#with an extremely diverse cast

[glassrunner]

one of the worst things about concord failing so spectacularly is that all the Cringe Gamer Men are like “HUHUHURHUHUE WHAT DID WE TELL YOU WOKE DEI SHIT WILL ALWAYS FAIL!!!” when that literally is not the case

concord failed because it came out 6 years too late and doesn’t bring anything new to the hero shooter table while also having a hefty price tag, the latter of which even overwatch did away with eventually. take your white man supremacist bullshit elsewhere

[capricornsicle]

something something the villain of the season (the one about how fear can give way to extremism if you're not careful and how easy it is for many, many people to become radicalized by one person's radical hate and how genocide is a bad thing actually regardless of whether individuals of the targeted group have themselves done terrible things) being a black woman who survived an incident of indiscriminate mass murder is perhaps. not the best idea considering the themes involved

[cascadianights]

I'm watching Jesus Christ: superstar and let me just say, as someone w loads of early religious trauma, you missed out on so many opportunities here

[livyamel]

Fricking yes. Underrated as heck and absolutely better than its more famous cousin star trek.

If you’re looking for a sci-fi show with….

Realistic takes on technology

Political intrigue and high drama

Complex, strong, and likable female characters

Fun and distinct alien cultures

Infuriating, scary, and delightful villains

Found family and beautiful friendships

Respectful portrayal of religion in a scientifically oriented show

Characters that grow, change, learn, and progress

Strong male leads who portray wise and intelligent leaders

Fantastically complex, fun, and interesting side characters

The ability to balance each character's unique style of humor with seriousness and sincerity

One of the greatest romances of the century

The profoundness of truth

and much more, then Babylon 5 is the show for you

[cavegirlpoems]

A story from back when I played D&D. It might have been 3.5 or pathfinder or fantasycraft or one of that ilk. Might even have been 4e. It was like a decade ago.

So. Standard D&D. A party of bold adventurers of diverse origins and skillsets gets together to explore a perilous dungeon and stop a cartoonish baddy. The usual.

I end up building a fairly typical character for me. A goblin Rogue/Assassin. A stealth/melee build designed to get the drop on an enemy, do a bunch of rapid damage, and then fuck off.

She was lawful evil, and firmly in the team-fortress-two-sniper school of "You know who has a lot of feelings? Men what bludgeon their wives to death with a golf trophy. Professionals have standards." school of being a mercenary. I think I even did an aussie accent.

Anyway her schtick was that she'd noticed 'Adventurers' got to do as much violence as they wanted without social consequences, and she loved violence! So she was gonna do a stint as an adventurer, so once she was done she could go home with a big sack of gold to spend on booze and cake and hot girls. But right now she was on the job, so she was an extremely professional team player with a strict code of conduct. Always be honest with the team, follow the plan, don't mess things up for the team, split the loot evenly. Standards.

Verna was a horrible efficient little murder gremlin who was also proudly guild-certified. * * *

Now, another PC was a chaotic neutral gnome bard who was leaning hard on the 'gnomes are amusingly racist to goblins and kobolds and think this is funny and endearing' thing. He teased Verna a bunch about being green and ugly, which she studiously ignored because - remember - she had Professional Standards.

Anyway, there was a human NPC we met that she didn't like, saying he was a bit stupid and very annoying. Our gnome bard decided it would be very funny to use one of his enchantment spells to make Verna suddenly horny for him and watch what happened.

Verna sees the gnome who keeps fucking with her walk up, wave his hands and babble some arcane nonsense, and now she has weird funny feelings she can't explain. She does some thinking and concludes that she'll pay the human for a snog later, because right now this guy's just obviously cast a spell to mess with her mind, which was Not Okay. Of course, she had Professional Standards, so...

She walks up to our gnome friend and basically informs him: "Hi! I know you just did some magical brainwashing on me, and I am not going to tolerate this! However, because we're in a team together, and I don't want this to become a problem, I am going to very generously allow you to settle the matter with me. We will have a bout of single combat to first blood, and then whoever wins I will consider the matter settled and my honour satisfied, and you won't do that again, and we won't mention it. This is a very kind offer of mine, because I have Standards; where I come from the normal response would be to say nothing and strangle you in your sleep tonight."

And our gnome, who is a spellcaster not a combatant, looks at this and decides he doesn't want to get shown up by her, and basically tells her that if she doesn't like getting messed with she can go back to the goblin village, and laughs at her.

So. Shrug. Quickdraw as a free action. I get a surprise round. You're flat footed, so it's easy to hit and I get sneak attack damage. 3/4 of his health is gone. Initiative. He says he wants to say sorry. I respond that he can say that when it gets to his initiative count, but right now it's my action and he's still flat-footed and here's my big pile of d6s for sneak attack and oh dear I think that's him on -10 hp, so he's not going to get the chance.

* * *

Anyway this kicked off a massive shitstorm ooc about how I just kicked off PvP and murdered a PC for no reason and the game fell apart because the gnome's player genuinely didn't seem to understand that 'mind control' is a hostile action. This was in the bad old days before safety tools and I was playing in a fairly neckbeardy group, so 'a man makes a woman horny against her will to humiliate her and laughs about it' was apparently not a deal-breaker while 'the woman stabs him for it' was.

I still think I wasn't the bad guy in this scenario.

There is no point to this story I just wanted to share it.

