#because i don’t want to allow them access to any part of me without my consent.

[transmascissues]

building off of this post, people love to say that “trans men want to keep going into in women’s spaces after they transition because they just want to have the best of both worlds!” but in my experience, there are four main reasons that a trans man might use a “women’s space” after they transition:

it’s an important resource that’s being arbitrarily gendered and we need to use it regardless of which gender is “supposed to” be using it.

it’s a public facility where we’d be significantly less safe in the men’s version and we have to choose our safety over our desire to not be misgendered.

it’s a social space that we’ve been in since before we transitioned and we don’t want to suddenly be cut off from our friends and support system.

the trans man in question is multigender and is also a woman, or maintains some other kind of connection to womanhood alongside their manhood.

do any of those sound like “evil men rubbing our dirty little hands together making plans for how we’re going to get male privilege without losing access to women’s spaces” to you? they sure don’t to me!

i think it’s pretty reasonable that we want to transition without losing the ability to access the resources we need, keep ourselves safe, keep up the relationships we’ve built, and express all facets of who we are. all of those are really, like, pretty basic parts of having good life and we shouldn’t be expected to give them up when we transition.

and honestly, if you claim to care about trans people, you should not be so attached to the gendering of these spaces that you’re willing to deny trans men those things for the sake of upholding gender restrictions. anyone who prioritizes the sanctity of gender segregated spaces over the safety, health, and well-being of trans men is a fucking transphobe. (yes, even if you’re trans yourself.)

and that’s what really gets me about all of this — the vehemence with which people are willing to defend those spaces being entirely and inflexibly gendered, despite how enforcement of gendered spaces has hurt trans people time and time again. gendered spaces have literally always been set up in ways that force trans people to break the rules; some trans men might break those rules in ways that don’t make sense to you, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong for us to do so! it just means you might feel weird about it and that’s okay, discomfort won’t kill you.

“but using women’s spaces after transitioning to male defeats the purpose of transitioning! the whole point of transitioning is to be able to live as a man!”

and who are you to tell trans men what the point of our transitions should be? what if the purpose of us transitioning is just to live the happiest and most fulfilled life possible, and forcing ourselves into unsafe spaces or denying ourselves access to important resources or cutting ourselves off from important people in our lives or pushing down the more complex parts of our genders would “defeat the purpose of transitioning” for us? what if being able to go where cis men go is just one part of a much bigger journey, not the end goal?

if you really want to talk about “defeating the purpose,” let’s talk about how policing which gendered spaces trans men can access defeats the purpose of trying to stop cis people from policing which gendered spaces trans people can access, because it allows the policing of trans people in gendered spaces to continue in some form instead of eliminating it altogether. let’s talk about how using “evil men invading women’s spaces” rhetoric against trans men defeats the purpose of trying to stop cis people from using it against trans women, because it allows the rhetoric to continue in some form instead of eliminating it altogether.

the point of saying “let people decide which gendered space is right for them” isn’t to make sure everyone uses the one aligned with their “true gender,” it’s to let people do what’s best for them without punishing them for their choice. sometimes the best choice is one that seems wrong from the outside, and you need to learn to live with that.

i just think we as a community need to be more hostile toward people who think upholding the sanctity of a gendered space is more important than giving trans people the freedom to move through the world without being punished for existing in those gendered spaces. that kind of thinking is fucking dangerous and it’s weird as hell that some of y’all are so comfortable with it being directed at us.

moral of the story: stop giving so much of a shit about where a trans man decides to piss or see a doctor or hang out or whatever else. even if you think he doesn’t belong there, he probably has a good reason to be there anyway, and that reason is frankly none of your damn business.

#im SO tired of this bro #like just shut up why are you so worried about this #i promise the big bad trans men arent here to hurt you. were just living our fucking lives #our mere presence is not a threat to you any more than yours is a threat to us #and even if you dont give a shit about us. this thinking leaves the door wide open for transmisogyny to join the party #so like. if you wont shut up for our sake do it for the trans women&fems who also get fucked over in the end #transandrophobia #transandromisia #transmisandry #virilmisia #virilphobia #anti transmasculinity #transmascphobia #trans men #transmascs

[xxblairexxss]

Supersede part 2

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x reader

Theme : Angst (I don’t think there’s any fluff in here)

Decided to give reader’s brother a name otherwise it’ll get too confusing. Y/B/N ; Dean.

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“What is wrong with you?”

“I’m fine?” This was the tenth time Dean had asked you the same question. It probably had to do with you being gone for the rest of the event. After you saw Charles with his new girlfriend. You were on your way back to your hotel room when you were informed by Dean that Charles had invited both of you to join him for dinner.

“He said he wanted to introduce us with someone.”

Oh, you weren’t sure if you were prepared for that. Not for another ten years. So, you said no. And the excuse you came up with was pretty standard. You told him you weren’t feeling well. Guess that’s why he kept on asking you if you were fine because you looked horrible. Not physically, for sure.

“Alright, then. I’m just gonna tell him you are not feeling well. Take my card and order whatever you want. Let me know if you ever leave the hotel but I would prefer you to stay.” He cackled and patted your head when you pulled a face. “I know, I know. no more nagging.” He made a zip up motion on his lips and gave your head one last pat before you tapped the access card to your hotel room and walked in.

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flash

“Dean?”

You jumped off the last stair and skipped your way to the living room. Your brother had accidentally ate your last piece of Magnum bar and had promised to take you out tonight to replace the eaten one. When you got into the living room, your brother was gone. The only person you could find was his best friend.

“Dean?”

“Y/N? Are you looking for Dean?” He clicked on the pause button on the game controller and turned to look at you.

“Yeah, have you seen him?”

He resumed the game back and you heard the click of the buttons being pressed. “He went out for a date. Like 5 minutes ago, I think?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling disappointed with the broken promises. Charles had taken notice of your silence and he paused back the game. “Why?”

“He promised me to– actually, no. Nevermind.” You turned to make you way back to the room.

“Y/N, why?”

You were on the first few step of the stairs when you heard his voice. By the time you walked back into the living room, you saw he was turning off the game. “It’s just that he promised he would take me out to replace my ice cream bar.” You were now playing with your sleeve after realising how childish it sounded now that you said it out loud. “I should head back to my room.”

“I can take you.”

“Dean doesn’t allow me to go out with any random guy.” You shook your head, completely against the idea though you would really like to spend some time with him, without your brother.

“I’m not a random dude. Plus, he doesn’t have to know. I drive fast cars, remember? We’ll just make it a quick trip.” You saw his little smirk as he strode confidently.

That was your first little so-called-date with Charles behind your brother’s back. He would always come over on Saturday to bring you out because Dean always slept over at his girlfriend’s. You would usually go and get ice cream just to eat by the park or you would sometimes get fast food burgers and fries if you were craving for it.

“Oh no! They got my order wrong.” You took another sip of the drink and gasped. “This is not my order.”

“Go and ask them to change.” He steered back to the drive thru with one hand holding his drink. You were now back lining up amongst other cars.

“Can you ask them to change it?”

“Why can’t you?” He laughed, seeing how you started biting on your lips and started fidgeting with your fingers.

“I’m nervous! And I feel so bad!” You cried out.

“Why do you have to feel so bad? It’s not your fault.” He took a sip from his drink and licked off the foam from the plastic straw.

“You don’t get it!”

“You do it and I’ll treat you out on a proper date.” He nodded in a cocky way when you looked at him suspiciously. “I promise. There. Say it!” He straighten his back against the seat so you could lean over to his window.

“Hi, what can I help you?”

“Hi! I– uhm, I am so, so sorry but I ordered vanilla sweet cream cold brew and I think– I think you got my order wrong.” He was nodding his head while sipping on his drink when you looked t him in the midst of it.

“Oh, we are so sorry. We’ll get you a new one!”

“See? Easy peasy.” He raised his brows, looking over-confident it made you roll your eyes.

“Was I rude?” You heaved a sigh. “I hope I’m not. Now they have to make another drink for the same person.”

“Oh my God? It’s their job!”

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You were sitting on your bed with your clay mask on while you were on your second slice of pizza that you had ordered before you took your bath. The beef pepperoni were so good you had to pick them off the pizza slices to eat them on their own while focusing on the tv series you had playing on your iPad.

“You are telling me he was the murderer this whole time?! Unbelievable!” You shook your head and took another bite of the pizza. “Oh?” The sound of door bell put a pause to your series.

Putting your pizza slice back in the box, you picked another slice of pepperoni and tilted your head back as you tried not to get the cheese string to touch your face mask, another hand pulled on the door handle to greet your brother who was standing on the other side of the door.

“Y/N?”

But it wasn’t your brother.

“Charles? What are you doing here?! Give me a second.” You slammed the door back and head to the bathroom to wash your hand before opening the door back, this time just a little to peek your head through the gap. “Are you looking for my brother?”

“No? I’m looking for you.”

“Why?” You blinked.

“Dean told me you are not feeling well?” He fished out his phone and you saw the incoming call with a heart emoji. “And I haven’t seen you at all today in the paddock.”

“Oh, yeah. Congratulations! I– something came up so I couldn’t really stay to congratulate you.” You pulled back the door a little so you didn’t have to keep on peeking as your neck was feeling a little sore.

“Kinda sad I didn’t get to see you after the podium.” He shrugged his shoulders and gave a soft smile. “Are you okay though? Was it the weather?” His phone rang again.

“I am fine. You should probably take the call.” You were going to close the door when he pushed it back.

“I– um, I just wanted to say I’m really happy that you are here. It’s been a while and I’m glad to see you again.” He clicked on the volume button to stop his phone from ringing again. “I actually wanted to introduce you to my girlfriend but you didn’t get to join the dinner. Next time, maybe?”

“Yeah, sure. Have a good night, Charles.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

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You didn’t see Charles at all after that night. He had asked you to join his private flight back but you declined the offer so your brother decided to keep you accompany instead of joining his friend.

Dean had noticed something was wrong. He obviously had. And he knew it had to do with Charles’s new girlfriend. You had been very eager to see Charles before the Grand Prix. Now you did everything you could to not be in the same room with him. He had to be on your side this time because what his friend did was wrong. No text, no call and all of sudden, new girlfriend? He didn’t want to ask because he knew you would tell him if you were ready to talk.

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“Charles is coming over this weekend. Careful, it’s hot.”

You took the bowl of bouillabaisse, your mom’s specialty from Dean and placed it on the kitchen counter when the heat got to you.

