#like I want them to Exist for me and for other people

[theeldritchdarling]

Going to go into more detail on these than last time:

1/2. Most places don’t have currency; bartering is everything. Taking a note from Cas3yart. Trade and taxes is all done via bartering goods or bartering services (skills/crafts). Taxes are essentially the amount of materials or goods that are stored/given out to the local shops and eateries. Collected from the local clans of an area; think the Minoan “castles” that were actually storage centers. The local clans hunt/harvest from the area and a portion, or tax, is given to the temple as payment. It also acts as a library and separate storage for times of famine, droughts, or other natural disasters.

3. Areians use a lunar calendar. Daylight is shorter than that of Earth thanks to their three moons. That’s all I have right now.

4. Still 4 seasons. lol. That rare long though; the equivalent of 5 Earth years/season (~20 earth years for a year)

5. Weather is more erratic and extreme. Most flora and fauna have adapted methodologies to survive these more harsh conditions (more pine-like plants and fewer flowering plants; animals have either thick fur/hides or built-in armor).

6. Three Moons!

7. No rings

8. Not sure if they exist yet (this isn’t my area of expertise).

9. The desserts near the equator use a quartz-sand mixture that causes roads to shimmer silver under moon lights.

10. Jewelry, as with tools/weapons, is primarily made from bones, volcanic glass, or stonework. Silver-type metals are used almost exclusively for courting jewelry. It is believed to have been parts of the “beast” itself, and so holds magical properties. Gold and its ilk are feared and considered dangerous.Most Areians experience some form of uv sensitivity and Areians are either crepuscular (settler) or nocturnal (nomadic). So the Sun, sunlight, and daytime are feared phenomena with anything having a connection to it to be taken with caution as well. Hence, gold being feared and never used. Also most jewelry is in some form practical. As hunters, most don’t want to risk their jewelry getting caught, risking harm or slowing them down. So jewels are rarely used.

11. Courting jewelry can be anything from rings, necklaces, bands or bracelets/anklets, to brooches or piercings. As written previously, pragmatism plays a factor into the appearance of some pieces. Jewelry is earned and can only be worn by courting or married peoples. It also can’t be hand-me-downs. Courting jewelry is a show of craft, which, along with skills, are one of the two attributes valued by Areian cultures. So one has to make the courting jewelry they plan to give to potential mates/partners.

12. I haven’t figured out if they have last names/if last names exist.

13. Virginity and bastardry aren’t important concepts for the vast majority of cultures. The most important aspects of sex and marriage culture is to have the most descendants/breed the best descendants and have the most partners as sign of strength, power, and vitality. Partnership is also about creating/gaining political power, share assets/gain access to resources, and breeding.

14. Five genders and no concept of sexes. Genders are based on fertility; the number of pups in a single litter/over their breeding seasons. Yañe/child, Alano/Elder, Sayalarr/Extremely Fertile (5/6 pups/litter), Salarr (3-4 pups/litter), and Twote/Infertile (0-1 if lucky). Sex is only defined as the act of intercourse itself.

15. Most religions are a mixture of animism, Shintoism, and paganism. Clans will have familial tribes that give tribute/connect energies of the spirits/energies of nature. And, individuals can have personal alters that do the same to similar or different spirits/energies.

16. The only “god”, the beast, have a more eldritch appearance. It is a collective convergent genetic memory of the atrocities that the Qu did to the Star People to create the Predators (Ancestors of the Areians/Killer Folk).

17. Many creatures, even domesticated ones, appear similar to mythical or folklore creatures (sphinxes, unicorns, or chupacabras). Also, Areians would count as the reskinned dogs and cats of the planet.😜

18. Abandoned AI hubs that are coveted and secreted away by the Conventry. Hold the history knowledge, and forgotten tools of the Star People, Humans, and Martians.

19. Areians are farsighted. Most information is kept via the Corvids, acting as the memory banks of culture and society (see Cas3yart’s video on the topic). Most information is passed verbally from generation to generation. Any “written” works are in the form of knots or raised embroidery. Tactile methodologies for information storage.

20. Hunter’s Sign. A form of Areian sign language that’s reliant on hand and ear movements. With added chirps and calls as well. Sight isn’t as important since their eyesight is adapted for night and long distance.

21. Areians/Killer Folk are obligate carnivores. The only plant matter they can digest are fungal, root, or squash-based plants. But these are only short term solutions. Areians also suffer from a variant of Auto-Brewery Syndrome; grain-based carbohydrates and fruit/plant-based sugars are fermented in their systems, making them drunk from consuming foodstuffs made from these materials.

@kjagasanpijrtu you inspired to go and reduce this

Small fantasy worldbuilding elements you might want to think about:

A currency that isn’t gold-standard/having gold be as valuable as tin

A currency that runs entirely on a perishable resource, like cocoa beans

A clock that isn’t 24-hours

More or less than four seasons/seasons other than the ones we know

Fantastical weather patterns like irregular cloud formations, iridescent rain

Multiple moons/no moon

Planetary rings

A northern lights effect, but near the equator

Roads that aren’t brown or grey/black, like San Juan’s blue bricks

Jewelry beyond precious gems and metals

Marriage signifiers other than wedding bands

The husband taking the wife's name / newlyweds inventing a new surname upon marriage

No concept of virginity or bastardry

More than 2 genders/no concept of gender

Monotheism, but not creationism

Gods that don’t look like people

Domesticated pets that aren’t re-skinned dogs and cats

Some normalized supernatural element that has nothing to do with the plot

Magical communication that isn’t Fantasy Zoom

“Books” that aren’t bound or scrolls

A nonverbal means of communicating, like sign language

A race of people who are obligate carnivores/ vegetarians/ vegans/ pescatarians (not religious, biological imperative)

I’ve done about half of these myself in one WIP or another and a little detail here or there goes a long way in reminding the audience that this isn’t Kansas anymore.

[messenger-of-babel]

Could you write about the sweetheart grips? Soldiers in ww2 used to put photos of their lovers on the grips of their guns and I think that would be cute with Jason.

Eye for An Eye

Summary: Jason keeps a photo of you in his gun to keep you close to him, even in his hardest moments. (Jason Todd x reader)

Word Count: 2.7K

Notes: dear anon I really, really wanted to make this sweet. But then I got an angst idea and- I tried to do it justice without too many tears. Forehead kisses for you because as soon as you sent this in I legit thought about this idea for like three days straight I fell in love with the concept. I might use it again for other Jason fics you got me hooked (I was a MASSIVE military history nerd). Warnings for description of violence and injury, character death, some choppy writing. Back onto my angst train, I'm so sorry y'all (I'll write this concept sweeter sometime, I SWEAR).

ALSO HAPPY 100 POSTS. It's crazy when I remember I'm still a baby blog. <3

Enjoy~! RiRi xoxo <3

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Bruce had never been one for guns, and while Jason was Robin, he hadn't either.

He didn't consider himself a particularly violent child or had any real craving to use weapons. After all, he never really hit anyone who didn't deserve it, and he got great satisfaction of getting back at people who thought they could hurt innocent civilians just because they were bigger and older than him.

That was until he was taken by Joker and showed just how much hurt someone older and bigger than could inflict.

April 27th, the date that the Joker killed Jason Todd.

Now, he couldn’t imagine his hands without the comforting grip of his pistol. The grips were designed just for him, slotting into the contours of his fingers and worn away in the areas he instinctually rubbed. They were wide so they sat snug in his large palms, with a coarse texture in the areas he habitually flexed. The grip allowed it to stick to his gloves for a steadier shot while it would simply irritate anyone else who tried to hold them.

Everyone knew that those guns were Jasons, but nothing said it quite like the new addition of the faded photo tucked into the grips. The colt's had originally come with wooden handgrips, which were quickly removed while he made his modifications.

"You know the Bat isn't gonna be happy with you getting another set of guns." Dick calls out, approaching his worktable in the cave. Jason just grunts at him over his shoulder, making sure he keeps the screws where he can see them.

"Bruce can honestly suck it up." he huffs, the mention of the Bat souring his demeanour immediately. Jason had wanted to do this in his apartment for this exact same reason. He knew Stephanie would annoy him with questions if she caught sight of him, and that Tim would interject constantly with 'improvements' he deemed necessary. Duke he could deal with, and Cass would leave him well enough alone.

Dick and Damian just managed to piss him off simply existing sometimes.

Mostly when he was already in a bad mood.

His older brother trots down the stairs, a frown forming on his face as he puts his hands on his hips to observe.

"Quiet." Jason mumbles flatly, knowing the older vigilante was giving him a disapproving stare. Dick ignores him, eyeing the photo tucked up near his water bottle.

