#i am no longer a functioning part of society...

[ryukatters]

don’t go - k. bakugo

a/n: I’m so horny for this man I can’t even think straight. This was supposed to be short and fluffy but now it’s turned into this. I would say sorry but I’m not. (Yes I am alive)

pairing: katsuki bakugo x fem! reader

wc: 1.5k

content/warnings: smut, unprotected morning s*x, begging, overstimulation, bkg is obsessed with you, also completely not proofread

Your boyfriend Katsuki is clingy. Very clingy— in all senses of the word, and you’re convinced that if you open a dictionary right now his name would show up as the very definition of it. Bakugo would live under your skin if he could, or at the very least come up with a way to keep you in his pocket. 

As lovely as your boyfriend is, his innate urge to smother you in affection poses a problem in times like these— early mornings where you have to get up and get ready for work. 

“Katsuki, I need to go to work. Go back to your side of the bed.”

“Just quit,” he murmurs, “I’ll take care of ya.” 

“As appealing as that sounds, no. I need to get up and do my part as a functioning member of society.” Any attempt to leave your shared bed is shut down by Bakugo, his strength easily overpowering yours as he wraps his arms around you and lays on top of you. 

“But you’re my pillow,” he says with a bit of a sigh, pressing his into the crook of your neck, melting further into you. His hot breath tickles your skin, and it’s enough to have your heart pounding along with a familiar warmth in between your legs. Katsuki is observant to a fault, he knows you better than the back of his own hand, and knows just what to do to turn you into putty. 

His hands snake up under your (read: his) shirt, kneading your breasts. You let out a sharp gasp as he tweaks your nipples and sucks a love bite at the junction of your neck. He hums in appreciation as he slowly leaves a trail of wet kisses down your stomach, stopping just as he reaches your underwear. 

He traces your slit, eyes darkening as the fabric begins to dampen with your slick. “So wet for me already, baby.” It’s not a question, it’s a fact that he already knew. Katsuki wastes no time sliding the garment down your legs. He takes a moment to run his hands up and down both your thighs before prying your legs further apart, exposing yourself to him completely. He can feel his mouth water at the sight of you. 

Katsuki can’t help but moan the minute his lips attach themselves to your clit, sucking fervently. “Always taste so good, princess.” 

You take a moment to glance down, which proves to be a mistake. Katsuki’s practically making out with your pussy, and when his eyes meet yours, they’re nothing short of lovesick. His vermillion orbs draw you in, and they’re absolutely magnetizing. You have to close your eyes to stave off your orgasm for a little longer. 

Katsuki can’t help but grind against the edge of the bed to feel some sort of release. He’s so fucking hard. He thinks he’s growing delirious. Katsuki swears he can cum from the taste of your pussy and the sound of your angelic voice filling the room with a sweet symphony. When you let out a particularly breathy call of his name, he has to will himself not to finish in his boxers, which is already usually a difficult enough task on its own, but now it's almost impossible from how impossibly hard he is with morning wood.

You grind against his mouth, hands carding through his hair as your orgasm rapidly approaches. Katsuki is more than eager to be used as a means of getting there. Even as you cum, he continues to fuck your hole with his tongue and lapping up your pussy. It’s only when you begin to push him away does he feel the need to lean back, a loud pop reverberating as he does. 

“You gonna be a good girl and let me take care of ya?”

“Mmm, fuck. Yes, ‘ki.”

“Good girl,” he coos, his lips pressing against yours with fervor. You allow him to deepen the kiss, sucking on his tongue. He moans appreciatively, hips stuttering as he continues to grind against you. The head of his cock bumps against your clit over and over, smearing precum all over your pussy. His tip just barely presses against your fluttering hole, and you can feel your insides ache with anticipation and utter need.

He’s teasing you. You’re overstimulated yet somehow unsatisfied. Your pussy is craving to be stretched out, and Katsuki is making sure he’s doing everything but that. He likes getting you like this— needy, clingy, nearly delirious as you beg for him. He likes to think of it as reparations for how insane you make him feel on the daily. 

You’re not sure how much more you can take. 

“Katsuki, please,” you whine, lifting your hips to grind against his dick, hoping to get what you want, what you need. You look up at Katsuki and for a moment, you think you’ve got him— think that you’d be able to look at him with those doe eyes and get what you want easily, like always. He never could refuse you.

But he merely smirks, and uses one hand to press you back down into the mattress. 

“Tell me what you want, princess. You know I’ll make it good for you.” 

“Want you to fuck me, ‘ki.” 

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you whine sweetly. 

“I’ll give you what you want baby,” he affirms, the timbres of his voice reaching the depths of your soul. He uses both hands to press both of your legs by your shoulders, cock lined at your entrance. I always do, don’t I?

You can’t stop the moan that tumbles out of your lips as he fills you up. Katsuki presses a kiss against your forehead, relishing in the way you tighten around his dick. 

The familiar coil that’s been forming in your tummy is threatening to unravel, if your stuttered moans and breaths are any indication. Katsuki seems to know this too, as he pulls out right before you hit your climax. You whine at the sudden lack of overwhelming pressure, and Katsuki’s quick to silence you with a hard stare. 

His breath ghosts against your lips, vermillion eyes burning into yours with intense, unspoken passion. “What’s wrong, princess?”

You shake your head in the negative. “Wanna cum, Katsuki. Please.” 

He starts thrusting again, slowly and with purpose. His eyes never leave yours. It doesn’t take long for you to be on the brink of an orgasm again. “You want to cum, right baby?” He smiles when he sees you nod. “You can cum,” he says carefully, “but only if you do one thing for me.” 

“I’ll do anything Kats,” you manage to choke out. Katsuki continues to pound into you, the sound of skin slapping filling the room. You really would do anything, Katsuki’s own desire and utter want for you is so persuasive that you feel compelled to follow. 

“Don’t leave,” he whispers, lips pressing a chaste kiss against yours. “Stay with me, today.” There’s an urgency behind his words despite them being said so softly. 

Fuck it. 

You barely manage to let out a stuttered “yes, ‘ki,” before you reach your peak. The pleasure rolls over you in waves, tears threatening to spill as Katsuki continues to drill into you, chasing his own high. A few particularly rough thrusts punctuated by staggered moans let you know that he’s cumming. 

Katsuki manages to plop right next to you, bed shifting under his weight. You lock eyes as you both try to catch your breaths. He gives you a quick smile before pressing a kiss to your sweaty temple, one arm wrapping around you to pull you against him.

“So…” he starts, his eyes brimming with satisfaction, lips upturned into a smirk. He knows he’s won. “Ready for round 2?”

#katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x you #bakugo x you #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #kat’s writing #kat’s demon time

[indigovigilance]

The Final Fifteen is about Terry Pratchett's Death

read on Ao3

The final fifteen is obviously a major plot point, and serves a role in a story that was written long before Terry Pratchett was ever diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. But the scene itself wasn’t written until just a few years ago, during the writing of Season 2. In fact, the scene came about during a park bench conversation between Neil Gaiman and John Finnemore.

Others have noted that the non-romantic kiss that signals the story moving into the third act is a Neil Gaiman staple. The function of such a kiss, from Gaiman’s perspective, is to communicate.

In 2023 we are seeing a lot of stories written by men, for men, about men who are best friends and discover that their friendship can go deeper than the norms of society would usually allow; that platonic and romantic love are not so far apart, and perhaps the better word for a relationship that can be described this way is intimacy.

Neil Gaiman has made it clear in interviews that his friendship with Terry Pratchett was deeply intimate. They began collaborating on what would become Good Omens in the 1980’s, endured a tumultuous experience together through the first publication, wherein Neil offered to martyr himself on behalf of Terry if the book failed, and then spent the better part of two decades touring the world, meeting the people who loved their work. Neil would even off-handedly remark that Terry’s fans were so cheerful, and Neil’s seemed like they were ready to kill themselves; wouldn’t it be nice if they got married? From the outside, it looks very much as if Terry was Aziraphale-coded, and Neil was Crowley-coded, working together in an unexpected partnership to make the world a little bit more tolerable for the humans inhabiting it. I am not conjecturing that Neil and Terry had romantic inclinations the way their fictional characters do, but I think it is fair to say that their opposites-attract intimacy became an important part of who each of them were.

In 2007 Terry Pratchett was diagnosed with posterior cortical atrophy, a rare form of Alzheimer’s. As the disease progressed, he began to lose himself, and knew that the person he used to be was slipping away. He wanted to end his life on his own terms, and die as himself, but England did not and still does not allow for voluntary euthanasia or assisted suicide. He advocated for the right to die but never achieved it, and ultimately succumbed to the disease in 2015. Neil Gaiman has spoken a lot on the topic of death, and one answer of his that resonated with me reads:

Mostly it feels terrible. It even feels terrible when it’s someone who has been in a lot of pain for a long time or has not really been there for a long time and you know that Death has in some ways been a blessing: suddenly you are mourning the whole person. 

It doesn’t get easier as you age. It gets stranger. The point where you realise how many people you used to know and like who aren’t there any longer, and you cannot talk to them or see them or laugh with them is painful in a way that I had never expected. The first time that someone you had a romantic relationship with dies and you realise that there had been moments both of you shared and now you are the sole custodian of those moments and one day you will be gone and they will be lost forever is peculiarly strange and hard. 

~~~

The entire show is seeded with references to Terry Pratchett, but the most important one is the one that’s missing. Neil Gaiman cameoed as a sleeping moviegoer in S1E4, but a long time ago, he and Terry had discussed cameoing as sushi restaurant-goers, because sushi was weirdly prominent in the book. That cameo would have been in S1E1. But when it came time to do it, Neil couldn’t. Not without Terry. 

Neil: I was gonna say our location is a Chinese restaurant we’d had turned into a sushi restaurant. So Terry and I, Terry Pratchett and I, had a standing… not even a standing joke, just a standing plan, that we were going to have sushi - there was going to be a scene in Good Omens where sushi was eaten and we were gonna be extras, we were gonna sit in the background, eating sushi while it was done. And I was so looking forward to this and, so I wrote this scene with it being sushi, even though Terry was gone, with that in mind and I thought: Oh, I’ll sit and I’ll eat lots of sushi as an extra, this will be my scene as an extra, I’ll just be in the background. And then, on the day, or a couple of days before, I realized that I couldn’t do it.

Douglas: You never told me this before either. I might have pushed you into doing it, had I known. I think you were right not to tell me.

Neil: I was keeping it to me self ‘cause I was always like: Oh, maybe I’ll be… this will be my cameo. And then I couldn’t. I was just so sad, ‘cause Terry wasn’t there. And it was probably the day that I missed Terry the most of all of the filming - it was just this one scene ‘cause it was written for Terry and all of the sushi meals we’d ever had and all of the strange way that sushi ran through Good Omens.

~~~

In the Final Fifteen, it is clear that Crowley and Aziraphale want to stay together. They love each other. They each know that the other loves them. There’s nothing that needs to be said, no convincing that their bond is true and real and precious.

But Aziraphale has to go to Heaven, and Crowley cannot follow him there.

I cannot speculate what it must have been like for Neil to endure losing a friend who, though I’m sure he desperately wanted to still be in his life, he also knew that life had become a burden to him, and grieved that Terry was not able to choose the time and manner of his departure from this Earth. This sort of complex grief, we fan-ficcers know, is the kind that is often best processed through story-telling. 

I think that what we see Crowley going through in the Final Fifteen, alongside its importance to the story arc of Good Omens overall, is Neil processing his grief at losing his friend Terry Pratchett, and even the kiss, that violent, terrible, awful kiss, was the symbolic representation of Neil saying goodbye.

#neil gaiman #terry pratchett #aziraphale #crowley #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #ivoc #this meta ended up being only about 2/3 the length of my usual metas and somehow that feels appropriate because Terry's life ended too soon #and the jarring brevity of this piece parallels that feeling of sudden unexpected loss #for me anyways I don't know about you guys #if this made your eyes even slightly moist you are obligated to reblog to help someone else feel their feels #I don’t make the rules #but them is the rules #blessed by Beelzebub

[kokomyass]

Wriothesley ☆ Comfort

Wriothesley x Fem!Reader

Genre: 🥀/☁️

Word Count: 2723

Trigger warnings ⚠️: mentions of self harm, panic attacks, reader being abused as a child, sex mention VERYYY SLIGHTLY.

a/n: SPOILERS!!!!! if you have not done the wriothesley quest I strongly advise you don't read this if you care about spoilers!!

in this reader used to be a part of beret society and Dougier seemed to hate her more than the rest so she seemed to be punished severely

Second person POV

It had been 1 year since the Beret Society no longer existed and life seemed to be looking up for you and it was all thanks to the Duke and his companions.

1 year ago:

You were part of the Beret Society, however when joining you didn't know what you would be getting yourself into.

You had been feeling awfully low and lonely in the fortress as you knew no one and didn't really attempt to try to make friends either. That was when you saw the Beret Society and thought your life would perhaps be less miserable and you would possibly be able to become accustomed to life in the fortress.

Oh how incredibly wrong you were....as soon as you joined you were treated like mere animals. The smallest trip up would lead to the worst punishments.

You once forgot to ask to go to the bathroom. For some reason Dougier seemed to really despise you, perhaps because you were younger than the rest of the members...no matter what it was, it was very evident to not only you but the rest of the members too.

He straped you to a chair and forced a needle into your head with some sort of black ooze.

All your worst memories came flooding back: the way you killed your parents who abused you and your 2 siblings horribly. You relived that moment over and over again until it drove you to insanity.

Dougier didn't only do it once, but almost everyday he would punish you for something that many wouldn't even notice.

Eventually you had been tortured so much you couldn't really function anymore. You were locked up in a jail in the hidden headquarters of the Beret Society. Day after day you would rock back and forth muttering, 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, don't hurt me, I'm sorry.' scratching your arms until they bled, wishing that you had Avice or Faissolle to comfort you. You were long gone and had to accept it.

That was until the Duke and the traveller managed to save you.

"Hey Traveller, Paimon, let's check on this girl she looks horrified..." you heard the duke's voice as you lifted your head. You began crying begging him to help you as you gripped his arm.

"Please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please, sir, save me, save me..." you bowed down to the Duke begging he would save you. suddenly you felt an arm on your shoulder.

"I will save you do not worry at all. Let me take care of this and I promise someone will take care of you and I will come back for you" you looked up to see the Duke smiling at you warmingly, his sky blue orbs calming the critical voices in your head as you stared at him silently before passing out.

You woke up in a bed. Something you hadn't slept in for a while. You analysed your surroundings. The room only had one bed (the one you were led in) and as soon as you realised what happened you began screaming and crying scratching at your arms again.

To your surprise a strong pair of arms gripped you making you calm slightly whilst your crying and screaming slowly faded.

"It's alright, just breathe, your safe now." you were being rocked back and forth as you stared into nothingness feeling calmer than before.

Once the person let go of you, resting their hands on your shoulders you looked up to be met with the same sky blue orbs as the one in the jail making your eyes widen in slight shock.

"So you didn't leave me behind...." you mumbled which didn't go unnoticed by the Duke.

"Why would I ever leave you behind?," he chuckled slightly. "I am Wriothesley, but you may call me whatever you like. The reason your in my room instead of the infirmary is due to multiple reasons."

Wriothesley leaned back crossing his arms, "One being, when you were in the infirmary you seemed to be having endless panic attacks so I brought you here because it is less busy. Second being, it was very evident to me that Dougier seemed to punish you the most out if all the members...this was also confirmed by Avice and Faissolle..."

Wriothesley failed to mention that the main reason was because after being told the reason for your arrival at the fortress he couldn't help but have a soft spot for you. After all you were in due to a similar reason as him.

You began trembling incredibly at the mention of Dougier....and Avice and Faissolle were okay? You were glad to hear that much.

"Hey, hey it's alright now. No one will hurt you." Wriothesley placed his hand in yours, squeezing it to stop your shaking.

After you had calmed down once again he began explaining what would happen.

"Sigewinne and I will be taking care of you privately. You will be living with me and staying here until you're okay to go out and if I cannot take care of you Sigewinne will and visa versa."

You nodded looking at Wriothesley with empty eyes. You gazed around the room suddenly noticing a cute little melusine smiling warmly at you.

"I am Sigewinne! We will try our best to take care of you Y/N!!" Sigewinne's soft spoken voice made your shoulders relax incredibly.

Maybe you would be okay after all...

"Avice...Faissolle..." you mumbled. You wanted to know how they were but couldn't seem to form an actual sentence.

Yet, Wriothesley smiled and still understood what you were saying.

"Luckily they are fine, I caught them just before the punishment. They were very worried about you Y/N and asked that you got proper treatment."

You nodded once more before moving you gaze back to Wriothesley. You wanted to say something but you weren't sure if you were allowed as memories of the consequences of speaken when not spoken to clouded your mind.

