#regardless you may or may not see me again

[intervex]

Survey: flags & coinings for combinations of intersex and disability

SURVEY URL: https://forms.gle/d6fUWH7jXBTmEBdS9

In the survey I specify ten different ways that intersex people can identify with disability. I show you 13 different flags which play with disability & intersex visuals in different ways, and I ask you to rate which use cases are most suitable for each flag.

The second page then does the same deal, but with proposed terms. If flags aren't your thing you can skip the first page and go straight to the coining section. 💛

Based on how long it took a friend to do the survey, it will probably take about 15 mins to complete.

EDIT TO CLARIFY: you do not have to be both disabled and intersex to fill in the survey! I ask you on page two if those terms apply to you, so just be clear if you're not disabled/intersex. 💜 I think flags & terms should be ideally legible to out-groups, so the feedback is appreciated! But if there are ties I will prioritize the data from people who are both intersex & disabled.

Yesterday, I posted three flag designs for ways that intersex and disability can go together, and I put up two polls on coining terms. And I got really constructive feedback! Thread is here, also see replies. People had suggestions for alternate coinings and use cases that I have incorporated into the survey.

The survey does not ask you for personal information and I am not collecting emails. If you're logged in with Google it will hopefully save your progress. I turned on the options for people to edit their responses after submission (you'll need to save the special url!) and the option to see other folks' responses.

You can answer the questions in any order. You can skip questions as you desire. You don't have to justify any of your answers.

At the end of the month (September 2024) I'll post the results on this tumblr. If you want a reminder to look for the results, I recommend adding a reminder to your calendar on Oct 2 to come back here. 💜

These are the 13 flags in the survey. In order of appearance, they are:

And under the cut I'll list out the nine use cases. If you have Long Covid like me you might want to have this tab open beside the survey so you can refer to the different use cases.

The ten use-cases I specify are:

"Any reason": Intersex person who identifies as disabled (for ANY reason). Would include ALL of the following cases.

"Variation-specific": Intersex person who considers their specific intersex variation to be a disability. May or may not view other intersex variations as disabilities (e.g. "CAH is a disability but Klinefelter's is not"). Does NOT imply this person accepts the medical model of disability.

"Personal case(s)": Intersex person who considers their personal intersex variation to be a disability. May or may not view others with the same variation as disabled. (E.g. "My CAH is disabling but not everybody has the same experience"). Does NOT imply this person accepts the medicalization.

"Intersex as part of disability community": Intersex person who considers the intersex community to be a member of the broader disability community and/or that intersex rights/justice should be considered part of the disability rights/justice movements. Again, does NOT imply a medical model of disability.

"Debility by intersexism": Intersex person who has a disability caused by intersexist violence. Would include chronic pain from IGM, PTSD from medical trauma, PTSD from bullying, mobility limitation from surviving a hate crime. The term "debility" is used in disability studies for disablement that is caused by structural violence, often implying a slow wearing out from perpetual minority stress.

"Iatrogenic disability": Intersex person who has an iatrogenic disability. Iatrogenesis is when medical intervention causes disease/disability - such as chronic pain caused by surgery. The term applies regardless of whether the surgery was consensual or involuntary. Somebody who *chose* to get genital surgery that wound up causing chronic pain would fall under this category, but *not* the previous category (debility).

"Commonly correlated disability": Intersex person with a disability which is commonly correlated to their intersex variation. Like Deafness and MRKH. ADHD and EDS are known to be more common amongst intersex people.

"Unrelated disability": Intersex person who has a disability that to them is clearly unrelated to being intersex. Like they acquired a disability through being a combat veteran, and so to them there's no link between this disability and being intersex.

"It's complicated": Intersex person who is disabled and the connection between the two identities is complex and not easy to pin down. Maybe they have a disability where it /might/ be linked to being intersex but they don't know. Or they can't draw a neat distinction between disabling and non-disabling parts of their intersex variation. Or they read the last seven cases and are like "wow I have none of that clarity about how my intersex variation relates to being intersex".

"Any-linked-reason": Intersex person who is disabled and they see *any* kind of link/connection between being intersex and being disabled. The link can be vague/messy! Umbrella category that would encompass #2-7 and #9 (everything except the "unrelated disability" group.)

Tagging @queercripintersex @posting-stuffies @headpainmigraine @intersexflags @daydreamerdisease @interachive since you all chimed in with feedback on the original thread. 💜

[jsmelodies]

Cassian thought it was supposed to be simple. 

Find the witch in the woods.

Convince said witch to give him Ataraxia.

Rescue the princess from the dragon guarding her tower, with said sword, from said witch.

If only the damned witch stopped getting in his way.

Written for @nessianweek Day 5: Behind Closed Doors

Because nothing says behind closed doors like getting to know a witch in the middle of the woods with no one around.

Read here on ao3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Cassian had a long time to think on the ride back to the palace. Once he cleared the thicket of the forest, he urged Ruby to go faster, settling into an easy canter for the remainder of the journey.

The sun was just beginning to hit the tips of the castle spires when he made it to the city streets. The children paused in their playing in the streets to watch him ride through the gates.

Ruby let out a snort as he slowed them down to a walk, and he flashed his typical easygoing grin to the children. For the first time, though, that smile felt ingenuine. 

Women gave him shy smiles as he rode by, nothing like the stern look of that witch in the forest. He hadn’t even gotten her name.

You want me to find you worthy? I don’t.

Was all of this just a lie? All of the years hoping he could be something better—something greater. What if he’d just deluded himself? What if he wasn’t worthy at all?

No one paid him any mind as he rode in. He wasn’t beat up like Kallon was, so there was nothing interesting to see. Cassian approached, sliding off of Ruby with one smooth movement.

Rhys and Azriel were already done for the day, placing their dulled practice blades back on the rack and leaning against the stone of the palace wall.

“I take it you didn’t have much luck,” Az said, noticing his frustration, and the lack of a princess on his arm.

Cassian considered not telling them the truth. He considered saying that he searched the woods all day without a single trace. But, he sighed and said, “I found her.”

Rhys frowned. “What happened? Can you remember?” he asked.

“Yeah, I remember everything. I messed up and insulted her. She struck a nerve, so I…”

Azriel watched him with an arched eyebrow. “You what?”

Cassian winced, knowing how what he was about to say would sound. “I may have implied that she didn’t have a soul.” 

Azriel let out a long, long breath. “Yeah. Alright, so you fucked up pretty badly.”

Cassian slid his gaze to Rhys, who had a singular eyebrow lifted.

“How important is this to you?” Rhys asked, his voice contemplative.

“I need to make it right.”

“Yeah, if there’s any chance of you getting that sword-”

“No,” Cassian said, cutting him off. “Regardless of that. I need to make it right.”

An honorable man wouldn’t have said what he did. And if by some chance he did, then that man would apologize. Rhys’ mother ingrained that lesson into him when he was just a boy.

He hadn’t meant what he said. It was all spoken out of anger, but it wasn’t okay. 

Cassian knew what he had to do.

***

He set out again the next morning. The witch wouldn’t try to kill him, he didn’t think. At least, not after he apologized. And he would apologize.

The ride through the forest was short, and his heart beat quickly in his chest for the entirety. 

He remembered the route back to her cottage with perfect clarity. She must not have spelled him, or whatever it was she did to Kallon, because he was able to follow the same path to her cottage, that thread pulling him along faintly.

It was almost like she was waiting to see what he would do.

He took a deep breath as he reached the edge of the line of trees, attempting to clear his head before he faced her again.

His eyes fluttered shut for just a moment. He could do this.

“I’ve asked you to leave. I won’t do it again.”

Cassian was dragged out of his daze by the words, and he opened his mouth, prepared to defend his presence, when he realized they weren’t directed at him at all.

Another man stood in the clearing, hulking and in full metal armor, like he expected a fight. Unfortunately, Cassian recognized that armor. Tomas Mandray. He stood with his sword raised, ready to attack.

The witch was in her doorway, clad in the cloak from yesterday, gripping it firmly around her body. As if that cloak was her own form of armor.

The woman didn’t deserve this. It didn’t matter what Cassian’s opinions were, or anyone else’s for that matter. She deserved to exist without fear of being harmed or killed.

As a knight to the kingdom, he would ensure she could.