"Jason," he says, voice a warning tone.

"I said quiet." he cuts off, wiping the area down with a damp cloth. Dick just sighs behind him as Jason gingerly picks up the photo, rubbing his calloused thumbs over it. Dick wants to say something as he eyes the photo but can't bring himself to speak above the block in his chest. He watches the tension ease from his brother’s shoulders, the muscles that had been stiffly held by his ears for weeks. The scowl he wore softened slightly, and he could actually hear him exhale for once instead of wondering if his chest actually was moving or not. Instead, Dick sighs in reluctance, giving in. Dick watches him with sad eyes, clapping a hand on his shoulder with a slight squeeze. "Don't forget to, you know," he leans forward slightly and draws a circle with his finger on a certain point of the photo. Jason's face ripples with a flash of pain, but he watches his younger brother grit his teeth and nod.

"Look after yourself, Jay." he murmurs, pulling back. "Don't do anything stupid."

Jason waits a little bit before turning back the photo, ensuring that Dick had left the cave. A still silence settled over the dim space once more. It didn't help the hum in his head, making his fingers and muscles shake, the white noise refusing to settle in his conscious. He gently drew on the photo of you with pencil, tracing the shape that he needed for the grip and ensuring that you weren't cut out by accident.

It was a favourite photo of his, taken at one of Bruce's galas. He hadn't wanted to go, hardly showing to the events in the first place. "Full of rich idiots trying to get even richer." he had told you, tossing a look over his shoulder to you. You were standing at the door, holding the invite that had been slipped through the mail slot. You waved the thick cardstock, a small smile on your face. "Aw, but I was kinda looking forward to going." you say, looking over the details. "I think it'll be fun."

"The only one who thinks those things are fun are Dick and Steph if she's around. Tim will get bored and probably turn into a loan shark if left unattended too long. So yeah, fun." he grumbled.

"What about Dami?"

Her turns around, eyebrows raised.

"I’m sorry?" he asks. "When did we start calling the demon child, Dami? We're on nickname level now?"

He hates how his heart flutters in his chest when he hears you laugh, melting away his annoyance.

"He's sweet, just a little prickly. like you." you grin, coming to wrap your arms around his neck, pecking him on the lips.

"Yeah, he's sweet to you, he's a little shit to everyone else." he grumbles.

"Sounds like someone else I know." you tease.

He can't help but grin, sighing out through his nose softly. "Fine. we can go." he grumbles, knowing he won’t be able to stay mad at you for long.

The photo he traces was from that night, you tucked into his side. You're staring at the camera with a sparkle in your eye, lips pulled back into a wide grin. You're wearing black to fit the theme of the ball, with red accents, matching him. He’s got his arm around your shoulder, taking the photo with you pressed up against him. He thinks you look stunning, eyes twinkling at him from the page.

He takes the exacto knife and gently runs it over the image, cutting himself out so that he can focus on you. The piece pops free, and he trims the edges. His heart thrums as he slides you onto the handle, fluttering with a tame delight.

"Don't forget to, you know..."

Dick’s voice floats back into his mind, and the corners of his lips twitch downwards once more. Reluctantly he pulls your photo from the handle and reaches for a screwdriver to his left, bringing it above the paper. He feels like he's about to stab you, the way the metal tip hovers above the image smiling back at him.

But he does it, heart clenching with each scrape across your eyes, slowly erasing the twinkle he loved so much. There's something sickening about the feeling of scratching your face out, the gritty sound of the photo tearing and leaving white streaks in its wake making his stomach flip. Finally, it's done, stark white lines blotting out your gaze. All that's left is the upturn of your lips, and the soft smile you wore.

With a heavy sigh Jason slots it back onto the handle, placing the clear protector over you. At least nothing could damage you more than he already had. He told himself it was for the better, as he cleaned his hands on a nearby rag and bit the inside of his cheek. You weren't the most supportive of his guns, but you liked that they kept him safe. You had had a few conversations with him about it but never an argument. He wanted to keep you close, but he knew he wasn't going to be an idiot about it. He wanted to protect you, hide your identity from any eagle-eyed thugs.

"Besides," he thought to himself. "Don't want em seeing what I'm about to do."

Maybe it was for the best that he covered your face for this.

His body hums with adrenaline, still alone in the Batcave. With scarred fingers he screws the cover onto the grip, clear cover sitting flush and keeping your photo secure. Jasons tosses it a few times in his hand, getting used to the feeling of the new colt pistols and making sure you weren't going to shake loose. When he was content, he looked over his shoulder, scanning the shadows for movement.

He knew that Bruce would condemn his actions, he didn’t even need to ask on that front. Dick would be understanding but try to hold him back, and Tim would try to talk him out of it. The only person he felt that silently agreed with him was Damian, the pair of them fostering an unlikely bond in the last few weeks.

Everyone in the manor knew what Jason was thinking.

What Jason was doing spending his nights in the Batcave, the one place he had grown to hate ever since coming back.

What he contemplated as he haunted the halls of the manor, the place he often traded in for the comfort of his downtown apartment.

Everyone knew what Jason was going to do tonight, yet none of them were game enough to say it out loud or stop him.

Therefore, Jason took their silence as compliance because he knew somewhere deep down, they wanted him to do it.

Or was he deluding himself?

He shook the thought from his head, holstering the newly decorated pistol. He was already dressed and strapped for this mission, no turning back now. With heavy hands he donned his helmet, taking a deep breath as he pushed Jason aside to become Red Hood. The air was still, as if the Batcave was filled with spirits watching him in silence as he mounted the bike and pressed the key for the garage door, speeding out.

He was already haunted by too many ghosts.

The streets of Gotham were relatively quiet, the usual alleys he stalked devoid of the thugs he would have expected. It seemed that even the city was holding its breath, civilians tucked safely inside. He knew where he was going.

He had been receiving mocking invites in the mail for the last week, notes attached to crime scenes in a gory fashion just to mock him. So really, it was no surprise when he arrived at Gotham cemetery, parking outside and not even bothering to kill the engine. He wasn’t going to be long anyways.

Just past the cemetery was the crumbling shell of Arkham, ivy covering the brickwork and roof caving in. His boots crushed broken panes of glass as he entered the decaying mental hospital, leaves scattered through the building from wrinkled trees that had cracked through the floors. He slowly made his way to the upper floor, where he had seen the lights.

Instinctually he reached for his gun, and he felt his heart calm sliding his hand over your picture secured into his sweetheart grip. He hadn't felt this anxious fighting in a while, unused to the way that his pulse thudded against his neck or the dryness that crept into his mouth. The corridor felt like it stretched on forever, making his vision swim trying to reach the light at the end.

Candlelight flickered weakly at the end of the hall, luring him in like a moth. As he stepped in he took note of it, hand tightening. Jason knew he was going to play with him, taunt and torture him. The images of you taped up on the peeling walls were enough. Photos that spanned back months, photos of you on dates, at work, in his car, in your apartment, blurry photos of you and him in his bed. His thumb instinctually placed itself over your eyes, despite them already being scratched out.

He didn't need you seeing the messy patchwork of your life.

Jason didn't even mind the photos, knowing the sadist would be doing something like that. What he did mind though were the images of you from three weeks ago, the same images that Dick had refused to let him see, that Tim wiped off the Batcomputer hard drive and Babs had removed from the GCPD database. The ones displaying the blood, the bone, the bruising.

Your eyes, unseeing.

Everything that was so familiar to him, but so foreign on you.

Everything that that one curved piece of metal had caused way back when, stained a dark brown. The same piece of metal that was sitting in the middle of the desk at the centre of the crude shrine, drying with a fresher coat of oxidised red.

He felt his heart rise to his throat, but he wasn’t sure if it was bile in his throat or the taste of blood from his bitten lip. His grip turned white, muscles flexing under the skin and pressing unnaturally hard. He felt the green tinged mania inside him rear its head, threatening to take over his mind and act purely on instinct. The Lazarus pit clawed and pulled at his soul harder that it had in years, gasping at him like a beggar, screaming for a shred of violence to feed it.

He knew the game. He knew all of this was to provoke him, try to get Jason to release the rage inside him. The monster wanted to see him squirm, see him struggle to keep himself in check. He wanted to watch Jason Todd fight against the Red Hood, watch the Bats moral code play out on his face.

Well, Jason wasn't Batman. He wasn't Bruce.

As soon as a skinny figure moved from the shadows to his right, his pistol was out in a flash. His free hand ripped the mask from his face, jaw tight and eyebrows furrowed, but he felt more relaxed than he had been in ages.

He was no Batman. He was Jason Todd.

And Jason was going to do the one thing Bruce had always been too much of a coward to do.