"It is alright, you may speak whenever and whatever you would like." you snapped your head back to Wriothesley, eyes widened from shock, to be met once more with his warm gaze.

"I know the Society was hard on you but here, you should be free to do as you please, within reason of course...." he paused looking down and grimacing.

"I'm truly sorry for the pain that has been inflicted on you Y/N...I hope you can forgive me and-"

"Thank you Wriothesley." Wriothesley looked up at you as you squeezed his hand and spoke softly.

You smiled warmly at him...it was the first time you had smiled in ages and the first time he woukd see you smile. He looked at you shocked before his expression softened and he sqeezed your hand back smiling.

"No matter what, I will protect you."

Back to present:

"Ah! Y/N thank you so so much, i am very lucky to have you!! Very lucky indeed!!" Sigewinne clapped and giggled as you had successfully gotten her some fruits and vegetables secretly from the coupon cafeteria.

"No worries Sigewinne, I am glad I could help you." you smiled slightly as you started packing up to leave the infirmary.

After the whole incident with the Beret Society happened, you initially didn't leave Wriothesley's room and struggled to speak. After a while your social anxiety decreased slightly so you could go out. However you stuck to Wriothesley like glue. Everywhere he went you went, there wasn't a moment when you wouldn't follow. Unless you were with Sigewinne. Not anymore though.

You also experienced panic attacks and night terrors which were much less frequent now.

You would be lying if you said you hadn't developed feelings for the Duke, after all he was the reason you were still functioning to this day. Even though you heard the rumors about him, deep down you knew he was a kind man who was ever so caring it made you blush.

"Where are you off to Y/N? I can see you blushing and smiling sheepishly...could you be going to see Wriothesley?" Sigewinne said placing her finger on her chin as your face flushed red.

She was right. You had bought some teas and made some pastries for him.

"Ermm yes...but what makes you say that...haha?" you rubbed the back of your head feeling embarrassed.

"Well I read somewhere that when humans think about someone they love or are around them they blush and smile!" you smiled at Sigewinne and laughed lightly.

"Well...I suppose your right but no saying anything, okay? Well I'm off." you quickly leave before Sigewinne can tease you.

"Bye Miss Y/N! Have fun with Mr Wriothesley!"

You shut your eyes and hum a little tune as you walk through to Wriothesley's office where he always is.

"Hey it is Y/N!! Heyyy Y/N!! How are you doing today?" you hear a high pitched voiced and open your eyes to see Paimon and the Traveller waving at you.

"Oh, hello there!" You run up to them. "I am quite alright, it's nice to see you. What are you doing outside Wriothesley's office?" you ask as you look up to the large doors wondering why they aren't in yet.

"Oh, we were told he is finishing some work and will come out soon! What about you huh? Still admiring from afar?" Paimon giggled and smirked at you folding her arms

You had gotten closer to the Traveller and Paimon and you would call them your close friends meaning they seemed to notice the crush you had on Wriothesley.

You blushed again and looked down fidgeting with the basket of goods. "I'm not admiring from afar! I just- I just wanted to give him a present because he's working hard and all..." you glanced up to see paimon and the traveller giving unimpressed looks.

"Fine! I'm giving them to him becaude I am in love with him! There I said it!" your face was bright red and paimon and the traveller just laughed happily looking at how flustered you had gotten.

Suddenly the doors swung open and there stood the Duke, arms crossed and smiling slightly.

You all froze as you prayed to the 7 archons that he didn't hear a word you said.

"Ah! Traveller, Paimon and Y/N! If I had known it was you I wouldn't have made you wait!" you stand frozen on your spot while Paimon answers.

"Oh no worries at all~ we will take our leave now! After all Y/N said she has something important to discuss....bye!" Paimon and The traveller make a quick escape as they whisper good luck to you, to which you returned a death glare at them.

"Oh? Well come in Y/N, you know you don't need to knock to come in." Wriothesley gestured you in as you shuffled in.

"Yes you are right but I got caught up in conversation with the duo..." you nervously laughed taking a seat on his desk.

"Of course, of course no worries. What's in that basket?" Wriothesley asked as he slowly made his way to you.

"Oh! these are some teas I bought, and some pastries I made for you! I came to give them to you, I hope you like them" you smiled with you cheeks flushing a warm pink. You handed the basket to Wriothesley as he inhaled the scent and let out a deep and relaxed breath.

"Ahhhh Y/N thank you so much, you know me too well. It means a lot to me." he smiled and patted your head softly.

"Let's chat while you're here I would like to pass time talking to you." he sat down behind his desk as you got up from the desk and sat down on a chair in front of him.

"Before I forget, what was it that you wanted to discuss?" he leaned back in his chair and you diverted your eyes, cursing paimon in your mind.

"Oh it was nothing..."

"Hmm, if you insist..." Wriothesley raised an eyebrow and that topic was dropped immediately, or so you thought.

You were drinking tea and eating pastries together as you enjoyed each other's presence.

"So, Wrio, why did you choose to take care of me personally? I mean I know you told me but I just feel there is more to it y'know?" you asked while sipping your fruit tea.

"So you have noticed..." Wriothesley let out a hearty laugh.

"Well all the reasons I gave are still true...but naturally when all that occurred I needed to know what must have caused such deep trauma...and after finding out the memory that you had been seeing from Avice and Faissolle, I empathised with you since I was in for a similar reason...and when I touched the black gem I felt those memories rush to me"

"What were you in for?" you asked inching closer to him feeling invested.

"When I was younger I killed my abusive adoptive parents to protect my siblings...I know it's horrible, and i hope you dont think differently of me" he sighed looking into his mug.

You got up and walked over to Wriothesley.

"Stand up, Duke." Wriothesley hesitantly stood up think he would get beat due to your demanding tone.

You wrapped your small arms around him resting your cheek on his chest.

Wriothesley was in shock before he wrapped his large arms around you caging you in his large figure.

"Wrio, I could never hate you...you saved my life and for the record us two are the same so all that's left to do is grow and learn from our mistakes, and if you hadn't done what you did...you probably wouldn't be here right now and I would never have been lucky enough to meet you!" you pulled away from the hug and smiled warmly at him.

There were few times you smiled like that and it made Wriothesley feel treasured and loved.

"Hah...thank you Y/N, I'm glad I met you and have you in my life."

"Ditto"

"Does that mean I may also assume you still have a crush on me?"

"Yes of course!!" you answer before you can fully register what has been said and who said it.

Your eyes widen and your face goes bright red and you see Wriothesley smirking at you with his arms folded.

"W-wait- um that's not true...erm I mean I do but um..." you attempt to run away but Wriothesley grabs your arm and drags you back to him with ease.

Before you can start rambling again he kisses you softly as you melt into the euphoric kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck as he grips your waist. Time feels like it has stopped and you want to live in this moment kissing Wriothesley's soft lips.

He pulls away and you are still as stunned as you were before the kiss.

"I hope that shows my answer to the matter you had to discuss." Wriothesley holds you in his arms as you remember what Paimon had said before leaving.

["After all Y/N said she has something important to discuss....bye!"]

You gasped realising he heard the whole conversation.

"You heard?! Why didn't you say anything?" you snuggled into his chest to hide your face from embarrassment, as he laughed.

"Who wouldn't have heard? You were fairly loud... and I wanted to be effective... did it work?" he smirked down at you, and you looked up and smacked his chest.

"Sadly, it did... remind me to be quieter next time..." You both laughed whilst still in each other's arms, enjoying the moment and looking forward to many more to come.

A lil extra!!:

"Oh my dear Y/N is now with the Duke!! I'm so glad she has found happiness!" Avice whisper shouted as she was gathered with Faissolle, Sigewinne, Paimon and The traveller.

"Yes look at how far she has come! I'm very proud!" Faissolle whispers.

"If we hadn't prompted her she wouldn't have done anything so give us some credit!" Paimon said folding her arms looking smug.

"Hmm, does this mean they will engage in sexual intercourse often?" Sigewinne said out of pocket.

"SIGEWINNE!"

a/n: WRIOTHESLEY SUPREMACYYYY!! I have an unnatural obsession with this man...he makes me act up

anyways I hope you enjoyed that and love you all of course 🩷🩷

#anime fluff #anime angst #wriothesley #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #genshin angst #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley fluff #wriothesley angst #fyp #anime x reader #anime

[alpaca-clouds]

Why I oppose punitive justice

Time for another anarchist talking point. I actually do not believe in punitive justice. I do not believe in locking people up in jail or making them pay fines as punishment (though asking them to pay for something they broke is alright). And I do even less believe in violence as a form of punishment. Moreover I do believe that the idea of punishment is rooted in a deeply flawed perception of why crimes get commited, as well as a deeply flawed idea of what justice is.

Let me explain.

I will say it again: I actually do believe that humans are in general decent creatures who have evolved to function well in groups. As such it is for the most part not our nature to commit crimes - outside of things were the crime actually is something that should not be illegal in the first place.

Most crimes, that do get committed, have one of the following causes:

It is a crime arrising from a situation committed spontanously without much prior thought.

It is a crime committed out of a desperate situation with the "criminal" not seeing any other way out.

It is a crime committed by someone in a psychologically bad place.

It is a crime committed by a true believer who believed himself to act justly.

One of the first ideas of punitive justice is that it somehow deters people from committing crimes, because they will think to themselves: "I do not want to be punished." But this just ignores the actual reasoning behind those crimes.

Someone who commits crime spontanously (which is a lot of violent crime, actually - most violent crime is not committed by someone who has gone somewhere with a plan to commit violence, but rather arises out of people unable to deal with emotions) does not think about the consequences in the moment.

Someone in a desperate situation often just does not see themselves having a choice. Examples of this can both be that person killing an abusive partner or parent, or the person stealing bread from a supermarket, because they are otherwise going to starve.

Someone who commits crimes because they are psychologically in a bad place (by which I do not even mean the serial killers, though some of them surely also fall under this umbrella - rather I am speaking of people who are prone to violence, have habbits or are forced into crime through addiction and the like) often will not consider possible outcomes either.

And the last kind of person usually tends to believe they are in their right to do whatever. This might be those abusing partners, as well as a ton of people committing hate crimes.

So, yeah... Punishment does not deter people from crimes. We even do have statistics on this showing that often enough in the places with the most harsh punishments there are more crimes getting committed than in the places with softer punishment.

Now, when it comes to the entire idea of justice... Two wrongs do not make a right. Punishing someone does not make the crime undone. Especially given that the punishment often lasts much longer than whatever the actual sentence is, due to societal prejudice against anyone who might have been imprisoned once.

Don't get me wrong: I do think there are some cases where people might need to be somewhere under lockdown, because otherwise they will not stop dealing in violence. The "true believers" often belong under this category. And some people in psychological emergencies, too.

But they should be kept secure for that reason: Security. Not to punish them for their crimes.

Punishment does not make a society safer. At best it satisfies some vengeful lustings of a society. And if we do not (and we cannot) satisfy an individuals lusting for revenge... We should also not do that on a society wide scale. Rather we should focus on making the world safer for everyone.

#solarpunk #anarchism #abolish prisons #anti punitive justice #justice system #politics

[artists-ally]

{Train Wreck} Azriel x Cassian!Sister {Pt.1}

I am in love with this song, Train Wreck by Divide the Day and cannot get it out of my head. I feel like Azriel loves a good broken girl because she can relate to all of him. So here is the first part of that! Enjoy my loves!! lmk what you think!! (i got too excited waiting for the poll to end)

Word Count: 7,947

Warnings: Modern AU, OFC, angst, mentions of crimes, mentions of trauma, language, alcohol.

Summary: It has been far too long since Ira has seen her brother. They meet again under neither of their own terms and struggle to find any room in their hearts for pleasantries. But at least there is a hot, dark-haired, hot, buffer to focus on instead.