“Told you it’s hot, silly. Use this.” He handed you the heat resistant cotton glove when you kept on flapping your hands.

“Why?”

“For you to hold the bowl, genius.”

“No, I mean, why is he coming over?” You rolled your eyes and put on the gloves to bring the bowl to the dining table.

“Because he always does? It’s not the first time.”

“Oh! Then can we play card games?” You asked. It was a game that the three of you always played whenever Charles came over. Sometimes your parents would join in as well. It was a fun activity that would always be full of laughters with no phones involved.

“Of course. We never skipped card games.”

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Weekend arrived and Charles came, all alone. You were in your room. The hangout had always be between your brother and him. You only joined them when they were done playing with the PlayStation and talk about girls.

“Can we play card now?” You brought with you a card pack, cutting their laughters with your sudden interruption.

“Of course! Give me that and I’ll shuffle it.”

You passed Dean the pack of card and took a seat by his side. You saw Charles kept on checking his phone, sometimes he would take a minute to type in something and then shut it off.

“Can we play cribrage first?”

“You always lose that game. You sure about that?” Charles cocked a brow and took the chunk of cards that was passed to him.

“Excuse you. I am getting better at it.”

“We’ll see then. Bring the board.” He checked on his phone again before placing it on his side.

Charles’s phone rang a couple of times through out the whole game. Sometimes you had to call him out during his turn because he was too busy on his phone.

“I win!” You threw your arms in the the air and squealed. “I win! I finally win!”

“I have a hunch you might be cheating. I just wasn’t able to catch you.” Dean glared at you suspiciously and took back all of your cards to check if you actually collected the right points.

“Guys, I need to go.” Charles wasn’t even in the game. You were so sure he didn’t even know the game had ended and that you actually won it because he didn’t even spare you a glance.

“You are leaving?” Dean asked, glancing at you.

“Yeah, I need to be with my girlfriend.” He stood up and took his jacket that was draped on the hand rest of the couch.

“Can’t you stay for one more game? It’s been a while..” You gathered a courage to ask him the question, to make him stay but he turned down the offer right away.

“I can’t. My girlfriend won’t leave me alone. I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

You bit your bottom lips, eyes on him as he walked out, still not sparing you a glance when he had left without giving you a proper hug before.

Dean came back and saw you sat on the floor with a few cards in hand, completely conscious with the mood. “Wanna play war? You win and I’ll buy you the new necklace you want.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

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You decided to go on a date with someone who used to attend the same class with you back then when you were a freshman. His name was Jake. You actually had never spoken to him up until you finished your second year when he suddenly sent you a text. He made his attention clear right away that he wanted to get to know you more.

You had been treating him nothing more than just a friend for the past few months because you were still holding on to that one single strand of rope that maybe, just maybe, you could have a chance with Charles.

Now that he seemed to be in his own fairytale with his beloved girlfriend, you thought perhaps you should give yourself a chance too. After all, you shouldn’t even keep on hoping for something that you weren’t even sure was worth your time.

It was your first date. Well, it could have been your tenth if you gave up on Charles months ago. It was a casual one. Jake had asked you out to go to the theme park that you had always wanted to go. You went with an oversized shirt and a white short to make is simple and comfortable for you. When you opened the door, Charles was waiting outside, his body was leaning against the wall.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going on a date.” You lifted your leg to put on your high cut converse, one hand on the wall to hold yourself.

“You are going out on a date? I was thinking we could get an ice cream together? Like we used to do.”

“Can’t make it today, Charles. Maybe you should bring your girlfriend.” You fixed the shoelace and straighten your back to see him looking at you with a frown.

“Don’t bring her into this.”

“Oh, wow. I can’t even mention your girlfriend now?” You walked past him and felt his grip on your wrist.

“What’s wrong with you? You have been acting strange ever since I saw you. Did I do something wrong?”

You pressed your lips into a thin line. Were your assumptions wrong all this time? Had he been clueless with your stupid crush on him? If it was obvious enough for your brother to see, how could he still be oblivious? Or was this all just an act just so he could get you to say it to his face so he could humiliate you?

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Let me go. I’m already late.” You tugged on your hand and continued walking away from him.

“Y/N, I haven’t seen you for months. Did you really have to choose your stupid date over me? Are you that desperate to have a boyfriend?”

Your steps felt heavy now. His voice sounded so grating it sent chills to your body. He had no right to say those things to you when he was the one who had been so disconnected every time he came over.

��Why are you mad at me going out on a date, Charles? Do I not deserve to be in love? Or does it sound so impossible for someone to ask me out on a date?” You took a deep breath to fight back the tears.

“That’s not what I meant, Y/N. Look, I just wanted to spend some time with you.”

You rolled your eyes, tongue clicking upon hearing his words. “We spent so much time together every time you came over but you had to check on your phone every second or your little girlfriend wouldn’t stop spamming your phone with calls. Now you are pissed off because I choose to go on a date over you?”

“Why are you so mad at my girlfriend? She has never done anything wrong to you. She was mad because I had to spend my time with you! She was spamming my phone because I had to be at your house playing your stupid fucking card, entertaining you like a fucking child.” Charles was staggered by his own words. He didn’t wish for it to come out that way. He was piqued because you kept on bringing his girlfriend into the conversation when the argument was between you and him.

“I never asked you to come and entertain me with my stupid card game.” Your words broke up. You squeezed your eyelids shut in the hope the tears would stop. “I didn’t even ask you to choose me over her. I know what you’re gonna say. I know, Charles. I know!” You tilted your head back to hold the tears. “Heck, I wouldn’t even choose myself but I deserve a chance to be in love too, don’t I? Even someone pitiful, someone childish like me who only knew how to entertain herself by crashing off her brother’s hangout with her stupid card game deserve a chance to know how it feels like to be in love. I wanna know how it feels like to be those girls that you guys always talk about. I wanna know how it feels like to be talked and praised by men behind my back as if I hung the fucking moon. This is my first date! First date and I have already had someone labelled me as desperate to find love.” You wiped your wet cheeks with your palm and scoffed. “Please don’t come over anymore. You should spend your precious time with her than play some stupid card with this pathetic girl.” You hastened your way without waiting for his reply.

“Y/N!”

✧.* general tag list! @i83andrew @cltrlne @karmabyfernando @ohthemisssery @ru-kru @tastebaldwin @f1obessed @love4lando @shinrjj @ietss @leclerc13 @darleneslane

If your usernames were crossed, meaning I can’t tag you! 😭 Let me know if you would like to be removed or to be added to the tag list! Or if I missed anyone!

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #f1 imagines #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagines #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f #charles leclerc angst

[sillyrabbit81]

Curious

Prompt: Possessive & Rough, Mutual Masturbation from @martha-oi (x) Thank you!

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader

Word Count: Approx. 3.1k

Warnings: Smut, masturbation (m & f), fingering, thigh riding, pearl necklace... or pearl jewellery, I don't know, it is what it is, descriptions of body fluids, rough kissing and touching.

Authors Note: As always I need to thank my amazing mate and reader @nashibirne , your thoughtful and honest comments are always appreciated.

If this feels a bit rushed, thats because it is. I'm supposed to keep these around 500 words, but you know... Its Sy, I love him. I'm sorry, I hope its enjoyable anyway.

I'm sorry, but I barely had time to read over it, it was edited by me, on the fly there will be errors

Dividers by me.

Masterlist

Celebration Masterlist

The normally quiet Camp was full of men shouting insults, off-key singing and dirty r’n’b lyrics. Part of you wanted to join them, but you thought it wouldn’t be appropriate. Not only because you were the only woman on base, it was also because you were a journalist, and you knew that despite having access to all areas of the base and free reign to follow the team on any and all operations, in the end, you weren’t one of them.

Still, you are curious, it is in your nature. So you sneak down the hall and peek into the raucous room. The sight that greets you makes you smile. The men are dancing like no one was watching, a bottle of something being passed between them, glow sticks stuck in helmets or held in their hands like microphones that two or three of them sang into. 

You watch a few moments, taking note of the differences in the faces and body language. You had been embedded with them for a month, seen them laughing and joking, but this is the first moment that you truly saw no lines of worry on their faces and no tightness in their shoulders.

A small glimmer of jealousy ripples through you. It isn’t that you resented the guys having a good time and relieving some stress, it is more the fact that you had no such outlet. You are the outsider here, the ODA was a tight unit that you would never be a part of. However, you would be leaving in a few days, back to the comforts of home, while these men would still be here for months, you know you shouldn’t begrudge them these rare moments of levity.

Sighing, you back away, leaving the men to their fun. You barely take three steps and you walk into what feels like a brick wall.

Two large and strong hands gripped your shoulders and stopped you from falling on your face. They turn you around quickly and you’re face to face with the Captain.

He stares into your eyes, studying you and you can almost see the calculations and assumptions he’s making. His fingers dig into the flesh of your upper arms, his grip is firm but not tight, still you don’t think you would be able to pull away if he didn’t allow you to.

Without breaking eye contact, he nods in the direction of the room. “You joinin’ the party?”

You shake your head. “I was just leaving.”

He lets you go. “Good. My guys need to blow off some steam. Can’t do that when they’re worried ‘bout slipping up and sayin’ shit that’ll end up splashed all over the papers.”

You roll your eyes. 

He lets out a grunt that is half amused and half annoyed. “You better get outta here ‘fore they notice you.”

“Have you forgotten that I don’t answer to you?”

“Have you forgotten that I don’t give a shit?” 

You open your mouth to retort but he gives you a curt nod and turns, swaggering down the hallway like he was John Wayne or something. You watch him walk away and not for the first take a moment to enjoy the view. He may be a bit of a prick to you sometimes, but the sight of his tight ass and thick thighs straining his camo pants and broad shoulders stretching his t-shirt, sure make forgiving him a hell of a lot easier.

Abruptly, he pauses at the door to his room and looks over his shoulder at you. “You comin’ or what?”

Heat floods your cheeks as you see him smirk at catching you staring at him. It’s also not the first time you’ve been caught checking him out. To be fair though, you’re fairly certain you’ve seen his eyes linger a little too long on your breasts before. You never called him out on it though, in fact, you kind of liked it.

You lift your chin and clear your throat before asking, “Where we going?”

His smirk grows. “To blow off some steam of our own.” He doesn’t wait for a reply before he goes into his room.

“Cocky bastard,” you mutter. You follow him, your curiosity getting the better of you once again.