With one crisp bang the clown couldn’t get a single word out before he was splayed on the floor. As Jason stepped over the body he regarded it apathetically, barely biting down the urge to step on it. The bastards’ lips were pulled back in a wide smile, even in death. Maybe he had expected Jason to do this, maybe it was his last hurrah as an asshole, but Jason didn't care.

He didn’t even feel scared at the idea of the aftermath as a retraced his steps out of the abandoned building, mounting his still-running bike.

There hadn't been a single gloat before the gun cracked through the night, not a single joke or pun or taunt to leave the devil’s mouth. Bruce might have entertained it, let him play it out, but not Jason.

For Jason, everything that needed to be said had been said in actions.

The air was strangely cool, devoid of the humidity that nomrally hung in the streets. The city itself seemed to be sighing, taking a breath like the chord holding the city on a leash had been cut. He relished the feeling of it on his skin, the cracks in his suit letting the breeze run across his knuckles and where his mask met his neck. He imagined the cool fingers were you, cradling his face and whispering for him to take a rest, and he let his eyes flutter closed briefly.

 As he hit a red light he took a pause, reaching his hand down to pat where you were, tucked tightly under his hip. He didn't care what the reaction was going to be when he reached the manor, or the screaming match that was likely going to destroy what was left of his relationship with his pseudo father. All that matters is that he had done right by you, that he had done what he wished someone had done for him.

April 17th, the night Jason Todd killed the Joker.

[realsocialskills]

Disability-affirming growth mindset

Children are often taught to think “I can’t do that *yet*” as a form of encouraging growth mindset. That’s a really useful strategy when it’s applicable, and it also needs some nuance in order to be more disability-affirming. 

Growth mindset has to be grounded in reality.

Growth means that I am always learning new things and developing new skills and getting better at things. It doesn’t mean doubling down on pursuing impossible dreams; it means doing real things. 

Sometimes growth mindset means thinking “I can’t do that *yet*,” and continuing to try until I can.

Sometimes it’s more like, “This isn’t working. Maybe I need to do it another way.”

Or: “This isn’t working, and maybe it’s not going to work. What else can I do?”

Or: “I can’t do *that*, but I can do the important part a different way.”

Or: “I can do that with help.” and/or “Let’s figure out what supports would make it possible to do that.”

Or: “We can do that collaboratively, together.”

Or: “I could do that with appropriate assistive technology. Let’s figure out if some exists and/or if there’s something we could invent.”

In those instances, realizing that something isn’t going to work is part of how we find out what *can* work.

There are also cases in which growth mindset means realizing that something may not be a good use of our time and effort and resources. A skill that is broadly useful to nondisabled people might not be worth it to me, even if I’m technically capable of doing it. (For instance, handwriting is a useful skill for most people, but it’s always been so hard for me that it’s not really worth it. Losing the ability to  handwrite more than a few words at a time has freed up my abilities to do other things, like focus on typing words.)

There’s something powerful about seeing your body as it really is and working with it rather than against it. Sometimes figuring out what isn’t possible or what’s not worth the cost in time and effort is how we find areas where we can grow and flourish. 

Growth mindset means that I *don't sabotage my growth* by wasting time and effort pursuing impossible things. I don’t stand on a chair or a roof and expect believing in myself to make it possible to use my arms as wings and fly. If I want to fly, I need an airplane, and that’s ok. 

At the same time, I think that claiming the power of “yet” is really important for disabled people, and especially for people with developmental disabilities. 

Sometimes there can be a lot of pressure to see ourselves as incapable of doing things every time disability makes it harder or means we need to do things differently or it’s not obvious whether or how we could do the thing. 

Sometimes we get pressure not to try things unless there’s some certainty that we will be able to do them. (And for something as complex and poorly understood as developmental disabilities, there’s rarely much certainty. Having other people’s doubts limit what we’re allowed to try makes the world very, very small.)

Sometimes disability-affirming growth mindset means saying “I can’t do that, let’s do something else,” and sometimes it means saying, “I might be able to do that, and I’d like to try.” Sometimes it means saying, “I want to keep trying even though it’s harder for me and I’m not catching on as quickly and no one seems to know how to teach me.” or “I don’t know if this is going to work but I think it could, and at this point, I’d like to keep trying.” Or, “I know most people learn this by the time they’re four, and I know I’m much older than that, but I’d like to try to learn this too.”

Sometimes it means an adult claiming the right to learn how to read, or finding a dance studio where they’re willing to slow down enough for them to learn. Sometimes it means practicing a new skill in private while you’re figuring out if it’s something that makes sense for you. Sometimes it means asking around to other disabled people to see what their strategies have been. Sometimes it means demanding your right to accessibility and accommodations even when others don’t think you belong and don’t see you as capable of doing things in the space you want to be in.

[mokulule]

A Man has Needs part 3

First

Fandom: DP x DC Ship: Dead on Main (Jason/Danny) Summary: In which Jason keeps up ending up in Danny's bed and not even for any fun reasons.

Part 3

Daniel James Fenton, 20 years old, born and raised in Amity Park, Illinois. Graduated high school with barely passing grades. Currently enrolled in Gotham U’s aerospace engineering program, with (ironically) a Wayne Foundation scholarship of a type that was reliant on entrance exam test results rather than high school grades. Either his high school teachers hated him or he spent the gap year studying his ass off to ace the exams.

At least it explained what he was doing in Gotham of all places, Jason thought as he leaned on the kitchen island chin in his hand, laptop open in front of him. The WF scholarships for Gotham U were very good, yet still most people had the sense not to move to Gotham - and Crime Alley at that.

Him being from the Midwest might even explain some of the strange hospitality, though Jason felt he probably took it a level above most people.

Of family there was an older sister - like he’d mentioned. Jasmine Fenton was currently doing a PhD in the field of Psychology.

The parents, Jack and Madeline Fenton had doctorates of their own, though what little he could find published from them was from very disreputable paranormal sort of publications. They seemed to have very little basis for their theories - one of which was that ghosts were inherently evil - which was just absolute hogwash. They apparently lived off the payout of some early inventions they’d made and sold to the government.

Beyond that there was only an aunt.

Friends were much harder to judge. Danny’s social media presence was practically non-existent. He’d only just opened an account on Mugshot, Gotham’s favored social, this Monday, apparently due to encouragement from new Gotham U friends.

Jason absently drummed his fingers on the counter, as he stared unseeingly towards his laptop. Maybe Tim or Babs could find more, but Jason found himself reluctant to involve them, they would want to know why he was looking into the guy, they would want a reason to dig deeper than the basic background check Jason had already done.

Jason could not- would not, tell them about this… attraction? Jason rubbed his face tiredly. Attraction was a terrible word, that implied other things, but it was the best he had.

The oven timer had the kindness to beep then, signifying that batch of cookies was done, and distracting him for a few minutes as he transferred them to the cooling rack and got another plate going.

It was a limited reprieve however and all too soon he was back in front of his laptop. He had no other avenues, there really was only one thing to do.

Oo o oO

“We need to talk.” He flung the words out the moment a surprised Danny opened the door. The surprise however quickly gave way to a grimace as he registered the words.

“Do we have to?” Danny asked honest pleading in his voice.

Jason felt really tempted to say no, but forced himself to say “yes.”

“Okay,” Danny sighed, leaving the door open for Jason to step inside.

Jason closed the door after himself and felt his shoulders relax from their tense position and his breath come out in a relieved sigh. Safe.

He looked to Danny who wrung his hands.

Jason had meant to say something, ask something, he’d had a plan. He wanted answers. Answers… Jason opened his mouth, sound getting stuck in his throat. Just ask him what was going on? But what did it really matter?

“Ah! Please don’t say anything,” Danny interrupted Jason’s internal struggle. “I have been trying so hard not to make this awkward.”

Jason grimaced when he saw how uncomfortable Danny looked. Jason was making him uncomfortable.

“Okay look,” Danny took a deep breath and held up his hands, and looked at Jason with his big blue eyes, “will you please, just let me start, and if you really feel like you need to say something you can do so afterwards, yeah? Though it’s really not necessary.”

“Okay,” Jason managed mouth dry.

“I don’t know how to make this not awkward, but here goes, it’s okay.”

“Okay?” Jason reiterated brows raising in confusion.

“Yes, it’s okay, truly. Fuck, how would Jazz say it,” Danny looked thoughtful for a moment before meeting Jason’s eyes again. “You have needs, and that is okay.”

Jason frowned bewildered and alarmed. Needs?

Seeing Jason’s frown Danny unfortunately rambled, “I know it’s not exactly socially normal no matter which way you look at it, but it’s fine. I have a big bed, truly it’s fine. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, or apologize-“

Overwhelmed, Jason held up his bag of cookies and Danny thankfully stopped talking.