[skulandcrossbones]

actually getting extremely emotional about the body diversity and Normalness of almost everyone in the cast of our flag means death. watching this show feels like watching a local theatre production because all of these people are real to me. i've seen these people, every day, all around me. they look like my friends :)

[summerlinenss]

here’s the thing.

if you’re one of the people celebrating our flag means death’s cancellation for whatever reason right now, i need you to realize that this is just a sign that whatever you love is next.

and i’m not saying that out of spite. having your favourite show cancelled is awful, i wouldn’t wish it on anyone. but if our little-gay-pirate-show-that-could can’t get its third and final season, the future of queer media is extremely grim.

ofmd was the definition of a sleeper hit. hbo max had no faith in it when the first season came out. it gained popularity purely through word-of-mouth. but it became one of max’s biggest shows, and it’s since been marketed as their flagship series.

it was the #1 most in-demand series in the world for 8 weeks (7 of those weeks consecutively). it’s currently in the 99.7th percentile of the comedy genre, meaning it’s in higher demand than 99.7% of all comedy series in the u.s. it has a 94% audience and critics score on rotten tomatoes. it’s the most in-demand hbo original series even above euphoria, succession, and the last of us.

it was nominated for 16 awards for the first season alone, including a GLAAD award and a peabody award. the second season was just nominated for an art directors guild award, which it was previously nominated for and won in the same category for season one.

besides awards, ofmd is critically-acclaimed and praised for its representation (including a cast of majority queer, bipoc, and disabled characters) and themes of anti-colonialism, challenging gender norms/toxic masculinity, and self-discovery/acceptance. it also has a diverse team of directors and writers consisting of several bipoc, women, and queer/trans/non-binary people.

on top of all of this, the plan for the show all along was only ever for three seasons. david jenkins only wanted three seasons for the full romcom structure to tell ed and stede’s story. that’s it. nothing more.

this isn’t an attempt to make you care about the show. but ofmd’s cancellation isn’t just a loss for the fanbase and the cast/crew. it’s a sign that it does not matter how successful or profitable shows highlighting lgbtq+ (or otherwise inclusive) narratives are or how many big names are involved. ofmd would not have been cancelled if it were a straight romcom. they would’ve magically found the budget. but corporate greed doesn’t care about us. they have no respect for queer people or queer media. and in the age of streaming, it’s only a matter of time until we lose all of it.

[suffersinfandom]

I went down a bit of a rabbit hole earlier today and stumbled across some of the most misguided, mean-spirited, and downright cruel OFMD takes I've ever read. Instead of sharing them and making everyone else miserable, I just want to say:

OFMD and time spent in the fandom have genuinely made my life better.

The characters of Stede and Ed (who are not -- and I can't emphasize this enough -- their real-world counterparts) have helped me come to terms with and accept parts of myself that I previously hated.

OFMD is earnest and sweet and silly. It's full of love and fun, and it's almost impossible to watch it and not feel a little better.

The show's diversity is incredible and unlike anything I've been able to find elsewhere. Even shows that have similar amounts of onscreen diversity fall short behind the scenes and in the writers room.

OFMD's cast and crew are absolutely lovely. Being treated kindly (and even actively embraced!) by the folks who made the show has been a pleasant surprise.

OFMD's fandom has been so, so much kinder than any others I've been in. I'm constantly seeing people uplift and encourage each other, and the fandom has collectively raised at least $50K for charities. How cool is that?

This fandom's art (all forms of art) is incredible. I've never been so spoiled for choice when it comes to well-written fic to read or beautiful artwork to look at.

Ed and Stede are characters of all time. Top tier. Flawed, sympathetic, gentle, bitchy, sweet, unhinged, profoundly in need of therapy and medication. (I'm not saying bupropion would fix Ed or sertraline would help Stede, but I don't think they'd hurt.)

OFMD's supporting cast is unparalleled. Frenchie, Roach, and Fang are my best friends even though I know next to nothing about them. I forget that Mary "the Widow" Bonnet and Spanish Jackie have, like, ten total minutes of screen time each because they're both fully developed people in my head. Zheng Yi Sao and her extended polycule are everything to me and I need their spinoff on my television immediately.

The fandom's not perfect and sometimes I want to pull out my hair when I read meta I disagree with, but the truly bad actors are a minuscule minority. Most fans are kind, supportive, and extremely funny and talented.

I love it here. I don't plan on leaving. Even if OFMD takes a backseat to a new obsession in the future, it will always be a part of me. I'll always come back (I'll never leave).

[xenthosss]

Carmen Sandiego has a cast of extremely diverse women and only two types of men: Aggressively not heterosexual and/or unbelievably cringefail

[writingwithcolor]

Avoiding the white savior of the kingdom

@ceo-of-angst asked:

Okay so I'm writing a fantasy series. There's two main kingdoms though there is a third but that one doesn't have to do anything with this ask. Both of them are likely as big as a continent each so there are different climates everywhere, therefore there's a lot of diversity even within one country. The issues mostly is between the two kingdoms nationality wise, as there's a war. The prince of one of the kingdoms kills his older brother to gain the throne. This is where the issue starts. They have a younger (half)sister who ends up leading a revolution bc of her brother's bad rule (famine, war, dictatorship and incantation or sentence to fight to the death in war to anyone who doesn't obbey the government etc), she's white, she's helped by my main cast who are all poc (one of them also from nobility) from the other kingdom and I don't want to accidently make it a white savior She's not my main character though if anything we only see into her pov bc of a difference between kingdoms in book 2. Most of the pov is on my main cast so I don't know how this could pay out.

Add diversity to the kingdom

There is a simple solution: don’t make one kingdom all-white or all-BIPOC. Add in diversity and mixed race. You seem to already be doing that, and it’s not an issue of race but rather tyranny. White saviorism is when only a white character can solve a problem for BIPOC and they’re seen as the hero. If it’s a team effort, where your protagonist is fallible but well-intentioned, you should be fine. -Jaya

Questions to ask yourself

This critique got levied at Tamora Pierce’s Trickster series, and it’s a pretty valid critique of the books—every time you have a white person as a figurehead of an otherwise-diverse movement, you’re going to start getting into why this white person, and why then?

It’s especially salient if you have the person come into an already-established rebellion movement. Is her involvement the thing that gets the privilege necessary to make the movement valid? What about her makes her the ideal top person in the organization?

Why is she white?

My first question is: why is she white? Is it related to colorism and classism? If yes, then why are you automatically making the leading group white if there’s so much diversity and so many other groups can trend extremely pale?