Tagging: @bubybubsters @librafairy @needylilgal022

Part Two

~~~~~~~~

“He’s going to say no.” No response from the peanut gallery in the front seat. “Seriously, he’s not going to be okay with this. You might as well let me out of the car now.”

“Will you just be quiet?” Arthur snapped, eyes locking with mine from the rearview mirror. “Need I remind you that this is your fault. You’ve left us with no other option.”

“I told you, it wasn’t me. That was-” “Cal, I remember the story. And that’s all that it is. A story, a fabrication that Arthur and I are no longer going to be entangled in. You may be able to fool the police with that lie, but you can’t fool us, Ira,” Dana snapped, whirling around to shoot me some daggers. She couldn’t look intimidating if she tried; her face was like a bunny, and every time she frowned it just looked like she smelled something rotten.

I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms. There was no way he was going to take me. We hadn’t spoken in almost five years, I didn’t even know he was alive until three months ago when I heard about his engagement. How fucking rude of him not to tell me. I had to find out through a friend of a friend.

Fifteen years growing up together meant nothing to him, I guess.

The big riverside house came into view at the end of an equally impressive driveway. A shame for whoever had to go and collect the mail every morning. 

“Stay here, in the car,” Arthur barked. 

I opened the door and got out of the car, kicking a few stones. Man this place was flashy; a big fountain in the circular driveway, a line of cars over by a garage. Not to mention the very obvious multi-million dollar mansion that never seemed to end.

“Lord, give me the strength to not strangle this child,” Arthur sighed, marching to the front door. I snickered, he was always so uptight.

“Not a child, Arthur,” I countered. “Just turned 21. You’d know that if you ever bothered to check up.”

“Give it a rest, Ira. We’re trying to help you since you clearly don’t understand the basic human morals of being a functioning member of society,” Dana said, opening the trunk, catching a bag as it tumbled from the stack.

“Sorry that I don’t like to conform to the idealistic fantasy that is modern society.” 

Was it my plan to break into that restaurant and pose as waiters to make a few extra dollars? Yes, it absolutely was. And it was genius plan that if someone didn’t fuck up, it would’ve worked flawlessly. It ended with me in handcuffs and my ass sitting on the curb until Dana came to pick me up. 

Was it also my idea to drive four fucking hours away from my hometown to the middle of nowhere to be babysat? Abso-fucking-lutely not. 

“Get your stuff,” Dana dropped a few things to the ground. 

I came around the side of the car and heard the door open, and that lovely voice of his ring through my head. 

Great. This is going to go fantastic.

“Arthur? W-What are you doing here?” Cassian said. 

Cassian, six-foot-five and one hell of a bastard. He knew just how to get under your skin and make you want to punch him in the face. Which I had done on more than one occasion when he dug too deep. 

“Cassian, good to see you,” the old man said, extending his hand. “We uhh… we have something for you.”

“I don’t understand.”

I could hear the crunch of gravel and I knew what was about to happen. Any second now I was about to be publicly humiliated. I wish it was still the 1500’s where they parade you down the street and then execute you so I could at least see all the resentment on everyone’s faces.

“Dana!” I could practically hear that obnoxious grin in his voice before I could see it. “I was not expecting you guys, come in this is so awesome to-”

“She’s not the surprise, Cass,” Arthur clapped him on the shoulder and walked to the back of the car. There was a sharp yank on my elbow and I damn near tripped over him. He must’ve grown again because he was a lot taller than the last time I saw him. “She is.” “Ira?” He squinted, as if he could ever mistake me for someone else. “Holy shit, I didn’t even know you were still around.” “You’d know that if you ever bothered to check up on me,” I couldn’t be bothered to be pleasant. Nothing about this would be fucking pleasent.

Cassian looked from Arthur to Dana, then back to me. And to the duffle bag that I was holding on to. I could see him connecting the dots inside his thick-ass skull. “No. No no no.”

“Cassian, she needs someone to look after her,” Dana expressed, chasing after him when he turned inside. 

“You cannot just plop her on my doorstep like some stray dog,” Cass shouted, throwing his arms in the air and all around.

“She’s your sister, for fucks sake,” Arthur joined. “She needs you to look after her. Since you left Ira has done nothing but cause me a headache and gray hairs.”

“I’m right here, you know,” I walked over, throwing the bag down. “And I’d appreciate if you talked about me like a fucking human being, not some gag gift that is always shuffled around at christmas because no one wants it.”

“I have a family to take care of, I cannot take you in, Ira. I have too much going on.”

“Some things never change,” I huffed. “See, I told you he wouldn’t give me the time of day.”

“Now, let's just take this down a couple of notches, okay? It has been a long drive so why don’t we just go inside and-”

“Cass? What’s going on?” 

Cassian scrunched his face, and my eyes went to the door, a pretty woman standing there with her arms folded. She had a scowl on her face and narrow eyes. Her long brown hair was braided over her shoulder. 

“Nothing, these people were just-”

“Who’s here?” Another voice, a man, asked next. Now, if I had died and gone to heaven and you told me that was an angel, I’d believe you. 

Cassian muttered something under his breath and rubbed his forehead. “Nesta, Rhys, this is Arthur and Dana. My foster parents from years ago. And this… this is my sister.”

“Your sister?” Both of them exclaimed at the same time. He didn’t even tell them about me? Some fucking brother he is. I didn’t want to be here, but now I really wanted to see where this was going to go. It could be entertaining.

“They were just-” “Come in come in,” the man stepped down and shook Arthur's hand. “I am Rhysand, call me Rhys. Welcome, we are so pleased to have you. Cassian never mentioned having visitors today.”

“It wasn’t planned,” Dana let out the fakest laugh I’ve ever heard. She was one of those people who, when nervous, laughed after every sentence. Like come on lady, grow a set and just say what you really mean it’s not that hard. 

I smiled victoriously as Arthur and Dana were escorted inside. When I looked up at Cassian, he had rage in his eyes. “Good to see you too, Cassie.”

“Do not,” he pointed at me. “You are not staying here, whenever this little tour is over, you’re gone with them.”

“Gladly.” 

I closed the trunk and followed behind a storming Cassian. His shoulders might as well have been pinned to his ears. It looked like a stick was shoved up his ass. 

The house was absolutely massive. I thought shit like this only existed in fairytales, not… wherever the fuck we were. Certainly not my normal run-down streets I was used to. There were cabinets filled with fine dishes and things were on display. Everywhere. I don’t think I have seen so many things before in my life. 

While Cassian pouted in the corner, the man named Rhys showed us all around. He pointed and spoke, but I received a text on my phone. 

Cal: your a piece of shit I hope you know that

Me: You’re* but it’s fine.

Cal: i cannot believe you fucking left me

Me: Whoops. Sorry bud, I couldn’t stick around. You dicked me over so… guess that karma’s a bitch.

Cal: you know I’m bad with names

Me: WE USED EACH OTHERS!!!!!! HOW HARD CAN IT BE TO FORGET MY NAME!

Cal: hopefully pretty fucking easy because I don’t ever want to fucking see you ever again. fuck you ira

Me: Right back atcha, asshole.

Great, now the only person that I had remotely trusted was out of my life. I had no one back in my hometown. No one to remember or care for me. I don’t think I ever had someone in the first place. What happens when you don’t have anyone to teach you right from wrong? What do you get when you mix a traumatized teenager in a city with nothing to do? A hot mess. A hot fucking mess. 

“Oh, and this is my wife Feyre. My darling, this is Arthur, Dana, and Ira, Cassian’s foster parents and his sister,” Rhys spared me a glance and I scrunched my face. Had Cassian really never bothered to tell them about me?

“Wow,” she had a small smile on her pretty face. Why was everyone here so pretty? “You look just like him. You both have the same eyes. And the same hair.”

“Great, what I’ve always wanted to be. Cassian's clone.” I couldn’t stop the eye roll.

“Ira,” Dana hissed. “Some manners?”

“Thank you, your Royal Highness.”

Dana smacked her forehead, mumbling something about gray hairs and a headache again. I chuckled. I thought it was funny. Especially the curtsy. 

“Why don’t you all stay for dinner, I wouldn’t mind getting to know some of Cassian’s family,” Feyre said, that small smile still on her lips. We had all meandered outside to look at their yard, at the fountain in the front of the house. 

To no one's surprise, there was a matching one in the back by the pool. 

“Oh, we really have to get back on the road,” Arthur said, folding his hands together and swaying on his feet. “It was a pleasure getting to meet all of you, it makes me happy knowing that Cassian has found such a great group of successful, intelligent people.”

That last part was vehemently directed at me. 

“Why are you looking at me? Cassian already said that I couldn’t stay.”

“Well I am sure that-”

“Why wouldn’t you stay?” Rhys asked, folding his arms against his chest. 

I looked at Dana and Arthur, patiently waiting for someone to explain it. No takers? Guess it’s my time to shine. “Well, I think it’s because he doesn’t give a flying fuck about-”

“Okay okay,” Cassian interjected, and a devious grin spread across my lips. “Stay for dinner.”

What a two faced son of a bitch. It wasn’t me who decided to leave, it was him. And he’s pissed at me? Not fucking fair. We all went inside, but Cassian lingered at the back of the pack. While Rhys took Dana and Arthur around to the kitchen, Cassian yanked me– why was everyone throwing me around– into a room off to the side. 

“What the fuck did you do this time?”

“Wow, Cassie-”

“Do not call me that.” 

He used to hate it when I called him Cassie. Especially around his friends because they would make fun of him for days after. I loved that. 

“No hi, how are you? No ‘it's good to see that my sister is alive and doing well?’” “Clearly not well enough since they dragged you all the way out here. How the hell did you even find me?” Cassian’s eyes were full of fire. Looks like he still had that canyon of a line between his bushy-ass-eyebrows when he was upset. 

“I know a guy,” I shrugged. Antoine is an amazing man. “But that’s besides the point. Wait… were you purposefully trying to disappear so I wouldn’t be able to find you?”

“What. Did. You. Do?”

I swallowed, I hated when he scolded me. “It wasn’t even that bad. They just gave me community service.”

“Jesus Christ, Ira. What did they want to give you?” Cassian shouted for the whole house to hear. 

“Doesn’t matter, I got myself out of it. Like I always do, without your fucking help. I am capable of taking care of myself without you.”

“Yeah you seem to be doing a swell job,” Cassian looked me up and down, clearly judging my tangled hair and ripped up jeans that I’ve probably had since middle school. “I thought all of this was behind you, Ira. When I left you were-”

“Abandoned. You didn’t leave, you abandoned me.”

Cassian relaxed his shoulders. “You know if I could’ve taken you with me I would’ve.”

“No you wouldn’t have.” I was waiting for him to argue, to deny that fact. But he didn’t, and his haunting silence was enough of an answer. I scoffed, a hard, bitter noise. “You know I don’t blame you, no one would want to take a juvenile delinquent anywhere, especially somewhere like this place.”

“Ira-” “Save you’re fucking breath, Cass. You don’t have to pretend around me, you’ve never had to. Just play along with it for one night and I’ll be gone by the morning. Then I won’t have to be your liability to shoulder ever again.”

I didn’t wait around to see his response. Somewhere deep inside I was actually excited to see him. To meet the person my scrawny, gangly brother had turned into. Now he was… a man. Like a real man. I never thought I’d see him with long hair, but here we are. He was tall and muscular and had long hair. Shoulder length, but the longest I’ve ever seen it. It suited him. 

He looked healthy. He looked happy. For fucks sake he was engaged. Albeit to the most terrifying looking woman I’ve ever seen, but they looked like they somehow worked. I feel like Nesta and I would be great friends. Cause a lot of trouble together. Piss off Cass together

I found Dana and Arthur with glasses of wine around a large table, two other women that I hadn’t met yet. 

“Ahh, this is her,” Rhys stood up, putting his hands on my shoulders. “This is Ira, Cassian’s sister.”

“After all this time,” a pretty blonde woman spoke, looking at me from head to toe. “Who knew Cassian could keep you a secret.”

“You look just like him,” a girl who looked similarly to Feyre said, eyes wide. “I’m Elain. And that’s Morrigan.”

“Mor is fine, dear,” Mor smiled, coming over to me and Rhys. “Would you like to see the rest of the house?”

“Absolutely,” I grinned, linking her elbow with mine when she offered. I knew Cassian had walked into the room because of his massive feet against the floor. He said something, but I didn’t care because I was giggling with Mor as we rounded a corner to a set of stairs. 

“I know Elain said this already, but fuck you look like Cassian,” she laughed, opening a room and revealing a giant bed with a balcony on the other side of some french doors. 

“It gets really fucking annoying,” I rolled my eyes. “You don’t have something I could change into, do you?”

“Oh, of course. Let's go find you something. You were saying about Cassian?”

“Right, it’s a constant reminder of that prick every time I look in the mirror.”

“Uh oh, trouble in paradise?”

“Trouble in a goddamn nightmare,” I groaned, sitting on the corner of her bed while she rummaged through a closet. “I mean, it has been five years since I’ve seen the guy, and he still looks like the same idiot who used to pay me to do his laundry.”

“He what?” Mor gasped.

“Yeah. He threw one red sock in with the whites and vowed to neer do it again. So I, the natural entrepreneur, snagged up the opportunity to take his allowance. Five bucks a wash was a good deal considering he needed to have a load done twice a week. And god did it smell.”

“Well, in the five years since I’ve known him, it hasn’t gotten any better. And suddenly it makes a lot more sense when I see Rhys doing more laundry than anyone else. Interesting.”

I shook my head. I guess things haven't really changed. I’ve been saying that way too much in the past half hour we’ve been here. Could this go any slower? Like seriously, why couldn’t Dana and Arthur leave, then I would pretend to be good for a few hours until the sun goes down. I’ll make my way to the nearest bus stop and hitch-hike it all the way back. 

Mor came out and held up a gorgeous top; it was a powder blue color with a square neckline and long, puff sleeves. She tossed it my way and then ran back in there for something on the bottom. 

“What’s your style? Skirt? Jeans? Leggings?” Mor called, and by the muffled noise, I could tell her closet was huge. 

A dream. 

“I’ll take a skirt if you have one,” I said, rubbing the fabric between my fingers. “Leather maybe? Or just black.”

“You’ve got good taste,” she smirked, coming out and handing me a black leather skirt. “Exactly what I would’ve gone with. The bathroom is right through there, I’m gonna head back down stairs and just come down whenever you’re ready. Oh, and if you want to do your hair, everything is in the drawer in the vanity. The big one on the right.”

I looked at her with soft eyes. I’ve always wanted to have a sister to do all that girly shit with. To gossip and do makeup at three in the morning, giggling and laughing until we can’t breathe. 

But I can’t get too attached. She’s clearly just being nice, just being a good person. I know nothing about her, I can’t just trust her. 

So I nodded, heading off and closing the door behind me. Fuck. This was a big ass bathroom. A huge freestanding tub and an equally impressive shower. 

I shed my shirt and folded it up haphazardly, same with my jeans. The shirt she gave me made my boobs look fantastic. There wasn’t a ton there, but more than enough to fill out the shirt. The skirt was a bit of a different story. Clearly Mor had never been to a gym because there was no way my ass was fitting in that. 

Thankfully I had learned a trick from a friend. That friend was the internet. And that trick was a skill I had developed from stealing whatever clothes I could get my hands on. I had to make it work somehow. But I found a hair tie and looped it through the hole where the button was in the middle, hooking it around the button and back through. 

As good as it was going to get. 

My hair wasn’t awful, just a little greasy and wind blown from being outside. There was some dry shampoo and a comb. It would do the trick. 

Much like everyone has already pointed out, the hair that Cassian and I shared was a little unruly. It only curled through the ends and was wavy the rest of the way. And the baby hairs? Forget about it, I was better just cutting them off. 

I looked in the mirror. Well… it was certainly an outfit. I definitely had an appropriate amount of clothes on my body for a family dinner. The shirt only came up to my underboob and the skirt barely covered where my ass met my thighs. 

It did wonders for my self confidence. Guess it’ll have to do.

When I got back downstairs, there was a light chatter in the air. But it stopped the second I walked in the room. Especially when Dana saw what I was wearing. 

No one spoke as I sat down and poured some water from the pitcher into my glass. I made sure to make my sip as obnoxious and dramatic as possible. Man I was starving.  

Thankfully conversation between Rhys, Feyre, and Dana resumed and the silence wasn’t eating me alive. I took out my phone and scrolled through instagram, posting a picture of a lake I had taken on my up here. It was a semi nice drive, very peaceful, but very very far from the shit-hole I used to call home. 

“How do all of you know each other?” Arthur asked. 

“Well I met Cassian when we were in high school, as well as our other friend Azriel. We made a deal with each other that when we graduate, we would do everything in our power to become the most powerful business owners we could. As you can see, that little pact is working quite well.” “How long have you lived here?” Dana asked next, clearly eyeing up Rhys. 

“For about three years now?” Mor answered, Rhys nodded. “We kind of all found each other on the same paths and stuck together. We sort of own and share everything around here.”

“That is lovely,” Dana smiled. “And what do you do?”

“I own a casino and a neighboring hotel,” Rhys smiled. All the alarm bells were going off in my head. A big cartoon ‘cha-ching’ right there with it. He ran a casino? And a hotel? Oh boy this could be good. “Cassian runs the whole thing, and Azriel kind of has his own thing.”

“Who’s Azriel?” Arthur unfolded the napkin and laid it across his lap. 

“He is our other friend,” Cassian butted in, lips pressed in that line that I remembered. “He’ll be by later.”

“Great,” I rolled my eyes. “More people.”

“Will you please be polite for once in your life?” Dana whisper-yelled, clearly not being discrete enough since everyone looked at us. 

I just shut my mouth, grinding my teeth. It’s not worth it, it's not worth it, I told myself. A few moments later, a large tray with some type of bird on it came out. It was too big to be a chicken, but too small to be a turkey? Duck maybe? I don’t know, it didn’t matter. It was food. 

Everyone around me took their time while I ate like a heathen. Putting a little bit of everything on my plate and scarfing it down like someone was going to take it away from me. 

It was so funny to see the look of pure hatred and disgust on Cassian’s stupid face. 

I swear, pissing off a sibling, especially an older one, has got to be the most satisfying thing in the world. Except for maybe sex. That was a close second.

And whatever this food was was a close third. 

“So, Ira. What do you like to do?”

Here we go. 

“I kind of have many hobbies.” I could see Cassian’s eyes narrow from across the table. 

“Like?” Rhys stuck a green bean in his mouth.

“Uhh, f-fashion. And I’m very good at handling money. Other people's money. As well as picking locks and hotwiring cars-”

“She’s joking,” Cassian gave the fakest laugh– besides Dana’s– that I’ve ever heard. “We used to play cops and robbers when we were little, she always wanted to be the robber.”

“Did I?’”

“Yes,” he practically growled. “You did.”

This was crazy. This was actually crazy to be doing this right now. If I had any particular feeling about the things I did, guilty and ashamed were not some of them. Who gave a fuck if I stole from Walmart or faked being a waitress to make a few extra bucks? If anything they should be thanking me for the extra set of hands. Which they didn’t have to pay for. 

It wasn’t like I stole the Mona Lisa for fucks sake. 

“I guess I did.” 

“What was Cassian like growing up? I can only imagine some of the stories you have,” Nesta chimed in from next to Cassian.

“Oh my god one time, Cassian was making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich-”

“Do not-”

“And he thought that the peanut butter was in the fridge for some reason. Turns out he grabbed a bottle of dijon mustard and used that instead. He took one bite and threw up everywhere. It took Dana a week to get the smell out of the kitchen.”

