willing to forgive you, giving the circumstances of late.”

He started the engine and took the way to the city.

“Yeah. Crazy, right?” her head fell onto the car’s headrest and she sighed heavily. “I mean – who would have thought…”

***

Flashback

“S-Sienna!?”

“Hey you two.”

“h-hey? What do you mean “hey”?! What is this?! Some sick joke?!”

In her stupor Y/N missed the fact that Dick was as shocked (if not more) as her. Hence it couldn’t have been any conspiracy against Y/N’s mental health.

“Whoa! Whoa! Relax!” Shadow Sienna raised her hands in surrender “Dick-“

“The hell?! How do you know? Damn it-!” he forgot about all the rules of safety and tore off his mask. Getting to the bottom of this shit was far more important.

“- I meant what I said. Really! About that redemption arc! Just – just listen to me!”

“Five minutes.”

“It was all a scheme-“

“Well let me tell you, your explanation is starting off the wrong foot” Dick groaned, pulling Y/N to his side to strengthen her mentally.

“I am Black Mask’s niece in the second line!” Sienna explained dramatically “wait-! Wait-! I have no loyalty to him! Not anymore!”

“One minute left.” Dick hissed

“It was all a plan. He had some vague idea about the ties between the one Dick Grayson and Batman and Y/N and wanted to use all of you against each other.”

“Thirty seconds.”

“Yes, fine! I was his spy for a moment, but then you two-. God! You love each other! And I just couldn’t- I couldn’t-“

Y/N wriggled out of Dick’s embrace and walked to Sienna, grabbing both her hands in her healthy one.

“Thank you.”

End of flashback

***

 “I really hope you took your golden visa with you, cause I am about to go crazy with this shopping spree.”

“Hey. No limits on Bruce’s cards. He won’t even notice the loss of a couple thousands and I got my girl back, so-“

“I think we should send-“

“I already took care of that.”

After all the trouble and drama they got their happy ending.

***

In another part of town a certain girl found a fruit and sweet basket on her doorstep. With a little, but meaningful card.

It seemed like she found her happy ending too.

One in which she was no longer used by anyone and treated as a villain.

With the view for a future of freedom.

@miraculous-panic @fullbelieverheart @xlatinaaxx @ietss @arfrona

@gracescor3 @jaysgirlx @fuzzym4m4 @peachmartini @xenop0p @madness1999sworld

@leovergurl

[amaditalks]

Every year all of the big diet companies have to come up with some brand new labeling for their plans in order to encourage people to get on the January weight loss train.

This year, Weight Watchers is going further than they’ve ever gone before, by announcing that they have created a new system to give their members access to prescriptions for drugs like Ozempic and Mounjaro.

Let me remind you that these drugs only work while you’re taking them. As soon as you stop, all of your appetite comes back. Your desire to eat returns, and because it has been artificially suppressed it may feel much stronger and less controllable than it was before you took the drugs. Many people who come off these drugs, usually because of cost (because insurers are balking at coverage for weight loss) or shortages (because so many people are taking them for weight loss, which is leaving the diabetics who need them up shit creek) or side effects report that the first weeks are really difficult, mentally painful and often binging occurs.

Additionally, all of these drugs carry a real risk of creating a terribly painful and potentially deadly condition called Gastroparesis, in which your gastrointestinal system just stops functioning, you cannot digest and process food at all.

You do not need to lose weight to be healthy. You do not need to lose weight to be beautiful or attractive, to have success, or love. You do not need to lose weight in order to pursue fitness. If you have particular health needs or goals that can only be achieved by changing the way you eat, (e.g. lowering cholesterol or blood glucose or addressing gastro issues) that does not mean that you need a weight loss diet plan, just one designed toward your needs.

But more than anything, you do not ever need to put another penny into the coffers of the multibillion dollar weight loss industry, which, if it actually had a way to take a fat person and make them thin permanently (something that cannot even be achieved by surgeries that drastically rearrange digestive systems) would be a multi quadrillion dollar industry instead. 

[sneezypeasy]

Why I Deliberately Avoided the "Colonizer" Argument in my Zutara Thesis - and Why I'll Continue to Avoid it Forever

This is a question that occasionally comes up under my Zutara video essay, because somehow in 2 hours worth of content I still didn't manage to address everything (lol.) But this argument specifically is one I made a point of avoiding entirely, and there are some slightly complicated reasons behind that. I figure I'll write them all out here.

From a surface-level perspective, Zuko's whole arc, his raison d'etre, is to be a de-colonizer. Zuko's redemption arc is kinda all about being a de-colonizer, and his redemption arc is probably like the most talked about plot point of ATLA, so from a basic media literacy standpoint, the whole argument is unsound in the first place, and on that basis alone I find it childish to even entertain as an argument worth engaging with, to be honest.

(At least one person in my comments pointed out that if any ship's "political implications" are problematic in some way, it really ought to be Maiko, as Mai herself is never shown or suggested to be a strong candidate for being a de-colonizing co-ruler alongside Zuko. If anything her attitudes towards lording over servants/underlings would make her… a less than suitable choice for this role, but I digress.)

But the reason I avoided rebutting this particular argument in my video goes deeper than that. From what I've observed of fandom discourse, I find that the colonizer argument is usually an attempt to smear the ship as "problematic" - i.e., this ship is an immoral dynamic, which would make it problematic to depict as canon (and by extension, if you ship it regardless, you're probably problematic yourself.)

And here is where I end up taking a stand that differentiates me from the more authoritarian sectors of fandom.

I'm not here to be the fandom morality police. When it comes to lit crit, I'm really just here to talk about good vs. bad writing. (And when I say "good", I mean structurally sound, thematically cohesive, etc; works that are well-written - I don't mean works that are morally virtuous. More on this in a minute.) So the whole colonizer angle isn't something I'm interested in discussing, for the same reason that I actually avoided discussing Katara "mothering" Aang or the "problematic" aspects of the Kataang ship (such as how he kissed her twice without her consent). My whole entire sections on "Kataang bad" or "Maiko bad" in my 2 hour video was specifically, "how are they written in a way that did a disservice to the story", and "how making them false leads would have created valuable meaning". I deliberately avoided making an argument that consisted purely of, "here's how Kataang/Maiko toxic and Zutara wholesome, hence Zutara superiority, the end".

Why am I not willing to be the fandom morality police? Two reasons:

I don't really have a refined take on these subjects anyway. Unless a piece of literature or art happens to touch on a particular issue that resonates with me personally, the moral value of art is something that doesn't usually spark my interest, so I rarely have much to say on it to begin with. On the whole "colonizer ship" subject specifically, other people who have more passion and knowledge than me on the topic can (and have) put their arguments into words far better than I ever could. I'm more than happy to defer to their take(s), because honestly, they can do these subjects justice in a way I can't. Passing the mic over to someone else is the most responsible thing I can do here, lol. But more importantly:

I reject the conflation of literary merit with moral virtue. It is my opinion that a good story well-told is not always, and does not have to be, a story free from moral vices/questionable themes. In my opinion, there are good problematic stories and bad "pure" stories and literally everything in between. To go one step further, I believe that there are ways that a romance can come off "icky", and then there are ways that it might actually be bad for the story, and meming/shitposting aside, the fact that these two things don't always neatly align is not only a truth I recognise about art but also one of those truths that makes art incredibly interesting to me! So on the one hand, I don't think it is either fair or accurate to conflate literary "goodness" with moral "goodness". On a more serious note, I not only find this type of conflation unfair/inaccurate, I also find it potentially dangerous - and this is why I am really critical of this mindset beyond just disagreeing with it factually. What I see is that people who espouse this rhetoric tend to encourage (or even personally engage in) wilful blindness one way or the other, because ultimately, viewing art through these lens ends up boxing all art into either "morally permissible" or "morally impermissible" categories, and shames anyone enjoying art in the "morally impermissible" box. Unfortunately, I see a lot of people responding to this by A) making excuses for art that they guiltily love despite its problematic elements and/or B) denying the value of any art that they are unable to defend as free from moral wickedness.

Now, I'm not saying that media shouldn't be critiqued on its moral virtue. I actually think morally critiquing art has its place, and assuming it's being done in good faith, it absolutely should be done, and probably even more often than it is now.

Because here's the truth: Sometimes, a story can be really good. Sometimes, you can have a genuinely amazing story with well developed characters and powerful themes that resonate deeply with anyone who reads it. Sometimes, a story can be all of these things - and still be problematic.*

(Or, sometimes a story can be all of those things, and still be written by a problematic author.)

That's why I say, when people conflate moral art with good art, they become blind to the possibility that the art they like being potentially immoral (or vice versa). If only "bad art" is immoral, how can the art that tells the story hitting all the right beats and with perfect rhythm and emotional depth, be ever problematic?

(And how can the art I love, be ever problematic?)

This is why I reject the idea that literary merit = moral virtue (or vice versa) - because I do care about holding art accountable. Even the art that is "good art". Actually, especially the art that is "good art". Especially the art that is well loved and respected and appreciated. The failure to distinguish literary critique from moral critique bothers me on a personal level because I think that conflating the two results in the detriment of both - the latter being the most concerning to me, actually.

So while I respect the inherent value of moral criticism, I'm really not a fan of any argument that presents moral criticism as equivalent to literary criticism, and I will call that out when I see it. And from what I've observed, a lot of the "but Zutara is a colonizer ship" tries to do exactly that, which is why I find it a dishonest and frankly harmful media analysis framework to begin with.

But even when it is done in good faith, moral criticism of art is also just something I personally am neither interested nor good at talking about, and I prefer to talk about the things that I am interested and good at talking about.

(And some people are genuinely good at tackling the moral side of things! I mean, I for one really enjoyed Lindsay Ellis's take on Rent contextualising it within the broader political landscape at the time to show how it's not the progressive queer story it might otherwise appear to be. Moral critique has value, and has its place, and there are definitely circumstances where it can lead to societal progress. Just because I'm not personally interested in addressing it doesn't mean nobody else can do it let alone that nobody else should do it, but also, just because it can and should be done, doesn't mean that it's the only "one true way" to approach lit crit by anyone ever. You know, sometimes... two things… can be true… at once?)

Anyway, if anyone reading this far has recognised that this is basically a variant of the proship vs. antiship debate, you're right, it is. And on that note, I'm just going to leave some links here. I've said about as much as I'm willing/able to say on this subject, but in case anyone is interested in delving deeper into the philosophy behind my convictions, including why I believe leftist authoritarian rhetoric is harmful, and why the whole "but it would be problematic in real life" is an anti-ship argument that doesn't always hold up to scrutiny, I highly recommend these posts/threads:

In general this blog is pretty solid; I agree with almost all of their takes - though they focus more specifically on fanfic/fanart than mainstream media, and I think quite a lot of their arguments are at least somewhat appropriate to extrapolate to mainstream media as well.

I also strongly recommend Bob Altemeyer's book "The Authoritarians" which the author, a verified giga chad, actually made free to download as a pdf, here. His work focuses primarily on right-wing authoritarians, but a lot of his research and conclusions are, you guessed it, applicable to left-wing authoritarians also.

And if you're an anti yourself, welp, you won't find support from me here. This is not an anti-ship safe space, sorrynotsorry 👆

In conclusion, honestly any "but Zutara is problematic" argument is one I'm likely to consider unsound to begin with, let alone the "Zutara is a colonizer ship" argument - but even if it wasn't, it's not something I'm interested in discussing, even if I recognise there are contexts where these discussions have value. I resent the idea that just because I have refined opinions on one aspect of a discussion means I must have (and be willing to preach) refined opinions on all aspects of said discussion. (I don't mean to sound reproachful here - actually the vast majority of the comments I get on my video/tumblr are really sweet and respectful, but I do get a handful of silly comments here and there and I'm at the point where I do feel like this is something worth saying.) Anyway, I'm quite happy to defer to other analysts who have the passion and knowledge to give complicated topics the justice they deserve. All I request is that care is taken not to conflate literary criticism with moral criticism to the detriment of both - and I think it's important to acknowledge when that is indeed happening. And respectfully, don't expect me to give my own take on the matter when other people are already willing and able to put their thoughts into words so much better than me. Peace ✌

*P.S. This works for real life too, by the way. There are people out there who are genuinely not only charming and likeable, but also generous, charitable and warm to the vast majority of the people they know. They may also be amazing at their work, and if they have a job that involves saving lives like firefighting or surgery or w.e, they may even be the reason dozens of people are still alive today. They may honestly do a lot of things you'd have to concede are "good" deeds.

They may be all of these things, and still be someone's abuser. 🙃

Two things can be true at once. It's important never to forget that.

[olderthannetfic]

I feel like such a hypocrite reblogging all these posts about how people like male characters more than female ones even if they have similar personalities/roles/wtv, but I read about this stuff precisely because I relate to it. "People think everything men do is cool and everything women do is either weak or Mary Sue" -- yes, it's me, I'm people. It's not like I do it deliberately or I'm proud of it, but I can observe and acknowledge the empirical fact that female characters just produce a very different emotional reaction in me than male ones.