He’s standing next to his bed, a similar bottle to the one the men had in one hand and two glass tumblers in the other.

“Close the door,” he says, that smug grin still on his face. He places both glasses on his desk and starts to pour.

You warily close the door and your skin prickles and a restlessness starts to build in your joints. You look around the room, trying to appear calm so Sy doesn’t notice your agitation.

“Is this how you normally blow off steam?” you ask. “Drinking alone?”

“Honest answer?” he asks, handing you a glass.

You raise your eyebrow at the amount he poured. Jesus that much would knock you on the floor. He sits on his bed, backing himself into a corner so his back leans against the wall and takes a sip of his drink.

“Off the record?”

You roll your eyes and follow him to his bed, mirroring his position on the opposite end and raise the glass to your lips.

“I usually drink with the guys for a bit then come in here and jerk off,” he says so deadpan that you gasp, causing you to inhale a not too insignificant amount of liquor.

You cough hard, tears coming to your eyes as you try and catch your breath. Sy’s large hand thumps you between your shoulder blades, then starts to rub your back.

“Shit, for a minute there I thought you were being serious,” you rasp out when it doesn’t feel like every breath burns your trachea.

“What makes you think I’m not?” he asks just as seriously as before and just as deadpan. 

He’s close enough that you can feel his warm breath on your cheek. The hand that was on your back is now on your shoulder, the tips of his fingers caressing the back of your neck.

You turn to look at him to gauge his seriousness. His blue eyes sparkle with their usual amount of mischief, but instead of the accompanying grin, the tip of his tongue peeks out from between his lips. It disappears into his mouth followed swiftly by his lower lip which he sucks on briefly then he drags his teeth over it before it returns to its rightful position.

You turn away quickly, your breath comes in hard. God, what would that look like? It’s not like you hadn’t been curious. You’d never seen a man do that before, not in real life anyway.

Equally as hard as your breath is the hand that wraps itself around the nape of your neck, the fingers working deep into the muscles.

“I have to go,” you say.

You stand quickly. Too quickly. The ground spins around you as waver and you throw an arm out to steady yourself with Sy’s shoulder. 

He stands with you, his hands firmly on your waist as he draws you close. 

“You don’t have to go anywhere,” he says roughly. He lifts your chin making you look into his eyes that burned with a fire that rivalled the one growing between your legs. “Stay here. With me. No one’ll notice, not tonight.”

He was so close, his warm breath tickles your lips and smells like mint and alcohol. You inhale deeply through your nose and smell soap, barely a trace of the usual hint of sweat. You study his features, something is different, there’s none of the usual traces of dirt or sand. You look down at his shirt, it’s clean.

Holy shit.

“You planned this?” you say. It’s part question, part accusation.

For the first time this evening he hesitates, his eyes dart away and licks at his lips. 

“So what if I did?” he says eventually, bringing his gaze back to yours.

“I’d say you were one sneaky and presumptive bastard.” 

“Sugar, you say the sweetest things,” he chuckles.

Scowling, you try to look away but he holds your jaw firm and walks you backwards until you hit the wall.

“Don’t fuck with me li’l girl,” Sy says in a voice as rough and jagged as gravel. “I’ve seen you watchin’ me, eye-fucking me, pressing my fucking buttons. You knew what was gonna happen when you walked in that door tonight, don’t pretend otherwise.”

“Maybe I just like riling you up,” you say, pushing your hips into his. “Maybe I like knowing that when you blow off steam, you’re thinking of me.”

“Now who’s bein’ presumptive?” Sy grins.

“I’m not wrong though. Am I?” It’s a stab in the dark really, but as you slowly sway your hips, and brush against the front of his pants Sy clenches his jaw. 

“Not one bit,” he admits through his gritted teeth.

“Show me then,” you say.

Sy’s brows draw together and he leans his head back. “Show you what?”

You reach between Sy’s legs, palming him gently until you find him. You cage his cock with your fingers and press against his semi-rigid length with the heel of your hand.

“Show me how you blow off steam, Sy.”

“You fucking with me?” he asks, cocking his head.

You shake your head. “Not one bit.”

“You wanna watch me jerk off?”

“Uh huh. You’ve made me curious.” You press your hand against him again and you grin when you feel how much quickly he’s thickening in his pants. “Seems you like that idea too.”

He groans and leans into you, rubbing himself against your hand. Then your eyes widen as he reaches between your legs. Your breath leaves your lungs in a rush as his palm presses directly over your clit.

“I was thinkin’ more along the lines of us blowin’ off steam together,” he says, resting his forehead against yours, your noses touching, your lips a hair's breadth away from his.

“We can,” you say softly, your lips so close to his that your lower brushes the whiskers on his chin, “I’ll let you watch me, if I can watch you.”

Sy’s chest works hard as he thinks it over. He takes half a step back and runs his eyes over you, then closes the distance again.

“Okay,” he says, “but I want to see everythin’, no clothes on, no hiding.”

You slip out from between Sy and the wall. He says nothing, but he follows you as you back away until your legs hit the edge of his bed. Although your heart is working overtime and you can feel its pulse everywhere, its strongest between your legs. You want this, want to see the man in front of you on equal footing with you for once. No more of this power play between you, he’d be as vulnerable as you are.

Without overthinking it, you lift your shirt over your head and stare at Sy as you reach behind your back and unclasp your bra.

Sy curses and starts to toe off his boots while pulling his shirt off. It was a race to the finish, and it wasn’t long until you’re both standing naked in front of each other. Sy’s eyes are wild as he takes you all in and his hands work into fists at his sides. You take the time to look at him too from the vast expanse of his chest and the thickness of his shoulders and arm to the way his body tapers to his waist. Your cheeks burn as your gaze drop lower and see his cock, thick, smooth and so fucking hard.

Sy moves, taking your jaw in his hand he kisses you, his lips hard against yours. His arm works its way around your back, drawing your body close to his while his hand grabs a handful of your ass. 

You turn, repositioning the both of you until Sy is back up to the edge of the bed and you keep leaning into him until he takes the hint and sits, pulling you down with him until you’re sitting astride one of his thighs. He takes you with him as he climbs onto the bed. Your tight and pebbled nipples graze his chest and your pussy drags over his thigh as he gets comfortable and rests his back against the wall. The feel of his hard muscle and sparsely haired skin against the hot and wet skin between your legs makes you moan.

His mouth is on yours again. His lips work against yours, nipping, licking and sucking, while his hand works its way down your neck to your breasts. He groans and digs his fingers into the soft flesh, his palm rubbing and massaging.

You push against his shoulder that is all bulky muscle, and pull away from his kiss. His eyes are wild and hungry as he moves to follow your lips.

“No,” you say, lifting your head away from his advances. 

He growls and the arm around your waist tightens, his fingers are bruisingly deep into your hip. 

“Show me,” you whisper.

Taking his hand off your chest, you place it around his cock. Then you lean back, resting your weight on outstretched arms behind you. You rock your hips slowly, dragging your throbbing and wet pussy over his thigh, grinding your clit against him..

“Oh Jesus,” he groans, “fuck that’s… Oh fuck.”

His eyes are feral as he looks over your stretched body like he can’t decide where to look. His hand starts to move while he rakes you, his fist stroking up and down the length of his cock. Part of you longed to touch it, to feel the skin that looked so soft while it slides over the hard, thick core beneath. 

But watching him touch himself is enthralling. He is brutal with himself, his fist slapping hard against his body on the downstroke and his hand chokingly tight on the upstroke. His voice rumbles in his throat, sounding almost like a constant purr.

His free hand is on your ass again, helping you along as you rub yourself against his thigh. You’re so wet, your arousal glistens on his leg and you can hear the wet sounds of your pussy as you slide over him. Your thighs tighten around him as they start to shake, you’re not going to last much longer, the feel and sight of him is just too good after all this time.

“Come ‘ere,” he says hoarsely, wrapping an arm around you until your body is flush with his. 

Your knee brushes against his sack and he lets go of his cock a moment to clasp your thigh drawing you close until your thigh is almost crushing him. His hand reaches for your nape and pulls your panting mouth down to his, and taking advantage of your parted lips he slips his tongue between them to stroke, massage and explore.

His thigh falls away and you whimper at the loss until you feel his palm cupping you. The roughened texture of his hand feels even better and your arms encircle his neck as you kiss him back and slide your tongue over his.

“Oh fuck,” you cry as one of his thick fingers slips inside you and immediately curls. 

The pressure feels so good that you cover his hand with yours and push another of his fingers inside you before you tighten your legs until you trap his hand and roll your hips over it.

“That’s it, baby,” Sy encourages, “Use me. Make that tight li’l pussy come all over my hand.”

You shake, your whole body trembles and tightens as you breathe hard into Sy’s mouth. His pupils are so big, his eyes look as dark as the ocean at night as he stares up at you. His free hand moves to your chest, seeking out your nipple and rolls it between his fingers. You shiver at the feeling and your nerves are on fire as it moves through your body and slams into your clit.

“Harder,” you gasp.

Sy takes your tight little bud and pinches, before giving it a jerking twist. You bite down on his lip as your body shudders and your pussy starts to throbs sending pulses of heat ripping through your body.

“Fuck yeah,” Sy growls as he watches you cum, hardly feeling your teeth in his flesh. 

He waits for your body to go lax before he moves and lays you on your back. He grabs his cock again and resumes his brutal beating as he holds himself over you, watching you bathe in the afterglow.

“Where do ya want it?” he asks in a voice that’s thick and guttural.

You shake your head. “Wherever you want,” you say, breathlessly. “My face. My tits. My cunt. Anywhere. Everywhere.”

Sy lets out a string of curses, his hand moving so quickly it’s nothing but a blur. You lift your knee until it presses against his balls again. His eyes go wide and raising himself to his knees he frees his hand to hold you to him. 

“Fuck!” he bellows, his face going red as the first hot jet of his release splashes over your neck and chin.

He grins, and half chuckles as his body jerks with each stuttering release as he paints your body with white ribbons. He squeezes himself, forcing the last of his cum to leak out slowly over your pussy.

He stares at you, his face still split into such a wide smile, that it makes you giggle too. He chuckles freely as he reaches between your legs and using his thumb, spreads his cum over your pussy.

“Stop that,” you laugh as he brushes your still sensitive clit.

“Shit baby, look so fuckin’ pretty right now.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Uh huh. How about cleaning me up?”

He leans over and grabs a small hand towel from the footlocker of his bed and starting at your chin, he carefully wipes up.