“Coffee?” Danny croaked after a moment’s silence.

“Please,” Jason agreed.

Five minutes later they sat at Danny’s small table a plate of cookies between them, looking down at their steaming coffee, awkwardly avoiding looking at each other.

Jason didn’t know what to think. Had he gotten any information out of this? Needs… Jason had needs, and those let him to Danny’s bed? He cringed away from the thought.

Across from him, Danny poked the handle of his cup. “Can we just pretend this conversation didn’t happen?”

Maybe Danny had the right of it. For both their sanities, maybe that was best. Aside from his confusion, Jason had felt better after both times he’d slept at Danny’s. Would it be so bad to, just for once in his life, not question things? Jason was unsure how much of this was his brain being muddled in Danny’s presence, but he agreed with a nod, and took a sip of coffee.

Oo o oO

Danny wanted to scream. He had made such a mess of things! All his good intentions and he’d gone and made things awkward anyways. It was a relief his guest was willing to just go with it after all.

And, Danny lamented, his guest had even spoken earlier today, like in a full sentence and now they were back at single words or nonverbal. Poor guy. It had to be so uncomfortable to wake up in a stranger’s bed. If only Danny had an easy way to give him straight ectoplasm, but then that might actually overwork his starved core and make everything worse. The slow absorption of Danny’s ambient energy, probably was best for him.

Half still lost in thought he took a cookie and promptly groaned in pleaures, it was perfect and there was no way he could keep his train of thought. It was crisp on outside and chewy in the middle, and the chocolate bits were so rich.

“You made these?” Danny exclaimed between heavenly bites and was rewarded with a quick shy smile and a glance of blue-green eyes. Fuck, why did Danny’s guest have to be both hot and cute? Life was so unfair.

But it seemed the ice had finally broken, and they were back to something comfortable.

Oo o oO

Later in his own apartment, Jason tried once again to make sense of things.

Facts. Jason woke up in Danny’s bed twice, it was likely to happen again.

Apparently Jason had needs. He shuddered at the thought, because what did that mean? But in a twisted way it also made sense, because he had woken up twice in that man’s bed through no conscious decision of his own. There was something about Danny that drew Jason to him and while it was kinda freaking him out, it was also kinda not. Which in itself was freaking him out if he allowed himself to think about it.

But another fact was that Jason felt better, lighter somehow, than… actually he didn’t really remember when he’d last felt so good. Maybe he really had just needed some proper sleep?

And Danny himself?

Jason had no idea what his deal was. It was very odd how accepting he was of the situation - he’d said it himself, this wasn’t socially normal no matter how you looked at it.

He was clearly not normal no matter how you looked at it. But neither was Jason really.

-

And this is the end of part 3.

They almost talked? They gotta get props for trying right?

You can subscribe at the masterpost

[samsincerely]

There’s this one streamer who keeps talking about how veilguard has the “cringiest dialogue” and ngl it pisses me off. Idk who she is but she pops up on insta a lot for me and I just get so sick of this idea of pretentiously calling things cringe to discredit it but especially in this context for a few reasons.

I think a better word is perhaps awkward but this implies that it was written awkwardly but I think the writing is very intentional.

The only companions I would say sound awkward at times are Bellara, Taash, and Harding.

Emmrich always sounds composed and well spoken. Makes sense with his experience and confidence.

Davrin sounds a bit harsh at times but purposeful and passionate. He’s also very sure of himself and a man of action.

Neve also sounds thoughtful, intelligent, and sure of herself. She’s a questioner but analytical.

Lucanis is actually quieter but he’s intentional and most of his dialogue reflects his sharp focus on his hyper fixation job.

So why do the other three sometimes come off awkward? Well I think it’s very intentional in the characterization.

Harding is pretty unsure where she fits in with everything. She’s used to being a background character to Inky, Varric, and co but now she’s at the forefront of stopping the apocalypse and she’s got this new dwarf magic that shouldn’t even exist. And she’s a surface dwarf raised around humans. She doesn’t really come into her own until you resolve her personal quest where she really decides who she wants to be and how to honor what got her there.

Taash comes off brutish and rude in some cases. It’s clear that they’re so divided in their identity and insecure about themselves that they lash out at others. Taash says they want to join the team but the decision was made for them by their mother so they act out. Taash has been simultaneously babied and unsupported. Figuring themselves out also shows immense growth in how they interact with people.

And sweet Bellara. Girl lives in the woods and hyper fixates on ancient elven magic and works for at least a week at a time, alone. She doesn’t get much social interaction so while she’s not necessarily insecure she doesn’t second guess herself a lot in social situations because it’s not her expertise like magic and elven culture is. So yeah she should be awkward.

I just think the writing and voice acting of Veilguard shows so much love and respect for different kinds of people. It takes such a positive stance in such a scary time. I love it and haters should just say it’s not for them and move on instead of disparaging.

[iamespecter]

My phone's battery keeps dying (I think something's wrong with it) but I cooked a little bit more on this Doctor!Caine and Patient!Pomni idea.... and this may or may not become bigger than The Amazing Digital Roadtrip.....

My mental illness cannot be contained!!!!!!!!!!!! Also these designs are subject to change because yes ✌️

Things I've come up with last afternoon while going crazy from the lack of dopamine are:

- Abstraction is currently determined to be a terminal illness

- It's contagious via skin-on-skin contact, and can be inherited through genes

- it can even bloom late in life, but that doesn't mean everyone that the patient has touched before is immediately affected

- The physical symptoms are inky black "cracks" forming along the skin, physical degradation, loss of saturation and many more

- Depending on a lot of factors, this illness can be aggressive, or at most be dormant.

- Once it reaches the patient's brain, it is too late

- But the progress of abstraction can also be delayed through amputation, depending on where the "source" is

- It only really affects "organic" stuff

- Which means AI robots are immune, and can touch the patient as much as they want without risk of infecting themselves

- Kinger is the CEO/Founder of the AI Association that focuses on the research about Abstraction, and how to cure it

- He is also, strangely enough, kinda immune? idek he seems fine except he's a bit cuckoo

- Because of it's contagiousness, people who suffer from the abstraction illness are GREATLY FEARED by others

- People who have the illness have to wear a lot of protection (such as gloves, face mask, etc.) in order to even interact with the outside world

- They also need to have their AI Doctor/Nurse with them AT ALL TIMES.

About the main pairing:

- Pomni is the only daughter of Kinger and the late Queenie

- She used to be more upbeat early in her life, until Queenie passed. She then became depressed, and it only got worse as her illness began to show and she became cynical as a result, believing she'll die early, and alone

- Caine was named and created based off of the image of Pomni's imaginary friend during her childhood, in order to ease her into accepting Caine as her personal doctor

- This did NOT, in fact, ease her into accepting Caine as her personal doctor because what the fuck.

- Pomni hates AIs for being unable to save Queenie.

- She also thinks that her new doctor won’t be able to save her, and that her dad’s efforts to delay her situation are fruitless.

- Part of her still clings onto hope. However, said part is also dying.

- Caine is a test prototype of a model that’s supposed to handle (and even possibly cure) the symptoms of abstraction, so there’s defo a lotta pressure on his shoulders

- Especially when he gets assigned to SPECIFICALLY THE DAUGHTER OF THE CEO WHO OWNS HIM

- He’s also one of the first AIs to not only be psuedo-sentient, but also self-evolving; in order to be able to adjust to patient needs and wants.

- He can “manifest” anything physical as long as it’s within the size limit of his own physical manifestation. For example, if Pomni is hyperventilating; he can manifest a pair of artificial lungs that pump oxygen in order to give her breathing space. (You know what that means)

- Not only is he able to float, he is also able to carry Pomni like she weighs like a couple of grapes because this is not me being self-indulgent and thinking he should carry her bridal style all the time (lie), this is me saying “it’s for emergencies when Pomni is too weak to even stand or walk”

- Pomni hated Caine A LOT at first because she hated having to be co-dependent on this walking life support so yes this is an enemies-to-friends-to-lovers kinda story (except it was one-sided "enemies")

- As the story progresses, Pomni clings onto the hope of not just surviving, but also living again; as Caine learns what it means to be not just existing, but alive!!! because me and my homies love stories about positivity and hope amongst shitty situations!!!!