Everyone grimaced, poking fun at Cassian for making a jelly-mustard sandwich. “I guess that explains the nausea every time I make one.”

“You still can’t stomach even the smell?” My eyes were a little wide. That had to have been from when we were still in elementary school.

“Nope,” Cassian’s tone was harsh, fork forceful as it went into his mouth. 

“Ira told me that you used to pay her to do your laundry because you fucked it up one time,” Mor snickered from her corner, Elain covering her lips with her hand to keep the water inside her mouth. 

“Seriously?” Cassian glared at me. 

“Hey, she asked. Those are trade sibling secrets, I wouldn’t dare give those away without something in return,” I gestured to my new outfit. Just and FYI, I would’ve told Mor regardless.

“Yes you would.” 

Yes, I absolutely would. “Lighten up,” here it comes, “Cassie.”

Cheers and laughs raised in the air, Rhys punching Cassian in the shoulder and saying the nickname over and over again. He gave me the nastiest look, but I just tipped my glass towards him. 

“What is everyone laughing about?” A new voice said from over my shoulder. When I turned to look… holy mother of Jesus fucking-

“Azriel,” Rhys, still in a fit of laughter. “Listen to this. Our beloved Cassie used to pay his sister to do his laundry. And I found out the reason he runs away whenever any of us set peanut butter on the counter.”

“Sister?” 

Okay, I was surely in heaven. Or hell, and he was some sort of demon prince because… someone help me. If I thought Rhys was attractive then… fuck he’s hot. Unnaturally hot. Otherworldly hot.

“Azriel, this is my sister. Ira,” Cassian gestured to me without looking. “This is Azriel.”

He was so hot. That was the only thing going through my mind. He was exactly my type. And he was fucking ripped. I could tell. I didn’t need to see under the shirt he was barely wearing. It was so tight in all the right places. Fuck he was pretty to look at. 

“Nice to meet you,” I tumbled out. 

Azriel gave a not-so-subtle look at me, but didn’t say anything as he moved to sit with us. Unfortunately he sat on the other side of Mor, who was to my left so I wouldn’t be able to look at him. That’s all I wanted to do was just drink him in and think about those massive fucking hands on my-

A sharp kick to my shin had me wincing. When I looked up, Cassian met my heated gaze. 

Don’t even think about it, he mouthed, sliding a thumb across his throat.

One raise of my eyebrow told him I was up for the challenge. I could see his jaw clench, and that only made me more enticed. Azriel was hot, and so was I. I’d make it happen one way or another. 

I couldn’t have told you what happened next, I was far too busy thinking about Azriel. Man he was… he was so fucking good looking. He had these lighter colored eyes, hazel I think. And a dark mess of hair. I’m sure he looked like a Greek god under those clothes of his, too. 

“And you’re engaged? That’s wonderful, Cassian. I am so happy for you,” Dana gushed while looking at Nesta’s ring. “Congratulations, you two. Do you have a date picked out?”

“No,” Nesta said sternly. “We are just going to wait things out. Until both of us feel ready.”

Cassian nodded, not offering up any words. 

“What would you guys like for dessert?” Rhys asked, listing off a few options. I stopped paying attention after chocolate cake because who would want to hear anything else?

“I’m afraid we better get on the road, it is a long drive back to our home. Thank you for dinner, it was delicious,” Arthur stood up from the table, shaking Rhys’s hand. “Cassian, a word, please?”

With a deep breath, Cassian stood up and followed the old man out of the room. 

“Okay, now that he’s gone, can we all agree that there is something wrong with him? I’ve never seen him so… so rigid in my life,” Mor blew out air from her lips, shaking her head. 

“I think I better uhh… better explain a little bit.” My heart sped up a bit. “Dana and Arthur are kind of fed up with me so they’re just gonna take off. And leave me here. But don’t worry, I’m just gonna find a bus stop in the morning and be gone before any of you wake up. No biggie.”

The room was silent except for my fork scratching on the plate. When I looked up, everyone was looking at me funny.

“Ira, what? They’re gonna leave you here?” “It is a long story. And they think I need a role model to get my life together. Why Cassian is that role model I’ll never understand because the last I knew of him he was just as irresponsible as I was.”

Rhys took a sip of wine, “How long has it been since you’ve seen each other?”

“Five-six years now I think? I don’t know, I stopped counting after eight months,” I shrugged. Truth is I haven’t stopped counting the days since he left. I took a big piece of this chocolate cake into my mouth. “Fuck, this is good.”

“What happened?”

“We are lightyears away from you being able to ask that,” I laughed. “No offense but, it’s none of your fucking business.”

Again, the room was silent, except for a small snort at the end of the table. It wasn’t Elain because she was so red she looked like she was gonna pass out. And the only other one was Azriel. 

“Hint taken,” Rhys pressed his lips in a flat line. “Well, you are Cassian’s family, so you are always welcome in our home.”

“Trust me, I don’t want to be here any more than you want me to be. I’ll figure it out, I always have. It’ll be like I was never here,” I took another forkful and shoved it in. Damn, I was gonna miss this cake. “So, Rhys, you own a casino and a hotel. What do the rest of you do?” 

“Well, Cassian runs the casino and hotel,” Rhys pointed out again. “Azriel owns and runs the adjacent club attached. We basically have our own empire here.”

“Sounds fun,” I smirked. He owned a club? Could he get any hotter? “What about you Mor.”

“I am the best fucking bartender this place has seen,” her grin matched my own. “And I model here and there.” “Badass.” “I have an art studio. I teach classes and do some workshops,” Feyre said. “But most of the time I am at home with our son Nyx. He is… he’s a handful. A spoiled handful.”

“Hey,” Mor said, “to be fair, he is the first kid in our group, what did you expect?”

“He’s barely two, he doesn’t need designer clothes that he won’t fit into after a few months anyway. It's a waste of money.”

“Feyre, darling, I don’t know if you’ve looked around, but we kind of have a lot of money. It could use some wasting,” Rhys patted her thigh under the table. 

I can only hope to have enough financial security to be able to say sentences like that. They could probably retire right now, all of them, and never make a dent in their fortune. Lucky bastards. 

“What is it that you do, Ira?” Azriel poked his head from around Mor. 

“Oh,” fuck fuck fuck fuck. What the hell was I supposed to say? Certainly the fact that I commit petty crimes won’t go over well. “I’ve had a lot of jobs. I don’t have a set career yet.”

“So hot-wiring cars is just a hobby then?” 

A stream of water shot out of Mor’s mouth and onto the table. How did he even hear that?

“It’s a skill. Don’t come crying to me when your battery dies and you don’t wanna pay a hundred and fifty dollars for Triple A to come and pick up your ass,” I deflected. Another skill I had built up over the years. 

“And the locks?” Wow, he was kind of an asshole with supersonic hearing. I could see why he and Cassian hung around together. 

“I was a locksmith,” I mustered up my best smile and scooted my chair so I was sitting at an angle.

“Ah, so it wasn’t just the ‘cops and robbers’ you and Cassie used to play growing up. Good to know,” Azriel wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin. He stood up, saying something about having to leave because he had to open up. Just as he was walking by, I stuck my toe into the walkway and he tripped over me. 

Azriel all but went through the wall, Cassian coming around at the last second and catching his arm. 

“You alright?” He asked as Azriel straightened himself out. 

“Yup. Fine.” The glare he gave me sent a shiver down my spine and a smirk curled at my lips. Two can play that game, mother fucker. 

I, very gracefully, scratched the corner of my nose with my middle finger. He got the message. But so did Cassian.

“Your stuff is in the driveway. Go get it and meet me upstairs.” Cassian looked so pissed off. His shoulders were pinned to his ears again as he stalked away, that silence settling back in the room. 

“Guess that’s my cue to get a move on. Thank you everyone, a pleasure to meet you all,” I said with a genuine tone. They were all cool, and some part of me wishes I could have what they all have. Trust in one another. 

The three duffle bags and backpack were not light as I carried them up the stairs, trying not to knock over all the decorations and pictures on the wall. One of them didn’t survive. It crashed all the way down and shattered on the hardwood floor. Cassian cursed from somewhere. 

With a thud, I let go of all the bags in some random room at the end of the hall. It was barely big enough to call a hobbit hole. There wasn’t a window or a real bed, just some cot with a pillow and a blanket. “Glamourous.”

“It’s the best that I could do,” Cassian all but rolled his eyes. 

“A couch would’ve been better,” I plopped down on the taught fabric, bouncing a little. “Sorry about the frame.” “It’s fine,” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, Ira I’m sorry about how I left you.” “Yeah well apologies don’t mean a fucking thing to me unless you fix it, Cassian,” I folded my arms over my chest. “And for the record, I would’ve understood if you would’ve just fucking told me what was going on. Instead, not only did you not tell me, you ghosted me.” “I know.” I just blinked up at him, waiting for an explanation. “Well?”

Nothing. Not even a strangled breath. “I just had to.”

“That’s the best you can do? Are you seriously still that fucking thick in the head?” “I didn’t have a choice, Ira,” he shouted. 

“Yes,” I nodded. “You absolutely had a choice. You could’ve at least left me a fucking note with a number on it so I could talk to you. You were all I had, Cass. All I fucking had and you just disappeared. What did you expect me to do?"

Cassian shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I-I don’t know. I thought you’d get yourself together and make it out too. Build your own empire, like the one we have here.”

“In case you forgot, I didn’t get to finish school like you did.”

“Well that’s not my fault.”

The fucking nerve. I stood up, barely coming to his chest, and smacked him across the face. His head jerked to the side, and his mouth fell open. I shoved him into the wall on the other side of the hallway and he fell into it. 

“You are a piece of fucking shit Cassian.”

“Ira-” “Did you really think that I would end up alright without you there? Could you really be that fucking stupid?”

“I didn’t think that-”

“Of course you didn’t. You never have. You’ve only ever thought about yourself and what would benefit you. You never gave a shit about me, I was just a burden you couldn’t get rid of.” “That’s not true,” he gritted his teeth. 

“Tell me that I am not a constant reminder of dad. Or mom. Tell me.” I waited for a response. When nothing came, I felt the nausea roll through my body. “You are one sorry son of a bitch Cassian.”

“Jesus Ira you think I wanted to abandon you?” “You haven’t given me one other reason to believe anything different,” I was screaming now. I didn’t care if anyone else heard. “The last memory I have of you is seeing you packing a fucking bag and climbing out your window, what else am I supposed to believe about you?”

A door clicked open, and Azriel emerged. He looked at us with raised eyebrows. He had changed into all black. Fuck him and his good looks and his perpetually messy hair that I wanted to tug on. 

“Everything alright?” 

No, you fucking prick. 

“Just re-kindling our sibling rivalry,” I gave a mocking look, staring down Azriel. “Mind your own damn business. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Ira,” Cassian said, somewhat appalled. 

“Just fuck off, Cassian,” I waved my hand at him. “Like I said, I’ll be gone in the morning and you don’t ever have to worry about making it up to me again because you won’t be able to. Hope you are happy living in your perfect little bubble with your perfectly little circle. Hope they’re all more important to you than I ever was.”

I slammed the door shut quicker than he could get a response out, leaning against it. I hadn’t ever realized that I was shaking.

Whatever. Fuck him too. I don’t need Cassian. I haven’t needed him for the past six years. God, had it really been that long?

There was no use in unpacking so I just piled the bags in the corner of the room. And there was also nothing to do besides lay down simply because there wasn’t enough room to do anything else. 

Maybe when everyone has gone to sleep, or home, I’ll go sneak around. Take something just to piss him off. Nothing too valuable, but something really inconvenient like all the salt and pepper shakers or all the spoons. Or one of the Corvettes in the driveway. 

I could easily pick out which one was his; the yellow one with the black stripes on the hood. He always loved to be bold. How he fit in there I’ll never know.

My mind was racing with thoughts, but eventually I had fallen asleep because the sun was peeking through the crack under my door. I stirred and sat up, tucking my boob back into the shirt since it slipped out. Not my proudest moment for sure. 

I changed into a hoodie and some other jeans, folding the shirt and skirt up to give back to Mor. It didn’t feel right to take them. She didn’t do anything wrong. 

With far more precision, I made it downstairs to the front door. It unlocked easily, thankfully no alarm system went off. The chill of the early morning greeted me and I slipped out silently. 

Fuck, this driveway was long. Couldn’t they be normal and have a normal fucking sized driveway? It was so unnecessary. 

And of course there was nothing at the end of it. Just the road and nothing else. Not another house or anything. Who knows how far it could be until a bus station. Hopefully this place wasn’t filled with a bunch of weirdos and I wouldn’t get kidnapped. 

The thought of carrying all these bags for miles would tear up my back and shoulders. I didn’t have that much but… I needed all of it. 

“Ira!”

I whirled around and saw a Cassian shaped silhouette coming down the driveway. Oh great. 

“Come to demand I pay for the broken frame?” “Stay.”

What? “What?”

Cassian breathed heavily, “Stay. I-I am so sorry for what I said. And you’re right, I don’t ever think of anyone other than myself. And I’m sorry I never told you where I was going. I want to fix it, but I can’t if you don’t at least let me try.”

I dropped the bags, totally not believing what I was hearing. “And what if I don’t give a flying fuck if you want to or not?”

Cassian completely deflated. “Please, Ira. I made a promise to Dana and Robert that I would look after you. I miss you. There hasn’t been a day that’s gone by where I don’t feel like a piece of shit for what I did."

So what if he made a promise to Dana and Arthur? He made a promise to me first. To always stick together. To always be there. He hung me out to dry before I even had a chance to notice. 

I fucking hated Cassian. More than anything right now I wanted to watch him be boiled alive. Could he really even help me anyway? What was the fucking point of any of this? I was already humiliated, and dragging innocent people into my bullshit surely didn’t help. 

Throw Cassian back into the mix and my kleptomaniac behaviors will definitely skyrockets. 

“Why should I?”

“Because what other option do you realistically have?” 

“That is not fair,” I flare my nostrils. “You have no right to waltz back into my life and pretend you give a shit about me.”

“You were the one who was dropped on my doorstep,” Cassian pointed out, making my stomach drop. 

“You know, you’re doing a shit job at showing that you legitimately want me to stay, asshole.” I was getting a little angry. Good things did not happen when I felt betrayed. “And for the record, I tried to talk them out of bringing me here, but they went around me and got a fucking court order. So, whether you want to believe it or not, it was not my choice to be here. I can’t even go back with Dana and Arthur because there will be a warrant out for my arrest.”

“Shit…” Cassian dragged a hand over his face. “Ira I’m-”

“Sorry. I know. But you lost the privilege of my forgiveness long ago. It is gonna take a hell of a lot more than ‘I’m sorry’ to fix what you’ve done to me.”

“I know, I know,” Cassian softened his eyes and his voice, standing tall in front of me. “Just… give me something. Anything, and I will never betray you ever again.”

Should I believe him? I have no fucking idea what to do. All my alarm bells are telling me to run and don’t look back, but that gaping pit in my stomach is melting into him and those stupid fucking puppy dog eyes of his. So unfair. 

This was gonna be a rough fucking time. Nothing about this was going to be easy, but… he was right. I didn’t have another option. And maybe there was something salvageable between Cassian and I. It would take a hell of a lot of convincing to be able to trust him ever again, but he was still Cassie. That same smug son of a bitch who gave the best hugs in the world. 

If he wanted me to stay, there were going to have to be some sacrifices on his end. Mostly just to piss him off and make him sulk. 

“I want a real fucking room.”

“Any one in the house.”

“I want yours.”

“Absolutely not,” Cassian furrowed his brow. “Plus, I don’t even live here anymore. Just Rhys, Feyre and Nyx. Nesta, Azriel and I live in the next town.”

“So what, you all just visit together and pretend to be a big happy family?” I scoffed, kicking a stone. 

“We don’t pretend, Ira,” he didn’t say it rudely, but more matter of fact-ly. And he looked at me like I had never known what a family was. I guess he forgot that when he left it kind of ruined me. Or again maybe he just didn’t care what it would do to me back then. 

Cassian looked sad. Not depressed or upset, just sad. 

“Your room or I’m gonna walk away right now.” There was no room for negotiating in my voice. I could see the conflict in his eyes, but with a sigh he gave in. 

“Fine, you can have my room here,” Cassian rolled his eyes dramatically. 

“Was that so hard?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Actually it was. I spent weeks designing that room. All for it to go to fucking waste.” “Sucks to suck I guess,” I smirked, shouldering two of my bags. “I’m gonna work hard, you know. I’m tired of always being in the fucking mud.”

“Yes, you are going to work hard. You’re going to have to follow some rules and check in. And you’re gonna have a curfew.”

“A curfew? What am I, thirteen?”

“Until you can prove to me that you’re not gonna go and rob a bank, yes, you’ll have a curfew,” Cassian picked up my other bags and started walking back to the house. “We’re gonna find you a job because I will not be funding your operation.”

“What happened to ‘we have a lot of money. It could use some wasting’?”

“Rhys wasn’t wrong,” Cassian said. “But just because we have it doesn’t mean you get access to it.”

“Jeez, sorry I brought it up, grumpy pants,” my turn to roll my eyes. “And what kind of rules anyway?”

“We’ll talk about it later. Some of us like to get a full eight hours of sleep every day so I am going back to bed. You’re not allowed to leave the house until I say so, so find something to do.”

“Or someone,” I whispered to myself. But Cassian heard. “A joke.”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you eye fucking Azriel,” Cassian practically gagged. “That is one of your rules. You are not allowed to be engaged with him in any type of way. The last thing he needs right now is you.”

“Right to the heart.”

“I mean it, he’s been through a lot the past year and a half. It took him a long time to get to where he is and I won’t let you ruin it for him,” Cassian said possessively. “He, along with everyone else, is my family. Fuck with them and you’re dealing with me.” “News flash, buddy, so am I. We share the same DNA, and hair and eyes according to everyone else on the fucking planet,” I genuinely could not see it. 

“Ira, I’m serious. If you fuck around with Azriel and I find out I sweat to-”

“Jesus, calm down Vengeance. Gotham is safe from the Joker,” I followed him inside, clicking the door shut behind me. “I won’t get involved with Azriel.”

“Good.”

Life is too short to not fuck who you want, who gives a shit about what other people think. Sorry Cassian, but I am gonna fucking break that promise if it’s the last thing I do. And so help me god when I do get my hands on him because I’ll never let go.

#acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #azriel #acotar fandom #acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel x ofc #azriel x oc #a court of thorns and roses #acosf #cassian acotar #acomaf #acowar #acotar fic

[bambamramfan]

Scott Alexander just de-paywalled this piece, and I agreed enough with its perspectives and understanding of fantasy narratives that I wanted to make sure other people saw it.

But I disagreed enough that I wanted to spend a lot of time describing what it misses.

First off, he says "Each part of the fantasy universe has a load-bearing psychological function." Psychological, as a word, goes too far and is misleading here. Scott is entirely correct to look at these elements in functional terms: what do elves, and magic swords, and ancient civilizations DO to the narrative? And we find more enjoyable and memetic stories benefit from these functions, so we end up seeing them over and over again. But it's not a psychological need. It's not about the inner-workings of our mind, it's about the structure of stories that lets them flow well. It would be like saying that the fact that airlines list too-low ticket prices and recover it with hidden fees has a psychological basis, when it's more proximately caused by a broken market system.