When he’s done, he cups your cheek and kisses you. It’s nothing like the kisses he’d given you up until this point. It was soft, gentle, almost loving.

When he pulls away he looks at you expectantly, like you’re supposed to say something, but you’re at a loss as to what he wants. He doesn’t seem to mind though because he lowers his head and kisses you again.

You wait for him to break the kiss again and throw your legs over the edge of the bed.

“I should go,” you say.

Sy’s hand grips your shoulder and pulls you back down. “Stay. Sleep here.” 

You start to protest but Sy is suddenly on top of you, silencing your objections with a deep, hard kiss.

“Stay,” he says and you stiffen at the command in his voice.

He must have felt your reaction because his next word is softer and more of a plea.

“Please.”

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #rabbitsmilestone23 #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fan fiction #captain syverson #captain sy #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson fanfic #captain sy x reader #captain sy fanfiction #syverson #captain syverson x reader #syverson x you #syverson x reader

[thebramblewood]

If the Vatores stand united on one thing, it's their absolute disdain for Old Man Vlad.

Previous / Next

(Psst... there's some bonus lore under the cut for those who can't get enough.)

More on the Vatores' complicated relationship with Vlad to come, but for now I will say that settling in Forgotten Hollow despite hating his guts was absolutely a (petty) power move on Lilith's part. Vlad doesn't have any qualms about killing humans. In fact, he has little interest in the affairs of humans at all. But what he doesn't care for is Lilith's ostentatious style. He's very old-fashioned and set in his ways regarding how a "proper" vampire should behave and doesn't like when they draw too much attention to themselves because he believes it puts vampires as a collective at risk. He once hoped to mold Lilith in his image, but that obviously didn't work out, and he now finds her indiscreet, disrespectful, and lacking manners, and he finds Caleb a wimpy annoyance who should have never been turned.

I also wanted to explain a bit more about vampire telepathy in my universe. There's a psychic link between sire vampires and their children that allows them to communicate internally (as we've seen Lilith and Vlad do before - and we'll explore the circumstances of her turning in the future!) and also to probe each other's thoughts/memories (which, for example, is what allows Caleb to track down Helena). Physical distance weakens the link, and stronger vampires can establish barricades against intrusion (like Caleb is trying to do now with Lilith). It's also not a constant thing. It's an active choice to enter another's mind. Caleb is considerate (yes, even with his sister), so he does it sparingly and accesses only the information he needs. Lilith and Vlad couldn't care less, so they'll shamelessly dig for secrets. Most vampires are also able to wield telepathic powers over humans, although obviously this takes skill and practice. Humans' minds are more vulnerable and as such more susceptible to hypnosis. This allows vampires to control humans for feeding and other purposes and also to erase or alter their memories. I don't think any of this greatly deviates from what you would expect, and I've tried to imply most of it through the storytelling, but I just wanted to explain it all in one place.

Caleb: [stiffly] Straud.

Vlad: It seems you’re out and about these days more than your sister is. How is Lilith anyway? I can’t imagine she's finally come to her senses and decided to practice moderation for once in her life.

Caleb: Why don’t you rummage around in her thoughts and find out for yourself? She picked up that habit from you, after all.

Vlad: She’s learned how to keep up her guard against me. [pointed look] As I’m sure you’ve learned your own tricks against her. No matter. There are things in that girl's head beyond description. I’d rather not get mired in her depravity. Surely you know what I mean.

Caleb: I never acquired a taste for extracting people’s secrets without their permission.

Vlad: Of course not. You’re a peculiar creature, aren’t you? I warned her you wouldn’t be suited to this life. Well, in this case, you’re likely better off. Maintaining blissful ignorance is undoubtedly more pleasant than holding the eternal knowledge of all she’s done.

Caleb: [impatiently] Is there something else you wanted to discuss?

Vlad: That man - what is it, Benali? - and his charming little book… It’s not going to cause trouble, is it?

Caleb: I haven’t seen any angry hordes yet. This is your town, old man. There’ll be no trouble so long as you don’t let it in.

#ts4 #sims 4 #ts4 story #sims 4 story #simblr #story: hzid #vladislaus straud #caleb vatore #vlad said “yeah i'm evil but lilith is the DEVIL incarnate” #LISTEN i can't do too many scenes with him because i have no idea how to dress him lol!! #it's hard enough with caleb #i just don't have enough non-modern/sporty male clothes #also the book mention is a distraction #you should be more concerned about the rest of the conversation ;)

[karniss-bg3]

Hi! I really like how thoughtfully you answer questions. I would like to know your opinion about the speed of Kar'niss. Is it possible to escape from the drider?) He climbed the tower quite easily, but how fast and hardy is he on the ground? As I remember, driders prefer ambushes. Does this mean that they are not too good at chasing? Or is it still useless to run from Kar'niss - it is just the way to die tired?) Thank you!

A great question! Let’s start by looking at Kar’niss’ stats.

He has fairly solid strength and dexterity. We know webbing doesn’t affect him in terms of rough terrain and he seems to maintain a solid pace alongside Tav and crew. His stats are the same as the drider monster sheet which helps in the regard of determining bonuses and the like. According to the drider sheet, they have a movement speed of 30ft and a climbing speed of 30ft. Kar’niss’ sheet says he has a movement speed of 0ft but I think this is a typo as he can clearly walk on the ground without trouble. The monster sheet says driders can walk on ceilings while the drider wiki says they are too heavy to do so. If I had to pick I’d say that it’d be unlikely they could traverse upside down because of their size.

Speaking of size, this is where Kar’niss would run at a disadvantage. He weighs 150kg (330lbs) and that is a lot of heft to move around, much less quickly. It is likely why driders prefer to ambush which falls in line with their spider counterparts. Running takes a lot of energy, it’s simply more efficient to let your prey come to you. That isn’t to say that Kar’niss couldn’t catch up if he really wanted to. I imagine he could sprint a short distance at a great speed but would tire swiftly there after. The terrain would also play a big part in how fast he could catch up to someone. If he was moving through a thick forest with a lot of obstacles he’d have trouble squeezing into tight spaces or navigating his large body around sharp turns. His legs do afford him longer strides to cover more ground at a faster pace and he can climb which may allow him to avoid something a regular humanoid couldn’t bypass. A clear field would be a dangerous ground to face him on as he’d have less things to get in his way if he was after someone.

Distance between an individual and himself would play a part as well. If he’s within fifteen to twenty feet of his target, he has the greatest chance to overpower and capture them without much trouble. Forty or more feet away would give the victim the best chance of escape. They can only hope that he tires out before he closes the distance, or they hide in a place he can’t access. Finding a way to disable his legs is also the way to go in an escape situation. Something like grease could do well to trip him up, some sort of bola or other restraints, an arrow in one of the joints, ect. His drow torso wouldn’t be strong enough to drag his body with any measure of speed so if he goes down it’s game over.

The last thing to consider is if he can jump and if so, how far. Just looking at his design his legs don’t look very muscular at all and in fact seem more hollow than anything else. He might be able to jump short distances but I’d say it’s not his strong suit and would require a great deal of his strength to pull off. Wide crevices and the like would hold off his direct pursuit but since he can climb he could get to the other side eventually, it’d just take longer than jumping over the opening. Edit: Turns out, Kar'niss has mad hops. Thanks to the helpful folks who gave me some awesome info! Terrifying to imagine a whole ass drider jumping right at you.

In conclusion, I think Kar’niss can be a deadly force on the ground but he’s at his best when ambushing or climbing. If it’s a straight chase where the victim isn’t surprised they would still have a fighting chance, they’d just have to be smart on how they used their surroundings to shake him. I do know one thing, much and all as I love Kar’niss, I’d piss my pants if a drider ever chased me. Not a scenario I’d ever want to find myself in. Thanks for the ask!

#baldur's gate 3 #kar'niss #drider #bg3 #karniss #baldurs gate 3 #answered #theorycrafting #drow

[tallerthantale]

What Does Aziraphale Actually Believe, Part 7: Armageddidn’t Begins

This is a series of my takes on what Aziraphale believes through the timeline of the show. It is all my personal interpretation, and I am happy to hear others. You don’t need to read them all in order, but know that I am coming from a perspective on Aziraphale’s machinations that can be difficult for people without a psychology background to follow without the first two as a primer. The quick version is that Aziraphale has a set of beliefs that exist in some form or another within his mind. However, at any given moment, only some of them exist ‘with awareness’ or as I am putting it here, conscious!Aziraphale only has access to the beliefs that the rest of his mind, veil!Aziraphale, allows him to know about. The context of the moment will determine what lives on the surface and what stays buried behind the veil, whatever arrangement best prevents a threat to Aziraphale’s sense of self and makes whatever he is inclined to do feel right.

This post covers modern Season 1 up to the end of the Bandstand, with the bulk of it on that fight. Its too long. I can't stop myself. I apologise profusely. About 3.3k words.

The Modern Era

We come into the modern era with an Aziraphale who knows he is in love with a demon, knows heaven is run by morally bankrupt stooges, is willing to accept he is represented by shades of light grey, but will still say with a straight face that Armageddon will be heaven’s glorious triumph over evil and it will all be rather lovely.

Crowley doesn’t believe Azriraphale really believes that, and after getting drunk Aziraphale admits he doesn’t like it either. He was trying to convince himself, and it worked for a short time, like some of his temporary beliefs at Uz. Just like he can’t maintain the idea that he is suited to a life in hell, he can’t maintain the idea that Armageddon is good. He still has conflicting feelings about working with Crowley. “Get thee behind me foul fiend” is a joke. “We’re hereditary enemies” isn’t.

Aziraphale agrees to go along with raising the antichrist towards good as long as he can frame it as thwarting evil, and present it to his supervisors as part of his official duties. Once that rationalisation is in place he is practically beaming about the idea of stopping Armageddon by getting to be a positive influence godfather. I think at this point he has convinced himself that the ineffable plan is to prevent the great plan. He is so invested that he is surprised and frustrated that the other angels consider his work doomed to failure.

Doomsweek

The kid's grown up, and Aziraphale and Crowley are workshopping a backup plan. Crowley wants Aziraphale to kill the antichrist. He makes a greater good argument because he knows Aziraphale responds to those sometimes. Aziraphale still insists that he has never killed anything before. The executioner doesn't count. The meat doesn't count. There's no blood on his hands literally, there's no blood on his hands figuratively. Aziraphale doesn't disagree that it would be for the greater good, but he still isn't willing to do it. Neither is Crowley.