I guess I like the safe distance of projecting onto characters who 1. are more obviously not me and 2. are judged less harshly than me (bc everything men do is cool) and that's not my fault, it's the patriarchy's, but then I can't challenge it. I can't say "women can be just as cool and we shouldn't be judged more harshly", I can only say "yea women suck let me forget I am one" like I'm still in my 9gag nlog tween phase -- or well, I can *say* the former, but I keep *acting and feeling* like the latter. And btw I'm not just talking about consuming media, where all you can choose from is what's on offer; I'm also talking about creating my own fanfics, which are all about men.

--

The reason a lot of those posts are so obnoxious is that they're just people wallowing in guilt and projecting.

The fact is, lots of people do like female characters. There's plenty of fiction about women. There's plenty of fic about women. There is not, in fact, some grand, existential problem where nobody cares about the ladies. If you aren't seeing this fic or original media, that's different from it not existing.

Two, your own fanfics? FFS. If you consume media that is a sausagefest, then of fucking course, your fic will be about dudes.

Just the other day, I spotted a story I hadn't read by a fantastic fantasy novelist. I hadn't looked her up much beyond buying her trilogy, and what do you know: she actually says who she is in fandom openly!

I was entertained to find out that her big thing is kylux. You really wouldn't guess based on her pro work, which is about a harried female doctor taking care of supernatural patients. I remember those books being a refreshing change from my usual diet of nothing but slash fic. It's not just that there's a female lead but that they take a nuanced look at female characters.

Personally, as a writer, I wasn't ready to write much about women until I was better at writing overall, and my more self inserty characters aren't usually going to be women anyway unless they're like Julia from the Hilary Tamar series.

--

If you're uncomfortable with yourself, you can try to change, sure.

But fandom is full of this obnoxious plague where people think that it's the job of each person to make there be more female characters. This isn't necessary. Even if we want media or fic to be more balanced overall, it doesn't follow that each person needs to produce a balanced body of work.

Why should you in particular care about female characters?

--

But beyond all that, oh my fucking lord, I am so tired of that species of post that's like "Gosh, why is slash fandom, where people go to be horny over dudes and/or have self inserty feelings about them, not more full of stuff about ladies? It's so tragic how we all want to get rid of our boobs and wear men's clothing and be addressed as sir, just like all the other girls. What's up with that? It must be misogyny."

With a totally straight face.

Every god damn time.

[janesurlife]

Normally I'd see tweets like this and move on but Today I have my day off so I'm gonna deep dive into this "carlando has ruined f1" narrative and the particular part of fandom that's behind it. Spoilers alert it's charles fan aka lestappies

This bitch has the audacity to say this about carlando while posting this shit..ok sure ma'am, carlando is the one ruining the sport and not a fictional ship which has made it to top-65 of ao3 tags...sure it's carlando yeah

I mean I could be generous and say "enjoy your ship but don't be annoying" but I am not in a generous mood so I'm gonna spit facts. Carlando although is a ship that people like, it's actually a real friendship between two people who have been teammates with each other, know each other's family very well, went to family weddings together and have celebrated each other's wins without any malice (unlike sour puss). Meanwhile lestappen exists only and only in certain people's imagination and on ao3.

So tell me, dear viewers which one of these two is ACTUALLY the k-popification of f1 and ruining the sport? I think we all know the answer and it's not carlando.

saying "carlando was a mistake" as if that's something fans have "created" and not an actual friendship between two grown ass men (lestappies can dream).

The reality of the hate behind carlando is the fact that Charles fans LOVE to blame carlos and Lando for everything and anything that goes wrong in the sport. They hate those two drivers and go to stupid lengths to justify that hate. Bitch grow some balls and own it!

They have this delusion that "everyone loves charles cause he earned it" and I'm gonna tell you a very harsh but true fact and it's that most of you like Charles cause he's a decent looking white man who drives for a prestigious f1 team. If he wasn't in ferrari his fanbase would be half of what it is now or maybe even less. Although it's not a crime to like someone for their appearance but trying to say that it's not what it actually is, that's the problem. So please go ahead and write lestappen fics on ao3 and leave Carlos and Lando out of your delusion.

I would also like to address something here that's been bugging me for a while. These people in their attempts to make carlando the big bad evil of f1 take the conversation away from the real evil of f1 that's fia and liberty media. Fia being inconsistent in their penalties and trying to control very personal aspects of drivers like what they wear and what they speak, is doing more damage to f1 than two men being nice to each other. The rich countries throwing money at fia to get a grand prix without caring about the fact how dangerous it could get for drivers like Qatar was. And fia continuously allowing more and more GPs to be held in US even after the absolute cluster fuck that miami and las vegas was last year. The increasing number of street circuits even after knowing how unsafe they are IS THE REAL EVIL not carlando you fucking dufus.

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐒𝐮𝐢 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐝

pairing: pre outbreak!joel miller x f!reader, one sided tommy miller x f!reader

genre: angst, smut, romance, slow burn, mutual pining, secret relationship

series summary: After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance. The reason for this is due to one crucial fact you don’t know but he does; Tommy has a crush on you. Which means you’re off limits no matter what. But as your own feelings for Joel grow, things start to get more and more complicated.

word count: 6.1k

chapter summary: you and joel take your relationship to the next level.

warnings: themes of grief and loneliness, hurt/comfort, fluff, body painting, joel being a very lousy nude model, oral (male receiving), heavy petting, fingering, shower sex, edging, dirty talking

a/n: aaaaand we're BACK-- the hiatus is officially over and I am so ready to focus on this series. I've missed them so much and I hope you guys all did too 💗 also special thanks to @undercoverpena for cheering me on while I was writing this, love you to the moon and back bby xx

Chapter Eleven || Chapter Thirteen

Loneliness had never been a stranger to you. You had your own brand of it, like a homemade fig preserve. Being so close with it, you’ve added something from yourself, and in return, it has branded your personality in such a way that it has become hard to think there was anything but. 

For the longest time that special brand of loneliness had been your closest friend. During adulthood, you noticed how tired you were of asking for people to be emotionally aware of your needs, your wants. You were tired of spelling it out for them. Your parents weren’t like you, neither was Auggie. No one around you was emotional like you were, so you learned to keep it locked tight in your heart. You cried at night. You smiled during the day. You felt off and weird when family members hugged you and wept on your shoulder, you dissociated. You’ve noticed this, especially at your grandfather’s funeral. He was gone and you hadn’t shed a tear among the dark black fabrics. 

Auggie knew you did this, but alas, it didn’t really matter. 

So when you found a family emotionally rich despite not having much, it came as a mild shock to you. Sarah didn’t have these issues. She didn’t care if she was emotional or not, or if what she said came off as needy. The only emotional constipation you noticed was between brothers, but even that didn’t stop them from addressing what they felt during an argument. 

You were no stranger to emotional outbursts. Reading a book and eyes welling before you could finish a sentence. 

Now, you feel less lonely thanks to Joel, Tommy, and Sarah, each filling a different gap in your withered soul. But even that doesn’t stop the old habit of sewing your mouth shut. 

You wake with a heavy weight on your chest. It’s still dark, the sky a dark shade of royal blue. It’s actually a beautiful night. However, your eyes are blind to it. Your skin is damp with sweat. If you saw a nightmare, you don’t remember what it was. You remember going to bed uncomfortable, Tommy’s sad eyes branded into your lids like tattoos you both want to and don’t want to get rid of. 

You gradually rise from the bed, the thin summer quilt sliding off your now cold body. You shudder. It had been a long time since you last felt this way. Empty and lonely. It always feels like you have to suffer through these emotions on your own, your need to smile through it more prominent than anything else. 

You smack your lips together, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. You need water. Ice cold water. 

Going down the stairs you don’t think how dark it is, or how some particular shadows remind you of your childhood when you would wake up thanks to the jarring sound of mosquitos, looking for comfort downstairs where your grandparents were usually up. Fuck, your chest is even heavier now. The muscle in your chest more like a cannonball than heart. You’re hyper-aware of the way your chest rises and falls with every breath and quickly, you make your way to the kitchen. 

The light of the fridge momentarily blinds you but despite your burning irises you manage to wrap your fingers around the familiar handle of the old jug. You pour yourself a big glass and take small swallows.

A soft wind caresses the outer skeleton of the house. The shadows of leaves dance over the walls, again, a familiar sight that drags you back and makes you sick simultaneously. 

“You a’right there, sweetheart?” 

You jump at the sound of a voice deepened with sleep. Tommy is staring at you from the entrance, brows furrowed, the crease between them so much like his brother. Taking another small sip of water, you swallow and place the cold glass on the counter. 

“I’m fine,” you grit out, your voice leveled. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.” 

Before you know it, Tommy’s warm hands are on your face, cradling your cheeks. His thumbs move over your cheekbones, pressing and applying pressure over the bone. Your heart skips a beat. It takes you everything not to lean into his touch, to seek out that comfort only he could give. But you think of Joel, you think of him, and you stop yourself. If Tommy knew about you and Joel, if you were completely honest with him—an open book, you would’ve taken that comfort to yourself, not a worry in your heart but he doesn’t know and that alone makes your stomach clench with guilt. 

“You don’t look fine,” his hands slide down to your shoulders. “Was it a nightmare?” 

You blink heavily, your eyes locked on one another. Two broken people in a dark kitchen. It pains you that a nightmare is Tommy’s first guess. You wonder how many times he’d woken up to the faux scent of gunpowder and screams only to be comforted by the darkness of the ceiling. 

“Something like that. I. . sometimes forget that they’re gone,” your eyes drop to his chest. “And then I remember that no matter what, in the end, I’ll be lonely.” 

“Lonely?” he spits out the word, shocked, hurt and baffled. “What are you talkin’ about? You have Joel—You have me.” 

You know you do. You really do. But after years of going through it all alone, to see your friends have their own support systems and people to protect them, care for them, it’s hard to believe you’ve found your people. It’s hard to believe that years of solitude where you had to take care of yourself was over. Old habits die hard. Your heart shatters piece by piece. Your heart nothing but a heavy weight in your chest. You want to collapse, to scream, shout and cry. Salty tears sting the corner of your eyes. Suddenly you’re drowning in your past like it’s still your present, the thickness of it goes all the way up to your neck and you can’t breathe— 

“Hey—hey,” Tommy cups your cheeks, thumbs running down where tears would be but your skin is dry. “Come back to me, it’s a’right. I’ll always be with you, you know? Even if you move far away, I’ll always be a thorn in your ass.” 

You crack a smile and manage to nod, placing a hand over his own. You think a tear finally falls, maybe even two. You hate feeling like this. Hate it. Tommy doesn’t look convinced by your expression. 

“Do. . .do you want me to call Joel?” 

His words freeze you to the bone. Of course, he would ask that—Tommy Miller, always thoughtful, always putting others first. They both do. You even think to some extent Sarah does the same thing. All of them throwing themselves in front of a moving train in different ways. 

You don’t know if he’s noticed something. Or if he just thinks that Joel’s presence would be more soothing, since he’s used to relying on his older brother. 

Either way, you want him to know that he’s enough. 

And he’ll always be enough. 

You shake your head, “No,” he furrows his brows when you part your arms. “But I wouldn’t say no to a hug.” 

Strong arms sneak under your armpits and broad palms press against your back. Tommy pulls you incredibly close. Holds you indescribably tight. His scent fills your lungs. A bit of sweat mixed with a day-old deodorant. He smells nice. He always had. His skin is warm against your cheek and you smile widely this time but he doesn’t see. 

“Thank you, Tommy,” you whisper into the darkness. “I would be lost without you.” 

“Are you sure you’re a’right?” 

“Yes, Joel.” 

“Hundred percent sure?” 

“Yes, sir,” you declare, your gaze fixed on Joel as you peer from the side of the canvas for a better look. “Now stand still.” 

Joel grumbles something inaudible and straightens his neck, attempting to keep his limbs as still as possible. Your eyes rove across his broad shoulders, the expanse of his chest, you take in the shadows that appear between every sinewy muscle and think about how to convey it into your painting. You still haven’t dared to look further down. Looking down means that you’ll definitely be distracted. 

You sketch a couple of lines that vaguely resemble his shape. You’ve missed painting nudes and when you mentioned it to Joel, he was eager to accept without actually realizing he had to stay still for a generous amount of time. 

“You should’ve called,” he grumbles. “I would’ve come straight over.” 

“I know,” you sigh. “But it was late, and Tommy was there.” 

He doesn’t say anything but you can sense his displease. 

“He’s my friend, Joel,” you answer, observing the thick contour of his neck. “And your brother.” 

“I know that. I just don’t like the idea of not being there for you.” 

“Tell him then,” you say a bit harshly. He doesn’t seem affected by your shift in tone. Another line joins the others. “If it was anything serious I would’ve called, hell, I would’ve come to you but it wasn’t that serious. I was just in a. . . mood.” 

“Tommy sure don’t think so.” 

You don’t say anything and focus on drawing the rest of his torso, he clicks his tongue in frustration, “I hate when you do this, you know.” 

You raise your eyebrows, “Do what?” 

“Downgrade your problems. It’s okay if you’re still grievin’. It’s okay if there are some things you’re still workin’ out. I just don’t want you to think you’re alone, I can be your rock, sweetheart. I’d be happy to.” 