Why are the kingdoms so big?

My second question is: why are the kingdoms so big? It’s actually frighteningly hard to run a continent-sized country. If you’re attempting to make these single groups so big simply for ease of worldbuilding, and for diversity’s sake, know that a country does not have to be large to contain a multitude of groups. You are allowed to have political rivalry in a small area and still maintain diversity within it.

How much privilege is she willing to give up?

My third question is: how much privilege is she willing to give up? Is she trying to take the throne for herself, or is she trying to destroy all of the structures that gave her status in the first place? Because that question will determine how willing the PoC around her are going to be. Why would they support a ruler if they’ve been subjugated by that family, with no real promise she’s going to be any different once she gets in power?

On the flipside, why would she be willing to give up any of her privilege in the name of removing her brother from the throne, and what stops her from going off the deep end once she has the ability to control others?

It’s likely doable to make this situation read as less of a white saviour, but in order to do that you’ll likely need to wask yourself a lot of hard questions about your motives and the character arc you want to have with her.

People may see a white savior, regardless

And you’ll also have to ask yourself if you’ll be comfortable with never really being able to avoid some people calling this a white saviour plot. Even if you do “everything right” and follow every bit of advice you can, there’s always going to be some people who aren’t too thrilled that the person saving everyone is white.

So examine your motives, really nail down what you’re trying to show with this, and come to terms with not making everyone happy no matter what you do.

~Mod Lesya

[madjazzed]

Intro to Alternian Biology: respiratory pigments

Like the blood of most species on Earth and Alternia, trolls' blood derives its color from metalloproteins used to transport oxygen. Unlike most species on Earth and Alternia, troll blood contains multiple types of oxygen-transport proteins--five in total.

HEMERYTHRIN is the primary oxygen-transport protein in the blood of seadwelling trolls, and is also present in significant concentrations in purplebloods. It is violet-pink when oxygenated. Much Alternian sea life uses hemerythrin as its sole or primary oxygen transport protein, as do many Earth marine invertebrates.

HEMOCYANIN is the primary oxygen-transport protein of landdwelling highbloods (blue and purple) and present in significant concentrations down to olive. It is dark blue when oxygenated. Hemocyanin is also found in the blood of many Earth mollusks and arthropods.

CHLOROCRUORIN is present in very small quantities across the hemospectrum, and in high concentrations in greenbloods; it was the primary blood pigment in limebloods, which are now extinct. Chlorocruorin is a dichromatic compound which appears light green in dilute solutions, including normal blood, and red when highly concentrated; an uncommon mutation causing extreme overproduction of chlorocruorin thus results in bright red blood. On Earth, chlorocruorin is mostly found in worms.

COBOGLOBIN is an important oxygen-transport protein in low and midblood trolls and is most highly concentrated in goldbloods, the only caste for which it is primary, with significant concentrations occurring in every hemotype from rust to teal. It is yellow-orange in color when deoxygenated. Coboglobin is the only Alternian blood protein that does not occur in Earth biology.

HEMOGLOBIN is the primary oxygen-transport protein in rustblooded trolls. The highest concentrations occur in burgundy bloods, and it is present in significant quantities in all blood castes up to olive. Fuschiabloods also have hemoglobin in relatively small but still significant quantities, notably more than in any of the other high blood castes. It is dark red when oxygenated. Nearly all Earth vertebrate species rely on hemoglobin for oxygen transport.

Additional notes:

The gray color of trolls' skin comes from black eumelanin and blue-gray carotenoproteins in the skin cells, the concentration of which increases with age. The yellow color of trolls' irises comes from yellow carotenoproteins. These are present in most troll tissues, but their color is usually masked by the darker skin pigments or the more vivid blood pigments. They do, however, contribute to the color of yellow blood, the only hemotype dominated by a transport protein which is colorless when oxygenated.

High concentrations of chlorocruorin are correlated with conciliatory impulses. Sopor slime is a highly oxygenated fluid containing significant concentrations of chlorocruorin, which give it its green color and are believed by many to contribute to its dampening effect on sleep rage and daymares, though the mechanism is not known. No surviving castes have as much as 50% chlorocruorin, while the now-extinct lime bloods had just over. Trolls with the rare cherry red mutation, however, have over 90% chlorocruorin, twice as concentrated as any other surviving caste.

It has been theorized that the cherry red mutation is a throwback to a now-extinct subspecies of troll which relied solely on chlorocrourin for oxygen transport. There were many subspecies in Alternia's evolutionary past, some more successful and widespread than others. In prehistory it is thought that none used more than one oxygen transport protein, as is typical in most planetary ecologies including Earth's. However, early hybrids benefited from the adaptive advantages of diversifying oxygen transport, and the mixing of subspecies through kleptogenetic reproductive strategies eventually resulted in the distribution of diverse respiratory pigments seen in the modern hemospectrum.

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 2

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 5.1K

Author's Note: This is the second part of what I anticipate will be a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

Morning did not come quickly. You kept the blankets tucked to your chin, desperate for a barrier between yourself and the outside world. Your eyes stayed locked on the window as the dark blues faded into lighter shades until finally, a soft pink glow filled the room. Throughout the night, the only sounds were the male in the room next door shifting in his bed, occasionally letting out soft sighs. It seemed he wasn’t sleeping much either, and you couldn’t help but wonder if your screaming had woken him enough to stir his mind awake for good.

When the first birds began their calls and the room was barely lit by the morning sun, you finally pulled back the blankets. Every bone in your body ached, and your head still pounded from the incessant headache, now mixed with lack of sleep. You ran your hands over your face, smoothing them over the back of your head before clasping them behind your neck. You took a deep breath in through your nose. Now what?

You sniffled slightly, wiping your nose before letting your feet finally hit the floor. The bed creaked softly. You made your way to the adjoining door, peering through the crack to see the male lying in his bed, facing the wall, his wings spread out behind him as his shoulders gently rose and fell. At least he was able to sleep. You pressed your hands against the door, willing it shut as silently as possible. How are you going to get through this? You can’t hide from sleep forever, and you certainly can’t keep going without rest. You shook your head. You’d figure it out, somehow.