“Tomas. That’s enough,” Cassian said, making the last few steps into the clearing.

“What are you doing here?” Tomas asked, sneering. 

They’d never gotten along, only ever exchanging stiff pleasantries before both going on their way. He had a feeling this conversation would not even come close to being that.

“The same as you, I imagine,” Cassian said, getting off his horse. “I’m here for the sword.”

A lie. Well, partly. 

“Then you understand the witch needs to die,” Tomas said. “They’re a blight on our kingdom, and need to be killed.”

The look on Tomas’ face, however, implied that wasn’t where his intentions ended. Cassian felt the rage bubbling under his skin, that if he hadn’t shown up, the witch might have been forced to deal with that.

“You don’t need to kill her,” Cassian said. “She’s just minding her own business. Leave her be.”

“Whatever,” Tomas said, turning away from Cassian, raising his sword once more.

The witch retreated back inside a step, but it was enough for Cassian to see that she was well and truly terrified.

Before he knew it, he’d moved and his sword was at Tomas’ throat. He would kill him, one of his fellow knights, if it came down to it.

“I won’t say it again,” Cassian said with a low voice. “Leave her alone. Take one more step towards that door, Tomas, and I’ll make you wish you hadn’t.”

The other knight’s eyes narrowed. “Whose fucking side are you on?”

“There are no sides. I just have basic human decency.”

It turned out his intervention was unnecessary, however, because the next moment Bryaxis had jumped in between Tomas and Cassian, hissing up a storm.

Tomas took a single step back, raising an amused eyebrow. “What’s her stupid cat going to do?” he muttered to himself, aiming to kick him aside with his foot.

Somehow, Cassian knew before it happened that it had been the wrong thing to say. Bryaxis shifted into a snarling beast with long, sharp claws that curled into the ground. In a moment, his teeth were as long as Cassian’s forearm and he stalked towards Tomas, black fur bristling on his neck and back.

Bryaxis stood almost three times taller than the man, and he looked ready to tear Tomas’ head clean off of his body.

“Oh, fuck,” Tomas said.

He held his sword out with shaking hands, prepared to fight. At least, until Bryaxis roared in his face.

Then the coward ran. He dashed back towards his horse tied to the edge of the clearing, Bryaxis snapping at his heels for the first few steps.

His horse’s eyes were milky white with fear, and she reared, yanking Tomas so hard that Cassian thought his arm might be pulled out of his socket.

Tomas yanked the horse back down. “You stupid beast!” he seethed, climbing up onto her back and digging his heels into her side until she uneasily started running through the trees.

Cassian would have let out a sigh of relief, if getting rid of Tomas was the only challenge he faced. But Bryaxis turned, still in his beast form, and eyed Cassian and the sword still at attention in his hand.

Don’t mind Bryaxis. He doesn’t bite, unless you do first.

Praying that the witch had told him the truth yesterday, he dropped it, raising his arms placatingly. “I, uh, I don’t want a fight,” he said. 

Bryaxis prowled closer, his breath smelling like a rotten carcass. When was the last time the woman cleaned his teeth? Did he even allow her to clean his teeth? 

Bryaxis huffed in Cassian’s face, and heat prickled at his ears. But then Bryaxis stepped back and sat back on his haunches, letting out a small groan. Within a few seconds he shifted back into a cat, weaving through Cassian’s legs and purring once more.

It didn’t set him at ease. His heart still hammered in his chest. Now he knew what had left Kallon in such a state only a few days ago.

It was safe to say that he had no intention of getting on Bryaxis’ bad side anytime soon.

“So,” he said. “Not a cat.”

The witch hummed anxiously, her eyes on the treeline. He took a deep breath as his heart settled, then he dared to approach her in the doorway.

“Will he remember?” Cassian asked, as she watched Tomas disappear.

“No,” she said, her voice distant. “He’ll forget almost everything as soon as he’s about a mile out.”

“Bryaxis took a long time to step in,” he commented. It was a question, of sorts, of why the witch had the cat wait.

She merely sighed. “I knew him once. I wanted to see if he’d changed. Apparently, he hasn’t.”

If it was even possible, Cassian hated Tomas even more—for crimes that he wasn’t entirely sure that he’d committed yet. Something about this woman had him coming to her defense, even though he was the last person who should.

He’d insulted her, and she probably wanted nothing to do with him. Even still, he wasn’t going to leave her with the likes of Tomas, Bryaxis or no.

She was rattled, that much was clear. As much as the rest of her was an unrelenting fortress, it was her eyes that gave her away—wide as they continued to watch the spot that Tomas disappeared through, not an ounce of silver anger to be found.

He needed to get her mind off it, off him.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said softly, laying a hand on her wrist. “Let’s go inside. He’s not coming back.”

It was instant, the way everything shifted. That nervousness shifted to indignation. Fear to bitterness. 

Cassian loved storms. As a boy he’d stay up listening to them rattling the windows, streaks of lightning spreading across the sky. Something about them soothed him while scaring others, and he felt safe listening to the long rolls of thunder.

And she was one, staring him down with pure electricity. She could strike him down with one single blow if she wanted.

Silver returned. There she was.

“I don’t recall extending you an invitation.” Yesterday, her words hadn’t been so distant. Short and snarky, yes, but there had been an undertone of sly amusement before he’d well and truly messed everything up. “I thought I told you to leave yesterday.”

“You did.” 

“Then why are you here?” she asked.

Cassian still didn’t know exactly what he’d say once he got here, and convinced her to listen to him. But he needed to say something.

He thought back to Tomas leaving, and the comment she made when he did.

“You said you wanted to see if Tomas had changed,” Cassian began. “So? Do you think a man can change?”

“What are you getting at, Sir Cassian?”

“It’s just Cassian.”

She let out a small huff, and asked again, “What do you want, Cassian?”

“I came to apologize,” he said. He could feel her watching, studying him with those pale blue eyes that he wanted more than a mere glimpse of. “How I spoke to you was out of line, and I’m ashamed of it. I’m sorry.”

“Anything else?” she asked. “You came all the way out here just to apologize?”

“Nothing else,” he said. “I am truly sorry.”

Her lips set into a line as she thought. The seconds ticked by, and he had the suspicion that she would tell him to leave again. Would once again call him unworthy.

But then, she did the last thing he expected. The set of her shoulders relaxed, and she gave him the tiniest dip of her chin in acceptance.

“I respect a man who can admit his mistakes.” 

She took in a breath, as if she were considering saying something else, but then she let it go. “Come inside. You’re helping me today.”

And that was that. Cassian spent the rest of the morning doing as the witch instructed, chopping and scraping and grounding until his hands were sore. He found that he didn’t mind, that it was nice to put his sword down for a little while. 

While they were cleaning up, Cassian couldn’t help but wonder. He asked the question before he could think better of it.

“What does this matter to you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why do you care who the princess marries?”

“You’re moving into dangerous territory,” she said. “Remember what happened yesterday?”

“Answer it anyway,” he said, “You know her, don’t you?”

“This is how you wish to win me over?”

“Not really, I was just curious.”

For a while, he didn’t think she’d answer. 

She handed him some mushrooms from the other side of the clearing, asking if he knew how to cook. He sighed and brought down a pan from the rack he ran into the day before, assuming the conversation was over.

The mushrooms and a few other vegetables spit and popped in the iron pan, and the witch was happy to watch as he cooked for both of them.

While his back was turned, she said, “I do know her. We grew up together.”

That hadn’t been what he was expecting her to say. He didn’t know why he imagined her growing up solely in these woods, outcast from society. Ignorance, maybe.

“You grew up in the castle?”

“You could say that.”

The answer roused a much longer list of questions, ones he didn’t think she’d be willing to answer.

Who are you, that you know the princess so closely? Why distance yourself out here? Just…why?

“Who are you?” he asked. He moved the now finished vegetables to the side, approaching her at the table. 

“No one you would know,” she said.

She loved to evade his questions, he realized. Or, possibly, there was something about opening up to him that absolutely terrified her.

“Can I look at your face?” he asked.

She didn’t seem to like the idea of that, letting out a huff and leaning back in her chair. “I think you’ve seen enough, haven’t you?”

“I don’t think I have,” he said. 

She didn’t make a sound. 

“If you’re no one that I know, it shouldn’t matter, right?”