- And then they fuck. Oh yes, they fuck eventually. And they fuck a lot after that

I don’t care this is MY story, MY AU, I will do whatever the fuck I want!!!!! RAAAAAAAAAAAA

I have no idea if I want some of the gang to be AI Doctors/Nurses too but erm. we'll see

[sturniololuvz]

hiii can you make a story where matt’s daughter who is 2-3 is really clingy to matt and is shy around anyone else, sometimes even nick and chris so matt tries to get her to like nick and chris

okayyy

“Clingy Little Shadow”

Sturniolos x Matt’s daughter

Matt loved being a dad more than anything, but sometimes, his two-year-old daughter, Y/N, made it very clear that she only needed him. It wasn’t that she didn’t like other people—she just didn’t trust anyone the way she trusted Matt. And that included her uncles, Nick and Chris.

Whenever they came over, Y/N would immediately cling to Matt’s leg, hiding her face against him like they were strangers instead of her actual uncles. If they tried to talk to her, she’d just shake her head, sometimes even whimpering like they were scary. It wasn’t that she was afraid of them, but she wasn’t about to let anyone but Matt hold her, carry her, or even sit next to her for too long.

And as cute as it was that she loved him so much, Matt really wanted her to open up to Nick and Chris.

“Dude, she hates us,” Chris joked one night when they were all at Matt’s place. Y/N sat in Matt’s lap, tiny fingers curled into his hoodie, her head resting against his chest.

Nick, sitting across from them, nodded. “Yeah, like what did we do to her?”

Matt sighed, rubbing Y/N’s back. “She doesn’t hate you guys. She’s just attached to me.”

Chris scoffed. “Yeah, no kidding.” He leaned forward, offering his arms. “C’mon, munchkin. Let Uncle Chris hold you.”

Y/N immediately turned her face away, burying herself deeper into Matt’s hoodie.

“Guess that’s a no,” Nick laughed.

Matt chuckled, but deep down, he really wanted to change this. He knew Nick and Chris would be the best uncles to her, and it killed him that she wouldn’t even give them a chance. So, he came up with a plan.

The Plan

The next morning, Matt invited Nick and Chris over again, determined to get Y/N to like them.

“Alright,” he told them before Y/N woke up, “just… be chill. Let her come to you guys.”

Chris raised an eyebrow. “Bro, she doesn’t even want to look at us. How’s she gonna come to us?”

“She will,” Matt insisted. “I just have to be unavailable for a little bit.”

Nick smirked. “So you’re gonna ditch your kid and force her to like us?”

Matt groaned. “Not ditch, just… take a step back.”

And that’s exactly what he did. When Y/N woke up, she toddled into the living room in her pajamas, rubbing her eyes.

“Dada…” she mumbled, arms outstretched.

Matt knelt down and kissed her forehead. “Hi, baby. Uncle Nick and Uncle Chris are here.”

She immediately stiffened, looking over at them like she’d just noticed they existed. Nick waved with a small smile, while Chris gave her an over-the-top excited face.

Y/N frowned, her grip tightening on Matt’s hoodie. “Up,” she demanded.

Matt sighed. “Actually, baby, Dada’s gotta do something real quick. Can you sit with Uncle Nick?”

Y/N looked offended.

Nick held his hands up. “No pressure. But I do have cookies.”

Y/N hesitated. Cookies were very tempting.

Matt, seeing his chance, gently peeled her off of him and placed her onto the couch next to Nick before stepping back. Y/N immediately turned to follow him, but Nick quickly pulled out the cookies.

“Hey, munchkin, wanna try one?” he asked, breaking a piece off and offering it to her.

Y/N eyed the cookie. She clearly didn’t want to accept it from him, but… a cookie was a cookie.

After a long pause, she reached out with her tiny hand, snatching the cookie before shoving it into her mouth.

Chris gasped dramatically. “OH MY GOD, SHE TOOK SOMETHING FROM YOU.”

Matt grinned. “Progress.”

Nick chuckled. “You know, kid, I got a whole bag of these.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered to the bag in his hand, but she still wasn’t sure if she trusted him enough yet.

Matt, deciding to push things a little further, sat on the other side of the room instead of right next to her. Y/N noticed immediately. Her eyes darted to him, then back to Nick, as if debating her next move.

Nick, sensing her uncertainty, stayed still, letting her make the decision.

And then, after what felt like forever, Y/N slowly—slowly—leaned her little body against Nick’s arm.

Nick’s eyes widened. “Oh my god.”

Chris gaped. “Dude, she’s touching you.”

Matt grinned proudly. “Told you she’d come around.”

Y/N yawned, grabbing another piece of cookie before munching on it, still leaning against Nick. It wasn’t much, but to Matt, it was everything.

Because for the first time, his little shadow wasn’t just clinging to him—she was letting someone else in. And that was more than enough.

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

Fractured Loyalties

pairing: bucky barnes(the winter soldier) x fem!ex-widow!reader

genre: angst/neutral

el's thoughts: okaaaaayyy i had a little too much free time today... this took me three hours and i'm exhausted but so proud of this!! it's prettyyy long compared to my last few fics, so enjoy!! please let me know your thoughts please please please!! tagging my few new bucky mutuals for feedback if you're willing! @lomlbuckybarnes @dollface-xoxo @probablybucky

bucky masterlist

They were never supposed to be anything more than weapons. 

HYDRA made sure of that.

Y/N and Bucky were forged in the same fire–HYDRA’s brutality, the Red Room’s merciless conditioning. Their pasts were written in blook and rewritten in pain. They weren’t meant to have choices, weren’t meant to be people. And yet, somewhere in the fractures of their broken minds, they had found each other.

She had been the only constant in the Winter Soldier’s shattered existence. Even when memories faded, when his mind was wiped clean of anything resembling a past, he remembered her. The whisper of her voice, the flash of steel in her hands, the way her presence lingered even after she was gone.

She was more than a mission partner. She was the only one who knew what it was like to wake up in a body that no longer felt like her own, to fight battles she never chose. They never spoke of it–not with words, at least. But in the quiet moments between assignments, when their handlers weren’t watching, when their guards were down, they understood each other in a way no one else could.

And yet, it was never enough to save them from what they became.

~

“You hesitate too much, James,” she spoke up. She was sitting across from him in the dimly lit barracks, wrapping a bandage around a fresh wound on her forearm.

Bucky watched the careful way she tied the knot, her fingers precise, methodical.

“Maybe you don’t hesitate enough,” he countered, leaning back against the cold metal wall.

She looked up then, her sharp gaze pinning him in place. “That’s why you keep getting punished. One day, they’re going to take the hesitation out of you.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose. “They’ve tried.”

She smirked slightly, but there was no real humor in it. “Not hard enough apparently.”

Silence stretched between them.

He had never said it aloud, but he knew it wasn’t hesitation that made him different. It was her. 

She was the only thing that made him remember he was still human.

And HYDRA didn’t want humanity. They wanted a weapon.

~

The first time Bucky sees her again, it’s through the scope of a sniper rifle.

He doesn’t pull the trigger.

He recognizes the way she moves—silent, calculated, a shadow slipping through the compound’s perimeter. Her face is different, a little sharper, a little harder, but it’s her. Y/N Y/L/N. The last person he expected to find standing between him and his mission.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, lowering the rifle.

She’s taking down guards with precision, a knife to the ribs, a twist of the wrist, a body crumpling without so much as a sound. Bucky has to remind himself to breathe.

Then she looks up.

Their eyes meet.

She stands frozen for a moment.

Something cold settles in his stomach.

And then she vanishes.

~

The screen flickers on causing Y/N to stand rigid, arms crossed tightly over her chest, eyes locked on the grainy surveillance footage of James restrained in the glass containment cell.

She can feel it before it even happens. A deep, gut-wrenching wrongness coiled inside her chest. She’s seen this before. She’s lived this before.

Then the interviewer starts speaking.

“Longing.”

Her stomach drops.

“Rusted. Seventeen.”

Y/N jerks forward, her pulse hammering. 

“No,” she breathes.

Steve stiffens beside her. “Y/N?”

She doesn’t answer. She can’t.

Because she knew James had been compromised again—becoming someone she couldn’t trust. Again. 

The moment his body was seen jerking violently against his restraints, Y/N was up and out of her seat.

“Y/N, wait–!” Steve calls after her, but she’s already bolting through the corridors, shoving past agents, and sprinting toward the containment room.

She knew what was coming.

And she knew she was already too late.

-

The alarms were blaring when she skids around the corner, but she barely registered the sound. The reinforced glass had shattered, the guards were down, and in the center of the wreckage stood him.

The Winter Soldier.

His movements are fluid and efficient. A calculated killing machine, taking out anyone in his path.

“James–”

He turned around at the sound of her voice. For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—something almost familiar. Something that nearly warms Y/N’s chest at the mere sight.

Then it’s gone.

He lunged at her before she had time to process.

Y/N barely dodges the first blow, twisting away as his metal arm flies past her face, crashing into the wall behind her, shattering the concrete as if it were paper.