You moved through your morning, treading lightly as the inn’s old floors creaked and groaned under your weight. You dressed, pulling the leather jacket back over your shoulders, your nose crinkling at the scent of spruce and sage. He was everywhere, even now.

You closed the door to your room, boots in hand, fearing the noise they might cause if you wore them inside. You tiptoed past the closed door of your strange companion from the night before. Sneaking down the steps, you threw a smile to the waitress, who nodded at you as she wiped down platters before her morning began.

The air outside was crisp, with dew still clinging to the grass. The morning sunlight cast a pale glow around the clearing where the tavern sat. You paused to slide your feet into your boots, lacing them as you looked at the purple hyacinths blooming in the fields. The dotted purples brought you back to when you were a child, wandering the streets of Velaris with your family. Your mother would buy a bouquet of flowers from a vendor and tuck one of the soft-stemmed flowers behind your ear. You always loved the purples the best. You smiled to yourself, shaking away the memory, as you did with all of them. But you let yourself stop as you crossed the clearing, plucking a single purple flower from the group, which stood slightly shorter than the rest. Given its stature, it wouldn’t be missed. You tucked it behind your ear. Silly, you thought, to take such precious time picking flowers, but you did it anyway as you entered the woods again, not looking back at the tavern where that strange male, who was so gentle, so attentive, still lay asleep in bed.

Your only plan was to head south, away from the mountains and deeper into the country. You weren’t sure how long it would take to cross the border into the neighboring court, or if you would even make it that far, but south was the only clear option to put as much distance as possible between you and him. You’d considered trying to make your way to Velaris, but it seemed too close, too obvious. You feared it would be the first place he would look for you, the place where you felt most at home, where he could easily come and take you back. If you cleared the Illyrian mountains, it would be farther than you had made it in past attempts just a decade ago, and perhaps that would be enough. 

You had planned this escape months ago, setting aside coins left out on tables and scattered on the floor during his moments of rage, when it seemed the blinding red overtook all his senses. You had packed and repacked your bag, changing out clothing and supplies for each season, hoping for the day when you might finally have had enough and decide to leave. You were always ready, waiting for the right moment.

It was foolish, you thought to yourself as you wandered through the dense woods, that just a few weeks ago you believed things were getting better. He had brought you fresh berries from a farm a few miles away, kissed you on the forehead, his hands still holding the berries as he wrapped himself around you, and you pressed your nose to his chest. He had promised things would get better after he shattered that window, where you ducked as he raged and threw a pan through the glass, leaving shards in your hair. He had promised he would stop. You were a fool to think that the nights you spent tucked into his side, his hands gently stroking your forearm as the night passed quietly, were a glimpse of a peaceful life that the Mother and the mating bond had promised you.

You couldn’t even recall what had shattered that illusion. He had come home from the forest in a rage, already flying off the handle as you stood, pressed into the corner counter while he slammed around the cabin searching for the absinthe you had poured out into the grass behind the house a few days before. He nearly tore the doors off their hinges as he screamed for it, his hair growing wilder with each yell, demanding to know where you had hidden it. You swallowed the lump in your throat, your knuckles bone white as you gripped the lip of the counter until he finally came over to you, pressing his body into yours as you whimpered and tried to shrink away. 

He grabbed your face, his large hands nearly covering the entirety of your chin, forcing you to look at him. His breath, already laced with alcohol, assaulted your nostrils as he leaned in close and through clenched teeth asked, “What the fuck did you do, you witch?” When you closed your eyes tightly, he squeezed your jaw, the pain forcing them back open. “Why do you fucking hate me?” he had asked, moving his hand to your throat, his large, callused fingers tightening around it. “I do everything for you. Every godsdamned thing, and you—” he stuttered as you wrapped your own hand around his fingers, begging for release or even a bit of air as your windpipe was squeezed shut. “You bitch, all you do is fuck with things. You fuck with my head, and you lead me on, and you do this shit.” As your eyes widened and you sputtered for breath, he finally released you. You hadn’t even realized he had lifted you off the floor until your feet hit the wood again. You grabbed at your own neck, gasping in ragged breaths as he continued to scream at you, calling you every possible wretched thing as you doubled over, still coughing life back into your lungs. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you forward from the corner cabinet, the jerk causing you to fall to your knees before he yanked you back up.

You cried out in pain as he hissed at you to shut your mouth. He led you to the counters, already ripped apart in his frantic search. “Find it. You better fucking find it.”

Hot tears filled your eyes, threatening to spill over. You began hopelessly searching for the bottle you knew wasn’t there. You cursed yourself for not just emptying the bottle and putting it back in the cabinet, claiming he had finished it during his last bender. Instead, you had buried it deep in the woods, foolishly hoping he would give it up completely. Panic rose in your chest as you rifled through the cabinets, trying to think of something to say to stop what you knew was coming. He stood next to you, arms crossed, a scowl plastered on his face. He knew there was no bottle. This was purely to torment you.

When you finally turned to him, you whispered, “I don’t know where it is.”

His hand rose, and he slapped you across the cheek, yelling, “Liar!”

The blow threw your head to the side. Instinctively, you brought your hand to your cheek, the sting radiating through your face. “You’re a liar and a fucking witch!” he raged. You took a step back, hand still pressed to your cheek, as he barreled toward you again. He ripped your hand away from your face, took both your wrists in his hands, and stared at you with hollow green eyes. “You better fucking find it, or you’re dead,” he howled, his voice echoing with a chilling finality.

“I don’t know where it is,” you pleaded, tears finally cascading down your cheeks.

His anger deepened as he gripped your wrists tighter, causing your fingers to curl into claws. He shook you violently, screaming, “What the fuck did you do with it?”