She didn’t outright deny him. Instead, she seemed to ponder over what he said, and she stood and took hesitant steps forward until she was right in front of him.

“You can’t tell any of the others what you see,” she insisted.

He felt it in the air, how vulnerable she was allowing herself to be. He’d make sure he never gave her a reason to regret it.

“I won’t. I swear it, on my honor.”

She inhaled sharply, then gave him the slightest nod in permission.

He took the edges of her hood in his hands. Even before he brought it down, he could almost see what was underneath. But when it was down fully…

He couldn’t say a word. Not when the angles of her face were so striking, when her beauty was so absolutely devastating that Cassian thought he might crumble.

Just as he suspected, perfect, golden brown hair framed her face, and her eyes were the most enchanting shade of blue-gray. She was young, perhaps a year or two less than his twenty four. And as embarrassing as it was to admit, Cassian had a purely male reaction.

He simply couldn’t speak, unless the word was one syllable and absolutely meaningless. So he didn’t.

This woman would be his undoing. He couldn’t come back again, because who knew what strings they would pull if he did. Whose bed they might end up in, what bridges they couldn’t uncross.

No. It had to end today. As much as he hated it, it had to end today. The witch had her life, and he had his. 

He resisted the urge to reach for her, instead barely managing to keep the fabric of her cloak between his fingers.

“See? Nothing to look at,” she said, being the first to break away.

Cassian disagreed.

***

In the late afternoon he found her on the edge of the fenceline, a book in her hand while making a practiced motion with her arm.

She was speaking softly, repeating the same phrase over and over, and he could see the soft glimmer of her magic taking hold on the perimeter of the property.

Her magic—he didn’t have words to describe it. It held a silver shimmer, and when it concentrated it almost looked like silver fire.

She was warding, he realized. He didn’t know why he expected something else.

“You have defensive magic,” he said.

She paused in her incantation, and the silver fire faded in small wisps. “That surprises you?”

“If I’m speaking honestly, yes,” he said. “Witches don’t have the best reputation.”

Thankfully, she didn’t get upset by it. She merely asked him another question.

“Yet you came to my aid. Why?”

Her eyes met his, the setting sun making her hair look like molten gold. “Because I don’t know the whole story.” 

He added, “And I want to know it.”

She stood there like a queen, watching him with proud eyes and a stance that he’d seen time and time again with his fellow warriors.

He had to admit, she was striking. He’d seen a lot of beautiful women, but she surpassed mere beauty. She was everything strong and fierce and commanding, and he couldn’t for the life of him explain why he was so drawn to it.

She must have seen something true in his face, because her next words were, “Come.” 

Cassian made his way over until he was standing at her side. He stood close enough so that he could see the drawings in the book over her shoulder. Now that he was next to her, now that she let him closer, her voice turned softer. Not by much, but enough that he could tell that she was trying to connect with him in her own way, by sharing something precious to her.

“So little of what I do revolves around curses and jinxes. Most of what I do is this, and healing,” she explained.

“Do you ever perform those?” he asked.

“Would it make you think differently if I said yes?”

“I think it depends.”

She returned her attention to the book, not looking at him as she said, “I only sell those if it’s necessary.”

Cassian didn’t know what to do with that. All he had were the stories—of good men being cursed with misfortune, with no discernible cure in sight.

She went silent next to him, as if she was expecting the worst. 

Maybe she had a good reason. Maybe she deserved the benefit of the doubt. He’d assumed poorly yesterday, and that had blown up in his face, making him say things he regretted.

Today was a new day. He could choose not to believe the worst in her, and maybe she might do the same.

So he said, “Will you show me what you’re doing?”

The witch let out a soft breath, as if his lack of condemnation meant something to her. She held up the book a little closer so he could see.

“I need to draw the rune with my magic, and say the incantation,” she explained. “The drawings here are for practice. They don’t do anything.”

He looked over her shoulder, having to stop himself from reaching over and tracing her immaculate drawings with his finger.

As he pressed up against her, he resisted the urge to settle his hand on her waist. That would be entirely inappropriate. Her breath hitched as his chest brushed against her, a sound so lovely that it was pure music to his ears.

He cleared his throat. “So, you draw it in the air? And it just works?”

She chuckled. “Something like that.”

She pointed to one of the runes on the page she had open. “This one makes a shield. It’s strong enough to discourage unwanted attention from the men that show up on my doorstep.”

“I was able to walk in.”

She said without pausing, “Your attention was not unwanted.”

She could have locked him out without a second thought, after their fight yesterday. Yet she let him come back inside and apologize.

His mouth parted, then closed, but she continued on. “It’s not impenetrable, though. If any do get past it, that’s what Bryaxis is for.”

Like with Tomas.

“You’re trusting me with all of this?” was the only thing he could ask. A lesser man could sell out this information, leaving her for dead.

“I am,” she said. “Because I do think that under all that arrogance, and bravado, there is a good man. One that I don’t think would betray my confidence.” 

She turned, so that her chest was almost touching his.

Almost.

“Am I wrong?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t do that.” 

“I know,” she said simply.

Cassian shook his head. “I just don’t understand. You’re giving me the benefit of the doubt, when I have done nothing to deserve it.”

Her eyes softened. “You did the same for me,” she countered. “You put down your sword yesterday, and today, when most other knights wouldn’t hesitate to attack. That means something.” 

“That should be common courtesy.”

She shrugged. “It isn’t. It’s why I let you inside, and why I allowed you back today.”

“Your bar is exceptionally low.”

Her lips curved upwards. “Perhaps.”

She brushed a strand of her hair behind her delicate ear, and Cassian tracked the entire movement, not able to look away. “I’m sorry, too,” she said.

“For what?”

“For saying that I think you’re unworthy. I was angry, but I shouldn’t have said what I did. I believe you may be the most worthy of them all.”

Hope fluttered in his chest. “So, you’ll give me the sword?”

And just like that, it was gone—that moment of vulnerability between them dissolved. Her gaze hardened, and she turned away.

“You can’t marry her. My answer is the same.”

He remained silent.

“I know that’s why you came back. Why you…apologized to me in the first place,” she continued.

“I came back to apologize because I was wrong,” he said. “You hit a nerve, and I lashed out. But I do want to marry her.”

“You don’t know her. How can you marry a woman you don’t know?”

He didn’t have an answer to that, but he insisted, “I would be good to her.”

Her silence was a long one. “After what I’ve seen, I don’t doubt that. But my answer is no.”

She didn’t look his way again, returning to her warding. Her voice was quieter now, almost remorseful, as if she expected him to say something harsh.

He wouldn’t repeat his mistakes.

He stalked off before he could say anything he’d regret.

***

Her golden hair fell down until it tickled against his chest. She moved on top of him, naked and glistening, shaking as she took exactly what she needed from him.

The muscles of her thighs clenched around his waist as she let out a long moan, orgasming around him and slumping forward.

“Cassian,” she whispered.

He pulled her onto him, desperate to chase his own release.

“I–” he tried to say her name desperately. But it wasn’t there on his tongue, as much as he wanted it to be.

He was close. He was–

Cassian woke with a jolt, sweating as he sat up in his bed. His pulse threatened to explode in his throat, and he combed his now damp hair away from his face.

“Fuck.”

***

Before he could question what he was doing, he was saddling Ruby up yet again and making his way through the village.

Never mind that he’d sworn he wouldn’t go back. He told himself it was because there was still a chance he could change her mind. Yes. He could work with that.

The witch was tending to her garden, pulling weeds and gathering herbs into her basket when he arrived.

Her hair was pulled into a messy braid over her shoulder. He was hit with the urge to pull that braid apart, weaving her hair through his fingers as his dream came back to him in full force—the sound of her moaning on top of him, and the silver that blazed as she came around him.

Stop it.

He offered her his usual smile, and she pursed her lips in what he could tell was mock annoyance.

“You came back,” she said.

“I did.”

“My answer isn’t changing.”

“I think you’ll find I can be rather convincing.”

Play with me, he thought.

She seemed amused, if anything, and said, “I suppose we’ll see.”

They moved inside, the witch cleaning the dirt off of her hands. “You still don’t know her,” she said, pondering. “I do wonder how you intend to fix that.”

He dared to say, “And if I came to get to know you?”

She let out a huff of laughter. “Then I would say you were foolish, and to not return.” She gave him a knowing look. “But you haven’t said that, have you?”