On the way to the ex-nunnery Aziraphale gives a whole ass speech about evil containing the seeds of its own destruction. It is very self righteous, and the speech does ingroup Crowley into that evil. He is the one who botched the baby switch over. It's a way for Aziraphale to not worry about the prospect of hell winning the war, as he is trying to accept the inevitability of the great plan. At the same time, I think it was an attempt from Aziraphale to argue that to the extent Crowley was involved in things going wrong, the blame was with the role he was playing as an employee of hell, for which he is not responsible. As in, it wasn't that you were a low quality employee of hell, hell's plans are inherently doomed to failure. I think from Crowley’s perspective it reads as ‘demons will inevitably fuck everything up, it’s what you do.’ Not that different to Aziraphale’s ”you’re a demon, that's [lying] what you do,” from the previous night. 

Paintball

I could pretend like we are going to talk about guns giving weight to a moral argument, but honestly their positions here are more for exposition of the way Aziraphale and Crowley’s paired traits often subvert expectations. Aziraphale the angel is more willing to consider violence or the threat of violence worthwhile than Crowley the demon is. The actual merits and disadvantages of absolutist pacifism aren't really something they are hashing out. We’re here for the saucy bits.

While I did enjoy reading the theory that Aziraphale had Crowley time miracle the coat so that it never had the paint in it in the first place, whilst also eliminating Aziraphale’s memory of the paint, I don’t buy it. There was no reason Aziraphale couldn’t just miracle the paint away himself. He still remembers that the paint was there and that Crowley miracled it away. When he rambles about “but I would always know it was there… “ He is spouting nonsense. The pivotal part of the communication is not his flimsy words, it’s him slowly hopping his shoulder towards Crowley’s face while making puppy eyes. ‘But would Aziraphale really just make up obvious lies to Crowley like that?’ you ask. “Is that a travel sweet?” I retort. See this gif breakdown of the paint miracle scene.

Why the act? Because as much as Aziraphale knows he is in love with a demon, he wants Crowley to do all the romancing bits. It’s mirroring the Bastille nonsense, baiting Crowley to come to the rescue. Before he was still lying to himself about his motivations, now he knows them, but can’t speak them. Here there are enough clues for Crowley to figure out what Aziraphale wants him to do, but not necessarily why he wants it, and Aziraphale isn’t ready to have that conversation.  See the spicy meta.

Aziraphale continues to regard Crowley to be a nice and good person, who is living in the transient condition of being existentially evil due to his current demonic status. This is pretty out of step with how Crowley views himself, which is its own complicated mess, and it’s something he is touchy about. Enough to make him angry and 'slam' Aziraphale into a wall. Not that Aziraphale regrets any of it for a second. Maybe he regrets getting interrupted. 

We get another glimpse at Aziraphale’s conceptualisation of angels and demons. Crowley refers to them both together as occult forces. Entities that are basically the same thing. Aziraphale takes offence to being described as occult, and insists that as an angel he is ethereal. I think these descriptions follow their metaphysical properties, not their professional role. Crowley might call himself a former demon after getting fired, Michael might call Aziraphale a former angel after Aziraphale is sacked, but Crowley is still occult, and Aziraphale is still ethereal. Aziraphale’s concept of abstract existential alignment with good and evil goes to the occult / ethereal distinction, not the professional one. 

Aziraphale doesn't tell Crowley he has found the antichrist. In my opinion, this is 100% because he knows Crowley will respond by telling him to kill the antichrist, and Aziraphale already knows he isn't willing to do that. He wants to have his own alternative plan before he tells Crowley. Unfortunately, he's often not very good at the coming up with his own plan part, so the strategy doesn't really work out for him.

Crowley Gives Mixed Messages Too

I think it has been and continues to be Aziraphale’s hope to bring Crowley back to angelic status. And I think there are reasons why he believes Crowley wants that too.

Crowley and Aziraphale are often speaking not quite the same language. They’ve got different exactlys. The Bandstand scene starts right off the bat with a small example.

“Have you found the missing antichrist’s name, address, and shoe size yet?”

“His shoe size, why would I have his shoe size?”

If Crowley spoke Aziraphale’s language a bit better he might have noticed Aziraphale just admitted to knowing the antichrist’s name and address. If he hadn't found any of the facts, he would have just said no. Crowley takes it as sass because that's what it would have been if he had said it himself. This will be the theme of the Bandstand, they each interpret what has been said to them as if it meant what they would have meant if they had personally said it. 

Crowley gets shouty about the Great blasted Plan. When Aziraphale responds, “May you be forgiven,” it isn’t just about shaming Crowley for lashing out, Aziraphale is starting to be resigned to the idea that Armageddon will happen, he believes heaven will win, and he doesn’t want Crowley destroyed. Aziraphale is saying 'may you be spared from the destruction of the great plan.'

Crowley responds, “I won’t be forgiven. Not ever. Part of a demon’s job description. Unforgivable, that’s what I am.” Crowley is making a philosophical incision. Aziraphale’s phrasing called to mind forgiveness from an authority outside himself, presumably God. Crowley is commenting that were God to grant that forgiveness, it would create a paradox. When God made Crowley a demon, She declared him unforgivable. God is infallible, so She can’t forgive him without being wrong, and She can’t be wrong. It isn’t meant as a representation of Crowley’s actual opinion, he isn't being self deprecating, it's a statement presented for the sake of argument, to make a dig at something Aziraphale said.

The dig doesn’t land though, because Aziraphale doesn’t parse God with formal logic, She’s motherfucking ineffable. Who said demons are unforgivable? Did they say it with words? Even if it was God Herself, Aziraphale has long understood that God plays messed up games, he just believes there is a greater good at the end. He could believe that God chose to cast Crowley out, proclaim that means he is forever unforgivable, and then later go, 'just kidding, welcome back lol.' It could be a lesson for the other angels, a lesson for the other demons, it could be about putting Crowley in the right place at the right time, it doesn't matter. God is ineffable, and that means Aziraphale can't be told what God thinks by anyone, including God. "That's ridiculous, you're ridiculous, I don't even know why I'm still talking to you." 

As he is wont to do, Aziraphale is very quick to take Crowley’s facetious statements at face value if it gets him somewhere he wants to go. Recall, “Oh, you’re an angel, I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.” Now we have Crowley bitterly, resentfully, describing himself as unforgivable specifically because he is a demon. If taken at face value out of context it isn’t that much of a stretch to read it as Crowley essentialising himself as evil, resenting being unforgiven, and thinking being a demon is the evidence that he is unforgivable. Right after Crowley states “unforgivable, that’s what I am,” Aziraphale brings up that he used to be an angel. Crowley brushes it off as having been a long time ago, but never specifies that he wouldn’t want to be one again. 

Aziraphale can see as much as the audience can that Crowley likes being able to have the opportunity to do kind things for people but is curtailed by the expectations of his position as a demon. What Aziraphale doesn't see is that the good deeds Aziraphale does for heaven are probably not what Crowley likes doing either.

One of the points that comes up in The Bastille is that Aziraphale gets in trouble for doing too many frivolous miracles. While I don't think that's the real reason he won't miracle himself free, I do believe that the strongly worded note happened. We see modern Aziraphale doing miracles as favours for humans pretty often, fairly recklessly, and I wouldn't be surprised if Aziraphale regularly got in trouble for doing unsanctioned good deeds. We also don’t see him have the same enthusiasm for his tedious assignments that he is given from heaven that he has for spontaneous favours.

If they actually talked it through I think Aziraphale could understand that what Crowley wants is more about the freedom to do specifically the good and mischievous deeds that he wants to do, rather than being forced to follow management's checklists. If they talked through it, Aziraphale might be able to realise that's also what he wants for himself.

Holierly Than Thou

At the Bandstand fight Crowley again raises the option to kill the antichrist. Aziraphale argues Crowley is the more appropriate choice for executioner, that way "heaven won’t have blood on its hands." He means his own angelic hands, that he still believes are mostly aligned with his intuition of God’s will. While he knows it is often God’s will for things to die, he doesn’t tend to believe it’s God’s will for him to kill someone or something directly. Aziraphale knows God and heaven have the blood of billions on their hands, though he is very good at avoiding paying attention to that fact. He also is still trying to maintain the appearance of being on team heaven, and by starting to think that the great plan is going to happen, he's feeling the need to lean into that more.

Crowley responds, “That's a bit holier than thou, isn't it?”

Aziraphale answers, “I am. A good deal holier than thou, that's the whole point.” 

He means that when he says it. This is not a joke, it is not said flippantly. Aziraphale is ethereal and Crowley is occult. He cannot let go of the idea that angels are inherently 'good' in comparison to demons even if it's mostly reduced to an abstract quality that is unrelated to an entity's character or actions. It is still what he believes, it’s still connected to his sense of his role in the universe. It’s not what he sees himself believing when he’s staring at Crowley’s lips, but just because the belief isn’t always visible to conscious!Aziraphale doesn’t mean it’s gone. 

When Crowley says 'holier than thou' he means it figuratively. He is accusing Aziraphale of being pretentious. It is a fair accusation, but not quite what Aziraphale is trying to mean. When Aziraphale responds that he is 'holier' he is referring to his ethereal status, not his personality. He can view Crowley as being the better person, and still consider himself more holy. Aziraphale reads the accusation from Crowley literally. To him Crowley might as well have said, 'what, do you think you're some kind of angel?' What can he say to that but '...Yes?'

Crowley’s response is my inner philosopher’s favourite line in the whole show, “You should kill the boy yourself, holierly.” If Aziraphale is good and holy by definition, and everything he does is a good and holy thing by definition because he is an angel, wouldn’t him murdering an 11 year old boy whilst being an angel be definitionally good and holy?

Aziraphale can’t go that far and Crowley knows it. That’s why Aziraphale is refusing to do the killing in such a pretentious way. Which ought to mean that Aziraphale understands the moral goodness or badness of his actions are not defined by his angelic status. Crowley is trying to get Aziraphale to put that together and admit it. However, Aziraphale did not reason himself into his position, and that means Crowley can’t reason him out of it.

The main driving force for Aziraphale here is he knows it would feel wrong to kill the child, and therefore he won't do it. It gets him defensive because there is a clear and obvious moral greater good argument for killing the kid, and he's been rationalising various atrocities of God with greater good arguments for a long time. He ought to be persuaded by the greater good, but he can feel that he isn't. That friction is making him get bitchy. Aziraphale is the one more ok with guns. Aziraphale is the one who disparages himself for being soft. Aziraphale is ok with the ends justifying the means. I don't think he sees his personal unwillingness to kill the kid as moral superiority, he might even see it as a moral failing. His comments on holiness are about angel esthetics, not morals.