A sob escaped your lips as he slammed your body into the counter. Your hip screamed in pain, and your legs gave out from under you. Sliding down to the floor, his hands still grasped your wrists, holding you upright. You turned your face away from him as he continued to yell, spittle spraying your cheeks. When your body finally hit the floor, he released you from his grip. You curled into yourself as he reeled his leg back, sending a kick to your abdomen that knocked the air out of you. An unnatural gurgle erupted from your lips as he kicked again and again. Your head knocked against the sharp edge of the cabinet corner with each assault. The searing pain spread through your body as you curled in, trying to protect the soft parts of yourself.

You sobbed as he, with reckless abandon, continued his assault. His boot, splattered with your blood and spit, struck you repeatedly until you had nothing left and stopped making noise. Your vision blackened as your head hit the counter again, your body knowing nothing but the fire of pain as every part of you willed to let go. Your eyes shut, tears still streaming down your face.

Suddenly, without warning, the kicking stopped. You felt air rush back into your lungs, the taste of iron filling your mouth. You winced and recoiled from the pain, feeling the bones in your ribs cracking, already beginning to mend, but the spasms of your muscles fighting to stay intact caused you to wince. Above you, without looking, you heard his quiet sob. Too weak to lift your head, you felt him drop to his knees beside you, burying his face in your neck, wrapping his arms around your broken body as he sobbed.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he cried between sobs, his voice breaking.

Your face remained expressionless, save for the pain etched in every feature. He pulled you into him, his tears dampening your hair and shoulders. “I don’t know what’s happening,” he kept repeating, the heat of his tears burning into you as he held you close. 

You had no words, and even if you did, the air had been forced out of your body, and your throat was raw from screaming. Anything that would come out would have been as broken as you felt. What felt like an hour passed, but you were sure it was only minutes before he stood up, muttering again how he wasn’t sure what was happening. He ran his hands frantically through his hair, pacing about the kitchen of the cabin. The tea kettle you had put on whistled a scream, echoing your own pain. 

He sniffled, his breathing ragged, before he finally stopped pacing and looked towards you, still curled into the corner of the counter, blood streaming from your eyebrow, eyes hollow and empty. He started to speak but paused, then turned and walked out of the cabin and back into the woods, muttering and yelling indistinctly.

When you finally managed to stand, you hoisted yourself up by the counter, your legs weak, almost giving out on you. You dragged yourself, one hand cupping your side where pain still shot pins and needles through you. You grabbed the kettle from the stove, barely registering that the hot metal handle burned your flesh, and threw it into the washbasin.

Somehow, you made it to the bedroom. Uncaring if the blood slowly drying on your forehead stained the sheets, you willed yourself into the bed, the pain of your body hitting the mattress causing you to cry out. The window above the bed, slightly open, let in the sounds of him yelling outside, muttering things you couldn’t make out as you heard him assaulting the forest with his fists, screaming out. The background noise of his torment was the last thing you remembered before blacking out into nothingness.

In those moments, which happened more frequently than you would like to admit, you sometimes wished one of his blows had caused an organ to split or your head to hit the floor with such force it would have knocked the life out of you, ending the hell you were living. You often questioned why you didn’t leave sooner, why you wouldn’t fight back to escape, or why, in moments of excruciating pain, you didn’t scream back at him. Why did you feel compelled to stay silent as blow after blow landed? You pushed those thoughts from your mind. They were of no use to you now. You would keep moving forward, away from that place.

You had lost all track of time as you continued through the forest. The familiarity of the woods around the mountain and cabin was lost as new trees and boulders surrounded you. The sun hit its peak overhead, and you allowed yourself a short moment of rest, unwrapping a roll you had packed in a linen napkin. You ate it greedily, hunger pangs gnawing at your stomach as you scarfed it down. Its slightly stale flavor and hardened exterior were no bother as you finally quelled the growling from your core. As you chewed, you took in your surroundings. The trees here were taller and fuller, as if summer had already arrived, and the leaves had fully regrown. The canopy above cast long shadows on the lush green forest floor, and the boulder you sat on was slightly damp.

You folded the napkin, carefully placing it back into your well-packed bag as you took stock of your remaining food: two more rolls, a few apples, two chicken drumsticks wrapped in beeswax paper, a small bag of granola, and a handful of dried fruits. Enough to get you through a week, though you silently prayed for a town or even a small village where you could rest overnight.

Continuing into the forest, you allowed yourself to breathe freely, even enjoying the light burn of the sun across your cheeks. You went as far as to take your boots off and walk down a stream that babbled happily through the woods. The freezing chill of the water sent a spark up your spine as you searched for brightly colored stones and salamanders. It was silly to waste time doing this, but you hadn’t let yourself explore the world in so long, and for such little joys, it was worth it.

The afternoon waned, and the shadows grew longer before you came to a clearing. A meadow of soft spring ephemerals bloomed, filling the grasses with splashes of white, pink, and orange. As the sun cast orange fire across the sky, you deemed this as good a spot as any for the night. You threw your pack down at the edge of the meadow, unfurled the blanket you had wrapped your food in, and laid it on the meadow floor. You allowed yourself the luxury of one piece of chicken, the skin still crisp from when you had cooked it a few nights before. 

You watched the sun dip behind the treeline, the oranges turning to evening purple, as a mother deer and her fawn approached from the opposite edge of the clearing, feasting on the meadow’s flowers. You watched them carefully, not daring to move an inch. The fawn stayed close to its mother, who ate without fear, while the young one occasionally pricked its ears at the snapping of a branch. The mother seemed content with safety as the fawn locked its eyes on you. You stayed still, the fawn scanning you before turning back to its mother and resuming its evening meal. The tranquility set your mind at ease as the family wandered back into the deep woods, disappearing as night fell.

Your eyelids grew heavy with sleep as you lean against a tree, using a small knife to peel bark away from a branch you had picked up, fighting the urge to lie down. Another day of uncertainty had passed, another day of finding who you were, and another day of tasting the tantalizing flavor of freedom and deciding you wouldn’t live without it.