For instance, one common fantasy trope Scott didn't mention, but is completely obvious, is the "disposable, unredeemable race or nation." Many fantasy stories have a large army that is either evil-in-essence, or immediately threatening, such that we have no moral qualm about seeing the heroes kill as many of them as possible. Why? Because it makes it a fun "tactical" game of how many soldiers can the "good guys" kill. That's a fun story! It's not because psychologically we want to dehumanize our enemies. It's because Gimli and Legolas's race for who can kill more orcs is a simple and narratively entertaining device.

Scott talked about Unsong in relation to this essay, and I really wonder if his reaction to that was "why Unsong doesn't do these things" or "Unsong leaned into these." Because well, Unsong has many of these tropes. The laptop with a talmudic AI on it is a macguffin. The angels are an ancient civilization. Etc.

Scott undersells just how rich the function of the ancient civilization is. He's correct that the ancients are a way to imbue the magic sword/whatever with non-reproducible power, but it's deeper than that. Many stories and ideologies are "prelapsarian" which means they describe an Edenic time "before the Fall" where everything was right and harmonious. Somehow they got corrupted and we now live in a fallen world where evil runs free. Our heroes, at least in part, want to return to that purity (even if in some aspects it is impossible.) That's what the ancient civilization is really: Eden.

I am stymied by the race question: why do fantasy stories keep going back to elves and dwarves, and sometimes halflings or goblins or dragons, but with extremely little diversity in the type of being we could share a world with. What necessary function do these specific races serve? There are several HALF descriptions that explain a little of this, but don't go the full way: 1. The most thoughtful fantasy authors see these humanoid races as standins for groups in human society, and think you should just write human-only fantasy to wrestle with those questions properly. 2. The people who are most interested in writing genuinely alien intelligences, just write science fiction. 3. Elves and Dwarves DO serve specific functions. Even though every different story has a twist on their elves and dwarves, they do all share some sort of class-identity. In short, Elves are french aristocrats, and Dwarves are semetic scottish. Elves are the groups higher on the class ladder, who are more beautiful, longer-lived, quieter, taller, and more tranquil and quieter (also more tragic.) Dwarves are the groups lower on the class ladder, who are rougher and more practical, more scientific or at least technologically-focused, and whose lives are more easily spent by the narrative. Most fantasy societies are gonna have a "higher class" and a "lower class" standin, and they might as well be Elves and Dwarves anyway. 4. Tolkien did not invent Elves, or Dwarves, or Halflings, or Dragons. But all of these are very old in mythology, and fantasy is much more interested in telling twists on 1000-year old stories, than it is about adding wholly new elements (if only because of what sells.)

[leogichidaa]

Lovable Except for that Terrible Period: The Upbringing of Remus Lupin

I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about the Pottermore information on Remus, in particular the narrative around Greyback biting him and his childhood before Hogwarts.

I'm going to start with addressing the most absurd thing to me in the whole write up: "[Lyall] had parroted what was the common view of werewolves in his community".

Hmm. Did he though? Because if we look back at what was actually described a few paragraphs up:

It sure seems like Lyall's statements were so extreme and hateful that even his coworkers at the Bigotry Against Magical Creatures Department, whose job it was to round up werewolves and place them on a registry, were shocked and offended enough that they kicked him out of the room. His statements clearly fell pretty far outside the norm.

It's important to note that Lyall's bigotry was extreme even for the society he was in because I think it's critical to Remus' development and all the internalized bigotry and shame that Remus carries with him. Lyall did not, imo, go from declaring that all werewolves were soulless, evil, and deserving of death to being completely accepting of werewolves just because his son was bitten. I imagine that he did his best to be a loving parent to Remus, but that he projected his bigotry onto Remus in subtle, covert ways. This line describing his perspective on Remus really drives that home for me: "his son was what he had always been – loveable and clever – except for that terrible period at the full moon".

His son was his son, except when he was a monster. It's explicitly stated that during transformations, Lyall no longer sees his loveable and clever son, he sees a dangerous beast. And I think that absolutely impacts the way Remus sees himself. Remus has such a potent sense of hatred for that aspect of himself and he does everything he can to repress it, run from it, and make amends for it (except when he's with the marauders, who give him a taste of true unconditional acceptance and allow him to enjoy himself even when he is transformed). He cannot accept and integrate his condition into a whole, stable sense of self and I think that is in no small part because Lyall cannot accept and integrate it either.

(As a brief aside, I also think it's important to highlight the minimization of Lyall's actions in the text because I think the way Remus is positioned in the narrative is very telling. This could really be an entire other post, but I do think the way this Pottermore write up falls all over itself to try to make Lyall's bigotry seem minor and sympathetic is...revealing.)

The write up also states that Lyall lied to Remus for years about why Remus was attacked because he worried Remus would blame him. Reading that was a bit of an "aha!" moment for me. Because isn't this what Remus does in PoA? He withholds critical information about Sirius from Dumbledore because he feels so much internal shame and he worries that Dumbledore will think less of him if he tells the truth. Learned behavior.

Final thought:

"Remus was not allowed to play with other children" has me all the way fucked up. I am sure that such an extreme tactic seemed justified given the potential harm that could occur if Remus' condition was discovered, but it definitely impacted the way Remus functions in relationships, i.e. abysmally. He is paranoid that he will be found out and that this will mean that his friends will hate and abandon him because that's what his parents raised him to fear. A justified fear, perhaps, but a debilitating one all the same.

Also, while it maybe makes sense to keep him isolated from other children when he's five and the risk of him letting it slip is very real because he can't understand the potential consequences, his parents keep him isolated up until he is invited to Hogwarts and if Dumbledore hadn't fought above Hope and Lyall's protests to bring him to Hogwarts they might have kept him isolated...forever? It is not surprising that Remus struggles to form and maintain intimate connections when he was taught that even interacting with others was potentially dangerous.

#remus lupin #hp meta #lyall lupin

[reincarnatedcrap]

my current wriothesley observations so far...

*contains spoilers for 4.1 archon quests and wriothesley's story quest.* i am really enjoying wriothesley so much, so here's some observations i've made so far about him. i'll add/edit as i unlock more of his voice lines and story... everything said below is said with love. just because he's an awesome character doesn't mean he also doesn't have flaws and isn't still human.

this man read the 4-hour work week and said bet. he grinded his way to the top, created and documented several robust processes that would run on it's own and then kicked his feet up and watched the mora roll in. he literally gamed the system. (use the prisoners for free manpower and reap the benefits. sounds a little familar.)

he was an angry ass young man. all the shit he'd seen and been put through and (i assume) no one came to his and his siblings aid. so he took matters into his own hands because he didn't believe anyone else would do anything. he's worked hard since becoming Duke to temper that anger. it still comes out when something really gets to him, which is very evident on his character trailer and his end scene in his story quest.

this asshole literally drops people out the airlock into the literal ocean for getting on his bad side '...most people know better than to raise a real stink, while as for those who don’t… there are places where they can go. Just as flowing water can cleanse itself, so can a functioning society get rid of its rot.' - Character Story 2. those bodies are gonna show up Dexter style one day, my man.

he's not lazy, he's efficient, and values his own time.

he likes to play. this idiot enjoys being strategic and gets a kick out of outsmarting people. he's out there roaming around meropide observing everything he can so if anything comes up he's already got a 10-step plan in place to manourve everyone to his liking

he'd be very good at chess (what else is there to do in a prison but play board games? and workout)

wriothesley priotirizes consent and trust. "I am honoured to win your trust."

in saying that, it also feels like he still has some insecurities and doubts, feeling the need to be worthy of someone's trust and earn it in a way that seems like he needs to do something of value to be trusted and valued in return.

his tea obsession is funny. i know this is a game and it isn't all that deep. (i'll make it deep gdi) but it feels like there's something there, a story behind that. either a direct opposition to something he hated as a child, or a need to keep people around him. or something else.

he took up boxing to protect himself and others. no longer was he going to let anyone hurt him again. ever.

he's manipulative, in a 'i'm going to protect you because i know what's up and i enjoy the reactions when i reveal the truth/plot i'm only privy to'

i have so many thoughts so i might part 2 this.

#wriothesley #wriothesley spoilers #4.1 spoilers

[nogacheloveka-blog]

The Bad Sanses somehow ended up in the Backrooms. №12

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This is the translation of the another post from Russian to English. I understand English, but it is very difficult for me to write in English, so I asked chat GPT to help me. I have corrected some parts, but there still may be mistakes.

I thought the inspiration had run out, but no! I am so glad about this fact! Glad that I have the strength to continue drawing and writing the story.

At work, I often have to work overtime, so after the shift, there is only time to eat and sleep. There is hardly any time for researching the wiki and drawing. It doesn't sound very good, but the work itself is not difficult, and I will have money to live 🤷‍♀️

I have read quite a few levels recently. I see that a lot has changed since the last time I was interested in this topic.

I continue my experiment with marking the test from the perspective of different characters =)

Level 5 was not bad. In the sense that it was still a place of indefinite size with a random set of rooms. But they were all getting used to liminal spaces, and the elegant expensive furniture and designer interiors pleased the eye. Especially after the faceless rooms of the previous levels. The only thing that was not pleasing was the presence of people nearby. They were not visible, but the mere thought of them did not allow relaxation.

🌙 For Nightmare, this place was valuable as the first convenient crossroads level. He also hoped to meet the Society of the Lost Hall, as mentioned in the knowledge base. This meeting could bring interesting information if Nightmare could interest them in something. But at the same time, he did not want to encounter the local devil. This meeting did not bode well for his wards. It remained to be hoped that the creature only visited semi-mad loners (Nightmare looked at the thread that made his team part of Error in the eyes of the Backrooms, and calculated the overall level of sanity that resulted. The result was not dismal. He had everything under control).

It also became evident that this world leaves its mark on his wards. They changed in the same way as Nightmare. Gradually. Almost imperceptibly. He tried to ensure that this did not harm their common goal. Indeed, in Dust's case, these changes turned out to be positive and did not cause concern (Nightmare feared that Dust might return to babbling with hallucinations). Moreover, Deathmoth met often and was intelligent enough to slightly fuel Nightmare's negativity. Insects did not possess strong emotions, but they were easily provoked by external influences.

🦴Dast felt a strong fatigue and fell asleep the moment he sat in one of the comfortable soft chairs. The insects snuffling under his clothes no longer bothered him at all, and the tickle of their legs became pleasant and comforting. Butterflies peacefully floated above his head, flying into his skull like dreams.

Rest had a good effect on his morale, awakening hunger. Dust realized how irregularly he had been eating. This explained his profound exhaustion and weakness. Due to stress, he had not been listening to his body's needs and had been hungry for quite a while.

Horror generously made him a sandwich, and Killer (who also had a sandwich in his hands) shared a handful of sweet Flowey Seeds. Dust hadn't felt this good in a long time. But looking at the Almond Water still made him nauseous. He drank very little, giving the remaining liquid to Deathmoth, who followed him in a pack.

The fur at the base of moth wings resembled cat fur. Dust indulged himself in running his fingers carefully over it.

⛔Error decided to delve into studying the code surrounding him. If on the early levels the code didn't seem too complex (was it a warm-up?), now it seemed that some parts became inaccessible to him: links led to empty memory cells, variable values were taken from nowhere and unpredictable changed within loops (it didn't look functional). Understanding what was happening became more difficult. It required focus.

Engrossed, Error didn't immediately notice the danger. At first, it seemed as if someone had touched him. He was already preparing to erupt in anger when he realized that no one was nearby. It wasn't "Someone," but "Something." Another strange impulse passed through space, brushing against the scattered blue strings in the surrounding area. Nightmare seemed to have felt it too, judging by the ripples on his liquid covering and his wary gaze. Error sent more strings around the room (he snapped at the others' attempts to find out what he was doing. The group immediately became wary, and Horror woke up Cross), trying to gather more data on the vector of this impulse. It felt like a growing wind, but it didn't interact directly with objects. The same sensation can be felt during a rapid descent. A tickling sensation in the gut.

When he opened the code editor, something strange was happening with the coordinates (not that these constants were in order before). Right before his eyes, an unknown programmer was creating a loop to calculate the equation for... Wow. Right now, another space was passing through their room. Or rather, not even the room, but one of the points on its plane. Like an infinite silk scarf through a small silver ring. And this point was moving, expanding, as if an invisible tornado (actually an invitation). Theoretically, this should move everything it touches to another place, but the objects in level 5 space remained in place. Several blue strings snapped.

Before Error could warn the others about the danger (you're exaggerating), he fell into a ...0%...

🪓Horror saw Error go into a reboot, typical for transitioning to another level, and managed to grab onto his black jacket. Then his damaged skull rang from hitting the white floor. The Destroyer crashed into his chest a moment later. Cross screamed in surprise nearby, and Dust cursed. Killer behaved fairly quietly, although something loudly cracked after his fall (it's not bones, is it? God, please, no). Horror tried to turn his head to check, but shut down.

⚔️ Cross, perhaps for the first time during his entire stay in the Backrooms, managed to find a comfortable place to sleep. Previously, he always had to sleep on the bare floor or leaning against Horror's massive figure, which was warm and didn't mind frequent tactile contact.

When his rest was interrupted, he had too little time to grasp the situation. He noticed the tense Nightmare and Horror next to Error. In the next second, something seemed to drag him through a bottle neck (the short path felt similar). He plummeted down like a cannonball.

Cross gathered himself and thanks to this, landed on his feet. In contrast to the rest of the group.

Horror fell quite awkwardly, pinned down by the unconscious Error. Cross hurried to drag the Destroyer away and inspect his friend. But everything seemed fine, no serious injuries. His damaged skull hadn't shattered further, even his HP was almost full, just a couple of scratches and bruises. Cross turned to see the others.

Nightmare was found in the distance, looking disoriented. His outlines seemed blurry, and he slumped against the wall (is he in pain?). But as soon as the Keeper of Negativity caught someone else's gaze, he straightened up and quickly assumed a composed demeanor.

🔪Killer fell onto one of the Deathmoths accompanying Dust. Its chitinous wings cracked loudly and finally detached, with several legs bent in the opposite direction. The insect thrashed in agony, and there was little that could help it. The skeleton itself was unharmed and contemplatively watched its "safety cushion." Dust tensely froze, watching the injured butterfly. But before he could come to any decision, the Killer's knife plunged into the Deathmoth, instantly ending its suffering.

Dust was definitely ready to kill him (too bad he held back). Well, that will make the Killer's life more interesting until Dusty cools down. It used to be difficult to provoke him into a fight, but if the lives of a couple of butterflies allow him to capture his attention... the Killer will consider this option in the future. It's interesting, will their group find any more Strange equipment? That would be nice. It seems these items allow for some amusing tricks.

Nevertheless, Dust took the lifeless body of the insect. Was he going to bury it?

---

The group allowed themselves to stay in place until all of them regained consciousness, and then moved forward. Mostly, they encountered empty white corridors with occasional locked passages leading to laboratories and production areas. According to the records, they were on level 15. And it was unpleasant. There were no clear exits on this level, and the way they got here was hard to describe as... reproducible. Seriously, what the hell?

One of the laboratories was open. Inside, there was futuristic medical equipment that Dust immediately tried to use. Surprisingly, it worked! The dead insect came back to life, but its coloration changed (these colors triggered unpleasant memories).

The next significant event was the appearance of a human.

Nightmare belongs to Jokublog Killer belongs to RahafWabas Dust belongs to Ask-DustTale Horror belongs to Sour-Apple-Studios Error belongs to CrayonQueen Cross belongs to JakeiArtwork

#bad sanses #cross sans #dust sans #error sans #horror sans #killer sans #nightmare sans #the backrooms #au #undertale au #bad guys in backrooms #bad sans gang #art #undertale #utmv #level 15

[disabledunitypunk]

A Conversation About Demedicalization and Disorders

Let's talk about demedicalization. What is demedicalization? The Open Education Sociology Dictionary defines demedicalization as "The process by which a behavior or condition, once labeled 'sick', becomes defined as natural or normal." It is the process of normalizing a trait of the body or brain or behavior as a normal variance of human existence, rather than a pathological variance in need of treatment or correction.

Put simply, it is no longer looking at something as a sickness in need of treatment, but rather just another way of existing.

Some background info that is needed: the social and medical models of disability.

The medical model posits that the existence of disability is predicated on inherent pathological differences in the bodymind, that it is active physical limitations, some of which can be treated or "corrected", that make a person disabled.

The social model, on the other hand, states that is is a societal lack of access and accommodations that disables a person, and that a person would no longer be functionally disabled were these access barriers to be removed. Keep in mind that this does not mean they believe that people would not still have "impairments" that affect how they are able to function, but that it defines disability as the disadvantages caused by an ableist society treating impairments as needing to be "fixed" rather than accommodated. I defines being abled as being able to participate in society to the full extent an impaired individual wishes to.

I believe in a mixed social-medical model. I believe that some conditions are inherently disabling and that seeking medical treatment for them, while it should be up to disabled individuals, is helpful and good. My ADHD, for example, will still limit my participation in society to the extent I want to, without medication. You could consider medication an accommodation, but there's also the example of my chronic pain and fatigue and POTS that often keeps me housebound or bedbound. There may not be a treatment for that, and I cannot fully participate in the world around me because of that.