She grits her teeth as she keeps her body low to the floor. “Guess we’re doing this the hard way.”

She counters fast, standing but quickly ducking under his next strike, driving a sharp elbow toward his ribs. He catches it effortlessly, twisting her arm behind her back. She hisses in pain but isn’t hesitant, slamming the back of her head into his face, catching his nose and lips.

It barely slows him.

“James, listen to me,” she pants, twisting out of his grip. “This isn’t supposed to be who you are.”

His response is a brutal kick to her side.

Y/N crashed into the ground but rolled onto her feet instantly, spinning around to throw a backheel kick aimed at his head. He blocks it with terrifying ease, grabbing her leg and throwing her across the room. 

She lands hard, gasping as the air is knocked from her lungs.

Dammit.

She blinks rapidly, forcing herself up. She’s fought him before—back when she was still under the Red Room’s control. Back when they were both nothing but weapons. She doesn’t hesitate.

With a running leap, she throws herself at him, wrapping her legs around his shoulder and neck in a desperate attempt to choke him out.

“Come on, James,” she growls, tightening her grip. Her elbows repeatedly aimed at the back of his head as she was hunched over him. “Snap the hell out of it.”

For a second, it almost worked. He staggers back, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear something. Y/N froze, still bracing herself against his head.

Then he slams her into the floor.

The impact rattles her skull. Her vision blurs. 

And before she can move, he’s on her—his metal fingers wrapping around her throat.

Her breath cuts off instantly.

Her hands claw at his wrist, but it’s like trying to move a mountain. Black spots dance in her vision.

She gasps, barely above a whisper—desperate, pleading.

“James… please.”

His grip didn’t loosen, and his stare didn’t let up. His blue eyes bore down into her eyes. Cold and unrecognizing.

Her chest burned. Her vision tunneled.

She’s losing.

A sharp blast of energy suddenly knocks The Winter Soldier backward. Y/N collapses into herself, coughing violently, sucking in air like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to the world.

She blinks up—eyes wet, throat raw—to see Tony Stark standing in front of her, arm raised, repulsor glowing hot.

“Alright, Terminator,” Tony snapped. “How about you pick on someone your own size?”

The Winter Soldier’s jaw ticked, and he charged at him.

Y/N wheezed, clutching her throat. Every breath felt like fire, but she didn’t care.

She forced herself up.

Despite every bone in her body screaming at her to run away or at least end it all right then and there, she wasn’t going to leave him. 

Not this time.

Sure, she didn’t trust the Winter Soldier in the slightest—not even James at this moment— she couldn’t bring herself to leave him. If she was given a chance to redeem herself and clear her name, she would do everything she could to give him that chance. 

~

“You trust him?”

Y/N’s voice is razor-sharp as she leans against the wall of the safe house, arms crossed. Steve meets her gaze with an unshaken clam.

“After everything that just went down?”

“I do.”

She scoffs. “Then you’re more of a fool than I thought, Rogers.”

James watches from the side, silent. He doesn’t blame her for the anger coiled beneath her words and doesn’t expect her to trust him. He wouldn’t either. She had seen firsthand the things he did while in HYDRA.

“You’re still working against HYDRA,” Steve says, tilting his head slightly. “So is he.”

Her jaw tightens.

“We’re not on the same side,” she snaps.

Steve raises a brow. “Aren’t you?”

The silence stretches between them. 

Finally, Y/N exhales sharply. “If he slows us down, he’s dead.”

James shifts in his seat. “Trust me, Doll, I know.”

Her glare could set him on fire.

Steve sighs but doesn’t argue. He knows Y/N well enough by now to understand that trust isn’t given—it’s earned. And right now, Bucky’s running on a deficit.

Y/N pushes herself off the wall, rolling her shoulders like she’s shaking off the weight of old ghosts. “Fine,” she mutters. “He can stay.”

She steps closer to James, her presence crackling with tension. Her eyes scan him, calculating, measuring—looking for a weakness, a hesitation, anything that proves she’s right to doubt him.

James meets her gaze head-on. He won’t flinch. Not now.

“But if you even think about crossing me–” She leans in, her voice a dangerous whisper. “I’ll put a bullet between your eyes before you can even blink.”

James’ lips twitch, not quite a smirk, not quite anything at all. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

She scoffs, turning away. “Then let’s get this over with.”

As she strides toward the door, Steve exhales, rubbing a hand over his face before looking back to his friend. Bucky watches her go, the ghost of something unreadable in his expression. 

“She’s not wrong,” Bucky mutters, running a hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t trust me either.”

Steve exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “Then prove her wrong.”

Bucky nods, but the weight in his chest doesn’t lift. Because the truth is, no matter how much he wants to, no matter how much of himself he’s clawed back from the abyss—he’s still not sure he can.

[skiagraphe0]

"Things I don't like should be kept away from me by everyone else on Earth, rather than by my avoiding it" is abdication of responsibility. It's auto-infantilization, reducing one's self to just a wittle baby who can't possibly avoid clicking on a tag that upsets them or blocking someone who's being a jerk. It's the kind of thing you'd only see in real life from an actual child (not a teen, a child) - "I don't want to walk one block over to avoid that dog who barks at me when I walk by! Make the dog go away!" is a sentiment that shows a total lack of regard for others (maybe the dog has a right to exist in his own yard) along with a refusal to do anything, no matter how small, to improve your own life if it might involve effort.

If a 10 year old pulled this, you'd sigh and tell them to just walk around the dog.

So when I see 30+ year old people going, "dogs DNI!", all I can think is, "you're old enough to avoid the dog yourself."

i don't respect DNIs not in the sense i go out of my way to break them but in the sense that i don't respect DNIs as a concept and consider them to be something of a red flag in general.

i'm not sure how to explain it but it's the combination of usually putting very serious issues on the same level as fandom stuff, the fact that half the time people don't even know what they're against beyond 'the bad stuff' therefore even further watering these issues down, and the idea that other people are expected to manage your online existence for you.

there's a passiveness to it that i think is actually a problem and it does not surprise me in the slightest that people with DNIs tend to view what media they consume as activism. do you get what i'm saying.

[knight-a3]

Hazbin Masterpost

Heavenbound Masterpost

Sera, high radiant seraphim

I wanted angels to look more human. The whole "biblically accurate angels" thing is not quite as biblically accurate as you probably think.

More under the cut

This gets into some theology. So, I wanted heaven to be more human, since God created man in his own image, and it works best with the lore I am building. It just gives a more heavenly vibe when the angels aren't some creature-things. I want heaven to feel heavenly, okay?

Clothes: I changed her outfit, because the canon one is a bit too complicated and I didn't understand the construction of it. So I did something that's easier for me to understand. It's overall more animation friendly, and that pleases me.

Halo: I have specific ideas about halos. They denote the type and rank of angel they are. Seraphim have two silver ring halos. I haven't decided if I want to make her one of the Seven Heavenly Virtues (the Elder Seraphim) or just the head of the Radiant Seraphim(the broader rank of seraphim). Either could work. But if she's a virtue, I'd need to make a small change to her halo, as per my own lore rules.

Wings: I've decided to give seraphim wings with three sets(six total) of primary feathers, instead of six entirely separate wings. Mostly because I do not want to draw that many wings nor figure out the anatomy of it. It mimics the six-winged look while being easier for me to wrap my head around and draw. I also just like the look better.

They can also be summoned and dismissed at will, because I don't want to have to draw them all the time. It's a cop out, but I will do it.

--Biblically Accurate Angels--

"Biblically accurate" is not quite what most people think. Y'all are like, "biblically accurate angels are crazy looking eyeball and wing monstrosities, no wonder people were scared!" But that's literally not what the bible says.

Angel means "messenger", and they often appear as regular-looking people. Sometimes they have a "countenance of lightning" and "raiment white as snow". Jesus was once described(post-resurrection) as having feet of molten bronze(the molten part is the key: it's literally white-hot, not brown) and hair as wool(specifically referring to the color, not texture, and the commonly associated color is white). These are descriptions of glowing.

The crazier depictions tend to happen in visions or dreams, too. It's likely they were symbolic descriptions rather than literal. That the individual components had a cultural connotation that implied something about them. Many eyes symbolized constant watchfulness, for example. I mean, we sometimes describe an angry person as having fire in their eyes or steam coming out their ears, and that's not literal. We describe a sly person as a snake or a fox, but it's not literal. The book of Revelations and the Old Testament, in particular, use imagery, symbolism, and metaphors A LOT. And things get a little muddy when carried between language, culture, and time. Translation, localization, and modernization are tricky processes.

--Seraphim-- <-Link to some helpful info about this topic, if you're interested in that type of thing.