______________________________________________________________

Your eyes shot open as you heard the nearby crunch of the forest floor. How long had you been asleep? The branch you had been working on lay in your lap, your neck sore from where your head had fallen forward, and the side of your mouth wet from drool. You scrunched your face, shaking your head slightly to wake yourself up more when you heard another crack of a branch and what sounded like calculating footsteps.

Your heartbeat picked up speed as you frantically tried to pack your things. You had gotten too comfortable and unpacked most of what you had. The footsteps, now sounding like multiple pairs, grew closer. Silently, you pushed your items under a nearby bush before getting to your feet. You whipped around in search of a hiding place, but your only options were to run across the meadow, where you would be seen from every side, or run deeper into the woods toward the approaching steps. Instead, you looked up the towering evergreen above you and started climbing, limb after limb, higher and higher, each branch slightly less thick than the last. The ground disappeared below you, and you were panting, perched on a branch at least thirty feet up. You tried to steady your breath, gasping air into burning lungs as you waited and listened.

You heard the beginnings of voices but couldn’t make out what was being said. The voices were deep, male, in an accent you couldn’t place. The footsteps grew louder, and you saw the soft light of a torch through the trees as the group approached. Three males, all in black attire, swords drawn at their waists, and no lack of knives strapped along their legs and torsos, trampled through the undergrowth.

Finally, they were close enough for you to make out some of their conversation. “No, no, he wouldn’t have done that,” one noted.

“You weren’t there,” replied the second, following the leader in front, holding the torch. “He said he gutted him, drove his knife into his stomach, and ripped up through his chest.” You gulped as they continued to approach.

One of the males let out a slight chuckle. “Malek doesn’t have the balls for that.”

“He had enough balls to land you on your ass the other day in the ring,” another chided, causing the initial storyteller to shove him hard in the shoulder. As they continued through, you noticed they, like the odd male from the tavern, had large wings that hung from their backs, though more proudly than the one you had met.

One of them, the shortest, with jet-black hair braided back, trailed behind his two companions, swinging his sword idly. Though he did it without much thought, you could tell he was trained to use it lethally. “Why did we get stuck doing this patrol?”

The other, a few paces ahead, turned his head back over his shoulder, his shorter-cropped black hair glinting in the torchlight. You could make out the slight scar across his cheek, slashed into his lips. “Maybe because you couldn’t keep your fat mouth shut.”

The smaller one groaned, dropping his sword to his side. “That was months ago. He can’t keep shitting on us just because of that.”

The one in front, the tallest, with long cascading black locks pulled into a half bun, responded without turning back, “Well, apparently he can.”

You held your breath as the males continued their approach, now just under the tree you were perched in. Suddenly, the leader stopped, holding his hand up to signal their immediate halt. “Shut up,” he said.

The male behind him quickly brought his hand to the hilt of his sword, preparing to draw it, while the short one behind raised his sword in a ready stance. The leader then whispered, “Someone’s here.”

Your heart sank as you pressed your hand to your mouth, hoping the sound of your heart trying to escape through your ribcage wasn’t audible from below. The leader glanced around in a slow circle, his ears pricked, trying to pick up any noises. The two others did the same, silently scanning the area.

Finally, the second male crouched down where your blanket had been laid. “The grass is pushed down,” he whispered, moving forward slightly to where your body had been. “And it’s warm.”

The smallest one took a few silent steps forward, crouching next to his companion and gazing around. He reached forward and from under the bush pulled out your pack. “They heard us coming.”

The leader, still scanning the surrounding area, said, “They can’t be far.”

“We would have seen them in the meadow,” one responded. The other chimed in, “And they would have had to come toward us if they ran into the woods.”

The leader slowly and carefully turned his head to scan the trees above. Your stomach dropped as he locked eyes on you. You begged it be dark enough that he couldn’t see you, but the smile that crept onto his lips told you otherwise. He pointed one long, tanned finger upwards. “Found it,” he whispered. His companions turned their heads skyward, and your eyes widened in fear.

With a grim laugh, the one with braided hair stood, cupping his hands around his eyes to look up at you.

The leader called out in a sing-song tone, “Come on down, we don’t bite.” But you didn’t believe that for a second.

The small one chimed in the same tone, “Just come down.”

The second then followed, “You’re trespassing. Get your ass down here.”

You weighed your options. The large wings on their backs and toned bodies made you believe they would outrun you and take you down the second you stepped foot on the ground. But the tightness of the branches made you consider if you could climb higher, hoping they couldn’t reach you. You barely had time to consider before they called out again, “Just come down.” You stifled a whimper. There were no good intentions within these three males, not like the one you had met just the night before. These males had smirks on their faces that made you recoil, your insides gurgling. You opted not to move.

The leader finally called out, “If you don’t come down, we will bring you down. It’s your choice.”

Your knees locked, sore from crouching and balancing. Your only chance was to stay here and hope they couldn’t get to you. When you didn’t respond, the little one let out a chilling laugh and rubbed his hands together. “May I?” he asked.

The two others looked at each other, nodding in agreement before the leader noted, “Go ahead.”

With that, the smallest one chuckled with excitement before shedding his harness with his sword and knives, giving you a better look at his lean, muscular body. He was toned and fit for battle. Placing a steadying boot on the trunk of the tree, he hoisted himself up onto the first branch and made his approach to you, moving fast. 

As he continued his ascent, you pressed yourself closer into the trunk of the tree, blending into the darkness. When he was about ten feet off the ground, he finally made out your general shape. Looking down to the other two, he called out in a voice like a hungry predator, “We got a fae female on our hands, boys.” He turned back to you, licking his lips before singing out, “Here kitty, kitty, kitty.” Bile rose in your throat as you watched him inch closer. You looked up to see another twenty feet of branches, each getting smaller but tighter together. In this moment of life or death—or something worse—you decided you might have to climb higher. The male below continued his climb as his two companions hollered encouragement. When he was merely ten feet from you, you made your choice and scrambled to the next set of branches.