"Ultimately, the social model of disability proposes that a disability is only disabling when it prevents someone from doing what they want or need to do."

I am actively prevented from doing what I want or need to do by an inherent feature of my body that no amount of accommodation can allow for. However, some of my conditions would not be disabling with proper accommodation - my autism, for example, I don't generally consider disabling because the people and structures around me DO accommodate for it.

So why is demedicalization helpful or necessary, and how is is applied?

Well, three psychological examples: autism, psychosis, and schizophrenia.

Autism is currently, in the DSM, called autism spectrum disorder. However, autism is a neurotype, and many autistic people do not feel that autism inherently causes them distress or dysfunction, and is therefore not disordered. That is why many of us call ourselves autistic people or say we have autism, rather than ASD. There has been a push for years for the diagnosis itself to be changed to not contain the word "disorder", and to allow for informed self-diagnosis.

Informed self-diagnosis is also an important part of demedicalization, especially of neurodivergence. It says "someone doesn't need a doctorate to know themselves and their own experiences well enough to categorize and classify them. Good research and introspection is enough to trust a person to make the call, and labeling oneself as a specific kind of neurodivergence is harmless, even if they later find out they were wrong.

Psychosis is the next example. There is a growing movement that I've talked about before: the pro-delusion movement. Not everybody experiences distressing delusions, and even when they are distressing, this movement says that only the individual experiencing them has the right to decide whether they should be encouraged or discouraged. It states that it is a violation of autonomy to nonconsensually reality check (tell someone their delusions are not reality) someone, and that as long as a person is not harming others, they can do as they like with their delusions.

This is an example of demedicalization. Treating delusions as something not to be suppressed with medication or ignored or "treated" or "fixed", but as simply another, morally and "healthily neutral" way of existing outside homogenous neurotypical norms.

Finally plurality. Now what's key here is that demedicalization does not mean saying a thing can NEVER be disordered. In fact, that's why I made this post. I saw someone the other day say that they felt their aromantic identity was disordered. Initially, I balked, thinking they were internally arophobic, but I listened to what they had to say. Essentially, they expressed that the identity was never inherently disordered, but that it caused them distress and dysfunction and so they experienced it as such, and crucially, that wasn't a morally bad thing or something they felt they had to correct.

Because here's I think what gets left out of discussions on demedicalization: demedicalization also means no longer treating disorders as something that inherently have to be treated or fixed, that disorders can simply exist as they are if the person with a disorder so chooses; and that anything can be labeled a disorder if it causes distress and dysfunction without being inherently disordered AND without needing to be treated.

And conversely, this means that if you experience something as disordered, demedicalizing it means that you do not have to meet an arbitrary categorical set of requirements to seek treatment, but can do so based on self-reported symptoms. Treatment cannot be gatekept behind a diagnosis that only a "qualified professional" can assign you.

This means if someone wants to, they can label their autism as disordered, but it is never forced on anyone. If someone feels ANY identity - neurodivergent, disabled, queer, alterhuman, paraphilia, whatever - is disordered, they can label it as such, but they also don't have to. There are no requirements to follow through with "treating" anything you label a disorde, either. No strings attached, just the right to self-determination and the right to autonomy hand in hand,

So, back to plurality. You essentially end up with three aspects of demedicalization. You have nondisordered plurality being normalized, you have dissociative disorders that systems can choose not to pursue treatment for without judgment or coercion, and you have disordered systems that can pursue treatment for dissociative symptoms without receiving a difficult-to-access diagnosis. Based on their experiences, they can choose to label themselves as having DID, OSDD, UDD, or related disorders, or to forgo the label and simply seek treatment for whatever distress or dysfunction the disorder is causing.

"But without a specific diagnosis, what if they pursue the wrong treatment and it harms them?"

This is where the importance of recognizing self-reported symptoms as valid comes in. If an OSDD-1b system that hasn't labeled themselves or receives a diagnosis reports that they don't experience amnesia, they won't receive treatment for amnesia.

And since symptoms can mask, if a DID system reports not experiencing amnesia, they simply do not become aware of it or receive treatment for it before they are ready, which is a good thing because recognizing certain symptoms before you are ready to deal with them can be destabilizing and dangerous. More awareness of dissociative disorders will also make it easier for systems to adequately recognize those symptoms, and this isn't saying that someone else can't suggest it to the system experiencing it. It's simply saying the person experiencing a disorder takes the lead and is centered as the most important perspective.

I consider myself to have several disorders and several forms of nondisordered neurodivergence. My BPD is disordered but I am not treating it because I have healthy coping skills already. Same with my schizophrenia. My narcissism, on the other hand, is simply a neurotype. My plurality is both - the plurality itself isn't disordered, but I do have DID on top of it.

A last example, this one physical, of demedicalization: intersex variations. The intersex community has been pushing to recognize that intersex variations are natural variations in human sex, and not medical conditions that need corrected. This doesn't mean that any unpleasant symptoms related to an intersex variation can't ever be treated - in fact, it's important to the community to have that bodily autonomy to access whatever reproductive healthcare is needed - but it does mean treating our sexes as inherently normal and NOT trying to coercively "correct" them.

So in summary, demedicalization is fundamentally about autonomy. It is about considering natural human variations as such, rather than as sickness to be cured, about letting people determine for themselves whether any aspect of themselves is disordered, and the decision on whether or not to pursue treatment for anything being theirs alone. It is about trusting people to be reliable witnesses and narrators of their own subjective internal experiences, and about never forcing anyone to change any aspects of themselves, disordered or not, that aren't harming others. In short, it is about putting power back into the hands of disabled people. And that is what this blog is all about.

#unitypunk #long post #demedicalization #autonomy #social model of disability #medical model #disorders #intersex #self diagnosis

[phospadparadscha]

Disco Universe Pale thoughts-

Instead of being the physical manifestation (de-manifestation?) of entropy, maybe the Pale is instead a phenomenon that causes rapid erosion. Gems without adequate protection are basically getting hit by the world's shittiest sandblaster. The effects are similar to canon Pale exposure, with the added bonus of visible damage. The Paledriver has nicks and scratches across her gem, while Joyce uses some sort of clear coating to obscure hers.

Of course, those lost bits of gem don't just evaporate, they join the rest of the dust making up the Pale. The Pale is mostly inert rock, but there's still a significant amount of gem dust in there. With enough exposure, a Gem can get so worn down they can no longer hold a form and are functionally indistinguishable from shattered gems. I.e., they're fuckin dead.

Harry's druzy damage is rare, because those colors are didn't come from nowhere; they're deposits from other Gems, and the conditions under which they formed wpild normally be lethal. It's why the Skills aren't really whole people; they're miniscule fragments of other Gems, joined together. Almost like the Cluster on a very small scale.

I really really really like this Blue. FIRST of all let me thank you for being so involved in this crossover with me and giving me the enthusiasm to keep illustrating and theorizing for it, it means a lot that you and others as into this as I am because I LOVE both of these medias so just a quick thank you lol. More of my answer below so I don't flood people's dashboards:

I was wracking my brain on how to incorporate the skills into this AU and what to do with the Pale, and for a while I had a vague sense of the pale being a cosmic phenomenon rather than limited to one planet like Elysium in the game. I go into some detail about that and the failed rebellion here.

I agree with you that the pale would be something that causes rapid erosion, and that gems need to prepare physically to protect themselves (like buffing or coating). However I disagree that the Pale wouldn't be psychological in origin still. Steven Universe is a very emotional and interpersonal exploration of characters and I do think that the entropy and psychological horror of the Pale and of fragmented gems can coexist very well in this crossover.

Gems develop listlessness in their stagnating and deteriorating society in Steven Universe and the depleting resources causing physical deformities in gems like peridot and amethyst requiring limb enhancers to accommodate them. I think this idea- of a government failing its people contributing to a miasma of hopelessness and deteriorating sense of self in and outside of the Pale- works very well within the context of both the game and the show, and is part of why I think this AU can work the way it does despite the show and game being wildly different in world building and tone.

Gems like Volleyball for example are what I think the result of Pale damage would be. Volleyball's eye is cracked on her projection. This is a result of the psychological damage to her gem from Pink Diamond's abuse. It cannot be repaired like other cracked gems- it is deeply embedded in her gem and the data that projects her. And when sufficiently stressed, it can even spread. I think this aspect of the Pale damage and rapid erosion you mention would work similarly. The Pale is psychological deterioration and torture. It erodes the sense of self, and the gems themselves in a very permanent way. It is a lot like a sandblaster, but not just for the gem- also for the gem's minds as well, a bit like Houseki no Kuni where if the gem loses its inclusions their memories are lost as well.

What I love MOST about this ask is the way you incorporate the gems as particle dust into Harry's Skills, or furies, or voices. They dust over Harry's gem and erode his own at the same time, in a way that removes a large chunk of his data (his memory and gem coloration / density / powers) and dusts it with the shattered remains of past gems as well. The only issue I see with this theory though is that Harry's skills have been with him since before his wipeout in Martinaise, and are part of why Dora left him and why he was known as a can-opener. So perhaps Harry has always been able to hear these voices on the wind somehow, and only after Martinaise did they nearly over write his own gem. This is one aspect of the theory that I am not sure how to proceed but I think definitely that the drusy formations on his gem being particles of gems lost in the Pale manifesting as his Skills makes a great deal of sense.

Anyways I'm sorry for the long ass response lol I just love this crossover and I'm really glad that it caught your attention Blue because you've brought so much to the table!!! If you ever have art requests or anything at all please let me know and feel free to spam me with ideas and messages bc I'm always on that damn phone lol.

#disco universe #the pale #disco elysium #disco elysium au #disco elysium crossover #steven universe au #steven universe crossover #harry du bois #the skills #de skills

[eatmangoesnekkid]

*Revised: It's important that I came back and revised my post, be a bit more deliberate and sensitive around matters of the heart. Here is a copy of my revised post on war, Black woman martyrdom, painful monthly periods, and fear/division. There are a lot of downloads and codes I freely share in this post. It's a long read but perhaps edifying for anyone with eyes to see/feel. _____ While we are all connected and part of the one human race, as a woman of African ancestry living in possession of the Mitochondria Eve Gene, it is my duty to not live as a martyr for this world. This is not a statement of arrogance or "supremacy" over anyone else, those codes our egoic predatory system was created from. It is just the way DNA/ancestry works. It is similar to why I'm looking for a 2nd home in a warmer climate because my texture and physiology require incredible doses of sunlight in order for me to function optimally. My resources to be of service are limited when living far away from the Equator. It is just how biology organizes and harmonizes a specific circadian rhythmic requirement that will be different for us all. Currently I live full-time in a northern European climate with very little sun, a shared life in a small cute house in the city with my lover of 8 years. So when I speak about the Mitochondria Eve Gene, it is merely a similar fact and not about division and other foolishness. The Mitochondria Eve Gene is deeply valuable like sunlight. I won't get into here. It has already been laid out in The Melody of Love Book 1. When I was in my 20s, my periods used to be heavy and would always come through my pants/skirts. I wore double pads because I had golf ball size clots. I cramped painfully every month, so much so, that I was a regular at my school's infirmary on day 1 of my bleed time. They would give me a shot and I would fall right to sleep on their hospital bed and when I woke up 2-3 hours later, all pain was gone. Back then I looked forward to getting that shot and the routine schedule of my boyfriend picking me up after I had wept and slept. At that time, I loved that the nurse would numb me and I didn't feel any symptom. The numbing (lack of feeling of truth) allowed me to function again in my classes as a regular student. Back then, 27 years ago, I was a budding activist, a member of a popular pink and green sorority, and fully into the news media and celebrities. Whatever was going on racially-charged, I was marching and carrying signs. One day, in my visions while laying on the infirmary bed, I saw myself spending decades being a martyr in another lifetime. I made the decision around 30 years old to no longer be a martyr for this world and started fortifying my body with rest, movement, sun, and vitamin c. And now my periods/moon times are incredibly pleasurable and always pain-free. This shift in reality divined me even more deeper information around the nature of how life works in a female body.

As a melaninated female, my body, emotions, and other stargates were programmed to be siphoned by this world from birth. I was conditioned to value profit and productivity over pleasure and wellness and for my labor to be used as resources for other people's lives, dreams, and adventures. And the foundational predatory nature of our Western society was built off the backs of my lineage to exploit and extract from other Black and Brown bodies. That means that I was programmed to work harder on a job than I worked on myself (my own cells) so that I could not create and live a life that truly belonged to me. So no I am not going to be thinking too much or overly emotional about anything happening in the world right now. And when I feel myself leaning too far right or left, I'm going to bring my energy back to center inside my spine and orient it towards natural beauty, movement, sound, deep nourishment, hydration, and love, feeling the sensation of love move through my body parts, learning love in my psyche, remembering how to love my body, love my -body in relationship to other bodies, and love other bodies. Please don't ask me what I feel about the insanity system of war after war, loss of freedom after loss of freedom, in an inflamed world. It is my duty to the grandmothers to heal the "evil" "conflict" and "war" from within me so that I can grow my life force energy in ways that allow me to be of service anywhere I land. This means I bring my emotions (energy) back home so that I think clearly enough to not bypass my body and go lay down and rest when I feel tired so that I may feel steady and emotionally sober. Say "no" to going out late at night when I know I need more rest. Turn off my electronics a few hours before bed time so that I can take care of my circadian biology and not start to prematurely atrophy in my spine, joints and muscles. Spend my time/resources on making fresh sourdough break or making love in some way. Touch my tissues and slow-braid my wild hair. Get massages and strengthen my legs/root. Weep and leak whether suppressed grief or unrepressed ecstasy. What is happening in the world is terrible in very clear obvious ways. It's been happening in some way for a long time and now the evil is brought out of the dark into the light. This is how life goes. It has been this way for eons, Loved Ones.

Oftentimes the solution is less talking and more deep listening. I do not need to always speak or have commentary about everything and neither should you. I do not care to constantly scroll and stay abreast of single thing going on in world, and live in a perpetual state of panic and unrest as a result. It is still my duty to the lineages that live through me not to be so externally-focused and put any part of my body back into a cage without guilt or shame. Understanding this geometry 14 years ago continues to free my cells, tissues, and organs. Now I get to spend 2 hours in a bathing ritual, receiving instead of constantly creating, and living exemplary in this world so that I may help free other woman and female bodied people so that we, together, may be a guiding lights in different parts of the world. I do not take the gift lightly.

Here are other considerations to think about:

1. Divide and conquer is one of the oldest shadows in human history. Start to question everything you see and read online, including from me. 2. What happens in the collective also happens within us. If chaos or evil is happening out there (as it has been happening), you must also locate the “evil” or "chaos" that is happening within you in order to free your waters fully and become more aware in a deeper way. Who or what has your emotion also has part ownership of your waters.Water consciousness/emotions/awareness/the subconscious --it's all connected. 3. This is just the beginning, loved ones. You must also open up your heart, strengthen your 3rd eye and belly, and manage your nervous and immune systems so that you have the capacity to read between the lines of division and binaries. 4. A dehydrated body is mentally unclear and physiologically unable to think clearly, process life soundly, and make grounded choices 5. . It’s impossible to imbue logic from interconnected systems organized to be harmful from the start where one group of people "loses" and another group of people seemingly "wins." Meaning —less intellect is required now and more clarifying body-based intelligence. You must root down into your body for direction and clarity. If you have very little connection to your body, this will be challenging, accept that. Begin to align with people who are more connected to their body/intuition and learn from them. We are going to have lean on and trust each other a little more. Because not everyone has the same skillsets or gifts—which means we are all incredibly necessary. 6. Times will get tough for some (many) people because there are some deeper realities happening underneath what is being presented on the surface. It’s not an easy thing to speak about publicly because many people's hearts, nervous systems, and addictions need some tending to. Mystery schools like mine and others will be essential. 7. Those who have divine feminine mystery schools must be willing to be students and observers in one another’s school. Division, sneakiness, or competition as modeled by living in a predatory system have to be released from the body and left alone for good. 8. You must tend to your mind and not allow it to take over your body with its judgments, fears, insecurities, and criticisms. Remember yourself as s an embodiment of love. Think about love for 3 or minutes and your body begins to produce the chemistry of love inside your tissues. Your thoughts (masculine) and feelings (feminine) produce a 3rd thing, in this case, a vibration of love that interacts with the electromagnetic field. How you think creates a frequency that greatly contributes to raising your frequency and creating a new future reality. In other words, slow down and be more present and conscious of your thoughts and how you are thinking and tune into what you are feeling. -India Ame'ye, Author

[sadeyedlady-writes]

Welcome,

This is my pinned post.