"Seraph" is a back-formation. It's a singular form of a pre-existing plural word. Seraphim is the plural form. I will probably use seraphs and seraphim interchangeably, so just don't worry about that.

The Hebrew root word "sarap" means something along the lines of "burning". It was often used to refer to snakes (possibly because the venom causes a burning sensation, or maybe as a metaphor for purification). It is only used once to describe a heavenly being, in the book of Isaiah. Every other time, it is translated as "burning ones" or "fiery flying serpent". In Egypt and other surrounding cultures, cobras would be used to symbolize divinity, sovereignty, and royalty. The Hebrews probably adopted the imagery. The seraphim described in the Bible might not even refer to what we typically imagine to be angels.

Long story short; seraphim means fiery flying serpents and symbolize divinity and/or purification.

--Cherubim-- <-Link to more cool info!

While I'm on the topic of the etymology of angels, I might as well address cherubs. Cherubim is the proper plural form, but I will probably use cherubs and cherubim interchangeably as well. Just roll with it, it's fine.

The youthful child depiction possibly comes from some rabbinic folk lore that claims the word is related to the Aramaic term for "like a child" or "youthful", but I'm not sure if that's true.

What I'm seeing most consistently is that they're implied to have wings. It seems commonly accepted that it comes from an Akkadian word meaning, "to bless". One source claims it means "hybrid" or "mount, steed" and refers to winged beasts that the Canaanite sky god would ride. Which would align with the depictions of cherubim as tetrads(a hybrid of four creatures), and/or the use of it as some sort of divine flying chariot.

There are a lot of theories, but nothing concrete. It gets very unclear and I'm not an expert. But I'm incorporating a variety of ideas into my lore, and I think I'm doing good with balancing them.

--

In the end, I'm using the terms seraphim and cherubim to describe ranks of angels, because it's what works best with our current understanding of the words. I'm not going to include the other traditional classes of angels like dominions, thrones, etc, because it's overly complicated, and not actually biblical. I don't want to waste brain power on that. Also, the Bible doesn't actually describe the hierarchy of angels at all. It's not even clear if seraphim and cherubim are supposed to be considered angels.

[nikjima]

Bit of a question, if you're open to it. You discovered the Wedding Chapel. What do you guess it was supposed to be used for?

The Chaphael, my font of madness. 😔

Thanks for the ask! It's hard to guess, really, but going over what I know about it:

It has the CTY prefix, not the BGO or GLO prefixes, which is what the rest of the HoH has, so I don't believe it was part of the House of Hope.

Only a small part of it is actually walkable, and parts of the wall are not 'solid', and can be walked through, so from my experience of other scene behaviours It was most likely intended for a cutscene.

The background sound when in the area is also one of the default dungeon environment sounds, not Raphael's theme or any music from the HoH.

It is very incomplete, there are gaps between the wall pieces, the floor is uneven, there are almost no 'triggers' in place, such as those for cameras or lighting, and it's very sparsely decorated, so whatever it was for seems to have been abandoned early, though there is evidence in the game files that suggest it was looked at as late on in development as patch 5.

My delulu theory is, of course, that it was made specifically for the player character to marry Raphael in, after giving him the crown and him making them his consort. I want it to be that so very badly it hurts.

What I think it's more likely to be is either:

a - a spot in the city we could visit to trade with Raphael for rare items using soul coins, as we've been told in the past that Raphael was at one point going to be a trader who we could barter with using soul coins. (as an aside, there's some info in the game files that indicates Raphael would have been able to assist us as a summoned ally, there's a spell named "Diabolical Ally" with the text "Summon the crafty devil Raphael to fight alongside you." The spell summon data contains the UUID for a character that doesn't exist, sadly, so I have no way of knowing what form he would have taken. It isn't set up the way the endgame allies for the final battles are, so maybe it'd have been attached to something you could barter from him? 'Use this ring to call upon my aid once per day' kinda deal. Fun idea) This one is unlikely if it really is a cutscene area, of course, though it could have been a case of 'enter building, cutscene begins, complete trade in cutscene, exit'.

b - a scene where we'd see some kind of cult of Raphael scenario going on, post-epilogue. (Archdevils have cults after all, so surely the Archdevil Supreme would have a real fancy one). Perhaps he chose to desecrate a wedding chapel for his cult base because doing such a thing amused him, all the pomp and ceremony of weddings would obviously appeal to him, and corrupting the location a religious ceremony would be held would be extra delicious. Maybe Hope really liked weddings so it was an extra little 'fuck you' to the cleric who denied him, too. There's an unfinished 'Raphael Punished' area, presumably where we'd witness Mephistopheles eating him, so why not have a counter version for those of us who side with him where we see the fruits of his labour?

c - Raphael actually does take the player character as his consort, binding them to him for eternity as a sort of trophy (I rule the hells and have the Hero of Faerun who slew the Absolute in my retinue, in your face dad, your dragon ain't shit), and being the ostentatious so-and-so he is, decided to have a full ceremony to announce it. It probably lasted 9 days and involved 666 different poems about how great he is. He wrote the vows, and once the player character recites all those infernal words it means they're his possession entirely.

Okay, that last one was veering wildly back into the delulu realm. Let me dream. 🥺

Thank you again for the ask, people rarely ask my thoughts on things, it was fun to go back over the Chapel again. I only spent like 4 hours poring over it this time, not 2 days. Improvement! 🙌

To have and to mould into whatever my heart desires. In your sickness and my health. Not even death shall part us, Little Mouse.

[cal-is-a-cuddlefish]

#yeah hi i live in WEST VIRGINIA#ask me what its like living in a poor deeply red state like WEST VIRGINIA#our senators don't care about us. our governor doesn't care about us.#they threaten the coal miners with losing their jobs and their benefits if they even THINK about voting for clean energy#no negotiating no trying to find them new jobs nothing just#ope you want wind farms well bill if you want wind farms how will you feed your family#makes it very very hard to get progressive shit done here when they've fearmongered everyone into a corner#because guess what#people need to eat and keep their houses#shocking i know

Not to mention at Every Single Turn they defund our schools. The free lunch program is paid by donations and put together by volunteers. They fund charter schools here and continue stripping money from public school. The public schools suck because of it. Parents are regularly ARRESTED for trying to get their kids into a better jurisdiction. Just to try to give them a future.

So yeah. The people here are dead last (or near it) in education. But they also deserve to exist and to live. And being terrified to vote blue because you are told left and right and center that it'll starve your family is not a position I want anyone in. Not to mention there's so many people here that are queer. We see them every single day. We clock each other and love each other.

I’m all for fucking around and finding out but in this situation (trump & the billionaires trying to drag america into tech bro fascist hell) too many people are being hurt and too many more WILL die if things do not change. you do not need to forgive those who voted for him, you do not need to find the sympathy to feel bad for them now that they’re being affected by his policies. but we cannot turn them away once they turn on trump— and they are. too little too late, maybe. studying for the test after they failed, sure. but I’m so serious when I say this is not the time for perfectionism. this is the time to push a dictator & his cronies out with any hands that are willing to shove

[wheelie-sick]

Frustrations about "transabled" wheelchair use

sparing people the long post and putting this under a cut

saw a post that frustrated me in the wheelchair tag that I'm not going to directly respond to because the person who created it seems young

it was a post encouraging people who are "transabled" to use wheelchairs under the reasoning of

it hurts no one

wheelchairs are not in limited supply

and then encourages people to get them from thrift stores for cheaper

I don't... really care about the whole "transabled" thing and I think a lot of it comes from people with BIID (<- real thing) using an inappropriate label for their experiences. while I pretty flat out think that people without BIID who don't need a wheelchair should not be using a wheelchair I can acknowledge that the situation gets much more complex when it comes to BIID.

many people with BIID will physically injure themselves in the name of alleviating their dysphoria. I would much, much rather someone use a wheelchair without physically needing it than injure themself. if a wheelchair helps someone with BIID I am, generally speaking, not opposed to it. there's more nuance to this but that's not the point of this post so I'm not entirely going to derail it.

the point of this post is that this person is wrong about this kind of frivolous wheelchair use being harmless towards people who need wheelchairs.

contrary to the point most people make of "this will make people fake claim wheelchair users even more!" I actually don't think that will happen- yet. transabled people exist in a very small, dark corner of the internet that hasn't really had any spotlight cast on it? at least not yet. someone considering themself transabled is also exceptionally rare. I doubt that this will, as it exists currently, encourage a significant increase in fake claiming. could this happen? sure. I just don't see it as a current problem.