He called back down to his friends, “And she’s quick. And fit.” He let out a small growl of desire, and you didn’t dare look back to see how much he had gained on you. “A tight ass,” he called out again, prompting his companions to laugh and groan with lust.

Your hands were bleeding, cut by the tiny twigs, but it didn’t stop you from pulling yourself up through the branches, away from the approaching danger. When you finally turned your head back, the male was at the branch you had just left. He took a moment to inhale deeply, “And she smells delicious.” He continued after you, faster than you could climb. You must have been ten feet higher when the males below you disappeared from view, obscured by the tree branches. The one with the braid was hot on your trail, struggling as the branches grew closer together. He let out a frustrated huff as he pulled his wing through a particularly tight spot. “Bitch,” he grumbled, “just come here.” His voice sounded as if it were directly below you. When you dared to glance down, he was a mere arm’s length away. He moved faster than you thought possible, and you let out a slight yelp, which made him smile, his toothy grin lit by the moonlight.

He reached forward, his hand clasping around your booted ankle and yanking you down. A scream left your lips as you clung to the branch above you, your fingers screaming in pain. Without thinking, you used your other leg to stomp downwards, your boot making swift contact with his face. He cried out in pain, yelling, “Fucking bitch!”

The two below shouted, “What happened?”

“She fucking kicked me in the face,” he replied.

The two below laughed amongst themselves, and the one in the tree yelled down at them to shut their mouths. You scrambled higher, finally reaching the last row of branches that could hold your weight. You pulled yourself through three separate crisscrosses before steadying yourself, clinging to the trunk like a bear. The midsection was thin enough that you could almost wrap your arms around it. You looked down, and a few feet below, the male wiped the mud from his face and spat blood from his lips. He looked up at you with a new sense of anger bubbling. “You bitch,�� he cried, continuing his ascent. “You’re going to pay for that,” he growled.

You whimpered, pulling yourself tighter as he continued up. Finally, when he reached the crisscrossed branches, he tried to push through, but his broad shoulders halted him. He groaned and grumbled, looking up at you with a sneer. “You bitch,” he whispered. He called back down to the two below, “She’s too high. I can’t get to her through the branches.”

The second called back, “You’re telling me your ass is too fat to fit through there to get her?”

The small one peered over his shoulder, “No,” he called back, “my dick is too big to make the clearing, dumbass.” He peered back up at you, considering his options.

The leader called up from below, “Just come back down, Darian. She has to get down at some point, or fall.”

Darian let out a growl, looking up at you. “I’ll be waiting down there when you’re ready. And when you come down, just know, I have big plans for you.” With that, he slunk back down, cat-like, almost sliding down the length of the tree. Below, you could hear them speaking. The second chided, “Your dick is not that big.”

Darian laughed back, pushing the other slightly, “My dick is huge, and you fucking know it.”

The second let out a noise of uncertainty. “I’ve seen it, and it’s nothing to get excited about.”

Darian jumped on the back of the second, his forearm wrapping around his neck as the second laughed, pushing himself back against the tree. The air in Darian’s lungs knocked out of him before the leader finally said, “Knock it the fuck off.”

That was enough for Darian to drop from the second’s back. “Thoren, head back to camp and tell them we found a trespasser who we’re going to wait out.”

The second let out a groan, “Why do I have to go back? Send the cock-master instead.”

The leader shot Thoren a glare, “That’s an order, Thoren.”

Thoren shook his head, taking a step back, arms raised. “Okay, okay, fuck.” With that, Thoren made his way into the meadow, his giant wings spreading before he took a bounding leap and jumped into the sky. He flew up past the tree you were perched in, peering in at you from the thick branches with a criminally vicious smile. “See you soon, little squirrel,” he said before flapping off into the night, back toward the woods.

The leader ordered Darian to build a fire as he rifled through your pack, pulling out the food and taking a hungry bite of a roll. Looking up at you, where you knew he couldn’t see you, he gave a slow wave. “Goodnight, sleep well” he called up, before a sinister laugh escaped his lips. You gulped once more.

_____________________________________________________________

Special thanks to the following readers of Part 1 who have encouraged me to continue writing this, it's truly wonderful to have such phenomenal support while I continue to craft these works!

Tagged accounts:

@annabethgranger123, @nickishadow139, @thatacotargirl, @depressedreader209

[ziggyyyystardust]

A detail I love in Star Wars is the use of diversity to show who are the good guys and who are the bad guys. In the OT whenever we see imperials they all look the same - old white men wearing Nazi uniforms. Compared to the rebellion with numerous women in charge, other species, ect. Then in the prequels, while we definitely see much more diversity amoungst the bad guys (Maul, trade federation, ventress, ect) the main bad guys generally fit the criteria (Dooku and Palpatine). But the Jedi order is extremely more diverse, the Jedi council is run by people of different genders, races, species, ect.

It’s a really cool detail to show both their political leanings and all, especially in the OT where the casting for the empire and the small details (the uniforms!!) just show so well that they’re the bad guys, it wasn’t until I rewatched it that I realised why the empire just felt so off putting. The choice to have the good guys be a diverse and overall happier cast really work to show who we as the audience should be rooting for

[sayammm]

You know, it’s extremely wonderful when an author’s love and enjoyment about their work is obvious.

I know there are authors who… the word “hate” is kinda strong doesnt have a warm affection to their characters (Arthur Conan Doyle, Gege Akutami, Tatsuya Endo, and even Natsu Hyuuga) I’m not saying it’s bad, bc an author’s character can sometimes get a life on their own and can be a pain in the butt to write/draw.

Authors not being a fan of their own characters is often times, normal. It happens.

But stumbling upon a really good series with amazing writing, great diverse characters, and well-thought world building and then you can feel from each page, each panel, doodles, and special books that the author loves them. Enjoys working about them. And she’s excited to share it with you?