Killing the antichrist wouldn’t feel right to Aziraphale, therefore it isn’t God’s will for him to do that, and there must be another solution. Through no fault of his own, Aziraphale is correct. Unfortunately for Crowley, this exchange comes across as Aziraphale insisting he is too morally superior to Crowley to be expected to be personally involved in preventing Armageddon. Aziraphale doesn’t actually want Crowley to kill the antichrist instead, he is mostly pointing out that there is some hypocrisy to Crowley being deeply invested in the kill the antichrist plan whilst being unwilling to personally do it. Aziraphale isn’t willing to do it either, but he isn’t the one pushing the plan. It’s been Crowley’s plan every time.

The Bandstand argument is also where Aziraphale says “We’re not friends, we’re an angel and a demon. We have nothing whatsoever in common. I don’t even like you.” This is tonally distinct from his other problematic statements, and mostly rubbish. Crowley responds to Aziraphale’s assertions with the level of dignity they deserve: “You dooooooo.” But there are traces of authenticity to Aziraphale still struggling to conceptualise them as being properly friends as long as they are designated an angel and a demon. It’s been an issue this whole time. However, there is one major sign of the issue finally lifting, in the least expected place.

“Even if I did know something I wouldn’t tell you, we’re on opposite sides!” 

“We’re on our own side.” 

“Not anymore. It’s over.”

Not anymore.

We have never seen Aziraphale acknowledge that he and Crowley are on each other’s side. He once asked if Crowley saw it that way, but he didn’t agree to seeing it that way himself. He never lets himself say it as a statement, I don’t think he has let himself believe it or think it. Veil!Aziraphale cannot allow conscious!Aziraphale to perceive himself as being currently on the same side as a demon, working together against God, that is too terrifying to consider. But when he convinces himself that they aren’t working together anymore, he can let himself see that they were on the same side together in the past. It’s less threatening that way. I think in Aziraphale’s mind, they were on the same side insofar as Crowley was helping him bring the universe towards his idea of God’s ineffable plan, and not that he was deviating from God’s ineffable plan. He didn’t see himself as leaving God for Crowley, he imagined Crowley had joined him in being aligned with God intuitively, even if Crowley would disagree with that description.

This exchange is remarkably honest from Aziraphale, but spoken in a language Crowley doesn’t quite understand. Aziraphale has effectively said he does know where the antichrist is, but is unwilling to tell Crowley, because while he had started to consider himself and Crowley on their own side together, he doesn’t any more, because Aziraphale won’t accept either running away or child murder as solutions.

I think Crowley mostly just hears “Fuck you.” And to be honest, that's valid.

Post 7/10

#good omens #good omens meta #go meta #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #anthony j crowley #what does aziraphale actually believe

[habken]

oh my gosh fellow animation student !! I love learning about other people's art school experience, if you'd be willing to share? I think the diversity of assignments and teaching styles and focuses is cool 🩷 love your art as well !!

Yeah I can share a bit ! I’ve really enjoyed the program so far, I think I’ve learned a lot and I’ve gotten the chance to use programs I wouldn’t have access to usually!

First semester I had 9 classes (I’m counting story lab + lecture as two separate ones) and it was honestly pretty difficult to keep up with the workload, especially because I was still finishing up zine work. I had so many assignments, there were many weeks I’d have something due everyday, sometimes multiple things in the same day, so time management was a big struggle and I ended up having to sacrifice the amount of drawing I did for fun and for socmed </3 I think that was the biggest bummer cause it meant I lost both what helped me relieve stress and something that made me happy :/

While the work was intense and time consuming, I really did enjoy what I was making for each class. My favourite classes were character design, storyboarding, and animation. I felt like they were the ones I did best in and I realized loved my animation teacher her classes were really fun and I laughed a lot lol. I also really enjoyed my life drawing class, I have a lot of respect for my teacher, he marked harshly but I learned so much under him and my life drawing skills have improved a lot since september. He also collects bones and brought them in and it was super cool. He told us all the stories of were he’d picked them up, like asking farmers or finding roadkill and cleaning them.

Overall in each class, I really appreciated the critique I’ve gotten and I feel like I’ve really improved! I actually dropped out of art school before and one of the main reasons was because I felt like I wasn’t really getting anything out of the program. My stuff was nowhere near perfect but I was one of the better students so teachers used my stuff as an example rather than see me as a student that also was there to learn. I hated that so I left, and I’m really happy I don’t feel that way in the program I’m in now!

What I will say though is one of the hardest lessons to learn is that you can’t go 100% on every single thing, it’s just straight up impossible unless you don’t take care of yourself and get no sleep. It sucks because you want to do your best and be amazing at everything, but an assignment that’s half assed is better than handing in nothing at all and also better than permanently hurting yourself because you push through the pain and don’t allow yourself any rest.

One of the things that sucked the most assignment wise was my bone portfolio for life drawing, I had so much planned out and I really wanted to do amazing, but I had to cut a lot out to get it done on time, and so the finished project was lacking a lot. I got a decent mark for it, but personally I know it could’ve been so much better, and I just have to live with the sacrifice I made so I could get all my work done on time lol

I don’t want to share too much more about the assignments I did, but I was really proud of my work in my character design class and also my last storyboard assignment, where we took part of a script and made new boards based on it. I got a lot of compliments from the teacher about my attention to detail with subtle and human actions. I’m happy cause that’s the kind of stuff I love portraying and love seeing in films haha.

One other thing is I was so close to failing layout, the last two assignments I left until the very end and almost didn’t get them in one time before teacher’s grades were due, and without them I would’ve failed the class. As it stands, I got over a 90 average so the two assignments made a big difference lmao.

Sorry this was so long lol

#ask

[hersterical]

soul lore in Buffy is finally beginning to make sense in my head (give me a break, I didn’t watch the show until COVID and didn’t start taking part in the fandom until at least a year after that). A lot of this is basic stuff the fandom’s been saying for years, this is just to help get my thoughts in order before I fall asleep and lose the train of thought.

There are a few important elements but I think the two biggest ways the lack of a soul influences a vampire is 1. No moral compass and 2. No empathy (as we see mostly with Spike but a few others as well, they can have sympathy but no empathy). I also don’t get the impression that soulless vampires are capable of true, selfless love. Again looking at Spike, whenever he loves someone pre-soul it always felt possessive or like he wanted to be possessed by someone. Sure, he sincerely wanted certain people he cared about to be happy, but he didn’t want them to be happy just for the simple sake of them being happy. At best he wanted them to be happy because being around them makes him happy and it’s his happiness that truly mattered to him. So if there ever came a time where the happiness of the person he cared about didn’t make him happy anymore, then he wouldn’t care about their happiness. This is mostly based on Spike because he’s the vampire we have the most opportunity to understand while he doesn’t have a soul. To me it seems that all soulless vampires could be placed on a scale from Spike, who possesses the most amount of sympathy and derives the greatest amount of happiness from the happiness of others, to Angellus who doesn’t have a single ounce of sympathy and actively takes joy out of the misery of others. Most seem to tend closer towards Angellus’ end of the scale and I wanted to explore that a bit.

Before I do that though there are some important things of a more physiological nature that would influence vampires both with and without a soul. The first is that I’ve always gotten the impression that a vampire’s primal, predator instincts are more heightened and animalistic than humans. The way I see it there are two main explanations for this: 1. Those instincts come from the demon that possesses the body or 2. Something about becoming a vampire allows them to access the human’s dormant predatory instincts. I’m no evolutionary scientist so I can’t say how likely that second one is, but no matter what it’d be far from the hardest thing this show asks the viewers to suspend their disbelief for. The other thing about vampire physiology has just little enough evidence to support it that I would probably have to classify it as a headcanon. I am convinced that human blood is an addictive substance to vampires based on how secretly being fed Connor’s blood influenced Angel.

With all that said, I’d like to take this opportunity to explore the after-life span of an average Joe vampire.

Imagine you wake up and it is dark, cold and suffocating. But none of that bothers you because more than anything you are hungry. No living being has her possessed this great hunger that you are experiencing right now. Not even being capable of conscious thought at this point, you start clawing. Eventually you dig your way up to the surface where you either have your sire waiting for you, holding in their arms the greatest smelling meal you’ve ever smelt in your whole life, a human, or no one and you need to find something to eat yourself. Even if you find a small animal to eat that’s not enough to satiate your all consuming hunger. No matter what you’re going to get your first taste of human blood as a vampire that night. And it is the greatest thing you have ever tasted. Sure, you had to kill someone to get it, but you don’t care. As you finished eating and stared at the corpse of a human being whose heart is no longer beating because of you, the closest you get to regret, shame, or guilt is the surprise that you don’t feel any of those things.

That was the best thing you’ve ever experienced but you still don’t have a particular desire to kill people. You might even avoid it for a bit in order to avoid attention or out of habit. But even if you actively don’t want to kill another human for whatever reason, you can’t get the taste of their blood off your tongue. The thought of human blood consumes you every waking moment of your life, which is quite a bit considering you don’t need to sleep anymore. But whether it be in a day or a week or a year, you will kill another human. This time you do care. Not that they’re dead, no. But in that moment as you took their life force and made it your own, you have never felt more powerful or in control (ironic considering vampires actually tend to lose control while drinking human blood). Even with all of this great supernatural power you’ve been gifted with, nothing is as powerful as taking a human life. And the blood itself. It feels almost like your rapidly fading memories of warm sunlight on your skin, gentle instead of burning. You’ve never been particularly power hungry before so even though that part might be cool, it doesn’t hold a candle to the sensation of drinking blood. Whatever hesitation you might have had towards killing humans is now gone. But that still doesn’t necessarily mean that you want to though.

You go and visit your loved ones from when you were alive, but when you get there all you can think is how weak you were. How dull the life of a mortal is. How nice the warmth of the sun was on your skin. How it felt to be loved. How it felt to be willing to give your own life and happiness for the sake of someone else’s. It fills you with rage, disgust, and even jealousy for your old self. You take your power back and get rid of any reminders of who you used to be.