He knew what she was truly saying. As long as they didn’t acknowledge it, she would play along. She’d let him come back.

“No,” he agreed. “I haven’t.”

But even still, her eyes glimmered. “Do try to change my mind, Sir Cassian. I’m curious to see what methods you employ.”

He almost smiled at her then, but before he could, the witch froze, looking distantly over his shoulder through the window.

He turned to see what she was looking at, but she didn’t let him.

“Don’t,” she snapped, stepping up and stopping him with a hand to his chin. It was stupid for his gut reaction to be that this was the first time she had touched him willingly. It was like he was a damn teenager all over again, desperate for any form of touch.

She was pressed fully up against his chest, her breasts pushing into him, and he blinked as he tried to pretend this was the most normal thing in the world.

Foolishly, he thought she might kiss him. But that was the lust-addled part of his brain speaking, for the witch then dragged him along and shoved him into a closet, hissing at him. 

“Do not, under any circumstances, leave this room unless I tell you to. And do not try to look.”

The door slammed in his face. He fell back into the clutter and scowled as something jammed into his arm.

She rustled around the cottage, clearly looking for something while muttering under her breath, before the cottage door opened.

There were two sets of creaking footsteps. Another feminine voice filled the room. They talked for a while, most of the conversation indiscernible, but he could pick up a word every now and then.

They were talking about a man, from what he could understand. Cassian leaned back, trying not to listen.

It didn’t work entirely. The second woman started crying, and the witch’s voice turned soothing, more so than he’d ever heard it.

“Here,” the witch said. “This will help. And if it doesn’t, you know where to find me.”

He heard the muffled sound of crying for a few more minutes, along with the occasional murmur of encouragement from the witch. Then the gentle croak of the door as the witch led the woman outside.

Once the door was closed, he heard the long, frustrated sigh that came afterwards. Then the door to the closet opened, the witch standing on the other side of it.

“You can come out.”

Cassian stumbled out of the dark closet, coughing up dust as he knocked over something wooden on the side.

The witch looked tired, her normally bright eyes dull and weary. Seeing this woman, whoever she was, had taken something from her.

“Who was that?” he asked.

“She doesn’t want anyone to know,” she said tiredly.

“She was crying. And you calmed her down.”

A muscle ticked in her jaw. 

“I know you men find this hard to believe, but I am not a monster,” she snapped at him, letting the bite leak into her tone. “Just because you all don’t have sympathy doesn’t mean I don’t, either.”

“I never thought you were,” he said honestly. After yesterday he thought they’d made some progress. But he was forced to admit that there were likely still misconceptions, on both their parts.

He didn’t know where the second half of what she said came from. But she’d been patient with him, so perhaps he could afford her the same courtesy.

“And I know it may still take some convincing, but I’m not one, either.”

He gave her a few seconds to calm down. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes while she sunk into a chair.

“No. I know you’re not,” she said, softer. “I’m sorry.”

He’d already forgiven her. 

He asked, “How did she find you here?”

“Anyone who needs me can find their way here with ease.” She waved her hand. “Magic.”

He had to admit, that made very little sense. But Cassian wasn’t a witch. He wasn’t well-versed in how their magic worked, or the intricacies of it. He was willing to learn, though.

He thought about how he’d just known where to find her, how he’d felt guided somehow. That string in his chest had brought him here, not just once, but three times.

Was that her magic? Or had it been something else? Fate, perhaps?

Cassian pushed those questions aside.

“Why does she come to you?” he asked.

The witch considered his question for a long moment before answering. “Some knights beat their wives. Take them against their will, too. Did you know that?”

That wasn’t what he was expecting her to say. He blinked.

He knew it happened. Though the knights in question never talked about it openly, for it was shameful to treat a woman like that, it did happen.

“I do.”

“You asked me yesterday if I perform curses and jinxes. I give them to the women who ask for them, and those that need them desperately. No one else.”

“And for the women who really need it, I help them escape,” she said. “Them and their children, if they need to.”

Not a soulless witch at all, he thought. He felt a lot of things then. Guilt for assuming and for his ignorance, and a newfound respect for the woman.

Her magic was beautiful. It healed and protected, which was a far cry from the stories and the warnings he had been raised on. Hell, even stepping into the clearing gave him a sense of peace that he now didn’t know how to live without.

“That’s very brave of you,” he said, his tone soft and serious.

Curiosity sparked in her gaze for the first time in this conversation. 

“What is bravery to you, Sir Cassian?” she asked.

“Just Cassian,” he said.

The corner of her mouth lifted. “Answer the question.”

Bravery was protecting those who needed it. It meant putting himself in between a beast and a child, risking himself so that others had a chance at safety.

He said as such. 

The witch gave him a small smile. “Bravery isn’t all swords and slaying beasts,” she said. “Do you understand?”

He’d never thought of any alternative. But after hearing that woman cry on the witch’s shoulder, and knowing that she was going to return to her husband…

It made him sick. He’d always known it happened, but had turned a blind eye because it simply wasn’t talked about.

Maybe there was more than one type of bravery, and more than one type of feat to be celebrated. 

What if there was more to being a hero than he thought?

For ages, he’d thought this forest was home to only monsters. But maybe not all monsters lived in the woods, and maybe not all heroes wore shining armor and lived behind palace walls.

Maybe one of those heroes was here, living among the beasts. As he looked at the witch’s face, he could see it. This woman was brave and honorable and charitable, and everything he wished to be. And she hadn’t slain a single monster in her life.

“I think I’m starting to.”

***

Her answer never changed. Not that he expected it to.

He was supposed to go rescue a princess, but this woman looked like a queen in her own right. And sometimes it was all he could do to stop himself from bowing at her feet and swearing fealty.

He found himself obsessed. There was no logical explanation for it. Cassian returned the next day, and the next, and every time the look on her face was a little less surprised. Every day, he grew a little bit less sure of his purpose. Of his destiny.

“Why do you keep coming back?” she asked. “You know my answer.”

“I don’t know.”

Because there’s something about you that keeps drawing me back. Because I can’t stay away. Because I want to know what your hair feels like between my fingers, and the way your name sounds on my tongue–

He forced himself to stop thinking about it. No. He couldn’t fall for the witch. That would be a disaster of epic proportions. He didn’t even know her name.

Never mind that he had come to love the silence of the woods, the only sound being the music of the wind darting through the trees and the babbling of the small creek across the clearing. Or that they so often fell into a gentle companionship that had Cassian staring in awe, watching her furrowed brow as she muttered spells and put together her potions.

He was merely…fascinated. And she was fascinated with him, too. That was all it was. She’d forget all about him once he fulfilled his quest, and then he’d go back, the princess in hand, and…

That unsettling feeling sunk in his stomach again. He’d never forget her. He didn’t know if he ever could.

“Are you staying for dinner?” she asked.

Her question broke him out of the cycle of his thoughts. She’d come inside from the garden carrying a basket of vegetables. He nodded, and she moved to go place the basket on the counter.

When she walked by him, though, he grabbed onto her wrist, forcing her to stop. 

“Tell me your name?” he begged.

Her gaze fell to where he held her wrist, then her gaze softened as she returned it back to his face. “My name is Nes.”

“Nes,” he said, sounding it out.

Somehow, it was perfect.

***

They stopped talking about the princess entirely. 

Cassian helped in the garden, or wherever she instructed him to. He learned that she loved music, and loved to dance when she was able. He wanted to bring her to the great hall someday to dance with her, although he didn’t say that, because he knew she would shut him out afterwards.

And she learned with great joy that he knew how to cook. She’d watch from the table, smiling softly as she pretended she focused on her notebook, but they both knew the reality of which they would not speak of.

She answered his questions. He answered hers. Slowly she opened up to him, and they both said nothing about the afternoons when she accidentally fell asleep on his shoulder while he read her books that were dirtier than he could imagine.

She listened as he told stories of him and his brothers growing up, and she smiled fondly as she spoke of her and her sisters. They had an interesting relationship, from what he could tell. She always avoided telling him any details about them, never even mentioning their names, which he found slightly odd.

She stopped asking why he was there, because internally they both knew that the answer had changed. So she didn’t ask, and he didn’t admit to anything. 

Knights came by every so often. She always shoved him in the cottage when they did, and he watched from the corner of the window as she wrapped her blue cloak around herself.