That’s such a warm chicken soup feeling.

I just look at the Adventure Bible and Daydream Hours and I know each drawing is made with love. A mangaka wouldnt spend hours drawing the whole cast as a different race if it’s not a labor of love.

[sergeifyodorov]

a full quarter of active nhl captains are virgos btw... very diverse cast.

sasha barkov (charming little guy)

jordan staal (possibly homophobic)

anze kopitar (extremely chill)

brayden schenn (ex-flyer)

john tavares (the most "i am pretending to be boring so you don't ask questions" ass freak on the planet)

alex ovechkin (you all know who he is.)

brady tkachuk (brady tkachuk)

[middle-earth-mythopoeia]

No, Amazon’s Rings of Power is not “woke”

It annoys me so much when people complain about Rings of Power being “woke.” First of all, because of the way they overuse the word, woke has become a next-to-meaningless term that can be applied to anything conservatives don’t like. Second, Rings of Power is only progressive in the most surface-level way; underneath that it is in fact extremely regressive. People who whine about Rings of Power being woke are not only annoying, they’re also just plain wrong.

Ever since the casting was announced, right-wing idiots have been shrieking about Black actors being cast in Rings of Power. These trolls have made all kinds of dumb statements about how Middle-earth = Europe, but they seem willfully ignorant of the fact that Europe has never been exclusively white, and there is no reason to exclude people of color from the cast of any Tolkien adaptation. Still, this didn’t make the show progressive in its casting (which was tokenistic) or its writing (which ranges from bad to horrible).

For instance, the only storyline Amazon writers could apparently think of to introduce Arondir was literally him being enslaved. I mean, really? Is that really the best plotline to go with? To be clear, I’m not criticizing the actor, I’m criticizing the writing. In addition, Amazon cast actors of color overwhelmingly in parts invented for the show—rather than as actual Tolkien characters—which more easily allows them to be sidelined by the narrative, and the casting overall was in no way diverse enough. So I find it bizarre that people criticize the show for its so-called wokeness, when very little effort was made from a diversity and inclusion standpoint.

Right-wing nutjobs also threw a fit about Amazon portraying Galadriel as a warrior, to the point where they started calling her “Guyladriel.” They whined about Galadriel being too feminist and too masculine in the show, but that’s the opposite of what happened and betrays a fundamental misunderstanding of Galadriel as a character. First of all, she fought at Alqualondë in one version of the story, so no one should have a problem with her wielding a sword. What IS a problem is everything else about her portrayal.

Amazon’s writers took one of Tolkien’s most interesting characters and stripped her of her power, her authority, her gravitas, her wisdom, and her ambition. They had Gil-galad, her younger cousin, order her around. They had Elendil compare her to his children, even though she’s older than the sun and moon. And they made her a petty, naïve, incompetent brat whose entire first season involves being manipulated by Sauron, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, having a bizarre will-they-won’t-they relationship with him. In addition, Galadriel is canonically tall and strong, and one of her names means “man-maiden,” but they made her short and waif-like instead.

Galadriel in Amazon’s show doesn’t even resemble the character Tolkien wrote—the character named Nerwen, who never trusted Annatar, who certainly never had some creepy Reylo thing with him, who was powerful and wise and authoritative, who had a marvelous gift of insight into the minds of others—not a quippy, rude, annoying idiot who is constantly being controlled by the men around her. I don’t know why anyone would look at Rings of Power and think this portrayal is progressive. It’s actually a failure of imagination: Amazon’s writers literally cannot conceive of a powerful woman even when all of the work of imagining her has been done for them.

In addition to the faux-feminist-and-actually-sexist portrayal of Galadriel, Rings of Power is also on the whole weirdly regressive from the standpoint of gender roles and gender expression. Tolkien’s Elves are canonically tall, beautiful, and long-haired, regardless of gender. Tolkien’s Dwarves all have beards. So what did Amazon do? They gave most of their male Elves short hair, while the female Elves still have long hair, and they did away with female Dwarves’ beards. They patted themselves on the back for “letting” Galadriel fight, but don’t show other female warriors—in battle scenes, for instance, why are all the soldiers male? In general, they made their characters adhere to conservative gender roles and gender expression, which is especially glaring because it contradicts what Tolkien actually wrote.

On top of all this, they decided to throw in some anti-Irish stereotypes with a side of classism, just for fun. They had the ragged, dirty, primitive Harfoots speaking in Irish accents, while the regal, ethereal, advanced Elves speak with English accents. None of the actors playing the Harfoots are Irish themselves, to my knowledge, which makes the choice to have them speak this way especially questionable. Seriously, who thought this was a good idea?

All in all, it makes absolutely no fucking sense to criticize Rings of Power for being woke. It may look progressive on the surface because there’s a Black Elf and a woman with a sword, but that’s as far as it goes. The show isn’t particularly diverse to begin with, and it treats its characters of color poorly. Galadriel’s portrayal is disgustingly regressive, as is the show’s overarching take on gender. This is to say nothing of the caliber of the writing in general, which is unsurprisingly low. There is so much to criticize—like the nonsense about mithril, or the fact that Celebrimbor of all people doesn’t understand alloys, or the fact that you can apparently swim across the Sundering Seas now—which makes complaining about the show’s supposed wokeness especially irrational.

I also have to wonder if the people still whining about wokeness know anything about Tolkien’s works. Do they know that the crown of Gondor was based on the crown of the Pharaohs of Egypt? Do they know that Tolkien considered Byzantium the basis for Minas Tirith? Do they know that female warriors already exist in Tolkien’s books? Do they know when they rant about how much they hate “Guyladriel” that Amazon’s portrayal is actually too feminine? Ultimately, people who complain about wokeness in Rings of Power—or any Tolkien adaptation—are just betraying their own idiocy. I honestly think if Tolkien’s books were published now conservatives would scream that they’re woke too.