“You are my rock, Joel—and keep still.” He huffs and straightens again, your lips twitching into a smile. “I’ll try to open up more. Promise. I do feel really lucky I have you. And Sarah—and Tommy. Some nights I just wake up feeling bad. Yesterday was just a bit more intense.” Joel grunts in approval and you add. “Also hasn’t Tommy heard of the phrase ‘snitches get stitches’?” 

“He wasn’t snitchin’,” he pouts, you want to take his bottom lip between your fingers and kiss him. “I actually asked how he was doin’ but he quickly brushed it off and told me about you instead.” 

“Of course, he did.” 

He nods but still seems wound up like a toy. His head drops a bit, the click of your tongue reminding him to keep still. 

Your eyes trace the contours of Joel’s body. He’s an excellent specimen, everything about him so human, so raw. Every freckle, every crinkle you want to eternalize onto your canvas. He’s not looking at you anymore. Eyes glued to the legs of the easel. You still haven’t fully taken in the sight of him. Sometimes you’re truly afraid of how strongly you feel for him, how much you’d be willing to lay down just to be with him. 

Honestly, a pocket of time would be ideal. That way you could spend eternity in this peaceful moment, living in bliss. 

You place the pencil down and walk up to him. His gaze is drawn to your once more, “Sorry, sweet tea, did I move again?” 

“Maybe a bit,” you lie, standing an inch away from his naked body. You press your thumbs against his cheekbones then slide them down, feeling the roughness of hair tickling your skin. His eyes flutter shut momentarily, before opening again. 

You don’t say a word. Time is still around you and you believe if you try hard enough this can be your forever. You trace the outer lines of his lips, then trace the seam. His lips part, a bit of tongue showing in between—you touch that too, shallowly dipping one finger before moving on to his neck, “To draw is to feel,” you muster, the ball of your thumb grazing firmly over his Adam’s apple. “Will you let me feel you?” 

“‘Course,” he chokes out. “Whatever you need.” 

His words make your chest swell with affection. Joel’s words make you feel brave enough to allow your gaze to venture down. You press the flat of your palms over the swell of his stomach, something trembles within—life, you think, he’s so full of it. Your one hand dares to go lower, playing with the dark curls that lead to his soft cock. 

However, he doesn’t remain soft for long, it twitches and grows, the head gaining a reddish hue. 

Joel tilts his head, gradually leaning in to claim your lips with his own. He stops when your fingers bite into his bare hips, lodging into that delicate spot between bone and muscle, he swallows thickly, cock raising with attention. 

“Stay still,” you whisper. “And maybe I’ll reward you.” 

“Oh, we’re playing that game now?” he says with a crooked smile that makes your stomach twist delightfully. You only smile as your hand slides lower and lower, until you cup his semi-hard cock. His breath hitches. 

I love you like this, you want to say but remain silent. You stroke him slowly until he’s fully hard, the warm muscle throbbing in your palm, you press your lips against his neck, sucking on his skin until his hips jerk. 

“I’m not playing any games,” you mouth into his skin. “If you let me paint you, I’ll let you fuck my mouth. Does that sound like a fair deal?” 

Joel thrusts into your hand once more, groaning as you lick the vein that throbs under his skin, “I won’t lie, sweetheart, that might be hard if you keep your hand where it is.” He exhales a shaky breath, the warmth of it fanning your skin. “But sounds fair enough, I’ll try.” 

You press a quick kiss to the small patch within his beard and pull away before he can follow the heat of your lips. He’s as still as a statue when you get behind the canvas, but instead of resuming sketching the rough outline of his body, you grab two tubes of paint and a brush; though you have your doubts you’ll be using the tool, you’d much prefer to feel the heat of his skin softening the paint between your fingers. 

When you come back to him, confusion crosses his face. 

“I thought you were gonna be paintin’?” 

Your lips twitch into a sinister smile, “I am.” 

As cliche as it might sound, Joel has always reminded you of a deep, rich shade of red—the color of blood—but he also reminds you of an earthy purple, the type of shade that makes you want to bury your fingers in it as if you might actually feel the earth itself.  

You shake two tubes of paint in front of his eyes. He’s still confused, yet remains still. You pop the red paint open first, squeezing a generous amount over his shoulder. You watch it trickle down, drops of crimson staining his torso, the color so deep that it looks too real. Your heart jumping, you quickly smear it down his chest and all the way to his stomach. Just like you predicted, the brush is forgotten, slipping from your fingers and onto the carpeted floor. Joel shudders, his breath caught in his throat, you see him clench his jaw. 

“Darlin’. . .” he rasps, voice full of gravel, and your hand stops where it follows the V of his lower abdomen.

“Do you want me to stop?” 

“No,” he answers quickly, breathily. “Don’t ever stop touching me. Don’t ever stop looking at me like that—like I’m the most valuable thing you have. Like I’m worth a damn.” 

“You are.” 

Slowly, your fingertip traces an invisible path upward, leaving a trail of red paint in its wake. Joel shudders and gulps loudly. You draw meaningless shapes, circle where his tattoo is, and draw shapes of ancient alphabets you vaguely remember from when you read a book about the Late Bronze Age. Joel shudders, twitches, and tenses under your touch but never actually moves, keeping his stance. 

After the red pigment is nothing more but a fading shade of pink, you pour some purple paint into your palm and apply it directly. You press your hand directly above his heart, leaving your handprint over it before moving to his back, “Fuck,” he groans. 

Looking down, you notice him clenching his buttocks and slightly swaying forward, you smile, his cock must be dripping. You can’t wait to take him in your mouth, for him to use you however he pleases. You need him to be desperate when he takes you, sliding his length down your throat as he berates you for taunting him with sinful touches in the guise of making art. 

You press your hands together and smear the remnants of red with the purple, the fresh paint overwhelming the other. When both hands are fully coated, your cup both his ass cheeks, sliding your hands up, you kiss the taut skin between his shoulder blades. You leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses all the way to his neck and lick the sensitive spot behind his earlobe. 

“I’d wrap my hand around your cock but I’m afraid the paint isn’t edible so you wouldn’t be able to fuck my mouth,” you tease. “Tell me what you want to do to me, Joel?” 

He groans, “Keep this up and you’ll find out, sweetheart. I’m not a patient man, you should know.” 

“But isn’t the wait fun?” you challenge, your hands sliding up to his front, right above his pelvis. “The taste of sex on your tongue, the way your cock throbs with the thought of my warm cunt tight around it? Don’t you feel that tingle. . .” you gradually lower yourself, dragging your tongue down his spine, a choked out sound rips from his throat, “going down your spine, reminding you of how good it’s finally going to feel when you push down my throat, cutting my airflow and taking me however you want?” 

Joel breathes heavily, his stomach clenching with every whispered word, “Darlin’, please.” 

“Turn around.” 

You look up as he does, you gently take his hand and place it on your cheek, your heart dissolving into something thick and sweet like honey when his thumb strokes your skin. His gaze grows soft, the arousal in them dimming, splitting away like waves to show the emotion. 

“Your knees are gonna hurt,” he says, voice dropping. 

He’s right, they are going to hurt. “I don’t care.” 

You lower both hands to your lap, obediently parting your lips, sticking your tongue out. Joel wraps a hand around his cock and jerks himself until he’s fully hard, he holds you by the hair and drags you closer. 

“You want me to fuck that pretty mouth?” 

“Please,” you repeat his own plea from earlier. 

The heft of his cock on your tongue almost feels like a blessing from above. Your eyes flutter shut. Joel slides himself torturously slow, inch by inch, as he fills your mouth, your lips stretching wide to accommodate his width. He moves down your throat, awakening your gag reflex, you hold it down, choking around his cock. 

“Fuuuuuck, that feels good,” he groans, throwing his head back. With shallow thrusts, he works your throat open. Your one hand slides between your thighs as the other braces against Joel’s thick thigh. Right now, you’re relieved you’re wearing your favorite flannel pajama shorts instead of something uncomfortable like jeans. “That’s it, touch yourself, sweetheart. I want you to come while I’m fuckin’ your throat.” You whine filthily at his words, pressing your fingers between your clothed folds, you stroke your aching clit. Joel doesn’t stop running his mouth. “You must be soaked down there, poor thing.” 

Tears sting the corner of your eyes and you manage to slip your fingers down your shorts. His thrusts become rougher, sliding all the way out before fucking himself even deeper into your mouth, down your throat. You swallow helplessly around him and the groan that slips from between his lips forces the clench of your cunt, you breathe heavily through your nose and draw vicious circles around your clit. 

“Look at you—you like me fuckin’ your mouth, honey?” You nod, his lips curling in the most devastating way. “You gonna come while rubbing that pretty pussy of yours?” 

You nod again, this time accompanied by a moan. The reverberations of the sound trembles against his sensitive cock and he rocks into your mouth harder—this time tears do slip past your fluttering lashes. You can’t breathe, your vision is blurry, yet this is everything you’ve ever wanted. Your heart feels so full, so content. He fucks every thought out of your head, overwhelming your senses.  

“Shit, shit, shit—Don’t look like that, sweetheart, don’t cry, if you do I—I’ll—” Spit trickles down the corner of your lips, everything a wet, sopping mess. With every thrust, he manages to go down your throat, his mouth constantly muttering words you can barely hear. More tears flow freely down your cheeks, mixing with the saliva and precome going down your neck. His hips move in a constant stammering motion, balls heavy on your chin as he snaps shallowly into your throat without pulling back. 

You look up to him. Your eyes shining and glimmering, Joel meets your gaze, his eyes going wide, hips stilling—

He spills down your throat, hard. 

You swallow, swallow, and swallow, gulping everything that he gives. But it’s still not enough, there’s too much, some of it spilling from the sides from where his cock stretches your lips. Your body jerks, your fingers move slowly around your clit and you press harder, your feel the warm slick dripping down your fingers, making a mess of the rug underneath. 

“Sorry, sorry—” Joel mutters over and over again almost like a chant. His voice hoarse as his chest raises with quick shallow breaths. He then lets out a deep exhale, his cock throbbing in your mouth as he pulls out. “I wanted to last longer.” 

You kiss the tip of his spent cock, “Come here,” you mumble and he quickly drops down, you take his hand, pulling it between your legs. His eyes snap to yours, pupils eating away the color as he presses two fingers into your soaked cunt. Your eyes roll and your hips immediately grind down. “I came too. I came from you fucking my mouth, Joel. That’s how good it felt. You don’t need to apologize.” 

“Fuck, you’re really makin’ it hard to stay soft darlin’.” You smile as you cup his flaccid cock, feeling the weight of it in your palm, he hisses. “You’re gonna pay for teasin’ me, neighbor. ‘Should take you on my fuckin’ knee as punishment.” 

A fresh gush of wetness spreads around his fingers, “I think I would like that,” you say, kissing his neck. “But now I think I should actually finish sketching you for my painting.” 

“I don’t think I have much strength left in my legs,” he says with a chuckle. 

“Who said anything about standing?” you stand up, taking him with you. “I’m going to paint something else and for that, I want you on the bed.” 

You hadn't realized how much paint you managed to cover yourself in when you were pouring purple and red down Joel's shoulders.

He actually managed quite well when you asked him to lay on the bed instead of standing, and you’re fairly certain he dozed off for a moment or two. You didn’t mind. You loved how the painting had ended up, a sensual silhouette of a working man sleeping with sun cascading down his skin. 

“Surprise surprise, pourin’ paint on me got you dirty too,” Joel coos playfully, following you into the dimly lit bathroom. He stuffs your bedsheets into the washing machine, your eyes catch the smear of red and purple paint. “Want us to take a shower beautiful? We still have time until Sarah comes back from school.” 

“Someone’s cheerful now that they’ve taken their nap.” Joel holds you by the waist and pulls you close, unlike him, you’re still fully clothed—dirty, but clothed. His cock presses against the swell of your stomach. 

“I’m mighty tired of bein’ the only one bearin’ my naked ass,” he tugs off your shirt, the motion so quick that your protest dissolves on your tongue before it can materialize. “Also you owe me a nice back scrub with all those fancy soaps you have.” 

“I thought I paid my depth when you came down my throat.” 

“I don’t recall sayin’ exactly how much you owed me for this.” 

Your lips split into a grin. Without moving away, you bend over and slip out of your shorts, throwing them towards the washing machine. The flickering lustful specks in his eyes make your heart jump, they look like gold. Despite coming down your throat about forty minutes ago, he still wants you. He’s not tired of spending time with you, talking to you, humoring you in your endeavors— he’s not even mildly annoyed, which is something you thought everyone would feel eventually if they spent enough time with you. It was only a matter of when. 

You suddenly slap your palms softly against his cheeks, cradling his scruffy cheeks. His eyes rip away from your naked body to meet your gaze. You take in a slow breath. And out. Your heart rams painfully within your chest. Joel’s eyes widen slightly as he takes in your expression, observing you slowly as if he’s tasting what you’re feeling like aged wine. His fingers slither around your wrist and sliver down your forearms. 

“Darlin’?” 

“I love you, Joel.” 

His lips part, not with surprise, but with relief. You’re smiling giddily now, not a feeling of worry in your bones, just happiness, eagerness. You don’t care if it’s too early. Too late. It’s what you feel. And all you feel is love love love. 

“I love you too, Tea.” 

Joel brings your palm to his lips and kisses the curve of it slowly, he moves up to the middle, his mustache tickling you when he lays another kiss, “I love you so fuckin’ much.” 