Most tried to attack on sight. Once Bryaxis shifted, only a few of them ever continued to hold up their sword. Oftentimes they went running, just as Tomas did.

Tomas was the only one that had rattled her, it seemed. He didn’t push, but she seemed grateful every time he asked if she was alright when she came back inside.

Stragglers came by sometimes, too. People who required her healing services, or a special potion or spell. Once she was drawn back to the city to help with a woman giving labor, and Cassian found himself back at the palace for the rest of the afternoon with no idea what to do with himself.

Today, Nes had him collecting larger stones from the edges of her clearing to place in her garden bed. He cupped water from the stream when he was finished, letting it wash away the sweat on his face, before heading inside.

Nes was struggling to reach a plate at the top of the cabinet.

“This damned…dish,” she muttered to herself, on the very tips of her toes, looking like she was about to fall over.

“Here, I’ll–”

He leaned into her space to grab it for her, his arms reaching high up. He pressed against the back of her body, and he felt every single curve up against his chest.

She seemed to realize the position they were in at the same time he did, slowly turning to face him.

She didn’t push him away. Instead her lips parted, barely an inch, and her hands tightened on the edge of the counter behind her.

Nes didn’t move as he pressed in closer, only a few inches away from her. He lifted her chin with his fingers.

There wasn’t a sound. In the pure serenity of the cottage, there wasn’t a single sound, save for the soft exhale from Nes as Cassian leaned even closer, and the slight rustle as the wind tapped on her glass windows.

Cassian didn’t know who closed the rest of the distance first. But before he could question what he was doing, his lips were on hers, soft and tentative as he explored. He gave in to his fantasy, bringing her golden hair between the pads of his fingers and inhaling her scent.

Honeysuckle. Loveliest when it bloomed in the secrets of the dark, sweet in its own private paradise. Somehow she bloomed out here, in a place with no light. Somehow she made it her own, made this dark corner of the world a little more lovely.

He shouldn’t be doing this. But that first brush of her lips had him deciding that he simply didn’t care. 

He didn’t care.

Whatever consequences came of this, he’d face them with honor. He couldn’t resist it anymore, this growing attraction that had turned to full blown lust and possibly even more.

Her fingers curled on the leather on top of his shoulders. He swallowed her gasp with his lips, pushing her open even further with his tongue, desperate to taste more.

Nothing mattered, if it meant he couldn’t have her at least once. Even if once was all they had. He’d selfishly let himself have a taste before their paths no longer had a reason to cross.

His hand cupped her breast, perfect and full in his palm. He pulled her up against him, letting her feel the growing desire he had for her, and her mouth parted as she let out a moan.

It was music to his ears. A symphony.

“I want you. Now, sweetheart.”

“I want–” she said, in the second between kisses, pulling him to her with anything her hands could grip. “Cassian.”

“Nes.”

She pressed her hips into him as he kissed down her neck, guiding her head back from where he held her hair with his other hand.

He brought that delicate skin of her throat between his teeth, nipping slightly, but not enough to bruise. She shuddered, exposing herself to him even further as he made his way down to her chest.

He was struck with it then. A taste never would have been enough. He would have found himself on the precipice here, time and time again, caught in a web he’d never be able to escape.

He wasn’t certain he’d ever want to escape.

“I’m taking this off,” he said. His hands circled around to the back of her gown, meaning to undo the laces. 

That was her line drawn in the sand.

Nes jolted, gasping as she broke apart from him and latching onto his wrists with her hands, seemingly remembering who they were and why, exactly, this was a bad idea.

“Wait.” Her hands tightened around his wrists. “Stop.”

He did instantly, pulling back to check on her. Her entire face was flushed, lips glistening. Her eyes were wide.

“Nes?” he asked, softer.

“I-” 

She didn’t have to tell him her heart was hammering. He could sense it, convincing himself he could feel it through her palms.

“Have you done this before?” He had to ask. Given that she didn’t invite anyone in here, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that she hadn’t.

But she scowled, thankfully taking away that wide-eyed look, and said, “Of course I have.”

“Ok. Still, we don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with,” he said slowly. “I’m sorry that I took liberties.”

He didn’t move a muscle as she leaned back. He monitored her every movement and facial expression, but she’d gone nearly unreadable.

Her hands still held his own with a death grip. With a blink she released them, in turn placing her shaking hands on his chest. 

“It’s getting dark,” the witch said. “You should go.”

It wasn’t getting dark. He’d stayed much longer only two days ago, only going back when the sun dipped behind the line of trees surrounding the clearing.

He didn’t want to go. 

“I should?” he asked. 

“Yes.”

He brought his hands down to her, stroking them softly. Nes tensed and moved back, and he immediately regretted it—doing something that made her uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s fine. You did nothing wrong. I did want it.”

She still couldn’t look at him.

“Nes,” he said, watching the shudder go through her from him saying her name. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Right,” she said, her voice sounding like an echo. “Tomorrow.”

***

When Cassian arrived the next morning, the witch was waiting for him.

He’d barely slept the night before, tossing and turning as he thought about their kiss. The way she felt in his arms. How she said his name.

How she stepped away.

The gold of her hair once again made its way into his dreams, and he found himself being awoken by the sound of her name falling from his lips.

Nes.

Something was different today. It was quiet this morning. The chattering was merely a whisper as he left the palace. No humming filled the clearing when he arrived, and the birds didn’t chitter in the way they normally did.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say there wasn’t a soul to be found. But Nes was here, waiting for him. He knew that before he even walked inside.

He ducked his head under the doorframe to find her curled up in a chair by the window, her gaze set on the floor.

“Hi,” he said, offering an awkward smile in an attempt to break the silence.

Nes remained silent, keeping her eyes cast down, bringing her blanket tighter around her.

That uneasy feeling returned. Something was definitely wrong, he could tell. Cassian didn’t think he messed up too badly last night. She’d said she wanted it as he left. He shifted his weight to his other foot as nerves got the better of him.

“About last night—”

“The sword is on the table,” she cut in, not letting him finish. “You can take it.”

A glance confirmed her words. A large broadsword neatly sat on the table, gleaming in a way natural silver didn’t. He opened his mouth to protest, but his throat had gone dry. He couldn’t speak.

This was supposed to be what he wanted. Wasn’t it? It was why he told himself he was coming back every day, even if he knew it was a lie.

“You wanted to be worthy of a princess? Well, there’s the sword. I’ve deemed you worthy.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Silence fell. Then he said, “I don’t understand. Are we not going to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” 

He took a step forward. “Really?” he asked, with a soft calm. 

Nes glared at him. “I thought this was what you wanted. What other reason could you have for being here?”

Cassian stared at her incredulously. “You know that I’ve been coming here because–”

“No,” she said, cutting him off. “Don’t. I told you not to do that.”

What had she said that one time? That he would be foolish if she was the person he was coming to see. She had told him. And he’d stupidly gotten attached anyway. Tears threatened to burn in his eyes, and as he stared at the sword, he couldn’t help but wonder.

Didn’t she know? Didn’t she know how she now haunted his every thought, his every dream?

Her voice went softer, but it was still firm. “Take the sword, Cassian. Present it to the princess. You’ll have everything you’ve always wanted. You’ll have fulfilled your destiny.”

It felt wrong, leaving her. But he met her unflinching eyes one last time. Nothing softened in them. Nothing gave him any indication that she would change her mind.

“This is what you want?”

“I want you to be happy.” She swallowed, and looked away. “You deserve all the happiness in the world, Sir Cassian. Go and find it.”

“Cassian,” he said. “It’s just Cassian.”

“Right,” she said. But even as she said it, he knew. His name would never fall from her mouth again. Once he left through that door, she’d never have a reason to say it.

He didn’t want to walk through that door.

“It has been an honor, my lady,” he said quietly, before taking the sword she offered and tearing his eyes from her for the last time.

Cassian walked through the door.

[dianacavendishisgay]

I love your Little Witch Academia art ✨️

Thank you very much! Here are some of the babies.

I hope you still like them even with my art style changing so much. Thank you for interacting with this blog even while it’s inactive.

I have no plans on returning to being super active but I’ll reblog things I see and who knows I might rewatch lwa and end up sucked in again.

Thats all. Until next time.