(Last updated 29th March, 2024.)

First thing to know is that I very much welcome any and everyone to come talk to me about the books I'm insane about. Anon is on, DMs are open, I don't know how social interactions are supposed to go so there's no awkwardness here. Just come scream at me about characters or themes or whatever you want. There's no need to stand on ceremony. Also, I don't check my dash super regularly, so if you want me to see a post, please tag me in it or dm it to me! I won't think it's weird, in fact I'll be delighted, I promise!

If l ever unfollow you, please, please don’t take it personally. You are absolutely welcome to still interact with me, message me, etc. I never want to hurt anyone’s feelings, I just really try to curate my dash because otherwise it’s overwhelming and I don’t go on there at all.

I post fics on ao3 as sad_eyed_lady.

Here's the current list of fandoms I've written for, but for the most current list just go to ao3 itself:

The Idiot - Fyodor Dostoyevsky (7) Les Misérables - Victor Hugo (5) Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms (4) Brat'ya Karamazovy | Brothers Karamazov - Fyodor Dostoyevsky (3) Prestuplenie i nakazanie | Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky (1)

I very much welcome comments, or if you're shy to comment publicly you're more than welcome to message me here; a few people have done that and it's made my entire life. Almost the entire purpose of fanfic for me is the sharing and community of it all.

I am not much of an artist, but occasionally I attempt to do an art when the fannish fervour strikes me. Appropriately enough, these attempts can be found under the tag #my attempts to do an art.

And finally, since tumblr's search function has become so abysmal that I can no longer find my own meticulously-tagged posts, I'm going to try to catalogue some of my messy analyses so that I can find them again. This will be an on-going wrangling effort on my part.

Dostoevsky, Fyodor, The Brothers Karamazov

Musings on class/position in society as relates to the interaction between Katerina Ivanvona and Grushenka in 1.3.10, and how this lens might shift our view.

Grushenka and active love

Healing the rift in The Brothers Karamazov and Crime and Punishment

Dostoevsky, Fyodor, Crime and Punishment

Some half-formed thoughts regarding parallels between Raskolnikov and Marius Pontmercy and why I'm so much harder on Marius despite, you know, the axe murders.

It was Sonya's window, maybe?

Why 2002 BBC C&P was wrong especially in the way they handled Lizaveta's murder

On Avdotya Romanovna shooting but not killing

Healing the rift in The Brothers Karamazov and Crime and Punishment

Dostoevsky, Fyodor, The Idiot

On Nastasya Filippovna engineering her role as the doomed victim in a gothic narrative

Nastasya giving Rogozhin the details of the murder

Rogozhin wasn't an unstoppable killer who would have killed her no matter what

Comparing and Contrasting Semyon Parfyonovich (Rogozhin's father) and Totsky

On Myshkin imitating Christ

Rogozhin's childhood

Ramblings on Rogozhin's brother, Semyon Semyonovich

Cycles in the Rogozhin family

Hugo, Victor, Les Misérables

Subcategory: Éponine Realities of the class dynamics between Marius and Éponine in the Brick as opposed to the musical Not an edgy girl who wants to be edgy Not a morally grey character Future trajectory/P-M involvement

Some half-formed thoughts regarding parallels between Raskolnikov and Marius Pontmercy and why I'm so much harder on Marius despite, you know, the axe murders.

A Thénardier turning the tables on Marius's dream

Misc Posts

Master list of all of my The Idiot fics in order

#pinned post #sadie nonsense

[avelera]

Had a kind of interesting realization while working on the next chapter of Giving Sanctuary of how supernatural Hob actually is.

When juxtaposed with Dream, he comes cross as a normal human, but by 1689, the man is over 300 years old. That's roughly 3-6 human lifetimes at least (and on the longer end of the scale!). I can't even imagine having 3-6 whole human lifetimes to learn and grow as a person.

I had a moment when he was being philosophical about grief or insightful about Dream's inner torment--ie, realizing things like, "holy shit Dream you are so clinically depressed and from such an abusive upbringing it is unreal, and it makes all your buttoned up repression and strict adherence to The Rules make so much sense even to a man who grew up in the Middle Ages"--and I had a moment of like, "Am I making Hob too wise here?"

But then I thought about it and, here's the thing, I do believe Hob can have huge blindspots (like the "shipping" business) and not be a person who naturally tries to get ahead of the world on morality, he's pretty in lock step with the mainstream, male, middle class person of his time and place. But the man has been a father. He has certainly had many lovers and friends.

So giving him 3-6 lifetimes of insight into, say, taking one look at Dream and thinking, holy shit, this man is deeply depressed and in need of someone to help him break out of a self-destructive spiral, and it's very likely he had shit parents and a chaotic home life that led to coping mechanisms that made him functional but not healthy - like the aforementioned strict adherence to "the rules" and not realizing that his pain and grief had made him self-centered as a simple survival mechanism.

And Hob, because I headcanon him as experiencing a lot of grief from losing loved ones (like, literally all of them) but having had a fairly loving upbringing and again, the emotional intelligence of someone who has raised a son to adulthood and been part of society for 3-6 human lifetimes, can in fact spot these things and I think can in fact be pretty wise in ways Dream kind of isn't as far as diagnosing Dream's damage and maybe having actual solutions for it, and the only reason this doesn't happen more in canon is because Dream doesn't tell Hob anything and the one time Hob correctly diagnoses just how miserable and lonely Dream is, Dream flies off in a rage so again, canon evidence that Hob is emotionally not a dummy, and might in fact be incredibly wise as literally an ancient supernatural being that would be the most magical person anyone would ever meet if he wasn't in the same room with Dream of the Endless.

So anyway, expect more penetrating insight from Hob with regards to the "opposite of a suicide pact" he and Dream made with each other in Ch. 4 (we're going to live and be happy, dammit!) because I've put a lot of thought now into "Am I making Hob too emotionally intelligent here given his background and canon appearances?" and determined that, no, actually. In fact, someone who has lived 3-6 full human lifetimes by this point has every right to be more emotionally intelligent than "the entire human subconscious in a trenchcoat" if "the entire human subconscious in a trenchcoat" has been in a clinical depression coma for 3,000 years or more, ffs.

#cw discussions of suicide ideation on Dream's part #sandman meta #1689 fic #dreamling #hob gadling

[dailyanarchistposts]

Chapter II. Of Value.

1. — Opposition of value in USE and value in EXCHANGE.

Value is the corner-stone of the economic edifice. The divine artist who has intrusted us with the continuation of his work has explained himself on this point to no one; but the few indications given may serve as a basis of conjecture. Value, in fact, presents two faces: one, which the economists call value in use, or intrinsic value; another, value in exchange, or of opinion. The effects which are produced by value under this double aspect, and which are very irregular so long as it is not established, — or, to use a more philosophical expression, so long as it is not constituted, -are changed totally by this constitution.

Now, in what consists the correlation between useful value and value in exchange? What is meant by constituted value, and by what sudden change is this constitution effected? To answer these questions is the object and end of political economy. I beg the reader to give his whole attention to what is to follow, this chapter being the only one in the work which will tax his patience. For my part, I will endeavor to be more and more simple and clear.

Everything which can be of any service to me is of value to me, and the more abundant the useful thing is the richer I am: so far there is no difficulty. Milk and flesh, fruits and grains, wool, sugar, cotton, wine, metals, marble; in fact, land, water, air, fire, and sunlight, — are, relatively to me, values of use, values by nature and function. If all the things which serve to sustain my life were as abundant as certain of them are, light for instance, — in other words, if the quantity of every valuable thing was inexhaustible, — my welfare would be forever assured: I should not have to labor; I should not even think. In such a state, things would always be useful, but it would be no longer true to say that they ARE VALUABLE; for value, as we shall soon see, indicates an essentially social relation; and it is solely through exchange, reverting as it were from society to Nature, that we have acquired the idea of utility. The whole development of civilization originates, then, in the necessity which the human race is under of continually causing the creation of new values; just as the evils of society are primarily caused by the perpetual struggle which we maintain against our own inertia. Take away from man that desire which leads him to think and fits him for a life of contemplation, and the lord of creation stands on a level with the highest of the beasts.

But how does value in use become value in exchange? For it should be noticed that the two kinds of value, although coexisting in thought (since the former becomes apparent only in the presence of the latter), nevertheless maintain a relation of succession: exchangeable value is a sort of reflex of useful value; just as the theologians teach that in the Trinity the Father, contemplating himself through all eternity, begets the Son. This generation of the idea of value has not been noted by the economists with sufficient care: it is important that we should tarry over it.

Since, then, of the objects which I need, a very large number exist in Nature only in moderate quantities, or even not at all, I am forced to assist in the production of that which I lack; and, as I cannot turn my hand to so many things, I propose to other men, my collaborators in various functions, to yield me a portion of their products in exchange for mine. I shall then always have in my possession more of my own special product than I consume; just as my fellows will always have in their possession more of their respective products than they use. This tacit agreement is fulfilled by commerce. Here we may observe that the logical succession of the two kinds of value is even more apparent in history than in theory, men having spent thousands of years in disputing over natural wealth (this being what is called primitive communism) before their industry afforded opportunity for exchange.

Now, the capacity possessed by all products, whether natural or the result of labor, of serving to maintain man, is called distinctively value in use; their capacity of purchasing each other, value in exchange. At bottom this is the same thing, since the second case only adds to the first the idea of substitution, which may seem an idle subtlety; practically, the consequences are surprising, and beneficial or fatal by turns.

Consequently, the distinction established in value is based on facts, and is not at all arbitrary: it is for man, in submitting to this law, to use it to increase his welfare and liberty. Labor, as an author (M. Walras) has beautifully expressed it, is a war declared against the parsimony of Nature; by it wealth and society are simultaneously created. Not only does labor produce incomparably more wealth than Nature gives us, — for instance, it has been remarked that the shoemakers alone in France produce ten times more than the mines of Peru, Brazil, and Mexico combined, — but, labor infinitely extending and multiplying its rights by the changes which it makes in natural values, it gradually comes about that all wealth, in running the gauntlet of labor, falls wholly into the hands of him who creates it, and that nothing, or almost nothing, is left for the possessor of the original material.

Such, then, is the path of economic progress: at first, appropriation of the land and natural values; then, association and distribution through labor until complete equality is attained. Chasms are scattered along our road, the sword is suspended over our heads; but, to avert all dangers, we have reason, and reason is omnipotence.

It results from the relation of useful value to exchangeable value that if, by accident or from malice, exchange should be forbidden to a single producer, or if the utility of his product should suddenly cease, though his storehouses were full, he would possess nothing. The more sacrifices he had made and the more courage he had displayed in producing, the greater would be his misery. If the utility of the product, instead of wholly disappearing, should only diminish, — a thing which may happen in a hundred ways, — the laborer, instead of being struck down and ruined by a sudden catastrophe, would be impoverished only; obliged to give a large quantity of his own value for a small quantity of the values of others, his means of subsistence would be reduced by an amount equal to the deficit in his sale: which would lead by degrees from competency to want. If, finally, the utility of the product should increase, or else if its production should become less costly, the balance of exchange would turn to the advantage of the producer, whose condition would thus be raised from fatiguing mediocrity to idle opulence. This phenomenon of depreciation and enrichment is manifested under a thousand forms and by a thousand combinations; it is the essence of the passional and intriguing game of commerce and industry. And this is the lottery, full of traps, which the economists think ought to last forever, and whose suppression the Academy of Moral and Political Sciences unwittingly demands, when, under the names of profit and wages, it asks us to reconcile value in use and value in exchange; that is, to find the method of rendering all useful values equally exchangeable, and, vice versa, all exchangeable values equally useful.

The economists have very clearly shown the double character of value, but what they have not made equally plain is its contradictory nature. Here begins our criticism.

Utility is the necessary condition of exchange; but take away exchange, and utility vanishes: these two things are indissolubly connected. Where, then, is the contradiction?

Since all of us live only by labor and exchange, and grow richer as production and exchange increase, each of us produces as much useful value as possible, in order to increase by that amount his exchanges, and consequently his enjoyments. Well, the first effect, the inevitable effect, of the multiplication of values is to LOWER them: the more abundant is an article of merchandise, the more it loses in exchange and depreciates commercially. Is it not true that there is a contradiction between the necessity of labor and its results?

I adjure the reader, before rushing ahead for the explanation, to arrest his attention upon the fact.

A peasant who has harvested twenty sacks of wheat, which he with his family proposes to consume, deems himself twice as rich as if he had harvested only ten; likewise a housewife who has spun fifty yards of linen believes that she is twice as rich as if she had spun but twenty-five. Relatively to the household, both are right; looked at in their external relations, they may be utterly mistaken. If the crop of wheat is double throughout the whole country, twenty sacks will sell for less than ten would have sold for if it had been but half as great; so, under similar circumstances, fifty yards of linen will be worth less than twenty-five: so that value decreases as the production of utility increases, and a producer may arrive at poverty by continually enriching himself. And this seems unalterable, inasmuch as there is no way of escape except all the products of industry become infinite in quantity, like air and light, which is absurd. God of my reason! Jean Jacques would have said: it is not the economists who are irrational; it is political economy itself which is false to its definitions. Mentita est iniquitas sibi.

In the preceding examples the useful value exceeds the exchangeable value: in other cases it is less. Then the same phenomenon is produced, but in the opposite direction: the balance is in favor of the producer, while the consumer suffers. This is notably the case in seasons of scarcity, when the high price of provisions is always more or less factitious. There are also professions whose whole art consists in giving to an article of minor usefulness, which could easily be dispensed with, an exaggerated value of opinion: such, in general, are the arts of luxury. Man, through his aesthetic passion, is eager for the trifles the possession of which would highly satisfy his vanity, his innate desire for luxury, and his more noble and more respectable love of the beautiful: upon this the dealers in this class of articles speculate. To tax fancy and elegance is no less odious or absurd than to tax circulation: but such a tax is collected by a few fashionable merchants, whom general infatuation protects, and whose whole merit generally consists in warping taste and generating fickleness. Hence no one complains; and all the maledictions of opinion are reserved for the monopolists who, through genius, succeed in raising by a few cents the price of linen and bread.

It is little to have pointed out this astonishing contrast between useful value and exchangeable value, which the economists have been in the habit of regarding as very simple: it must be shown that this pretended simplicity conceals a profound mystery, which it is our duty to fathom.

I summon, therefore, every serious economist to tell me, otherwise than by transforming or repeating the question, for what reason value decreases in proportion as production augments, and reciprocally what causes this same value to increase in proportion as production diminishes. In technical terms, useful value and exchangeable value, necessary to each other, are inversely proportional to each other; I ask, then, why scarcity, instead of utility, is synonymous with dearness. For — mark it well — the price of merchandise is independent of the amount of labor expended in production; and its greater or less cost does not serve at all to explain the variations in its price. Value is capricious, like liberty: it considers neither utility nor labor; on the contrary, it seems that, in the ordinary course of affairs, and exceptional derangements aside, the most useful objects are those which are sold at the lowest price; in other words, that it is just that the men who perform the most attractive labor should be the best rewarded, while those whose tasks demand the most exertion are paid the least. So that, in following the principle to its ultimate consequences, we reach the most logical of conclusions: that things whose use is necessary and quantity infinite must be gratuitous, while those which are without utility and extremely scarce must bear an inestimable price. But, to complete the embarrassment, these extremes do not occur in practice: on the one hand, no human product can ever become infinite in quantity; on the other, the rarest things must be in some degree useful, else they would not be susceptible of value. Useful value and exchangeable value remain, then, in inevitable attachment, although it is their nature continually to tend towards mutual exclusion.

I shall not fatigue the reader with a refutation of the logomachies which might be offered in explanation of this subject: of the contradiction inherent in the idea of value there is no assignable cause, no possible explanation. The fact of which I speak is one of those called primitive, — that is, one of those which may serve to explain others, but which in themselves, like the bodies called simple, are inexplicable. Such is the dualism of spirit and matter. Spirit and matter are two terms each of which, taken separately, indicates a special aspect of spirit, but corresponds to no reality. So, given man’s needs of a great variety of products together with the obligation of procuring them by his labor, the opposition of useful value to exchangeable value necessarily results; and from this opposition a contradiction on the very threshold of political economy. No intelligence, no will, divine or human, can prevent it.

Therefore, instead of searching for a chimerical explanation, let us content ourselves with establishing the necessity of the contradiction. Whatever the abundance of created values and the proportion in which they exchange for each other, in order that we may exchange our products, mine must suit you when you are the buyer, and I must be satisfied with yours when you are the seller. For no one has a right to impose his own merchandise upon another: the sole judge of utility, or in other words the want, is the buyer. Therefore, in the first case, you have the deciding power; in the second, I have it. Take away reciprocal liberty, and exchange is no longer the expression of industrial solidarity: it is robbery. Communism, by the way, will never surmount this difficulty.