You close the distance, slanting your lips together, you drink him. His lips move to the beat of the moment, tickling down tenderly and smoothly like molasses. Joel’s tongue traces the seam of your lips and you open up for him. He tastes you quickly before pulling back. He exhales deeply, his breath fanning your swollen lips. 

“Let’s get cleaned up.” 

You grin, raising an eyebrow, “So you can get me dirty again?” 

“Somethin’ like that,” he huffs. 

Joel leads you to the tub, acting as if you’re his guest and not the other way around. He turns on the shower, allows the water to run down his fingers until the temperature is just right, and then carefully helps you step in. You moan happily at the way warm water moves down your skin, softening your body and chipping away at the paint. Joel stands right behind you. You want to turn around, clean him of the colorful mess, but he doesn’t budge. His hands touch your shoulders, then skims down. 

“You first,” he murmurs, fingers washing away the paint. You lean back. His hands follow a trail to your front, kneading your breasts. 

“I don’t have any paint there,” you hum. 

“My bad, these eyes aren’t what they used to be.” 

He gives them another squeeze before going lower and lower. . .  until he’s pushing his hand between your pressed tighs. You laugh, “I definitely don’t have any paint there.” 

His teeth suddenly sink into your shoulder. The blossoming pain makes you gasp and your body reacts by bending over, rolling your hips towards him. With a soft growl, Joel grips your hips and pushes you up against the glass panel. You moan with your breasts pressing firmly against the glass, the constant shower of water making you slip. 

Joel’s lips touch your ear, “Gonna fuck you with my fingers,” he rasps. “Want you to come all around them, sweetheart.” 

Your body flushes from the inside out, “What if I can’t?” 

“You don’t have a choice,” he pushes forward, notching his cock between your folds, you whimper. “If you want me to fuck you with this cock, you better show me how desperate you are for it by makin’ a mess, honey.” 

When you don’t answer he grips your neck and forces your head back, he kisses your forehead, “Are you gonna be good for me?” 

Your stomach bottoms out, “Y—Yes, I’ll be good.” 

He kisses your forehead once more before releasing you. You fall forward with a whimper, bracing your hands against the slippery panels. Joel slides two fingers inside of you with embarrassing ease, “You like it when I’m rough,” he states, thrusting the digits in and out. You nod. “I love you,” he then says, catching you but surprise. You clench around his fingers and he chuckles darkly. “God, you’re gonna make me go insane—I love you—” 

You clench again, a loud moan dropping from your lips. The sounds you make are drowned by the water, yet he can hear you crystal clear. Your body reacts viscerally to his words, a flame that won’t ever go out burning wild in your gut—between your legs. He whispered the words into your skin, into your mouth, against your tongue. You push against his fingers, urging him to go deeper. He does. He holds you by the neck while fucking you with thick fingers, you cry out his name, whimpering those three little words that make him go inside just as much as it does to you. 

“Come for me,” he grunts. “Come for me so I can fuck you for real.” 

“J–Joel, fuck—” 

Your back arches, your orgasm rips from you, he takes it. It’s violent, earth shattering. 

Your jaw drops as he squeezes your throat lightly, the pressure adding to the intensity. You can vaguely hear him muttering ‘That’s it’ over and over, but you can barely hear the rasp of his voice. 

Joel kisses your cheek, drags his lips down your neck, “How’re you feelin’?” 

“Good. . . great actually.” 

Pulling out his fingers, he pushes them between your lips, you lap at them hungrily. While you’re busy devouring your own taste, Joel buries himself deep in your cunt. You whimper around his fingers, brows furrowing with pleasure. He pulls the digits out and grips your chin. His chest heaves as he pulls almost all the way out before snapping forward again, burying himself into the tight warmth of your pussy. 

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he mumbles, rocking back and forth. With every thrust, your lungs convulse. You desperately grip his forearm, but your fingers slip thanks to the water droplets that surround his skin, him letting out a sudden chuckle before pulling you towards his mouth. “Sorry, sweetheart, I don’t think I’m gonna last long now either. You make me feel like a teenager again.” 

Throwing your arm back, you tug the damp locks and force your lips together. You lick hungrily into his mouth. Joel moans loudly and you swallow every little sound he makes, your cunt fluttering and clamping around his length. He pounds into you sloppily, no coordination, no calculation—just need. 

To be wanted. To be devoured. What a wonderful feeling it was.  

Joel pulls out with a grunt, you hear the slick sounds of his fist as he jerks himself over the curve of your spine. You shudder when you feel it. Warm spend trickling down your skin, mixing with the water. He spreads your ass cheeks and pushes them together with his cock between them, he grinds once—twice, before heaving and dropping his head between your shoulder blades. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, but you hear no regret behind the apology. It makes you glad. 

“Don’t be,” you turn and pick up the shower head, holding it right over his shoulders, you wipe the remaining paint away. Your stomach growls in protest, your lips twitch into a crooked smile. “God, all that worked an appetite. I’m starving.” 

“Want me to cook you somethin’?” 

Spraying the water over his other shoulder, you meet his gaze. He’s so sweet like this. His hair wet, curling at the ends. His body finally relaxed. You can’t help yourself and quickly press your lips into the corner of his jaw. 

“I have a watermelon in the fridge, you can cut that up for me.” 

“‘Course, darlin’. Anythin’ for you.” 

Crickets chirp loudly. The wind pleasant, yet a bit too warm for your liking. You fan yourself with a hand as you lean back into the chair. Despite just taking a shower, you’re nearly dry. Summer is definitely not a good season for you. 

“Should I be offended you look so miserable right now?” Joel asks, sitting next to you. He bites into one of the watermelon slices and when a drop of sweet nectar escapes, he makes quick work of licking himself clean. You swallow, your insides pulsing. 

“No,” you sigh. “I just don’t like the heat very much.” 

“Well. . that might be a problem considering summer is basically here.” 

You groan and throw your head back, “Don’t remind me.” 

“Here,” he says, extending you a slice. “Eat.” 

You take the slice without objection, biting into the fleshy fruit. The cold juice of the watermelon feels good as it goes down your throat. You look over to the lawn, thanks to the heat most things have dried out. 

“I helped him a lot you know,” Joel says, his voice soft, as if afraid to spook you. “With the garden that is. He talked a lot about you.” 

“Did he now?” you muse, you chew the watermelon thoughtfully. Your eyes are glued to one of the butterflies in search of a flower. “I miss him.” 

“I know you do, sweetheart. I know. I wish I could ease your paint, but truthfully I have no idea how to do that.” 

��You do enough,” smiling, you turn to him and find that he’s already looking at you. “The silver lining is that I met you.” 

He parts his lips, eyes glossed over with emotion but before he can, both of you hear small steps approaching at the same time. 

“Oh, watermelon,” Sarah chirps, throwing her backpack to the floor. “Don’t mind if I do.” 

She takes a slice and sits down, eyes flitting between you and Joel. You try not to look at Joel then, your heart beating a bit too loudly for your liking. Sarah raises an eyebrow and locks her eyes with Joel, their expressions are similar when they’re about to wreak havoc. 

“What?” Joel snaps, angrily sinking his teeth into his watermelon, finishing it off. Both you and Sarah laugh, your heart feeling a bit lighter now. 

“Oh, nothin’,” Sarah rolls her tongue, mimicking her dad. “What have you two been up to?” 

“Your dad was helping me with the kitchen sink,” you answer quickly. “It’s been leaking all morning.” 

“If my dad is good at anything, it’s fixing stuff.” 

“I’m good at a lot of things,” Joel grumbles. 

“How was school?” you ask. 

Sarah’s shoulders fall a bit, but she quickly shakes it off and smiles, “It was good, nothing interesting happened.” 

You raise an eyebrow but don’t pry. Joel doesn’t seem to notice Sarah’s mood change. “We should better head off,” he says.

“But I’m still eating,” Sarah whines. “Can’t we stay a bit longer?” 

“We don’t wanna overstay our welcome.” 

You almost laugh at such an absurd thing. Him, overstaying his welcome? Never. But you also understand why he does it. Sarah is smart and by the looks she was giving you and him, she’s probably already suspicious. 

“You guys should take half of it,” you say, standing up. “I’m only one person anyway. If I eat this much watermelon I’ll end up growing one inside of me.” 

Both of them look at you deadpanned, you laugh, “You both have no humor!” 

Sarah turns to Joel, “Dad, I think you might wanna check if her water is laced with something.” 

“I think you’re right, baby girl,” Joel nods seriously. “There’s no other reason she would find that funny.” 

“If you guys keep that up I’m not giving you squat.” 

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am,” they say at the same time. 

You shake your head, snorting at the father and daughter duo. Both of them were ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. 

However, you can’t seem to stop smiling as you head inside to get them a container to put the slices into. 

[loquaciousquark]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤️

This week has been hell and now that I'm finally coming to the end of it, I'm going to sit down & enjoy this! Sorry in advance for the length.

My favorite fics vacillate wildly depending on my mood, interest, and the time of year, but right now, I think this is what I've got. In no particular order:

Invicta, Invictus (2016)

Magister AU. Hawke ends up owning Fenris while in Minrathous & they fall in love anyway. This fic was difficult to write for a lot of reasons (a main one just being my fear of not doing justice to the premise and underselling the slavery aspect), and it took nearly a year to finish between the writing itself, the rewriting and additional scenes required from @jadesabre301's beta, and final edits. By the time I started posting I felt confident that I'd written something solid, but despite the otherwise positive response, I did end up receiving a series of extremely angry, lengthy critical comments from someone who basically accused me of perpetuating the glorification of rape, the enslavement of people of color, and the entrenchment of cruelty against victims of sexual assault. (I vividly remember a comparison between Thomas Jefferson & Sally Hemings.)

This came out of the blue from someone I knew & had otherwise quite respected; it was a blow that shook my confidence to the core, despite several wonderful people reaching out to me at the time, and while I finished posting the fic, I completely stopped writing otherwise. I ended up not writing anything of significance for three full years afterwards. It wasn't until I got extremely drunk on a work trip (after a personal dinner, no colleagues around) and went back to my hotel to jot down the first lines of the Hawke-is-rescued-from-the-Fade fic that I even entertained the idea of picking the hobby back up.

Now, looking back after almost ten years, I've long come to terms with her criticism. I've decided that I disagree with her, that I'm actually still okay with what I wrote, and that I'm proud of the work I did in that fic. I think the premise is good and the examination of the social and political structures is sound, and I think the fic does what it needs to where the relationship strains against the societal boundaries around it. Not to mention I think it has some of my best Fenris characterization I ever managed, and some of my better Hawke jokes. I think the letter exchange at the end is effectively poignant even after all this time (though I do wish I'd written Danarius's actual death a little differently), and I still find the ending as they approach Kirkwall very satisfying. I'll also never turn down a chance to let Varania have a moment or two.

I'm proud of this one, and I'm glad I wrote it.

A Midwinter's Carol; in Prose; Being a Ghost Story of Baldur's Gate (2023)

I think this fic has some of my best technical mimicry I've ever managed. I've always enjoyed a good stylistic parroting, but this was the first time I'd attempted Dickens, and I genuinely think I did a good job. 😂 I've always been fascinated by the mechanics of language, and I had a great time spoofing his oddly frank addresses to the reader and his serpentine asides.

It's quite short—less than 10k—but I think it does exactly what it's supposed to, and I'm genuinely proud of some of the AU elements. @eponymous-rose gave me Christmases Past and Present, so I can't lay claim to those (aside from execution), but the way Future's demand resolves & the Thayan book standing in for the door knocker were all mine, and I still think they're genius, ahaha. (I also fully acknowledge that I owe Jade big time for helping me clarify the final deal Astarion strikes.)

I think the wordplay throughout of what it means to be redeemed is well written, and I'm genuinely pleased with the turn of the mood during the Future sequence. I can tell my love of flippant characters having stark face-to-face encounters with gods is probably a little strong at the end, but Megan Whalen Turner was a formative influence, and I still love it the way it came out here. This is a fic that did exactly what I wanted it to from start to finish, and I love rereading it.

I also think Astarion refusing to participate in the narrative and Tav's modern voice against the Dickensian backdrop are utterly hilarious.

Iron Bound (2023)

This is the most ambitious project I've ever tackled, even considering Invicta above. I knew this would be a long fic, and while I'd daydreamed about scenes from it for nearly a decade, I genuinely didn't know if I had the technical ability to execute it the way I wanted. Once I finally, finally, finally sat down to write it, the words came out like butter, and I wrote almost 70k words in two weeks.

This fic was interesting because it included a love triangle, which is not something I have ever had the slightest interest in reading or writing, but I felt the relationships were strong enough between all three pillars that I wanted to give it a shot. I love Hawke & Fenris, obviously, but the Fenris + Sebastian brotherhood is likewise vitally important to me, and I've always treasured the Sebastian + Hawke friendship as well. Getting to examine all three of them closely here was wonderful from start to finish, and I loved looking at where the lines strained and grew lax as they got to know each other.

Likewise, I've also adored characters who have to face the conflict between love and duty, and this premise let me marinate in every part of the idea. Knowing that I'd be able to give them all happy endings—knowing that they'd be rewarded for doing the right thing—was very pat and yet very satisfying, and I enjoyed every minute of the tension before the resolution.