[vv-ispy]

Mondstadters being extremely religious with the unshakable believe that Barbatos is always looking out for them, greeting people with "Barbatos bless you", praying to Barbatos to keep their children safe

vs

Barbatos is literally asleep

[bluepallilworld]

teehee

Happy birthday @shinechermont !

Here our girls hanging out because I thought it'd be fun uwu

Rose

thanks @ari-cuno for organizing that collab gift thingie!!!

[gu6chan]

maybe its sample bias but i think it's kinda funny how most people I've seen who've played drakengard because of nier are making ending e THE endgoal and more often than not the main if not only reason they're playing the game at all and when they finally get it they're like "this is it the single most impactful, greatest moment of all gaming. im wiping tears from my eyes this is it" and then you see the drakengard fans who've played drakengard because they like drakengard and you ask them about ending e and they're like "eh. it was okay, i guess"

[seven-stars-in-his-palm]

Ford pines for headcanons?

YES FUCKCING YES GIRL!!!!!!!! LETS A GO !

A (Realisitic): lovessssss doodling on paper. has an affinity for eyes (;]), swirlies, scribbles, and creatures. whatever he can get his damned hands on he will doodle on it and he will do it happily. my boy's an artist ❤️❤️

B (Not Realistic But Funny): honestly in canon ford's probably into music too much but i can see him being an period music fan. abba, queen (teehee), freetwood mac, david bowie, etc. that's just his VIBE to me, not in the crowley way but in his own strong inks and cigarette smoke way. i associate thoss things with him as well as anythinf existing before 1982 with him alot if u didnt know. i still see something and go "ford missed this 😔" or "ford didn't miss this! 😁" in a sad or happy tone at least once a day /srs. oh i love this guy

C (Heart-Crushing): this kinda collides with D but im keeping it in that category. soul crushing? ford never knowing what to hope for in regards to stan on the other side. whenever he has time to think about it, he isnt sure whether to imagine him in his house or dead in a ditch, and the mystyer honestly scares him more than he'd like to admit. ford kinda treats it like schrodinger's cat in a way--as long as he never confirms, it could really be anything, and that absolves him of any potential guilt. so. (also: that he celebrates holidays out in the multiverse too, when possible. makeshift menoras, pastries in substitute of bday cakes, lighting sticks during new years. just for the sense of grounding. ALSO alsohe's spent at least 3 birthdays in a prison cell or very hurt. so. yeah)

D (Unrealistic but FUCK CANON): has always stuggled with addiction, especially with antidepressants or alcohol. thus sort of snowballs into a whole "if this makes me feel good i cannot have for more than needed" but still ends upgrappling with it anyway. he suffered MAJORRRR withdrawlel when portal stranded and since then swore off it bc he drank the most under bill's influence. it's very important to me and i need more fics about it sooooooo bad, bc while i HAVE written my own, i think someone else is needed to do it justice. now that im remembering this i HAVE read some with this hc and they were beautiful and i need to reread them again and i need to REWATCH THIS DAMN SHOW SO I CAN READ AND WRITE SOME FIC AGAI .... also there IS some evidence as extracted by @/callipraxia (need to find that meta again) but i DOUBT that would ever be canon bc of the kid show rating. (watch the book of bill canonize this seven fucking months from now. i swear to god..../j)

TY FOR THE ASK!!!!!! 💖💖

[keeps-ache]

ggghhg i hate vehiclessssssss ghghghhghhhhh [dies dies dies forever]

[designernishiki]

sometimes i kinda wish mirei wasn't killed off because boy the divorced exes dynamic with majima could've been so god damn funny

[bookwyrminspiration]

Response to an ask from Ophelia:

Ophelia! Hello! You're not upsetting me, you're okay. I'm not overly stressed about the discourse as much as I have been in the past (like when it first started) so I'm okay listening to you! My anxieties were more a sudden irrational worry that people were upset with me, but it's mostly passed :). I'm answering your ask under the cut for space!

Entirely fair to not want to get involved! In the past that's also pretty much how I approached discourse (unless it directly affected a friend, which happened once or twice), I'm just getting more involved this time because as one of the bigger tumblr blogs I feel a sort of responsibility to among other things, but that's unrelated

I think your frustration/confusion is entirely fair! "White humor" can mean a lot of things and is a wide generalization. I think (may be wrong here) that it was more of an offhanded comment than a serious, analytic observation of tumblr that then spiraled out of control. I don't think the person who said that ever intended for it to even get any attention. You make an excellent point about hypocrisy in understanding humor. If the sites have different humors it seems almost expected that different understandings would lead to confusion like this.

What you're feeling right now is entirely valid and okay. You're not wrong for having a reaction. It's possible that part of what's creating that situation where they felt cruel and then acted like they weren't is because we don't know who is saying what on IG. Some people identify themselves, but otherwise it's a bunch of anons. So while one is saying one thing, another says something different and maybe that muddles it a little because we can't keep track of them the way you can keep track of us.

I think it makes sense that your brain made the connection between your own experiences. I don't think it's 100% the same, but I can 100% see the similarities and don't think you're making it up or anything. I'm sorry about your sibling and the things they've said/done to you; I know it's got nothing to do with me but I'm trying to express compassion over the situation. It doesn't make you a bad sibling to avoid them for your sake; they're being a bad sibling by treating you that way. I know this wasn't the point of your ask but I wanted to mention it

As for the tumblr fandom, if this is too stressful and you need to take a break or leave, that's entirely okay. I can say though, as someone whose been around for a while (four years), that I have complete confidence that this is all temporary. The fandom has been through some rough discourse in the past and it has always gotten itself back together and calmed down afterward--I mean, you finding it calm is proof of that! that calm was after discourse had happened. This isn't the first discourse there's been and it won't be the last, but it won't last forever.

We'll still go on making headcanons, making art, writing fics, hosting events, making shitposts, and everything we've done before. All that being said, if leaving is what's right for you then I 100% support you and just hope you'll keep in touch from time to time as I happen to like you and talking to you. But if not I understand; I am pretty wrapped up in kotlc.

That's a long way of saying that your feelings and stress about the situation are entirely understandable and valid. I know I've definitely had my own sets of frustrations as well. It's not a fun situation, and if you need a break I wish you the best!

Emotionally, I am tossing goldfish crackers and a glass of water into your emotional black hole so that you can have some sustenance <3

[reign-life]

Did I just see a fucking proshipper try to claim that their movement is made up of a lot of minors?? Like they were in 2016, a lot of people on tumblr were probably minors back then, but idiots are still agreeing now and I know the userbase has aged a lot

[medicinemane]

I'm very tired, I have to do everything around the house myself (as in, I keep having to turn the water off and on to the kitchen sink until I teach myself to install a new faucet, and negative cleaning gets done if I don't do it), and the money is in the hands of the third worst person in the whole family when it comes to money (the worst being my grandpa who is dead, and my grandma who blows all her money on overpriced jackets and other junk)

I'm very tired, I have to teach myself how to do everything, and I have almost literally no support in any way shape or form ever

I can't remember the last time anyone said they were proud of me... I don't actually know if anyone's ever used that word with me before. When I do something like get the trailer cleaned out or buy a house, frankly no one gives a fuck, except my grandma who gets mad

I haven't actually had a chance to see anyone that counts as a friend in like 15 years, and I mean even in high school everyone liked me but no one could be bothered to actually ever even talk outside school... so even back then it's not like I had anyone I was close with

I'm providing this version where I totally remove how I feel or how I view myself from the description and instead try to provide something close to an objective description of things

So if you wonder why I say what I say about myself, honestly I think it's pretty much all summed up here

[physalian]

How to make your writing sound less stiff

Just a few suggestions. You shouldn’t have to compromise your writing style and voice with any of these, and some situations and scenes might demand some stiff or jerky writing to better convey emotion and immersion. I am not the first to come up with these, just circulating them again.

1. Vary sentence structure.

This is an example paragraph. You might see this generated from AI. I can’t help but read this in a robotic voice. It’s very flat and undynamic. No matter what the words are, it will be boring. It’s boring because you don’t think in stiff sentences. Comedians don’t tell jokes in stiff sentences. We don’t tell campfire stories in stiff sentences. These often lack flow between points, too.