But, where there is liberty, production is necessarily undetermined, either in quantity or in quality; so that from the point of view of economic progress, as from that of the relation of consumers, valuation always is an arbitrary matter, and the price of merchandise will ever fluctuate. Suppose for a moment that all producers should sell at a fixed price: there would be some who, producing at less cost and in better quality, would get much, while others would get nothing. In every way equilibrium would be destroyed. Do you wish, in order to prevent business stagnation, to limit production strictly to the necessary amount? That would be a violation of liberty: for, in depriving me of the power of choice, you condemn me to pay the highest price; you destroy competition, the sole guarantee of cheapness, and encourage smuggling. In this way, to avoid commercial absolutism, you would rush into administrative absolutism; to create equality, you would destroy liberty, which is to deny equality itself. Would you group producers in a single workshop (supposing you to possess this secret)? That again does not suffice: it would be necessary also to group consumers in a common household, whereby you would abandon the point. We are not to abolish the idea of value, which is as impossible as to abolish labor, but to determine it; we are not to kill individual liberty, but to socialize it. Now, it is proved that it is the free will of man that gives rise to the opposition between value in use and value in exchange: how reconcile this opposition while free will exists? And how sacrifice the latter without sacrificing man?

Then, from the very fact that I, as a free purchaser, am judge of my own wants, judge of the fitness of the object, judge of the price I wish to pay, and that you on the other hand, as a free producer, control the means of production, and consequently have the power to reduce your expenses, absolutism forces itself forward as an element of value, and causes it to oscillate between utility and opinion.

But this oscillation, clearly pointed out by the economists, is but the effect of a contradiction which, repeating itself on a vast scale, engenders the most unexpected phenomena. Three years of fertility, in certain provinces of Russia, are a public calamity, just as, in our vineyards, three years of abundance are a calamity to the wine-grower I know well that the economists attribute this distress to a lack of markets; wherefore this question of markets is an important one with them. Unfortunately the theory of markets, like that of emigration with which they attempted to meet Malthus, is a begging of the question. The States having the largest market are as subject to over-production as the most isolated countries: where are high and low prices better known than in the stock-exchanges of Paris and London?

From the oscillation of value and the irregular effects resulting therefrom the socialists and economists, each in their own way, have reasoned to opposite, but equally false, conclusions: the former have made it a text for the slander of political economy and its exclusion from social science; the latter, for the denial of all possibility of reconciliation, and the affirmation of the incommensurability of values, and consequently the inequality of fortunes, as an absolute law of commerce.

I say that both parties are equally in error.

1. The contradictory idea of value, so clearly exhibited by the inevitable distinction between useful value and value in exchange does not arise from a false mental perception, or from a vicious terminology, or from any practical error; it lies deep in the nature of things, and forces itself upon the mind as a general form of thought, — that is, as a category. Now, as the idea of value is the point of departure of political economy, it follows that all the elements of the science — I use the word science in anticipation — are contradictory in themselves and opposed to each other: so truly is this the case that on every question the economist finds himself continually placed between an affirmation and a negation alike irrefutable. ANTINOMY, in fine, to use a word sanctioned by modern philosophy, is the essential characteristic of political economy; that is to say, it is at once its death-sentence and its justification.

Antinomy, literally counter-law, means opposition in principle or antagonism in relation, just as contradiction or antilogy indicates opposition or discrepancy in speech. Antinomy, — I ask pardon for entering into these scholastic details, comparatively unfamiliar as yet to most economists, — antinomy is the conception of a law with two faces, the one positive, the other negative. Such, for instance, is the law called attraction, by which the planets revolve around the sun, and which mathematicians have analyzed into centripetal force and centrifugal force. Such also is the problem of the infinite divisibility of matter, which, as Kant has shown, can be denied and affirmed successively by arguments equally plausible and irrefutable.

Antinomy simply expresses a fact, and forces itself imperatively on the mind; contradiction, properly speaking, is an absurdity. This distinction between antinomy (contra-lex) and contradiction (contra-dictio) shows in what sense it can be said that, in a certain class of ideas and facts, the argument of contradiction has not the same value as in mathematics.

In mathematics it is a rule that, a proposition being proved false, its opposite is true, and vice versa. In fact, this is the principal method of mathematical demonstration. In social economy, it is not the same: thus we see, for example, that property being proved by its results to be false, the opposite formula, communism, is none the truer on this account, but is deniable at the same time and by the same title as property. Does it follow, as has been said with such ridiculous emphasis, that every truth, every idea, results from a contradiction, — that is, from a something which is affirmed and denied at the same moment and from the same point of view, — and that it may be necessary to abandon wholly the old-fashioned logic, which regards contradiction as the infallible sign of error? This babble is worthy of sophists who, destitute of faith and honesty, endeavor to perpetuate scepticism in order to maintain their impertinent uselessness. Because antinomy, immediately it is misunderstood, leads inevitably to contradiction, these have been mistaken for each other, especially among the French, who like to judge everything by its effects. But neither contradiction nor antinomy, which analysis discovers at the bottom of every simple idea, is the principle of truth. Contradiction is always synonymous with nullity; as for antinomy, sometimes called by the same name, it is indeed the forerunner of truth, the material of which, so to speak, it supplies; but it is not truth, and, considered in itself, it is the efficient cause of disorder, the characteristic form of delusion and evil.

An antinomy is made up of two terms, necessary to each other, but always opposed, and tending to mutual destruction. I hardly dare to add, as I must, that the first of these terms has received the name thesis, position, and the second the name anti-thesis, counter-position. This method of thought is now so well-known that it will soon figure, I hope, in the text-books of the primary schools. We shall see directly how from the combination of these two zeros unity springs forth, or the idea which dispels the antinomy.

Thus, in value, there is nothing useful that cannot be exchanged, nothing exchangeable if it be not useful: value in use and value in exchange are inseparable. But while, by industrial progress, demand varies and multiplies to an infinite extent, and while manufactures tend in consequence to increase the natural utility of things, and finally to convert all useful value into exchangeable value, production, on the other hand, continually increasing the power of its instruments and always reducing its expenses, tends to restore the venal value of things to their primitive utility: so that value in use and value in exchange are in perpetual struggle.

The effects of this struggle are well-known: the wars of commerce and of the market; obstructions to business; stagnation; prohibition; the massacres of competition; monopoly; reductions of wages; laws fixing maximum prices; the crushing inequality of fortunes; misery, — all these result from the antinomy of value. The proof of this I may be excused from giving here, as it will appear naturally in the chapters to follow.

The socialists, while justly demanding that this antagonism be brought to an end, have erred in mistaking its source, and in seeing in it only a mental oversight, capable of rectification by a legal decree. Hence this lamentable outbreak of sentimentalism, which has rendered socialism so insipid to positive minds, and which, spreading the absurdest delusions, makes so many fresh dupes every day. My complaint of socialism is not that it has appeared among us without cause, but that it has clung so long and so obstinately to its silliness.

2. But the economists have erred no less gravely in rejecting a priori, and just because of the contradictory, or rather antinomical, nature of value, every idea and hope of reform, never desiring to understand that, for the very reason that society has arrived at its highest point of antagonism, reconciliation and harmony are at hand. This, nevertheless, is what a close study of political economy would have shown to its adepts, had they paid more attention to the lights of modern metaphysics. It is indeed demonstrated, by the most positive evidence known to the human mind, that wherever an antinomy appears there is a promise of a resolution of its terms, and consequently an announcement of a coming change. Now, the idea of value, as developed by J. B. Say among others, satisfies exactly these conditions. But the economists, who have remained for the most part by an inconceivable fatality ignorant of the movement of philosophy, have guarded against the supposition that the essentially contradictory, or, as they say, variable, character of value might be at the same time the authentic sign of its constitutionality, — that is, of its eminently harmonious and determinable nature. However dishonorable it may be to the economists of the various schools, it is certain that their opposition to socialism results solely from this false conception of their own principles; one proof, taken from a thousand, will suffice.

The Academy of Sciences (not that of Moral Sciences, but the other), going outside of its province one day, listened to a paper in which it was proposed to calculate tables of value for all kinds of merchandise upon the basis of the average product per man and per day’s labor in each branch of industry. “Le Journal des Economistes” (August, 1845) immediately made this communication, intrusive in its eyes, the text of a protest against the plan of tariff which was its object, and the occasion of a reestablishment of what it called true principles: —

“There is no measure of value, no standard of value,” it said in its conclusions; “economic science tells us this, just as mathematical science tells us that there is no perpetual motion or quadrature of the circle, and that these never will be found. Now, if there is no standard of value, if the measure of value is not even a metaphysical illusion, what then is the law which governs exchanges?..... As we have said before, it is, in a general way, supply and demand: that is the last word of science.”

Now, how did “Le Journal des Economistes” prove that there is no measure of value? I use the consecrated expression: though I shall show directly that this phrase, measure of value, is somewhat ambiguous, and does not convey the exact meaning which it is intended, and which it ought, to express.

This journal repeated, with accompanying examples, the exposition that we have just given of the variability of value, but without arriving, as we did, at the contradiction. Now, if the estimable editor, one of the most distinguished economists of the school of Say, had had stricter logical habits; if he had been long used, not only to observing facts, but to seeking their explanation in the ideas which produce them, — I do not doubt that he would have expressed himself more cautiously, and that, instead of seeing in the variability of value the last word of science, he would have recognized unaided that it is the first. Seeing that the variability of value proceeds not from things, but from the mind, he would have said that, as human liberty has its law, so value must have its law; consequently, that the hypothesis of a measure of value, this being the common expression, is not at all irrational; quite the contrary, that it is the denial of this measure that is illogical, untenable.

And indeed, what is there in the idea of measuring, and consequently of fixing, value, that is unscientific? All men believe in it; all wish it, search for it, suppose it: every proposition of sale or purchase is at bottom only a comparison between two values, — that is, a determination, more or less accurate if you will, but nevertheless effective. The opinion of the human race on the existing difference between real value and market price may be said to be unanimous. It is for this reason that so many kinds of merchandise are sold at a fixed price; there are some, indeed, which, even in their variations, are always fixed, — bread, for instance. It will not be denied that, if two manufacturers can supply one another by an account current, and at a settled price, with quantities of their respective products, ten, a hundred, a thousand manufacturers can do the same. Now, that would be a solution of the problem of the measure of value. The price of everything would be debated upon, I allow, because debate is still our only method of fixing prices; but yet, as all light is the result of conflict, debate, though it may be a proof of uncertainty, has for its object, setting aside the greater or less amount of good faith that enters into it, the discovery of the relation of values to each other, — that is, their measurement, their law.

Ricardo, in his theory of rent, has given a magnificent example of the commensurability of values. He has shown that arable lands are to each other as the crops which they yield with the same outlay; and here universal practice is in harmony with theory. Now who will say that this positive and sure method of estimating the value of land, and in general of all engaged capital, cannot be applied to products also?.....

They say: Political economy is not affected by a priori arguments; it pronounces only upon facts. Now, facts and experience teach us that there is no measure of value and can be none, and prove that, though the conception of such an idea was necessary in the nature of things, its realization is wholly chimerical. Supply and demand is the sole law of exchange.

I will not repeat that experience proves precisely the contrary; that everything, in the economic progress of society, denotes a tendency toward the constitution and establishment of value; that that is the culminating point of political economy — which by this constitution becomes transformed — and the supreme indication of order in society: this general outline, reiterated without proof, would become tiresome. I confine myself for the moment within the limits of the discussion, and say that supply and demand, held up as the sole regulators of value, are nothing more than two ceremonial forms serving to bring useful value and exchangeable value face to face, and to provoke their reconciliation. They are the two electric poles, whose connection must produce the economical phenomenon of affinity called EXCHANGE. Like the poles of a battery, supply and demand are diametrically opposed to each other, and tend continually to mutual annihilation; it is by their antagonism that the price of things is either increased, or reduced to nothing: we wish to know, then, if it is not possible, on every occasion, so to balance or harmonize these two forces that the price of things always may be the expression of their true value, the expression of justice. To say after that that supply and demand is the law of exchange is to say that supply and demand is the law of supply and demand; it is not an explanation of the general practice, but a declaration of its absurdity; and I deny that the general practice is absurd.

I have just quoted Ricardo as having given, in a special instance, a positive rule for the comparison of values: the economists do better still. Every year they gather from tables of statistics the average prices of the various grains. Now, what is the meaning of an average? Every one can see that in a single operation, taken at random from a million, there is no means of knowing which prevailed, supply — that is, useful value — or exchangeable value, — that is, demand. But as every increase in the price of merchandise is followed sooner or later by a proportional reduction; as, in other words, in society the profits of speculation are equal to the losses, — we may regard with good reason the average of prices during a complete period as indicative of the real and legitimate value of products. This average, it is true, is ascertained too late: but who knows that we could not discover it in advance? Is there an economist who dares to deny it?

Nolens volens, then, the measure of value must be sought for: logic commands it, and her conclusions are adverse to economists and socialists alike. The opinion which denies the existence of this measure is irrational, unreasonable. Say as often as you please, on the one hand, that political economy is a science of facts, and that the facts are contrary to the hypothesis of a determination of value, or, on the other, that this troublesome question would not present itself in a system of universal association, which would absorb all antagonism, — I will reply still, to the right and to the left: —

1. That as no fact is produced which has not its cause, so none exists which has not its law; and that, if the law of exchange is not discovered, the fault is, not with the facts, but with the savants.

2. That, as long as man shall labor in order to live, and shall labor freely, justice will be the condition of fraternity and the basis of association; now, without a determination of value, justice is imperfect, impossible.

#organization #revolution #anarchism #daily posts #communism #anti capitalist #anti capitalism #late stage capitalism #anarchy #anarchists #libraries #leftism #social issues #economy #economics #climate change #anarchy works #environmentalism #environment #solarpunk #anti colonialism #mutual aid #the system of economic contradictions #the philosophy of poverty #volume i #pierre-joseph proudhon #pierre joseph proudhon

[sallyastral]

I received this comment under this post. I admit I oversimplified what I wanted to say, so I think it might be interesting to answer more specifically also taking into account my knowledge of psychology, which I am still studying in high school.

First of all, I never said that the relationship between Miles and Gwen could be abusive or manipulative: I rather think that, due to their traumas and their poor management of emotions (especially on Gwen's part, who is still clearly hurt by Peter's death), they would unconsciously hurt themselves psychologically. A manipulative relationship is made up of a stronger subject and a weaker one, where the first is able to apply his supremacy over the other, but this does not seem to be the case at all.

I also think that the one who would suffer the most after the events of ATSV is Miles, for multiple reasons. First of all, it seems that many underestimate his trauma: remember that Miles witnessed two murders in one day at the age of 14, and had to cope with the loss for a year and a half completely alone. While Gwen had Jess and then Hobie to help her cope, Miles couldn't tell anyone about his identify or the fact he literally saw his uncle get shot. It was also confirmed by Sony, with the announcement of the release of a short film focused on this, that Miles suffers from panic attacks so strong that they give him actual hallucinations.

The only hold Miles had was Gwen, the only person who, if she had been there, could have understood what he was going through. And although many (the film itself does so) romanticize his obsession with Gwen, trust me when I tell you that from a psychological point of view it is a very bad sign: it is a symptom of dependency.

As I already mentioned, Gwen too is still hurting and coping, helped a bit by Hobie's company, she's still not ready. Her speech about Gwen Stacy falling in love with Spider-Man and everything going shit was her way to tell Miles "I'm not ready, because I'm afraid I'll fuck up everything."

They are two teenagers coping with massive losses in their lives with no psychological help.

And as we saw in ATSV, Miles was even more hurt and traumatized by what happened, abruptly destroying his obsession for Gwen. The whole Spider Society thing is far from being even half solved actually, it just started, and Miles will probably hardly forgive Gwen for what she did.

But if he did forgive her easily and he reverted back to his old self (thing I hope doesn't happen because it would just erase Miles' growth), realistically, their relationship would become codependency, which is a relationship in which neither partner is whole in themselves, but together they sort of mesh into a single, functional unit. These relationships are uncommonly stable, while they last, because each partner needs what the other provides, and outwardly the relationship can seem healthy and happy, but the longer it persists, the more the dysfunctions become apparent.

In conclusion: I don't think they'd work now, but maybe in the future, healing from their losses and traumas, they could actually work. Just not in BTSV and the immediate future.

To reference another comment I got under the same post no, I don't think two people with issues can't stay together. They can, if their relationship doesn't end up in codependency. Issues or not, codependency is always unhealthy.

#spiderman atsv #spiderman across the spiderverse #atsv #character analysis #miles molares #gwen stacy