This fic was in many ways an homage to Patricia McKillip, one of my favorite authors, and also a frank wish-fulfillment exercise for me. This is the one where everyone lives. This is the one where no one suffers for too long. Malcolm, Carver, Bethany, Leandra—even Varania and Sebastian and Anders and the dog. Everyone lives. Everyone is happy and loved and fed and secure and will remain so for the rest of their lives, and I remain thoroughly unapologetic for it.

I do think (despite Jade's attempts to correct it) that there's some marked narrative clumsiness in the back third, and with a little distance I can see ways I could have revised the Danarius confrontation and the series of epilogues to hang together more cleanly. There are also some heavy-handed sequences regarding the broader world politics which I think stand out against what is otherwise fairly mature writing, and I wish I'd threaded those through a bit more deftly.

That said, I'm still immensely proud of this project, and once I finish this post I'm probably going to reread it start to finish. 😂

This Lethal Light Falls Softly (2023)

I was very passionate about the central conceit of this fic, and I think it shows. It's cleanly written with no wasted time—even rereading it now for this post, there's only one exchange I'd still tweak—and I'm very happy with the way I wrote the Tav & Astarion relationship at this stage. They're a wholly different beast to Fenris & Hawke, who are friends for seven years before they finally embark on a real relationship; Tav & Astarion know each other maybe a few weeks before they sleep together for the first time, and even with the most generous possible interpretation I don't think the game can take more than a handful of months. This meant I was writing lovers with new-to-me insecurities, and with Astarion's own basketful of bugaboos on top of that, everything felt fresh and exciting and a little terrifying. I think you can feel that energy in the prose, and I really like it.

Aside from that, I'm very happy with the solution I came up with to Astarion's vampirism. It was hardly inventive, but I did feel it was both practical and lore-friendly, and I felt like its cost (Tav's absence for Astarion, the exhaustion and battle and injuries for Tav) balanced out the number of boons it provided. It also made negating the vampiric effects an active, ongoing choice for Astarion, which I deeply prefer over more permanent solutions like True Resurrection or a god restoring him to mortality.

I also just honestly think it's just fun to read. I like Astarion being snippy and short-tempered while still being overjoyed to see Tav alive. I like Tav confronting the idea that Astarion loves her as much as she loves him and that her silent absence was an active harm to him. I think I did a pretty good job setting the scenery and conveying the appropriate atmosphere where it was important, and I think there are some turns of phrase throughout that came out quite lovely.

I also think ending on the button of him seeing himself in the mirror is hilarious. (Not pictured: Tav having to ask him to put down the hand mirror for literal weeks.)

ah! this grief like cold bells ringing (2020)

This is probably the most difficult fic I've written in terms of headspace. COVID's forced isolation was particularly awful for me, and I didn't know how to handle it except to try to write it out of me. This, like Iron Bound, contained something I never thought I'd write (rape/rape aftermath), but the gravity of the situation and the world at the time seemed to demand something likewise grave, and I ended up feeling like it was an appropriate choice. Hawke has been a tool of many kinds for me over the years, and I remain both glad and weirdly grateful for her resilience.

This was also the first fic where I felt like I didn't shy away from or veil Tevinter's atrocities (a necessary artifact of the premise). While it was hard to write, it wasn't hard to write, and looking back I'm glad I made the choices I did; I think to hamstring the severity of the moment would have broken the story's teeth and dampened the recovery which came after. The instinct to quit flinching away was the right one, and I think the fic is better for it.

I also think this is some of the most effective writing of catharsis I've ever managed. When I'm having a really difficult time and need to read a moment of recovery, the second chapter of this fic is always my first stop. I've actually only reread the first chapter a few times since I posted (usually the pain's not the part I need), but I've reread the second chapter a hundred times or more.

I also do think that the style of the prose—a little flatter and more direct than I usually write—came out well, especially given the subject matter. While I'd prefer never to go back to that emotional place, I'm glad this came out of it.

Honorable Mention:

Lacrimosa (2011). Still one of the oneshots I'm proudest of. I think it's technically proficient and emotionally very effective, and I love the structure of it.

A Detailed Accounting of the Rigorous and Remarkable Struggles Faced by One Fereldan Refugee in the Singularly Capricious City of Kirkwall, as Experienced by the Illustrious Author (2022). While the writing is not the best I've ever managed (it began life as a warm-up exercise, after all), it took ten years to finish, and I'm deeply proud of both finishing it and of the execution of several sections.

Find Me a Wayward Sun (2023). I like the emotional complexity of this fic very much. This was the first place where I felt like I really started to understand the dynamic between Tav & Astarion, especially in the complicated back half of Act Two, and I've gone back to it several times when I need to recapture that feeling of confused selfishness and nascent, uncertain affection.

[scientia-rex]

Long ask. I didn't see that you had answered anything similar.

How do I do activism? Yes, I could Google it, but I would rather learn from a stranger with claimed yet unverifiable experience on Tumblr than from a stranger with claimed yet unverifiable experience anywhere else, and I'm here and so are you and we can talk and have a [para]social interaction. I won't bore you with a condensed autobiography, but I have a lot of experience fixing mistakes, not unlike being a physician, but far less noble, what David Graber would call a "duct-taper". It's partly what led me to socialism. I fixed mistakes but could not fix the root causes and, when I investigated those causes, I ran into structure. I couldn't explain the human behavior I witnessed as human nature, because it wasn't my nature and, as far as I know, I'm human, so the only explanation I could come up with was that the structure of the company I worked for created the problems I was trying to solve, and I had no power to change that structure, and no desire to join the psychopaths failing up the corporate ladder. I expanded my thinking outward and saw the problem inherent in capitalism and all the associated -isms and -archies, all the while trying to figure out what I could do that could possibly change any of it. I dove into progressive politics, read theory, consumed all the lefty content I could find, and thought, and keep running into the same problems. But even if the root causes cannot be addressed, the effects still need to be, because the effects are people, hence activism.

How do I talk to congresspeople? I email them about issues, but am frankly afraid to call them. Shall I get voice mail, or does a person pick up? If the latter, I'm assuming it will be a secretary. I don't want to be mean to a person answering phones. I've been one of those people getting yelled at or threatened because of events I did not cause and could not possibly prevent or change and, maybe I'm oversensitive or have PTSD or just a hyperactive amygdala, but I cannot overstate the damage those negative experiences cause. Sure, in the grand scheme of things, the lives that can be saved or improved outweigh a few people's hurt feelings or possible psychological trauma, but I would prefer not to turn this into a trolley problem if at all possible. Maybe it's a stupid question. Maybe I'm overthinking it. I can be charming and I have no lack of empathy; I can politely disagree. Shall I have to argue with anyone? Or is it a thank-you-for-your-participation-I-will-tell-the-congressperson-have-a-nice-day situation?

How do I get a job doing good things for people? This is somewhat pressing as I quit my corporate job five years ago, to have what turned out to be a midlife crisis, and have been living off savings (that are running out) ever since. I want to help and don't want to be ashamed of what I do for a living. I've always been able to do anything I've ever tried to do, but I'm 45 with little formal education or qualifications, and am thinking it's maybe too late to go back to school. Most of the non-profits I see seem like little more than scams. And perhaps the most serious complication: I'm a loner, more out of habit than inclination. I'll spare you the background, but I have no connections and no idea how to make them, and I don't believe I have any particular skills so valuable that should confer an immediate advantage or demand for my labor, but then again I don't know what is in demand.

It's OK if you can't answer some of these things. I simply have no one to talk to about them who can give any actual advice and figured you might. Thanks.

How to do activism: The first thing you need to know is your axe to grind. It was easy for me. I've been out since I was 13, nobody ever believes a girl is bisexual, it's always "you want attention" or "you're secretly a lesbian." That was in 1997. I went through hell and I'm bitter about it. So when I realized I liked medicine, I realized I could turn my life into an extended revenge arc by moving home and telling everybody it's OK to be gay. Two birds, one stone. I work with a woman who didn't get her axe to grind until about three years ago. She realized she was fed up with people abandoning dogs. She's one of the most active volunteers at the local shelter now. She's saved a lot of dogs' lives. She didn't start out knowing anything about it, but she told the shelter she wanted to volunteer, and they've helped her grow through the rest of it. My husband works with the local food bank, because his mom's neighbor (who is a family friend and sweetheart) wrangled him in to serving on the board, so now in addition to board meetings once a month he goes in sometimes to do things like help his mom's friend unload trucks. Sometimes the cause picks you, sometimes you pick the cause, sometimes you are the cause. And no matter what the cause is, someone else is already working on it. Someone else already cares deeply and if you show up ready to be hands on and help out, with humility because you know that you don't know everything, they will help you learn how to be effective. I started out in medicine by volunteering at the emergency room near where I lived. I pushed a linen cart around and restocked gowns in rooms, and when I couldn't fit any more washcloths into drawers I cleaned doorknobs. One of the nurses once told me she really appreciated that I cleaned all the doorknobs, because it wasn't getting regularly done. I am in medicine now because of many, many people I asked for help and who helped me because they wanted to contribute to justice and equity in medicine, whether for queers or rural people or women. This is, and has always been, a combined effort. Alone we beg, together we bargain.

Calling elected representatives: Oh god I know, me too, calling strangers is the LITERAL WORST. I'm 40 and I'd rather pepper-spray myself than argue with a human on the phone. Wait until after hours and you'll get a voicemail. I like to leave voicemails that start with "My name is Dr. Rex, I'm a constituent of yours, and I VOTE, and I'm calling about ____." That's honestly about all it takes--when I was hanging out with the lobbyist she told me they keep lists with tick-marks for how many calls, emails, etc., they get on a topic. Calls count for more. The more effort you have to put in, the more engaged they know you are. So call, but if people scare you (and the people who pick up are almost always nice, if you do get a person, and they will 99/100 times say "thank you for your call, we will pass your concerns along to so-and-so"), call at night.

Going back to school is probably unnecessary. Spin your past experience aggressively and start applying to nonprofits. (You "took time off from the working world in order to sharpen your focus on what matters most to you," which will be whatever this particular group does.) It's OK if you pick a bad one to start with; most of them are shit-shows, and lots of them still accomplish good things. Nonprofits are a bloodbath when it comes to actually being an employee--they know that part of the compensation is the sense of living ethically and they will use your altruism against you--so keep your resume updated and be prepared to bail if grant funding doesn't come through, but most areas have food banks and pet shelters and human shelters and jails and medical clinics and hospitals (for every doctor who works at the local hospital there are at least 10 support staff by the numbers, and they are utterly critical and always under-staffed). Sometimes if you start by volunteering somewhere, once they realize you're dependable, you can get a job there. I am zero percent kidding about working for a hospital, clinic, or jail, by the way. Those are places I know well, and there are always civilian jobs available. You want to make a patient's day better? Be the front desk, front line staff who use the right pronouns and cheer them up.

I think it's completely reasonable to have procedural questions about how all of this works, and I am grateful to you for giving me a chance to talk about it a bit. Please feel free to ask any follow-up questions. And for reference, when I was just starting out in research at a time when the market for research-trained people frankly sucked, I applied well over 300 times and got well over 300 rejections (I was counting) before I ended up with a job that I loved (even though it was hellishly stressful and I made just barely more than minimum wage for working well over my alleged, salaried "hours") and felt like I was making a positive difference for the world with. And from there, I kept making changes as I realized what I wanted and needed. Just keep doing it. You don't have to feel good about every step, you don't have to know what you're doing, just keep putting one foot in front of the other as you try to figure out what will make you happy. Because nothing else is a good proxy for happiness, and happiness, for a whole lot of humans, means finding something meaningful to do in life. Helping others. Be okay with changing, be okay with sacrificing who you are right now for the sake of who you can become. You've survived four decades on this bizarre and cruel planet, and you have inherent, intrinsic worth as a human being. You deserve your own kindness.

[zuko-always-lies]

You post a lot criticising Zuko. Do you like Zuko or not?

(genuine q)

Well, let me break that down a bit:

Do I think we should have sympathy for Zuko?

I think as a 16 year old abuse victim he deserves a lot of sympathy and should get support.

Would I enjoy being around him?

No, I think the Zuko we see is a deeply unpleasant person and I doubt I would enjoy it if I were around him. However, I suspect I would also find Azula, Mai, Ty Lee, and Toph quite unpleasant to be around too, so that's hardly unique to Zuko.

Do I think Zuko is an interesting character?

I think Book 1 Zuko is actually quite interesting and in his own way quite likeable, even if he's a terrible person. Book 1 is where Zuko's writing peaks for me.

Beyond that, I honestly think Zuko becomes much more boring. The writers started leaning entirely on having viewers closely emotionally identify with Zuko and feel personal emotional catharsis when he "achieves redemption." If you don't, Zuko becomes much more boring and the flaws in his writing become much more apparent.

I also think Zuko isn't a particularly interesting or unique character in general. Azula, Ty Lee, and even Mai all manage to be way more interesting and unique than Zuko, despite getting vastly less character development time. At their core, Zuko's arc and themes amount to rejecting an abusive father in favor of a better surrogate father, which feels pretty standard to be honest. By contrast, I can think of only one character the least like Azula in any Western media, Miles Vorkosigan from the Vorkosigan Saga.