Time goes on. Decades pass. You feed, you travel, and you learn. And you grow bored. What was once an exciting after life is nothing but pure drudgery. Even the taste of human blood is becoming common after so long of living off nothing but that. What hasn’t gotten old is the chase. The hunt. That power you once got a taste of but didn’t particularly care for at the time is the only thing that can make you feel anything. Humans are no longer tasty little juice boxes, they’re your play things. The adrenaline from the hunt turns your hunger for blood, into a hunger for power over people.

Eventually the chase grows stale. It’s just too easy. You try to spice it up by toying with humans. Making them scream or beg. But it’s still not enough. That’s when you hear about it. A hellmouth. A slayer. Both together in the same place. One of the greatest sources of power for a demon alongside with the greatest challenge any vampire could hope to face. It’s more powerful than any siren call, how could you possibly resist. Sunnydale is waiting for you.

You get there and between the influence of the hellmouth and the group think of a ridiculous amount of vampires and other demons, it feels as exhilarating as the dance floor of a crowded nightclub. Which is funny because the local nightclub is where you do most of your feeding.

You lead your latest victim out into the back alley, and start feeding. You are once again growing bored even on a hellmouth with the prospect of facing a slayer. It’s just too easy. These are your thoughts when you hear someone clear their throat. This surprises you enough to pull you away from your meal to see a small, blonde girl who’s dressed for a night of dancing. Dessert. Except something’s off. She tilts her head and outs on a mock pout as she asks if she could just get one night off. You don’t like her attitude, her face looking far too smug for your taste, and her blood is singing out to you like no blood has ever done before. You feel almost as hungry as the night you crawled out of your grave. Tossing aside the barely alive human you were just feeding on, you eagerly lunge at the small woman.

She punches you in the face. Hard. You fall to the ground and scramble back up as quickly as possible as you’re filled with a sudden certainty. “Slayer!” You snarl with equal parts shock, anticipation, and fear.

“Is that part of the vampire handbook or something? You guys really gotta get some new material.” She says in response.

How dare she? The insolence! You’ve drained the life out of hundreds of humans before her. You are immortal. Invincible. And she just dismisses you like you’re nothing? She will learn. You are the night, you are fueled by the life-force you’ve been draining out of humans for decades. You’ve seen things this little girl couldn’t think up in her worst nightmares. You have purged yourself of all weaknesses and now you will obtain the greatest power any vampire could ever hope to possess, the blood of a slayer.

You run for her, your claws reaching for her.

You are immediately impaled. As you crumble to dust you hear the last words you’ll ever hear: a half-hearted quip about you not being the dance partner she was hoping for tonight.

#long post #it went from being meta to being a fanfic partway through #btvs #buffy the vampire slayer #Soul lore #angel btvs #spike btvs #angel the series #ats

[swallowerofdharma]

Over Casca’s naked body

Part one: A long premise

We can’t escape from our geopolitical context even when we are reading manga. We have internalized a good amount of beliefs, values, practices, even regulations from our lived experiences and various simulacra we have been exposed to, especially those in an audiovisual form.

If you grew up in the US, you know that freedom of speech is a core value there. But, while you can say mostly whatever you want within your own country, the US constitution has given the government the right to regulate what comes in from abroad. [1]

And that power has been used. Idealistically, greater access to common technologies even before the internet should have seen a redistribution of the media-creating capacity to many foreign countries outside of the US, so that people could tell their stories. But that hasn’t always been the case, with some exceptions, especially if we consider the biggest narratives that reached global popularity.

During the Cold War, anything that might be considered “communist propaganda” could be seized by the Post Office and never delivered. Books or even souvenirs from communist countries, for instance. Pamphlets criticizing US foreign policy. (…) Obviously it wasn’t totally like North Korea, plenty of foreign movies and music were allowed into the US. But the media that caught on was either already Americanized, or so plastically exotic that it doesn’t really say anything about the culture where it is from. The Beatles were British, but they got their start covering American rock and roll musicians. When John Lennon stepped out of the line, the American government made sure that he knew it. Movies imported from Japan were mostly samurai flicks, with very few movies set in the modern day. The film Ikiru is widely considered the best Japanese film ever made (…) but this existential drama about a depressed lonely man was only given a limited release in California, and the poster was edited to feature a stripper who is only in the movie for one minute. The narrow stream of European movies that made into the USA came in the form of the French New Wave cinema, movies that were stylistically inspired by American films, but also so stuffy that few audiences would ever want to watch them anyway. This was further stifled by the Hays Code, a set of extremely strict regulations that were in place from 1934 to 1968. (…) Some things that were completely banned from ever being shown in any film included: bad guys winning. All movies must end with the police outwitting the evil criminals, or the criminals causing their own demise. Any nudity. (…) Blood or dead bodies. (…) Interracial couples. White people as slaves. Criticism of religion, or of any other country. Naturally this prevented the more artistically liberal European films from being shown in American cinemas and when they did get a release, they were usually edited (…). At least until the rules were abolished in 1968 and replaced by the age rating system we have today. [1]

Even after several decades of access to the internet and foreign cultures, some attitudes have been internalized and carried on. For example, I had direct experience of the ways my own culture has been perceived and stereotyped or interpreted in terms not dissimilar from the exotic. And the same happens to me probably if I don’t keep in check my own personal beliefs about cultures that have been presented to me in similar ways. And I was surprised to see by how deeply rooted and spread are certain attitudes towards punishment or violent retribution viewed as necessary, the policing and self policing, and the expression of judgments or condemnation, and all this can complicate the understanding of different forms of narratives and the acceptance of different cultural attitudes and norms, without the expression of any opinion about morality or legitimacy.

I am reminding you that this is a long premise because I evidently don’t have the gift of brevity but this article is about Berserk and Casca.

In 1956 Anna Magnani won the Academy Award for Best Actress for her first English-speaking role in the American movie The Rose Tattoo. In 1958 Miyoshi Umeki was the first Asian born actress to win an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress in Sayonara, a movie that despite its title was an American drama starring Marlon Brando. It isn’t hard to see in these decisions from the Academy, or the ones that followed in other categories, the willingness to build relationships between the US and specific foreign countries where the American army had a massive presence and that after WWII were ideal places for American investors, considering significant rebuilding necessary after the loss in the war. The movie industry and everything around it had instrumental roles. When it comes to the Academy Award, it is very interesting to notice that the women were the first ones to be nominated, becoming ambassadors and facilitators of the reshaping of the images of Italy and Japan from enemies to new essential strategic allies in the Cold War. And here comes the problem of the exotic, because after several decades I still see similarities in the American perception of those foreign cultures, Italian and Japanese, to those easy and friendly and intentionally constructed imaginaries of that time. Take the press around Anna Magnani or Miyoshi Umeki for example. Terms are so widely used and repeated that they are still in their Wikipedia pages in English today. For what interests me here, I am going to quote or summarize parts of the video essay listed below as [2] but I really recommend watching it entirely. It really helped me understand some of the issues I am talking about here, but it is much more than just this. And there is footage worth the time. [I know that many people here on tumblr really dislike YouTube videos. I understand why, when it comes to manga and anime, written articles have still better quality and content, in my opinion, but there are also many video essayists doing their due diligence on several other topics. And when I am busy cooking I put them on].

In the 1950s one of the problem with the new alliance with Japan was the widespread hate and racism towards Japanese people.

The government stepped in, producing educational films meant to endear Japanese culture to Americans (…) They showed off Japanese industry, introduced Americans to sushi and sumo wrestling, explained the country’s new democratic system et cetera. (…) A lot of [musical] acts that were popular with American soldiers, specifically exoticized Asian girls bands, like the Kim sisters and the Tokyo Happycoats, come over to the US and appear on television as both entertainment and a sort of cultural ambassadors, not only demonstrating America’s cultural power and dominance by performing recognizable American tunes, but also signaling to white Americans that those cultures didn’t pose a threat. (…)

It’s worth looking at this film [Sayonara] as part of a larger theme in a very specific post war moment. Gina Marchetti points out in her book Romance and the yellow peril: «Between June 22, 1947, and December 31, 1952, 10517 American citizens, principally Armed Services Personnel, married Japanese women. Over 75% of the total Americans are Caucasian». Meaning, Japanese war brides and the concept of interracial marriages was very much a conversation. (…) Sayonara must be seen as one of many films which called for a new evaluation of Japan as an enemy nation. (…) Much of the way [Miyoshi Umeki] was discussed is probably exactly how you might expect. The language journalists used to describe her was unambiguously racialized and often condescending. In the aftermath of her Oscar win, for example, Louella Parsons called her «a lovely little bit of Japanese porcelain», adding: «What a cute little thing she was in her native costume». Still, her Japanese identity also seemed to serve as a symbol, an embodiment of the new friendly Japan. In Miyoshi, Americans would find an idealized portrait of reconciliation, a woman who bore no resentment over the war, a woman who brought homesick American troops to tears by singing White Christmas, who adored American pizza, who learned English by listening to American records. She was accepted because she actively appreciated and participated in American culture. [2]

The roles offered to Miyoshi Umeki are significant in many ways. After Sayonara, she was cast to play other Asian characters besides Japanese ones. One recurring theme in those movies in particular is the contrast between modernity and tradition.

William G. Hyland writes, Flower Drum Song is a «clash between the Americanized lifestyle of the young Chinese and the traditions of their parents». (…) Miyoshi Umeki plays Mei Lee, a Chinese stowaway who arrives in the US for an arranged marriage. The more Americanized she becomes the more independent, the more willing she is to strike out on her own. [Chang-Hee] Kim writes: «[Flower Drum Song] flamboyantly shows that Asians in America were ready and willing to cast off their heritage and become real Americans in repudiation of the pre-war racial consideration of Asians as permanent aliens». I mention this not only because it’s one of Miyoshi’s major roles, but also because this theme, a supposed enlightenment via westernization, occurs again and again in her filmography, particularly in her work on television. Han [?] writes «Umeki’s representation on television is in constant oscillation between her status as a subservient Asian woman and her transformation into an assertive, modern female professional who has achieved independence through American cultural influence». [2]

Bear with me for a little longer if you can, because we are at the point where, watching the video, I experienced that sensation better translated visually in a lightbulb being turned on. I am skipping here the presentation of the story and footage from Miyoshi’s first appearance on television in The Donna Reed Show, but I once again invite readers to watch the video, which features high quality original footage. I was really struck by the “sensitive way” the American woman - Donna Reed I presumed - approaches the character played by Miyoshi, as the writers back then were well aware of the sensitive racial implications, and nevertheless a certain mentality pushes thought. Watching still, it is easier to avoid the presumption that in the 1960s “they didn’t know better” or that contemporary attitudes have improved greatly, just because we are more careful about the language we use.