the main fake claiming I see fueled by the existence of transabled people comes from places like r/fakedisordercringe. they once posted my Twitter (? I've been posted 5 times, I lose track) where I had "adult" in my bio, edited out the "adult" line, and posted it with the claim I was 14 and self diagnosed all my disorders. when my tiktok was posted someone claimed I was currently a student at their highschool, I was... in university. my point is that they're liars and don't care about what you say or the reality of a situation. they want content, not truth.

places like r/fakedisordercringe will come up with any excuse to accuse someone they dislike of lying. accusing someone of being "transabled" is just one of their latest fads. to me, their fake claims mean nothing. I acknowledge they can dish out some serious harassment, believe me, they have gone after me plenty. what I mean by that is that their claims are meaningless in the real world. I have brought up being posted there, what, 5 times? to offline friends many times who are aware of the subreddit and they laugh then say "yeah that's absurd." they're just not taken seriously.

the caveat to this is if this were to get a spotlight shined on it. I truly hope this does not happen because it would be a nightmare to deal with for anyone affected by the radqueer community. I could see a world where doctors treat patients who don't present with quantifiable symptoms with suspicion because they could, possibly, be transabled.

this is pretty verifiable because physically disabled patients with a BIID diagnosis are treated truly just awfully.

once the label of "faker" gets applied to you by a doctor it follows you around until you can find a doctor who is willing to look past it. especially with hospitals having greater communication with each other through online connections between hospitals it's becoming increasingly difficult to escape faker accusations and bullshit diagnoses like fibromyalgia and functional neurological disorder**.

**these are real conditions. they are just so often misdiagnosed by doctors who think you are lying/hysterical/exaggerating/making it all up/all of the above. once you have them, it's hard to escape them. every symptom will be blamed on them and no further testing will be done.

I think the big current hurt this is doing to wheelchair users is suggesting that there is no hurt. in theory wheelchairs are not a limited resource, standard wheelchairs are mass produced and widely available. it's just less true in practice.

anyone who uses a wheelchair can attest to the fact that it is difficult to obtain one- especially on a budget. when someone is encouraging people who don't need wheelchairs to do things like buy thrift store wheelchairs they tangibly take away resources from wheelchair users. standard wheelchairs are widely produced enough that buying one from the source is not going to make a dent, and even if all transabled people did it there would be little impact.

thrift store wheelchairs are hard to come by.

I know so many disabled people who spend months scouring thrift stores for wheelchairs and who still turn up nothing. buying a thrift store wheelchair is not something with no impact, it does take away resources from wheelchair users.

beyond this, I have seen people encourage transabled people to lie in order to get custom wheelchairs. anyone who has used a standard wheelchair knows they are uncomfortable, hard to push, etc. we've all heard the spiel- they're awful to use. for many people they're better than nothing but anyone able to will aim for a custom wheelchair.

a lot of transabled people are really in it for a glorified aesthetic. generally speaking, standard wheelchairs are not their "aesthetic." I could write a whole post on this, I'm not going to dive into it.

unlike standard wheelchairs there is not an unlimited supply of custom wheelchairs. as their name implies, they are custom made to every individual person. this means there are wait times! people die waiting for custom wheelchairs. on average the process in the US seems to be around 6 months from evaluation to receiving the final wheelchair. that's a long fucking time to have little to no mobility. having little to no mobility comes with its own health problems, like pressure sores (sometimes referred to as "bed sores")

"but my custom wheelchair will only delay someone else's wheelchair by a day!"

have you ever been sick and stuck in bed? how anxious were you to regain the ability to move? did every day fucking suck? I bet it did. because it sucks to be stuck in bed. that's the position many people are in while waiting for custom wheelchairs.

one day can be the difference between no pressure sore and yes pressure sore. one day can be the difference between one stage of pressure sore and another stage of pressure sore

pressure sores kill. pressure sores can go to bone. pressure sores can become infected. people die from pressure sores all the time. once you have them they are incredibly difficult to treat. one day is a difference.

overall it's just so frustrating to see people treat getting a wheelchair like it's meaningless and has no impact on people, especially when people are getting wheelchairs in ways that take resources away from the people who need them. then when actual wheelchair users (you don't get to call yourself a wheelchair user if you don't need the wheelchair 🤷) express frustration at this flippancy we're labeled "mean exclusionists who just want to ruin their fun."

I think the mobility of people without it takes priority over someone's "fun aesthetic"

[deoidesign]

please please please please please please please let me tell you about this comic I want to make it so bad please I can not wait I am losing it

If I don't make the comic then I'm not going to make it... I need other people to see what is in my brain so I'm not the only one going feral over them

[changeling-droneco]

This all feels like mostly misunderstanding on empathy v sympathy, one is an emotional knee jerk, the other is a choice, one cannot pick and choose empathy as it is simply something that happens or it doesn’t happen. When someone says they empathize with say, Elon’s abuse as a child, they are not wishing him well or giving him quarter. It’s a simple response of your brain wincing and giving you a stimulation to the thought of pain.

It’s your brain simply going “you know it would suck to be nicked in the ear by a bullet, let’s get all shaky as we imagine what it would be like and how bad we’d feel as a way to connect” the character of the person tends to come second, as it’s your brain trying to understand the stimuli of another persons emotions to foster a general connection and understanding of the emotions of a situation. It’s all done under the hood, what you do with that empathy is up to the person, but the existence is moral neutral so punishing people who talk about it is cruel and pointless.

However on the flip side it’s also true that people who do not have that moment of internal wince did not really decide that either, a lack of empathy is also moral neutral and shaming someone for being cruel or stupid for not having it is also wrong.

It also has little to do with actually humanizing inherently, you can feel empathy for someone as you kill them, and you can feel no empathy as you pull someone out of a car crash. It’s all just brains being wired a bit differently. Some people will mirror pain and emotions more or less then others, and that itself is expected and normal.

I personally as part of my autism have a much higher then normal empathy, it doesn’t make me any better at humanizing people or being kind, it just is something where the emotions and feelings of someone is easily overwhelming for me so it can take a moment to recalibrate because ow. If anything it can be worse then if I didn’t because a response can be less “ow this hurts me let me help” and more “this hurts me, get rid of it now” which very much makes you want to alienate and dehumanize in an attempt to jerk away from the pain.

It all just means to have a bit of patience with the people who have to take a moment to compose themselves and having a bit of understanding for those who don’t. You don’t gotta sympathize, but empathy shouldn’t be penalized in either direction of too little or too much.

I thought it was fairly normal to feel empathy for bad people.

I thought it was common, even.

But after my Elon/Grimes post... now I'm wondering if I was mistaken about that.

I wrote a post about Trump being traumatized after his assassination attempt and a post about his poor adaptation to aging. I expressed sympathy for him in both cases. But I still maintain my white hot hatred of him and wish for him to face consequences.

Elon was abused by his father. Some of the stories are incredibly tragic. Hearing those stories triggers an involuntary response in my emotional systems that I can't stop no matter how much I despise present-day Elon. I also wonder if that abuse never occurred maybe we wouldn't be dealing with this current clusterfuck.

I have never held so much anger towards a single person as I do my brother. But I also see him as a victim of abuse. I know he was once a really good person and he was slowly corrupted. I feel sorry for him. I mourn the amazing person he used to be. And I still love him.

But that doesn't make me any less angry.

[prommytheus]

me: im not a asoryu divorce truther, but i AM an asoryu taking a break & eventual unlabeled-long-distance-situation truther. they ABSOLUTELY needed to go on different paths at the end of the game. i totally get people who rewrite them to go back home together after 2-5, but it misses the point IMO. their split is a bittersweet thing & a testament to their devotion to each other as people and friends more than it’s a toxic split and a tragedy. it’s not ryuunosuke leaving in bitter anger at kazuma’s deceit, or kazuma being idiotically self punishing. rather, it’s them mutually saying “We need to exist outside of each other for a while for our own development as people. But i would never leave you in anger. You will always be enough for me, but you also need to learn to be enough for yourself. And ultimately we will meet again at the crossroads. When we need each other the most, and we are finally ready, and we will walk our paths side by side. Unbroken, and never having been broken. And that bond is stronger than both of our deceit, violence, shyness, and ignorance combined.”

their physical split is a show of their assurance that they could never spiritually ‘fall off’ from each other. no matter what happens, they stand together in a cosmic sense. they need to be apart so that kazuma can find a self that will live past 24, and so ryuunosuke can develop the self he found in his own journey— the self that sees its value at all. basically, ryuunosuke is leaving for himself to prove that he has a self, and kazuma is staying for himself so he can learn to care about himself enough to put his struggle in the hands of the people offering to him— so he can learn to stop running. do you get me?

you, tied to a chair and actively being waterboarded: BLBLBLBLBLLBLUBUBU—