Honestly, the most interesting thing about Zuko is analyzing the difference between how the narrative frames him verses what his actions actually suggest about who he really is. That's probably why I write so many "Zuko critical" posts, because I find analyzing the difference interesting.

Do I think Zuko's arc was well-written?

No. The writers were very good at tugging at the heartstrings but beyond that I think "Zuko's redemption arc" is not nearly as good as people make it out to be. In particular, the way that the narrative after Book 1 stops holding him accountable for anything he does weakens his arc badly. That, along with making Iroh the center of Zuko's arc at all costs, made things drastically worse than the original writing plans for Zuko.

Do I think Zuko is the morally pure perfect Firelord the narrative tries to sell him as?

The finale tries to present him that way, but it falls flat for me. Zuko is a very badly flawed person who never addressed most of his flaws, and he's not the least bit suited to be Firelord. The narrative needs him to be the perfect, rightful prince who will redeem the Fire Nation from darkness, and if Zuko had been written differently and his arc had been taken in a different direction, he could be that, but he's not. I could never buy the person we see at the end of the show being a good ruler, and I could never buy him being happy as a ruler.

Could Zuko be an interesting character?

Hell yes. If the narrative had been less prone to gloss over Zuko's many flaws, and more inclined to force him to address them and deal with the consequences of his actions, he could be very interesting. Even if the narrative was willing to seriously acknowledge Zuko's flaws without having him ever improve on them, things would be more interesting. The Zuko-Azula relationship is actually super-interesting if you think deeply about it, but you need to ignore everything about how the narrative frames them for it to be interesting. "Good boy tormented by evil demon psycho younger sister" is boring as hell.

[seriousbrat]

minor death eaters active during the first wizarding war

I've created a list of my interpretations of the Death Eaters who we know participated in the First Wizarding War, specifically the ones we don’t have much canon info about because they’re very minor characters. For this reason I won’t include: Bellatrix, Lucius, Snape, Peter, Regulus, and Barty Crouch jr. (Reg and Barty are arguably minor but there’s soooo much meta on them, I can’t be fucked to add to it tbh lol)

This is loosely organised by rank or relevance to the story, which may be somewhat subjective. With each Death Eater I’ll start with what we do know or can infer from canon, then add my own personal headcanon and interpretations for each character— but I’ll still try to explain how these are based in canon. If you interpret them differently that's obviously fine haha, that's why it's an interpretation.

Quick note about Bellatrix and Lucius: I think it’s telling that they were both entrusted with Horcruxes, this points to them being very highly ranked among Death Eaters during the first war. So if they were included in this list they’d be at the top over Travers and Dolohov, for the record. I’ve also written about the fact that I think Bellatrix’s rank was unusual among female Death Eaters here.

DEATH EATER LIST -----------------------------------------

(If a first name is small and unbolded, it’s the name I’ve given them and not canon.)

JAGO TRAVERS:

I think since I just ended up liking his character, I’ve given Travers more importance than he may have actually had haha, but it is true that he addresses Bellatrix (or Hermione as Bellatrix) with familiarity and fearlessness, as an equal rather than a subordinate. He's even affronted when Hermione is rude to him, suggesting that this isn’t their typical dynamic— interesting since Bellatrix usually has no qualms being rude and impatient with other DEs.

We know he was responsible for the murders of the McKinnon family. Karkaroff names him as an important Death Eater, and he was sent to Azkaban at the end of the war.

My version of Travers is first and foremost a pragmatist. In canon he comes across as more composed, more rational than other Death Eaters. He has a "cool" "sharp" voice, he's much less emotional and more practical than Selwyn at the Lovegood house, and he displays moments of ironic, callous humour with 'Bellatrix.'

The way I see him he’s strategically-minded, cold, calculating, and intelligent; and unlike the sadistic Mulciber or self-interested Lucius, he is all about the mission, which he puts strictly before his own personal pleasure or status. He’s not motivated by passion like Bellatrix either, he simply believes Voldemort’s way is the correct way and seeks the most efficient way to achieve it.

This quality is what leads to his advancement in the ranks and makes him a very competent general. However, this also causes a rift among the higher-ranking Death Eaters; Travers and Rosier believe in a straightforward, warlike approach, whereas Lucius and Mulciber are more partial to subtlety and manipulation.

ANTONIN DOLOHOV:

Dolohov was among those sent to Azkaban after the end of the first war, a loyal supporter who didn't renounce Voldemort. Karkaroff tells the Wizengamot that he witnessed Dolohov torturing “countless Muggles and non-supporters” of Voldemort. He was involved in the murders of the Prewett brothers, along with four other Death Eaters. He's the first name given by Karkaroff.

A Dolohov is among the original Death Eaters mentioned as waiting in Hogsmeade when Voldemort interviews for the DADA post, I think it’s probable that this is the same Dolohov, so he was already serving Voldemort around the late 60s to early 70s.

His “twisted face,” proclivity for torture, glee after hurting Hermione, and particular hatred of Muggles all point to me towards a sadist who is nevertheless intelligent and competent.

‘Dolohov’ is a Russian name and it’s likely he was named after the character Dolokhov from War and Peace— which I’ve never read, but from some brief research, Tolstoy’s Dolokhov delights in causing misery in others, is clever, competent, ruthless, but reckless. I think this fits pretty well if we extrapolate these traits to Antonin Dolohov.

“…the very process of dominating another’s will was in itself a pleasure, a habit, and a necessity to Dolokhov.”

The way I’ve used Dolohov is that he’s responsible for bringing in supporters from abroad, one of these being Igor Karkaroff— in W&P Dolokhov manipulates young men into joining his gambling circle, so I see this as a fitting role for Antonin Dolohov, who I think was of Russian ancestry but born in Britain, though still able to use his connections abroad. Despite Dolohov’s sadistic nature, I also see him as strategic, pragmatic, and dedicated, and so he falls more into Travers’s camp than Lucius’s.

EVAN ROSIER:

Evan Rosier is among the younger generation of Death Eaters, because he’s mentioned by Sirius as having gone to school with Snape. However this could make him either closer to Bellatrix/Lucius in age, or closer to Snape/Avery/Mulciber. There’s also a Rosier who was one of the original Death Eaters (I’ll talk about him below) and it’s possible that this is Evan’s father. The Rosiers are part of the Sacred Twenty-eight.

As for Evan himself, he’s the second name given by Karkaroff as an “important Death Eater.” We also know that Evan Rosier “preferred to fight rather than coming quietly,” and managed to blast a chunk of Moody’s nose off in the struggle before being killed.

Building from the fact that he fought to the death rather than being imprisoned, managing to permanently injure Moody, my version of Rosier is a proud, skilled, merciless fighter. He has a single-minded commitment to his cause— the supremacy of pureblood wizards. He will stop at nothing to achieve this and is fiercely loyal to the Death Eater cause and Lord Voldemort, even over himself. He is traditionalist and reserved, but violent and remorseless.

Being that Karkaroff names him as important, I think he rose quickly through the ranks after leaving school because of his skill and dedication. His impatience with what he sees as “frivolity and mind games,” as well as his preference for straightforward violence and direct action put him at odds with Lucius Malfoy, and in allegiance with Travers.

EVELYN MULCIBER (MULCIBER JR.):

My personal favourite Death Eater after Snape, though for very different reasons lol. We know he went to school with and was friends with Snape and Avery. Curiously he’s not named by Sirius in GoF, but I think this can just be put down to Sirius listing names as they occur to him rather than being wholly accurate. Mulciber and Avery’s sense of humour is described by Lily as ‘evil,’ and she describes Mulciber himself as ‘creepy.’ He attacked Gryffindor Mary MacDonald with unknown dark magic, for “a laugh,” according to Sev.

Personally, I think this is implied to be an attempted Imperius Curse, since Karkaroff tells the Wizengamot that the Imperius Curse was Mulciber’s speciality and that he “forced countless people to do horrific things.” Mulciber is sent to Azkaban at the end of the war.

From this we can conclude that he was either notorious enough not to be given the benefit of the doubt like Avery, or that he was loyal enough to not renounce Voldemort. We also have my favourite quote of all time— jkr said in an interview that Snape “wanted Lily, but he also wanted Mulciber.”

The Mulcibers are not part of the Sacred Twenty-eight, but as I’ve said previously, there could be various explanations for this. A Mulciber is part of Voldemort’s original Death Eaters, this is possibly Mulciber jr.’s father.

I think it’s pretty easy to deduce that Mulciber was sadistic and manipulative. I’ve written a lot about my interpretation of Mulciber on here— I see him as a narcissist, an opportunist, very skilled at identifying potential assets and manipulating people to his advantage. I think that Mulciber spotted Snape’s ability and put considerable effort into securing his friendship and loyalty, positioning himself as a sympathetic, understanding figure that Snape would admire and want to be friends with. The Imperius is just a literal form of manipulation, so the fact that this is Mulciber’s speciality leads me to think that he himself was a natural manipulator. He sees people as tools but is nevertheless very adept at preying on their desires and insecurities, he’s clever and has well-developed social skills.

His proclivity for the Imperius was no doubt incredibly useful for the Death Eaters, which is why he was given importance despite his youth, and he would have been more aligned with Lucius’s subtle, diplomatic approach rather than Travers and Rosier.

PRESTON AVERY (AVERY JR.)

My other detestable fave. Along with Mulciber, we know that Avery was friends with Snape in school, and that his sense of humour was ‘evil.’ There are a few things that distinguish Avery from Mulciber: for instance Mulciber was the instigator of the attack on Mary, not Avery, and also Avery escaped Azkaban by saying he was under the Imperius curse and did not attempt to seek Voldemort out.

In the graveyard, Avery flings himself at Voldemort’s feet and begs his forgiveness, specifically in a ‘shriek,’ before Voldemort tortures him. In OotP Avery gives Voldemort incorrect information about the prophecy in the Dept. of Mysteries, and is tortured for this mistake. Haha poor Avery never catches a break (he deserves it tho.)

An Avery is mentioned as being part of Riddle's gang in Slughorn's memory, this is possibly Avery's father. Karkaroff does not name him, meaning he was either unimportant or unknown to Karkaroff, or both.

Sirius says that Avery ‘wormed’ his way out of Azkaban, and given that Sirius knew him at school I think this is indicative of Avery’s character, as is his shrieking and flinging for Voldemort’s forgiveness. So in my mind he’s sly, devious, and self-serving, since unlike his fellows Mulciber and Rosier, he isn’t willing to die or be sent to Azkaban for Voldemort.

It's unclear why he would have told Voldemort that Bode could steal the prophecy-- perhaps he worked for the Ministry after the war.

I’ve leant quite heavily into the ‘evil sense of humour’ for Avery, and given him a very twisted, specifically misogynistic humour, as this is common in teenage boys (and I think it's a vague possibility that Mary’s attack might have been sexual in nature.) For Lily to mention him, Avery had to have pulled his own weight in the evil sense of humour department.

There’s a pathetic element to him too, he’s not quite as clever nor talented as Mulciber and Snape, though still conniving enough to avoid Azkaban. His begging for forgiveness in the graveyard suggests to me that he thought speaking up would be a strategic way to avoid Voldemort’s displeasure, and he was sadly mistaken. I think his claiming Bode could remove the prophecy was a similar, and similarly misjudged, attempt to gain favour.

AUGUSTUS ROOKWOOD

I actually think Rookwood should go above Avery, but Avery in my heart is a more relevant character, so there you are. But Rookwood is named by Karkaroff, right after Travers and Mulciber, and we know he was a spy based in the Department of Mysteries, a fact which was unknown to the Ministry until Karkaroff’s trial.

Ludo Bagman also describes “old Rookwood” as a friend of his dad’s, meaning he was probably an older gent, and Bagman also says “Rookwood kept talking about getting me a job in the Ministry later on.”

According to Karkaroff, Rookwood had a network of informants inside the Ministry and out— since we know one of these was the unwitting Bagman, it’s likely other informants were also unaware of what they were doing. Rookwood uses the promise of a Ministry job to wheedle info from Bagman, meaning he was presumably well-placed enough in the Ministry to be able to offer a job, and also clever and conniving enough to know how to manipulate people into giving him intel. (tbf Bagman was probably an easy mark, but Rookwood was able to spot that.)

Since Rookwood’s identity was unknown for so long and only given up by Karkaroff post-war, I think it’s safe to assume he was very competent as a spy, intelligent and careful. It’s likely that not many Death Eaters knew about him (as Karkaroff states, many of them didn’t know about each other) and I doubt the Order would have, either. It probably was just bad luck for Rookwood that Karkaroff somehow did find out at some point, since I think it’s most likely that Snape didn’t know— or else Dumbledore and the Wizengamot would have already been aware.

This for me means I can’t really include him much in my fic in anything other than hints and cameos. Since Bagman and his father both like him, I think his outward persona at least was probably charming and friendly. In his mugshot he's leaning against the frame and looking bored, which I think is indicative of his true personality: ruthless, cold, indifferent. The charming persona is a carefully and cleverly constructed mask.