So funnily enough, I had to sit through 87k words of a “romance” written just like this. It was stiff, janky, and very unpoetic. Which is fine, the author didn’t tell me it was erotica. It just felt like an old lady narrator, like Old Rose from Titanic telling the audience decades after the fact instead of living it right in the moment. It was in first person pov, too, which just made it worse. To be able to write something so explicit and yet so un-titillating was a talent. Like, beginner fanfic smut writers at least do it with enthusiasm.

2. Vary dialogue tag placement

You got three options, pre-, mid-, and post-tags.

Leader said, “this is a pre-dialogue tag.”

“This,” Lancer said, “is a mid-dialogue tag.”

“This is a post-dialogue tag,” Heart said.

Pre and Post have about the same effect but mid-tags do a lot of heavy lifting.

They help break up long paragraphs of dialogue that are jank to look at

They give you pauses for ~dramatic effect~

They prompt you to provide some other action, introspection, or scene descriptor with the tag. *don't forget that if you're continuing the sentence as if the tag wasn't there, not to capitalize the first word after the tag. Capitalize if the tag breaks up two complete sentences, not if it interrupts a single sentence.

It also looks better along the lefthand margin when you don’t start every paragraph with either the same character name, the same pronouns, or the same “ as it reads more natural and organic.

3. When the scene demands, get dynamic

General rule of thumb is that action scenes demand quick exchanges, short paragraphs, and very lean descriptors. Action scenes are where you put your juicy verbs to use and cut as many adverbs as you can. But regardless of if you’re in first person, second person, or third person limited, you can let the mood of the narrator bleed out into their narration.

Like, in horror, you can use a lot of onomatopoeia.

Drip Drip Drip

Or let the narration become jerky and unfocused and less strict in punctuation and maybe even a couple run-on sentences as your character struggles to think or catch their breath and is getting very overwhelmed.

You can toss out some grammar rules, too and get more poetic.

Warm breath tickles the back of her neck. It rattles, a quiet, soggy, rasp. She shivers. If she doesn’t look, it’s not there. If she doesn’t look, it’s not there. Sweat beads at her temple. Her heart thunders in her chest. Ba-bump-ba-bump-ba-bump-ba- It moves on, leaving a void of cold behind. She uncurls her fists, fingers achy and palms stinging from her nails. It’s gone.

4. Remember to balance dialogue, monologue, introspection, action, and descriptors.

The amount of times I have been faced with giant blocks of dialogue with zero tags, zero emotions, just speech on a page like they’re notecards to be read on a stage is higher than I expected. Don’t forget that though you may know exactly how your dialogue sounds in your head, your readers don’t. They need dialogue tags to pick up on things like tone, specifically for sarcasm and sincerity, whether a character is joking or hurt or happy.

If you’ve written a block of text (usually exposition or backstory stuff) that’s longer than 50 words, figure out a way to trim it. No matter what, break it up into multiple sections and fill in those breaks with important narrative that reflects the narrator’s feelings on what they’re saying and whoever they’re speaking to’s reaction to the words being said. Otherwise it’s meaningless.

—

Hope this helps anyone struggling! Now get writing.

[maked-artyshenanigans]

So, I saw this image on Facebook, and it was supposedly showing what Queen Nefertiti would have looked like in real life:

Now, I thought this AI generated garbage was just truly terrible on a number of levels; first off, she looks wayyyyyy too modern - her makeup is very “Hollywood glamour”, she looks airbrushed and de-aged, and as far as I’m aware, Ancient Egyptians didn’t have mascara, glitter-based eyeshadows and lip gloss. Secondly, her features are exceptionally whitewashed in every sense - this is pretty standard for AI as racial bias is prevalent in feeding AI algorithms, but I genuinely thought a depiction of such a known individual would not exhibit such euro-centric features. Thirdly, the outfit was massively desaturated and didn’t take pigment loss into consideration, and while I *do* like the look of the neck attire, it's not at all accurate (plus, again, AI confusion on the detailing is evident).

So, this inspired me to alter the image on the left to be more accurate based off the sculpture’s features. I looked into Ancient Egyptian makeup and looked at references for kohl eyeliner and clay-based facial pigment (rouge was used on cheeks, charcoal-based powder/paste was used to darken and elongate eyebrows), and I looked at pre-existing images of Nefertiti, both her mummy and other reconstructions. While doing this, I found photos of a 3D scanned sculpture made by scientists at the University of Bristol and chose to collage the neck jewellery over the painting (and edited the lighting and shadows as best as I could).

Something I see a lot of in facial recreations of mummies is maintaining the elongated and skinny facial features as seen on preserved bodies - however, fat, muscle and cartilage shrink/disappear post mortem, regardless of preservation quality; Queen Nefertiti had art created of her in life, and these pieces are invaluable to developing an accurate portrayal of her, whether stylistic or realistic in nature.

And hey, while I don't think my adjustments are perfect (especially the neck area), I *do* believe it is a huge improvement to the original image I chose to work on top of.

I really liked working on this project for the last few days, and I think I may continue to work on it further to perfect it. But, until then, I hope you enjoy!

Remember, likes don't help artists but reblogs do!

[spyld]

THE DAY OF LANGUAGES!!!

This 7th of May, 2024, we use our own language again!

If your language, native or not, is something other than English, on May 7th you can speak that language all day!

You’ll blog in your chosen language(s) all day: text posts, replies, tags (except triggers and organizational tags).

Regardless of what language people choose to speak to you, you can answer in your own.

Non-verbal, non-written languages (like sign language, dialects, otherwise non-written languages) are more than welcome! See my FAQ for tips

English native speakers can participate in any other language they're studying/have studied/know.

The tag is gonna be #Speak Your Language Day or #spyld for short.

Please submit me some language facts for me to share on this day <3

Pinned post and FAQ

[meiieiri]

when do we get to see megumi in your new series ^3^

𝐛𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 ! [toji fushiguro]

synopsis: “you really are your mother’s son,” toji grumbles to megumi as the little brat yet again refuses another kiss from him.

pairing: toji fushiguro x f!reader | art: @/amulin67 on twt/ig | hidden inventory: the lost tapes series masterlist

warnings: n/a | a/n: finally welcoming megumi to this series, yay! 💓💞

“I’m just gonna go nap for a bit. Promise me you’ll wake me up if something happens. But either way, his bottle is over there, just heat it up when he gets hungry and you know where his diapers are—“

You are interrupted by a sweet kiss that still manages to catch you off guard ‘till this day.

“I wasn’t done, you know.” You place your hands on your hips, shooting him a warning glance. “And don’t you go tossing him too high. Need I remind you, our apartment has a literal ceiling fan—“

“—You worry too much,” Toji cuts you off again with another kiss. “Not gonna lie though, seeing you all worked up like that is kinda turning me on.”

“You’re horrible,” you conclude. Honestly, at this point, almost anything and everything you do can be classified as a thirst trap for Toji. You blush when Toji inches closer, his hips pressed against yours, a smirk plastered on his face when he sneakily squeezes your ass causing you to yelp. “Ah! Toji!” you swat his hand away, burying your blushing face in his chest.

Chuckling at you, he plants a soft kiss on your temple as he pulls away. “Alright, mama, go get some rest. I’ll hold down the fort.”

“Thank you.”

No one ever told you that motherhood would be so stressful. Which is why you’re so blessed to have a supportive husband who may have started out a little awkward with caring for your newborn son but gradually became a natural with this whole fatherhood business as time went by. And that’s mostly because when Megumi arrived in this world at half past two in the afternoon of December 22 with nothing more but a small hiccup as he slipped into his papa’s waiting arms, Toji fell in love. And you don’t pretend to not know why. Because whenever you look at Megumi, your heart always just seems to melt at his pudgy rose-colored cheeks and his deep expressive green eyes that fill up with tears regardless if he’s crying or being overcome by a laughing fit whenever you pepper his tiny face with kisses.

Speaking of kisses, today’s latest fiasco is centered exactly on that: kisses.

You see, you have this habit that goes way back to when you and Toji first started dating. Toji remembers it well, you have certain moods when it comes to kisses. Sometimes, you’re the one initiating it which mostly results in Toji becoming an incoherent blushing mess, or most times, Toji gets the party started by slowly kissing up your neck, his breath hot on your earlobe as he presses his hips against yours while you slept fitfully, your hushed dulcet whines ringing in his ear as your lips instinctively find each other. Fun fact: that’s exactly how Megumi came to be.