RODOLPHUS LESTRANGE

The reason Rodolphus and his brother aren’t higher up is that I don’t think they were as nearly as important/relevant as Bellatrix. Outside of the Pensieve trial they’re barely ever mentioned, they’re present at a few battles but never given any protagonism. Tellingly, Bellatrix herself doesn’t mention or interact with her husband once. We know he was ‘tall and thickset,’ that he and his brother participated in the torture of the Longbottoms, and were among Voldemort’s loyal supporters who didn’t renounce him after the war.

A Lestrange is in Riddle's group at school- this is either the father/other relative of Rabastan and Rodolphus, since Sirius implying Rodolphus was in school with Bellatrix means it can't be Rodolphus himself.

My view of Rodolphus is that he followed his wife’s lead, as she was the dominant partner. I don’t think he was clever or talented or ambitious enough to distinguish himself as a leader in his own right, and that he was primarily useful to Bellatrix for his wealth and pureblood name. In my opinion Bellatrix didn’t really like her husband, in fact she almost just tolerated him while having affairs not only with Voldemort but other men (when Voldemort didn’t pay her attention) and Rodolphus was largely oblivious to this lol. The Lestrange brothers were decently ranked, but this is owing more to their wealth and pureblood name (and association with Bellatrix) rather than their ability.  

RABASTAN LESTRANGE

A lot of what I’ve said for Rodolphus goes for Rabastan, but I'll add a few things. First is that I think Rabastan provides an explanation for why Sirius names Bellatrix and Rodolphus as part of Snape’s group in school, even though this is unlikely given their ages. Rabastan was almost certainly the younger brother since Bellatrix would have married the Lestrange heir, he’s described as thinner and more nervous than his brother in the Pensieve, which also fits with him being younger.

So, my theory is that Sirius was just describing a specific ‘group of Slytherins’ as a whole throughout the years, and that there was some overlap and changing of members as people entered the school or graduated from it. Bellatrix was perhaps the leader of that group when she was at school, which would have included the younger Rabastan— then, if either Mulciber or Avery were slightly older than Sev, they’d have potentially been in Bellatrix’s group but almost certainly in Rabastan’s.

About Rabastan himself, the description of him being thin and his “eyes darting around the room” make me think he's slyer and more unassuming than his brother, easily overshadowed by Rodolphus and certainly Bellatrix. There’s something more calculating about him too, but his subservience to his brother and sister-in-law means he stays somewhat in the background.

WALDEN MACNAIR

We’re introduced to Macnair as an executioner working in the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures— however, it’s mentioned in the graveyard that Macnair wasn’t doing this job during the first war, and Voldemort then offers him “better victims.” It’s possible to interpret that Macnair was younger, since he wasn’t yet established in his career during the first war. This isn’t necessarily the case but Macnair is also described as muscular in PoA which gives the impression of a younger, fitter man.

Macnair is one of the Death Eaters who was sent to liaise with the giants. He didn’t search for Voldemort after the downfall, and the other thing to note is that Macnair is genuinely frustrated about not being able to execute Buckbeak.

So I think we can infer that Macnair is violent and bloodthirsty, with a particular penchant for cruelty towards animals/magical creatures. A connection can be made between Macnair being an animal executioner and the fact that he was sent to the giants. Personally I’ve used Macnair in a similar way, involving him in the recruitment of Fenrir Greyback and other werewolves.

The fact he uses an axe instead of magic to execute Buckbeak is odd; either this is a very outdated, inhumane practice of the Committee itself, or Macnair's choice because idk he just loves violence. I tend to think it's the first, though I'm sure Macnair has no complaints about it.

I’ve characterised Macnair as being generally smooth and swaggering, kind of debonair and very full of himself, literally just because of his muscles and moustache lol. But he has a cruel sense of humour, liking for violence and deep disdain for non-humans especially but also Muggles and Muggleborns.

FULGENCE NOTT

Not(t) much is known about Theodore Nott’s father, who is described as a ‘stooped man,’ and this plus his single line of dialogue (‘My Lord, I prostrate myself before you, I am your most faithful –’) paint a picture of a sycophantic, obsequious, pretentious but fairly pathetic man haha. He was likely decently ranked, like the Lestrange brothers, due to his family name. He escaped Azkaban.

Not only are the Notts part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, their ancestor Cantakerus Nott is also believed to be the author of that list. We also know that Nott Sr. was friendly with Slughorn and an old favourite of his, and that he’s a widower, having lost his wife when Theodore was young (this is probably supposed to be the death that Theodore witnessed.)

A Nott is also one of the Death Eaters waiting for Voldemort during his interview with Dumbledore, and in this case it’s likely the same Nott, meaning he was already serving Voldemort by the early 70s.

I don’t have much to add about Nott, his being an old favourite of Slughorn fits with his sycophantic personality, and with the idea that he was in Voldemort’s gang at school and part of the original Death Eaters. I've given him the unfortunate name Fulgence because he's so pathetic in such a pretentious way lol.

CORBAN YAXLEY:

I don’t think Yaxley was particularly high-ranking until around DH, when the power vacuum left by Lucius’s fall from grace provided him an opportunity. Snape names Yaxley in HBP as one of the Death Eaters who avoided Azkaban and never attempted to seek Voldemort out, and he wasn’t at the battle of the Dept. of Mysteries, but he was arrested at Hogwarts after Dumbledore’s death.

He has a 'heavy, brutal face' and 'blunt' features which I think gives a clue to his personality, but of the DEs in the Astronomy Tower he also seems to be the most sensible and focused on the mission. He also comes across as confident and self-assured when he speaks at Malfoy Manor in DH, while 'determined' to gain Voldemort's approval.

In the Astronomy Tower, he appears to be the senior Death Eater as he gives Greyback orders— however, I think it’s worth noting that the Death Eaters present on the Astronomy tower (except Snape) were not high-ranking in general. I think this is purposeful; Voldemort sent in expendable soldiers whose job it was to keep the Order busy while Draco or Snape assassinated Dumbledore, and it's also true that many high-ranking DEs were arrested at the Ministry at the end of OotP.

So, I think during the first war Yaxley was really a foot soldier, though one of the more competent ones. I think he was probably ambitious and sought to rise in the ranks, but it was the fact that he was lower-profile than someone like Mulciber or Bellatrix that allowed him to get close enough to Thicknesse to Imperiuse him in DH, then later become Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

Because of her notoriety the general public might have had a harder time accepting Bellatrix in that post, but since Yaxley was a relative unknown he was a good choice, even more so because he proved himself by Imperiusing Thicknesse. I think the same mostly holds true of the Carrows teaching at Hogwarts but I’ll get to that.

IGOR KARKAROFF

I almost didn’t include Karkaroff in this list because we do see quite a lot of him as a character, but I think there are a few things worth pointing out. First is that Karkaroff flees when the Dark Mark burns in GoF, and he gives up fellow Death Eaters to avoid Azkaban— inherently he is cowardly and disloyal, and also not wise enough to realise that he would certainly be tracked down in the end.

Second is the fact that Karkaroff is foreign. In DH before the Gringotts break-in, Travers treats ‘Dragomir Despard’ with distaste and obvious xenophobia, so I think the same would have applied to Karkaroff. On the other hand, Travers quite easily accepts the idea that they’d recruit a foreign wizard, so this is probably something they’d done in the past.

Like I said in Dolohov’s section, I think Karkaroff was recruited by Dolohov, since both names seem to be Russian. This personal connection also explains for me why Karkaroff would name Dolohov first.

Draco claims that Lucius knows Karkaroff, but this is likely Draco exaggerating his father’s importance, plus the fact that as Headmaster of Durmstrang Karkaroff would be of more relevance to Lucius than during the war.

Karkaroff doesn't name Lucius at his hearing; I think we can infer that the Death Eaters that he does name are those that he worked with, or else he would have named more people when he started getting desperate. In fact the order Karkaroff names them in (Dolohov > Rosier > Travers > Mulciber > Rookwood > Snape) might be somewhat indicative of who he knew best and considered most important. Karkaroff's testimony has been much more useful to me than it was to the Ministry haha, thanks Igor.

DEVEREUX WILKES

Pretty much nothing is known about Wilkes, other than the fact that they were a contemporary of Snape and died in the first war. Not even their gender is known.

So we’re free to do literally anything with Wilkes. I’ve chosen to interpret the fact that he died (my version is male, since there are very few female Death Eaters) as being due to incompetence rather than nobly going out fighting the way Rosier did. He’s sycophantic, entitled, and ambitious but all around rather pathetic, and not as skilled nor clever as he thinks he is. I don’t think he’d ever be more than a foot soldier. Again though, there’s no canon info to base anything off other than the fact that Wilkes was youngish and died— and also arguably the lack of information itself might imply Wilkes just wasn’t ever very important haha.

ALECTO AND AMYCUS CARROW

Lumping these guys together. The Carrows are fairly established characters so I won’t talk much about Alecto and Amycus themselves. Their speech comes across as more working-class than other Death Eaters, they’re present in the group that infiltrates Hogwarts in HBP (see Yaxley’s section for more on this) and they’re not mentioned in the graveyard despite avoiding Azkaban, so I tend to think that they were very low-ranked during the first war, basically expendable foot soldiers.

Like Yaxley, I think they were given their positions at Hogwarts because of their lack of notoriety, but unlike Yaxley I think they were relegated to a relatively easy job, under the guidance of Snape, because they weren’t useful or talented enough to be needed elsewhere.

It's also possible that Snape asked for the Carrows because they'd be easier to control than other Death Eaters.

Alecto Carrow is the only named female Death Eater apart from Bellatrix. Alecto is one of the Furies from Greek myth, vengeful goddesses who punish mortals, which I think is fitting.

JERVAISE CRABBE / TITUS GOYLE

I’m putting these together too because I’ve recently written an entire meta about Crabbe and Goyle and their dads and that’s already way too much for me. Also they’re basically indistinguishable from each other. Find that post here, the main thing is that I think they were also low-ranking foot soldiers. Beats me why Voldemort decided to specifically call them out in the graveyard.

Crabbe Sr. is present at the Department of Mysteries, Goyle Sr. is not, that's literally the only difference between them, so maybe Crabbe was a bit more important/talented/something than Goyle. Who cares, honestly.

FENRIR GREYBACK

Yes, Greyback is more relevant than many of the above. However, he’s almost certainly the lowest-ranking, as he never has a Dark Mark. In fact, I think that while he was aligned with the Death Eaters during the first war, he wasn’t actually formally recruited until around HBP, and he never had full Death Eater status. In Snape’s memory, Dumbledore comments that Voldemort has recruited Greyback, implying he hadn’t been recruited before that. Mainly I just wanted to point this out, because we do know quite a lot about Greyback as a character.

The other important thing is that Greyback is treated with contempt and revulsion by other Death Eaters, he’s generally subservient to them, even though some of them seem to fear him. My theory is that the Death Eaters were considering using Greyback during the first war but were not willing to afford him even informal Death Eater status-- they only did this later, when the reduction in ranks following the arrests at the Dept. of Mysteries necessitated more recruits. This is also why the Carrows and Yaxley would have become more important around this time.

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If you made it through all that I am very surprised. Obviously this is how these characters appear in my series The Darkest Days and in fact this list really started off as a way to organise my characters haha. But maybe it can be useful or interesting to someone, i don't know!

OTHER NOTES:

There are also Death Eaters known to have participated in the second wizarding war, but it’s never mentioned whether they participated in the first. Since I’ve already got way too many characters on my hands with the above, I’ve chosen to just not include them or bother fleshing them out lol. They may or may not have been there, in general I think it’s likely that they were.

These are: Thorfinn Rowle, Selwyn, Jugson, Gibbon. I think Jugson, given he was at the Dept. of Mysteries, and Rowle, given that characters recognise him from wanted posters, are the most likely to have participated in the first war. With the possible exception of Selwyn, all seem to be pretty low-ranking.

The Three Dads: so these are the fathers (or other relatives) of Avery, Mulciber, and Rosier, who are all part of Voldemort’s original Death Eaters. They are mentioned in Pensieve memories but never in the context of either war. My view is that in these cases (Rosier, Avery, Mulciber) the sons were more active as Death Eaters during the later years of the war, on the battlefield and otherwise, whereas the fathers acted more as shadowy benefactors/financial backers for Voldemort’s interests, using their money and social influence and sending their sons to fight for them, but also having plausible deniability if their sons got caught.

Even though they’re not very relevant themselves, I actually have fleshed them out a bit just because their sons are important characters in my fic. None of this is really directly based in canon, since there’s no info, rather I’ve built their characters around their sons. So this isn't canon, just read if you're interested:

Aymeric Rosier (Rosier Sr.): I see Rosier Sr. as cold, distant, and domineering. He is cruel to his sons and inflicts harsh punishments on them, and is also an avid Nogtail hunting enthusiast. Their house is filled with hunting trophies, dead and stuffed animals— many of them exotic animals hunted on holidays abroad, mainly to India and Kenya, where he has business interests. You can see where I’m going with this— an imperialist, basically.

Erastus Mulciber (Mulciber Sr.): I mentioned that the Mulcibers aren't part of the Sacred 28, in my mind this isn't because the Mulcibers aren't a prestigious and wealthy pureblood family, but because a specific relative ruined it for them in recent history by marrying a Muggle-born. All members of this branch of the family mysteriously disappeared on holiday in 1942. Mulciber Sr. himself is for this reason very proud, haughty, defensive of his family's superiority, and he has passed down these traits to his son.

Enoch Avery (Avery Sr.): I mentioned that I characterise Avery jr. as a misogynist, and this comes from his father, who is a known rake and frequently conducts extramarital affairs. He is distant from his family and has high, unreachable expectations of his son, who is eternally trying to please him to no avail. Unlike his son, Avery Sr. is charming, charismatic, competent. Avery jr. simultaneously resents his father and seeks his approval.

There’s also a Lestrange mentioned in Slughorn's memory, but personally I think it’s quite possible that he’s dead since Rodolphus and Bellatrix are in possession of the Lestrange vault and fortune by the time Voldemort hides the Horcrux.

[velvetvexations]

I got this comment on my antigonism explainer and I asked for permission to address in it's own post because I think it's good feedback:

I appreciate your support of transmasc and transnull people more than you can ever know. I, however, think coming up with a phrase that distincts “transmasc friendly transfems” is deeply divisive- and will further the divide and discourse between transfems and transmascs We don’t need a speciality phrase to denote people who are friendly towards us since those that are AGAINST us are the loud minority- the majority of real world trans people (transfems especially) are in unity with transmascs I think that this may just worsen the divides that are already starting to exist, and will further perpetuate discourse where it isn’t needed. Transfems can just say they support transmascs and transNB people, you guys don’t have to come up with a special title. I mean this all with the upmost love and sincerity. Transfems who support transmascs are the majority of transfems, yes there is an issue with TIRFism online But that is not the majority of transfems on the internet- and especially in real life. We should be focusing on greater unity and talking about what makes us similar- not dividing ourselves even more into subcategories to be policed or pointed to. From a transnull who is just as deep in this discourse

I'm thankful for your perspective and that you've given thought to the issue, and wanted to share your thoughts in a way that I feel is really sweet, which as someone with NPD I appreciate a lot. This is something that's been expressed to me about the idea previously.

I disagree, though. Are transfems who support transmascs and other non-transfems the majority? Yes, absolutely! But when the vocal minority is as loud as it is, they need to be loudly shutdown. That kinna thing takes megaphones. They're going to go away on their own and I want there to be a way to take an active stance that throws oneself out there as someone opposed to that shit.

Already it's just taken as a given that transfems are all TRFs.* If we don't go further, we're letting the vocal nature of the minority take up more and more space and become more and more accepted. Because like, they are super aggressive about it. These things get spread around on posts with thousands of notes every day. TRFs do nothing but bitch about non-transfem trans, intersex, and GNC people, and in doing so make spaces an increasingly less safe place for them.

And the signaling is a really important issue too. A lot of the responses to antigonism from transmascs in particular have been saying that it makes them feel safer. I've gotten messages from people who feel really bad about the paranoia trans radical feminism has caused them to feel around transfems they don't know, and that sucks! I'm so not interested in dismissing that as people who need to be less online or something, especially since I've heard a lot of stories of IRL spaces being hostile to any expression of masculinity as well. These are people who are, at best, facing a massive bullying issue, and at worst being driven out of the trans community entirely. It's cruel and I'm not going to shame them for having this expectation hammered into them, especially because I've also constantly been let down over and over and over when I see a post about transmisogyny or the transfem experience that I really like, only to be gravely disappointed when I see they're a TRF. It constantly happens. It sucks. It sucks so unbelievably much.

Hell, a lot of TRFs are self-identified TMEs, and in fact, most of them are! Every time they do one of their polls trying to prove some dumbass point, it's overwhelmingly "TMEs" who respond. It's like, a relatively small number of transfems kicking around a little cult of sycophants, many of whom are weird as fuck in their own ways but also many who are just trying to be good allies. They should also be signaled to that, hey, when I tell them they actually didn't need to drop a headcanon of a character that gave them joy because a transfem said so, I'm not the freak anomaly I get painted as. Like, I've responded to things asking if something so not an issue was transmisogynistic, or what the problem with TMA/TME was, only to immediately have multiple TRFs zoom into the replies like "don't listen to velvetvexations, she alone has those opinions because she hates all other transfems."

And what about transfems who also need to have it made clear TRFs aren't normal, too? Who need to be gently caught before they get indoctrinated into this shit?

When you see a trans woman saying she thinks it's bad to call non-binary people slurs, identifying as an antigonist gives the messages she's not a random confused baby bird brainwashed by Big Transmisogyny to hate her sisters. She is just one of many who feel that way.

And like, is making it a "faction" like that divisive? I don't think so because holy hell, this discourse is already divisive and toxic as fuck. The intense vitriol that gets thrown at one side from another is already radioactive. What's going to make things worse than it is now? TRFs will have to put up with seeing that other transfems are enthusiastic about disagreeing with them? Those other transfems will feel an us vs. them mentality regarding radical feminists?

A friend of mine put it really well last night:

it isn’t enough to just be ‘normal’ about transmascs and intersex people, actually you do need to be actively working against the now baked in harmful ideologies that have gained traction

I don't want to be normal about these things, I want to be actively anti-transandrophobic, actively anti-intersexist, etc. in a way that sends a clear message to everyone. Being normal about these issues is only normal until it isn't. And even if it forever remained a minority with no threat of growing larger than it is today, TRFs should still have the door slammed in their face until they learn to play nice. If transfems who are Normal really are "normal", then make TRFs feel like pariahs rather than having the unmitigated gall to declare that transmascs invented the transmisogynistic concept of transandrophobia because "2024 is the year transfems united under the banner of transfeminism."

Should we let them have that, and just say oh, well, it's obviously intuitive we're the normal ones and they're the weirdos, we can just quietly continue to consider ourselves the default model of transfem while radical feminism continues to cause more and more division entirely on it's own?

*not that they use that language

anyone may reblog this!

[bobbile-blog]

Not sure if anyone’s said this yet but now that we have Laterano events plural I’m fascinated by their (imo) very deliberate choice of protagonists, and there are almost a couple of layers of narrative going on there. I struggle a little figuring out how to get this into words but specifically I think they’re chosen to be people who can carry a narrative without contradicting the orthodox morals of the church. There’s a LOT of vaguely anti-authoritarian rambling below the cut so please kindly bear with me and my English major brain.

I can’t really start there though. One of the reasons this is so brain hurty is how deeply it’s woven into the storyline, so to start, I have to verbalize how Laterano and Arknights writing more generally is different from other, similar settings. Because like, I hear the words “morally negative church in a grimdark setting” and my brain immediately shuts off. Come on, that’s so far beyond low-hanging fruit, if you’ve seen any grimdark setting ever you know exactly what that looks like. And sure, it was fine the first two or three times you saw it, depending on your tolerance for that kinda thing, but it gets boring quick and even when it was new it was kinda uninteresting story-wise. “Religion is always fake because it inspires hope which means everyone who takes meaning from it is either a corrupt grifter or naive and misled” isn’t just edgy nonsense, it’s also basically useless as an actual critique. It tells you absolutely nothing except how to tune out a particular kind of story, and a story that tries to get you to hear less is doing its job wrong.

So, Arknights does something different. Instead of denying the premise of the church entirely, it actually takes it at its word. Laterano is, in almost every definition of the word, a paradise. It is basically unmatched in terms of actual quality of life, with its only competitors being the Durin cities and maybe Aegir, and is worlds apart from now much the rest of Terra sucks. More than that, though, the paradise is specifically tailored to the worldview of a religion with a strong central authority - when I say it takes it at its word, I mean the authoritarian bits too. Laterano is a city that lives in perfect order and peace because everyone follows the law perfectly and they all understand each other and never fight. Empathy is really important for this, as it allows for a believable amount of superhuman societal order. Laterano has very little crime, political drama, or quarrels in general. It’s the promises of a strict higher authority actually taken at face value: everyone follows the rules and that means they have effectively unfettered freedom, because they don’t want to break the rules and therefore they can do anything they want.

Laterano is specifically written to be a believable paradise in a setting that has none, so that when the story then turns around and criticizes that setting, it has significantly more weight. Even when the promises of paradise are taken at face value, there are still issues that cannot be addressed because the system is inherently flawed even in the imaginary scenario where it works. Even worse, the problems that poke holes in the imaginary perfect scenario are the same problems that they face in the real world, like “how do you deal with the interpretation of scriptures” and “hey there’s this racism thing I keep hearing about should we be worried about that or what”. Because of the way this imaginary perfect system works, we then look back on our real world in a new light and understand it a little better. It’s good critique.

Okay so how did we get here and what does this have to do with the protagonists? Well, this starts with Fiametta in Guide Ahead, because she’s a really weird protagonist. This is a cold take at this point but despite being the character on the front of the box, she has very little to actually do with the central conflict of the event. Most of the conflict is handled by Ezell first and Andoain second, and Fiametta mostly putters around putting holes in people until the finale where Andoain receives the answer he’s been looking for, he turns to explain it to the world, and he runs into the only person in the whole of Laterano who does not care about his motivations or his revelation. Her role, in other words, is to replace the climax of Andoain’s story with her own, and in doing so she makes it much harder to actually get a resolution and a meaning out of the story (this should not be taken as a criticism of her character, let me cook). Guide Ahead’s ending is hazy, with only small piecemeal resolutions to its conflicts, and for the longest time that was just the way the event was written and it stood on its own.

But now, Hortus de Escapismo is out and the monkey brain see patterns. Specifically, with the choice of protagonists. Because Executor is definitely different from Fiametta as a protagonist, but there’s one particularly important connection between the two, and that’s that as I mentioned in the beginning, they allow for stories don’t contradict orthodox morality. Fiametta we went over, as she’s uninterested in any of Andoain’s morality and just wants him dead. Executor, though, is purely focused on his mission and views the world through that lens. He only wants to achieve his objective, and while helping the needy is in line with the stated objectives of the church and he does do so when able, it’s secondary to his assigned task. He does change as he gets further into the story, and we’re not gonna ignore that, but we’ll be back to it later. What I mean is more that he is designed as a person who is able to lead a story that doesn’t contradict with the morals of Laterano. He sees the injustice and suffering around him, but that’s not his job, so he doesn’t need to solve it to have a complete story with a happy ending.

This is where it really gets complicated, so I apologize if I don’t explain this very well. I see this as us dealing with multiple layers of fiction: the events of the story, the perspective of the church, and our perspective as readers. Back to the first point - authoritarian institutions almost always use stories to sell people on their brand of order. Simple stories, simple enough that even calling them myths seems like overselling it a little, your “Saint George slays a dragon” kinda thing. This is the point of the second layer, the perspective of the church. I don’t really have an in-world justification for this layer - maybe you could make the argument that it has to do with Law’s perspective on things, but I don’t totally buy that - I think it’s more in a weird narrative transition space for people who don’t read very carefully. Regardless, Fiametta and Executor’s shared indifference to the questionable circumstances surrounding them is designed to let them tell a story to prop up the existing order. Their protagonist status and their missions are specifically constructed to allow them to ignore the suffering around them, and as such ignore the larger questions that might poke holes in the larger order. They’re both playing out the story of Saint George, where they go and find a bad guy and kill them and that’s all there is to it. The story is designed and told specifically for that “that’s all there is to it”.

But, as we said earlier, this is a good critique, and as such it intentionally undercuts this story with the third layer: what we actually see as readers. We are shown the suffering and the injustice, and then get to see our protagonists ignoring that to pursue their goals. This is what gives Guide Ahead’s ending its unique texture, which sets it apart from every other event with a vaguely unresolved ending. We have seen the actual issues with Laterano, and also watched our protagonist explicitly ignore them in favor of her own story. It’s unsatisfying in a way that only really makes sense to me if we as the readers have an understanding of intentional authorship. Whether it be Yvangelista XI or Law or The Actual Real Life Pope, there are issues here that we want to see a resolution to but people are choosing not to address them. Again, it’s good critique. Not only does it push the reader to unpack and understand the actual real-world technique, but it also helps blunt it. You have just seen a plot and protagonist ring uncharacteristically hollow. You then look around to see why that is, and you realize there are many things that should have been resolved that weren’t. The next time you see a story resolve with that same hollow-ness, you know where to look. Surprise! Harry Potter was propaganda the whole time. It’s okay, it was never good, you were just twelve.

I guess the last thing is where we go from here, because Executor’s story breaks this mold somewhat. In Hortus de Escapismo, he has to deal with a mission that isn’t actually bounded by his normal rules, and because of that he actually does have leeway to help the people around him. He starts as someone who is totally mission-focused, but by the end of the event he’s done a total 180 and is blocking Oren’s attack, which makes the mission harder but helps the non-mission-critical civilians of the monastery. He breaks from the rigid thinking of “kill the bad guy and that’s all there is do it”, and gives his attention to the people he isn’t supposed to see. I think this is an indication of the direction we’re going to be headed in the future with Laterano events. The events aren’t going to get better - they’re going to keep being just as morally murky and complicated as in the past - but the characters are going to get better at handling it, and when they do, they’re going to actually start to change things for the better.

Goddamn that was a lot of writing for 1 AM. I still have a. Lot of thoughts on this event with stuff like empathy and Lemuen and Federico being an autistic icon(my beloved) but I’m going to leave things there, I think, because if I write for any longer my phone is going to crash when I try to post this. Anyway if you actually made it to the end thanks for listening to me rambling and I hope that made sense. Cheers.