But there are times too, when you were just not having it and you’d gently nudge Toji’s face away when he tries to kiss you.

It was a typical afternoon. Toji didn’t have work that day which was a huge relief for him because you’ve been suffering from dizziness and lower back pain all day. And being the helicopter partner and soon-to-be papa that he is, Toji keeps a close eye on you as you nap the afternoon away on the couch. He smiles softly as he sees you instinctively put a protective hand over your belly whenever you’d feel the slightest movements from the baby.

“Shhh, you’re alright,” he’d whisper to you as you slept, combing his fingers through your hair, a permanent worried frown on his face when a whimper falling from your pursed lips as the baby kicks you again. “It’s just the overgrown parasite fidgeting around.”

“Don’t call him that.” You brush his hand away, your eyebrows knitting in discomfort.

Toji chuckles, going to press a kiss to your soft lips only for you to place your entire palm on his face, applying gentle force to pry him away. “I mean, what is he then? Other than this thing that competes for your nutrients? He’s—“

“—Our baby boy.”

“—An overgrown parasite.”

Fuming at his words, you decide to hit back with a quick retort of your own. “Yeah? It really does take one to know one, huh?”

“What a cute comeback but maybe not as cute as you,” Toji smirks, his hand gently removing your smaller one from his face, his lips puckered up as he leans in. Teasingly, you place a hand over your lips, still refusing to indulge him with his much-craved kisses. “Come on, I just want one sloppy one~”

“No!” Your laughter-filled voice comes out muffled against your palm.

“Mm, yes,” Toji teases. “Yes. Come on, baby, just one.”

“You and I both know it’s never just one.”

Of course. Why else would you be in this situation if Toji knew how to spell the words: self and control? Still, it’s not like the two of you were complaining. After all, the bond you and Toji share is an unbreakable one that’s only been strengthened by time and the many trials you’ve survived together. And now, the arrival of the very product of your love is only a hair’s breath away. Toji rests his chin on top of your head, plopping down next to you and spooning you from behind. “Guilty as charged.”

And unfortunately, it seemed your son had inherited that troublesome quirk of yours and it’s beginning to break Toji’s infuriated heart because whenever he tries to give Megumi a kiss…

“Mmph—“

There it was.

Toji’s eyes shot open, grimacing as Megumi turns his head away, his eyes trained stubbornly on his dog plushie, and his chubby hands pushing his poor papa’s chin away with all the might a six-month-old like him could muster. And to top things off, he must be imagining things because newborns surely couldn’t scowl right? Their tiny little brains couldn’t possibly have enough electrical energy to charge a snow globe much less, learn how to hate certain people’s kisses.

“You little shit—“

Sure enough, the tiny little baby seems gravely unamused, his eyebrows are knitted, the corner of his lips curled into a disappointed frown as if to say: Go kiss someone else, you even bigger shit.

Toji mirrors the unfriendly scowl on his son’s face, noting how Megumi seems to be glaring at him. Oh, okay. The brat ain’t messing around, his eyes twitches but somehow, Toji is also a picture of a proud father. At least the little shit’s got spunk. And he wonders momentarily who he should blame for that.

Definitely not him, that’s for sure.

Toji doesn’t recall the last time he’s ever had the comforts of a peace like this one. Actually, this might just be the first time that Toji knew what that word meant: “peace”. A freedom from disturbance; tranquility, as per the Merriam Webster Dictionary. But Toji has a better definition for peace: you and Megumi.

But…

“I meant what I said to your mother though,” Toji engages in a one-way conversation with his son. He won’t recall any of this, but it didn’t hurt for Toji to be candid about his feelings every now and then especially when it came to this little one that came accidentally into your lives but brightened it up nonetheless. “The two of you would be better off — maybe even happier — with someone else.” He presses his thumb against Megumi’s cheek. “It’s what you two deserve.”

He’s been gone close to a whole day now and you were probably beginning to worry. Out of all the shitty things Toji has done, this, by far, has to be the shittiest. Standing outside a pachinko den, his back pressed against the wall, and his hand absentmindedly playing with the tokens he just bought. When he left the apartment that day, you knew that could very well be the last time you ever see him. Types like him aren’t keen on the whole picket fence idea of settling down.

“I’m heading out today.”

Your blood runs cold when Toji steps into the kitchen to inform you of his plans. You don’t even bother to look at him, your gaze simply settled on the positive pregnancy test on the table. The right thing to do was to stay, he should have held you in his arms and tell you that everything’s going to be okay not plant seeds of doubt in your mind by taking off and running away like a coward.

But for once, Toji was scared.

He had no business becoming a father when he’s lived in a dysfunctional household for majority of his life. What good would he even impart to his child? His pathetic existence has been a picture of disorder that was only recently resolved when you came into the picture. Well, if he were being completely honest, he still hasn’t figured things out quite as well yet. And as a father, that could be catastrophic for a child that required stability if nothing else.

Frowning, Toji leaves the pachinko den, chucking the tokens in the trash. It was far too early in the day to be hanging around shady places like these anyway. He wanders the streets for a good while, his hands buried in his jacket’s pockets as his mind swirls with thoughts about the all too terrifying future.

A pang of guilt strikes his heart and he wonders what you’re doing now. You must still be in the kitchen, your face buried in your hands as you try to think of something. You were probably assuming he wasn’t coming back. After all, you did say: “I don’t wanna pressure you into staying, Toji. You deserve to live your life the way you want it.”

A life without you? Sounds pretty miserable.

Toji must have been walking on autopilot because for some reason, he unknowingly finds himself in front of a bank. Mizuho Bank, Toji reads the sign, his eyes flicking over to one of the posters plastered on the window about opening a savings account.

He looks at the promotional material, transfixed at the picture of a family of four donning on those typical wide stupid grins in ads, the father is holding a hundred yen bill and is seen dropping it into a piggy bank that was filled with both cash and words like: health insurance, family vacation, utility bills, rent, tax, school, and…happiness.

…

…

…

Toji returns to the apartment at around eight in the evening after making a quick stop at the supermarket and the pharmacy. He finds you asleep on the couch, your cheeks stained with dry tears. He crouches on the edge of the couch, worriedly taking in your appearance. You’ve been crying. “Hey…hey, wake up,” he gently shakes you awake and your tired eyes flutter open. “Got you something.”

He holds out a shopping bag, chock full of fresh produce, and from the pharmacy, some camphor oil to relieve your symptoms and those folate supplements the attending pharmacist kept yapping about.

“You didn’t leave,” you said, bewildered. “I thought you—“

“—You thought wrong,” Toji says firmly. He pulls out something from his back pocket and you stare at him, perplexed.

“A bank passbook?” You open it to see that Toji had just made his first deposit amounting to fifty thousand yen earlier today. “You opened a savings account?”

Toji nods, looking a little proud of himself. “Yeah,” he tries to play it off with a shrug of his shoulders. “Every week, we’ll be depositing fifteen thousand yen in that thing. Ten thousand for your maternity needs, and five for the little brat’s schooling one day.”

Tears spring to your eyes upon realizing that Toji was here to stay. “You mean you’re—?” You are cut off by a warm kiss on your lips, and you place a hand over Toji’s chest, your fingertips gripping the fabric of his shirt as his lips move against yours. He pulls away after a while.

“Gonna spite the hell out of the Zenin clan and send my brat to the most expensive preschool in Tokyo? Yes, I am.”

Toji sighs, his thumb rubbing across Megumi’s chubby cheek. “But maybe — just maybe — hear me out and don’t you give me another glare.” Megumi’s not gonna remember any of this. After all, memories begin when the brain can fully register speech. But Toji felt the need to say this so, subconsciously, his son will understand just how much he’s done and he’s willing to do for the both of you.

“…Maybe I deserve the two of you too, you know.”

Megumi looks up at his father, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. Toji sticks his tongue out at the little one causing the latter to…hiccup? Nah, Toji was sure that was a giggle.

Smirking, Toji leans down to give his son a kiss, thinking he’s patched things up between them now only for Megumi to curl up again, his feet and hands resisting against Toji, his lip downturned in effort as he pushes him away yet again. Conceding, Toji grumbles, rubbing the spot where Megumi roughly pushed him away.

“You really are your mother’s son.”