The thesis statement of this episode is not subtle. The rejection of traditional Japanese customs allows her to live more fully in a democracy. Of course it isn’t really much of a choice, is it. Maintaining the customs of your culture or risking alienating your entire community. She changes her clothes, puts on a hat and goes shopping because she is an American now. Obviously these stories are told from the white American perspective, where this rejection of tradition and culture is portrayed as unambiguously positive and relatively tension free. This was not the case in Japan where the relationship between modernity and tradition were richly explored in cinema, particularly in women’s films. [2]

I would like to add that the independence that Donna’s character shows is only possible because of a series of factors, including the fact that her husband secures her a higher level of comforts, in comparison with lower classes or non-white Americans, and that domestic work is presumably done by home electrical appliances or other women, especially when you add child care and looking after the elderly to the equation. The unwillingness to consider those types of labor, traditionally carried on by women, as of equal importance to any other jobs is rarely discussed when it comes to the issue of women’s emancipation. Not to mention how, alongside this idyllic world shown on television, in the same country large numbers of women have to deal with continuous push backs in the name of different traditional values that all the same prevent many of them from achieving true equality. Those types of conversation and conflicts between traditional and modern happens at the same time in many countries and in most cases translates to continuous negotiations and compromises carried by men and women in real contexts and real situations, without necessarily white American women being aware of it or of all the necessary nuances.

Let me add this last element of conclusion about Miyoshi Umeki’s story.

In 2018 her son told Entertainment Weekly that in the 1970s she etched out her name on her Oscar and then threw the trophy away. Although he isn’t sure exactly why she did it he said: «She told me, I know who I am and I know what I did. It was a point of hers to teach me a lesson that the material things are not who she was». What Miyoshi Umeki achieved is pretty remarkable but one can’t help but feel that she could probably have done a lot more if she’d been allowed to move beyond her identity. [2]

Part two: Are we reading the same manga?

After considering all this, and more that I can possibly include in here to avoid this being even lengthier, I can’t help but wonder about the generalizations I have seen repeated vastly about portrayals of women in Japanese media, as well as misunderstanding of cultural attitudes towards nudity or the treatment of sensitive topics like sexuality and rape. There is a diffuse certain sense of entitlement, sometimes you can hear a condescending tone even, and this isn’t limited to the US. But why approach a foreign culture with a patronizing attitude instead of trying to understand the context more deeply? So many manga readers are willing to ask for clarification on translations, but not many ask about the context or the visual aspects involved in manga writing. I like to read analysis about different topics, so I look for them in English too because they are very numerous and easily accessible, but when it comes to the critique about the portrayal of women in too many cases I have to click away because of too many bias or that subtle sense of superiority of judgment. Berserk has become easily accessible and more and more popular but it is so greatly misunderstood at various degrees by a lot of its western readers - me included - and I really wanted to understand what is preventing, in most cases, a textual and contextual analysis.

The Hays Code hasn’t been around since 1968 but the sentiment that the only proper conclusion for every story is the triumph of the good guys and the punishment for the wicked is very much alive and well. There is this conviction that the only clever readers are those able to separate the heroes from the villains, or the good deeds from evil, and root for the right side to achieve retribution and satisfaction. The Hays Code hasn’t been enforced officially but it’s there in essence and every counter narrative has been rendered almost ineffective or judged poorly. As for the treatment of women, I don’t feel like we can honestly and surely compare or scrutinize Japanese media under special lenses. Nudity in comic books seems to me to be very common outside of Japan too, depending on censorship rules. I certainly notice how frequently Casca is shown naked or has been threatened with sexual violence, but I also notice that she isn’t the only one. The exaggeration of Guts’ muscles and the mutilation of his body are largely put on display. Griffith is intentionally shown fully naked, or completely covered by an elaborate armor, and he is subjected to many threats of physical and sexual violence as well. Charlotte is shown naked, but always in her bedroom, in a private environment or with a transparent cloth or a sheet of some kind to make her nudity different from the occasions when Casca’s body is publicly displayed. I am careful with my own thoughts when I read Berserk, I take the time to analyze my reactions and what I am feeling in these situations. I think that this is the reason that certain books or media are intentionally aimed to adults. I don’t feel a necessity to call to censorship or to give guidance of a moral kind but rather to make the necessary reflections. And I can’t imagine how someone can understand the story without taking their time with it. Part three: Casca’s rape

In 1973 the animation studio Mushi Production released a film called Belladonna of Sadness. I haven’t seen it yet but I know a little about it and I am planning to watch it when I feel like I can do it without being affected in a bad way. It is well known that Miura remembered this film when he designed the Eclipse. In 1975 Pier Paolo Pasolini directed the film Salò or the 120 Days of Sodom, which I strongly don’t recommend to the casual viewer or anyone who felt even slightly offended by Berserk. Suffice to say that in a particular political climate and in the context of the sexual revolution of the late 1960s, in the 1970s nudity and sexuality were at the forefront of the debate and human bodies were exhibited in a symbolic way that can be misunderstood today without knowledge of the context. Gender expression was questioned and men grew their hair or refused to wear suits or to follow rigid dress codes regardless of their sexual orientation. Sexual acts were considered political acts in ways that aren’t comparable with today for many reasons. The languages, the words and the visuals we use are ever changing and actual for a moment and gone the next one or misunderstood. Many words used by queer people in the 1970s wouldn’t be received well today, because the context has been transformed. For what I understand, in films like Belladonna of Sadness and Salò rape and cruelty are preeminently used as symbols because rape and cruelty presented in a direct visual form effect greatly any type of audience and can’t go unnoticed. The sociopolitical climate in the 1970s, in the middle of the Cold War, was particularly violent, both in Italy and Japan, and the art of the time can be remarkably bleak. [Go Nagai’s Devilman was published between 1972 and 1973, Osamu Tezuka’s MW was published between 1976 and 1978, Takemiya Keiko’s Kaze to Ki no Uta was also published between 1976 and 1984].

Kentarō Miura was born in 1966, he breathed the air and grew up in that same climate and was influenced and informed by it, especially later, when he finds himself as a young man in the renewed bleakness of the 1990s. It is likely that he saw Belladonna of Sadness when he was old enough, when he started to develop the story of Berserk, and after being greatly influenced by Nagai’s Devilman. The number of sources of inspirations that Miura used for Berserk is vast, varied and multidimensional and includes books and novels and films of various genres (historical, fantasy, horror, sci-fi in particular) manga, foreign comics books, and traditional art. It is often pointed out among fans that he was also a big fan of Star Wars. Pop Culture Detective released a very interesting video essay called Predatory Romance in Harrison Ford Movies [3] that brought to my attention many things that I didn’t notice or thought about when I was seeing those films myself as a young girl [I am more or less a decade younger than Miura fyi]. Analyzing Star Wars, Indiana Jones or Blade Runner with particular attention to the relationship between the male lead, Ford, and women is an interesting exercise and helps to re-contextualize our judgment about the treatment of women across different media with arguably less reach than Star Wars. I am not inviting anyone to make comparisons and ranking which is better, or absolve Miura because he was influenced by the context around him as everyone else, but I am asking to let go of the presumption that Japanese media in particular presents problematic attitudes towards women by default. The problems are much more generalized than we’d probably like. Better analysis or methodologies are needed to make a proper assessment, and we really shouldn’t assume by default that manga (for boys and men) equals bad treatment of women.

I hope that someone is still reading after such a long time. I didn’t know how to make my point on Casca without at least presenting some of these considerations. I must say I have understood myself better, having questioned why I was feeling uncomfortable when reading Casca but not offended. I understood that Miura wanted me to feel that way, uncomfortable, horrified, and I can appreciate Berserk better [in particular as a person that wasn’t permitted to live in a female body without a certain type of violence].

As stated previously, I noticed that Casca is more exposed and shown in all her vulnerability in much extreme situations: to multiple men in very public displays, like on the battlefield or at the center of the circle of Apostles in the Eclipse. She is also shown naked and vulnerable in other moments, especially alone with Guts. Those intimate moments with Guts, during the Golden Age, are instrumental for the readers to see her in all her humanity, without the armor, or the female dress, in order to build an emotional connection with her. In the cave, Casca makes herself emotionally vulnerable in front of Guts for the first time and tells him her story, exposing her past, her goals and her true self. She tells him things about Grittith too, things that are meant to show Guts/the readers Griffith as much naked, vulnerable and human as she is. Let’s pay attention and try to recollect Guts’ reactions to her story: he is listening to her, but he is embarrassed, distracted and attracted by her nudity and he fails to see Griffith as a human being, potentially fallible and not much different from Casca or himself. Guts also fails to take away from the story the original message, something more than Casca’s infatuation with Griffith as part of her being a woman. Comparing Guts’ reactions to Casca’s nakedness, his recollections or focus on the conversation, what he takes from it and what he doesn’t: a big part of the male readership of Berserk is probably in his same situation. It isn’t till later by the waterfall, that we see Casca alone with Guts again in an intimate way. This time he is naked and vulnerable and completely exposed too. This time through the physical connection between the two, within the sexual act, Guts can’t hide himself anymore, can’t deflect from his past and his fears. I assume that that is an important moment for the male readership to start to feel emotionally invested in the connection between Guts and Casca. That emotional connection and the investment in the relationship helps them to see Casca as a human being through the Eclipse and if that didn’t work then they still can see and feel the horror of the rape of Casca through Guts. Because Miura didn’t want anyone to enjoy that scene or to be sexually aroused without at least the horror and the moral objection to it.

Casca is a woman of color, born in a disadvantaged family and community, that ended up in a mercenary group without achieving the things she wanted, never fully belonging and constantly threatened by groups of men on the enemy side with forms of violence specifically targeted and unnecessary cruel. And everything she goes through culminates or goes back to the Eclipse - before and after - and that should be taken as completely symbolic. Like the multiple instances of rape in Pasolini’s Salò, the innocent, poor and exploitable youth is violated by those in power or those who are in charge. Gambino decides that Guts is expendable or due a lesson in humility, he takes the money and coldly facilitates Guts’ rape. Gennon is rich and powerful and pretends to recreate his fantasy, a sick version of Greek ped*philia. And all he does is using money and power to horrifically exploit the youth and Griffith offers himself up and loses a fundamental part of himself in the process. But the most cruel thing in Berserk is Griffith surrendering to the call of power and doing the same thing to Casca, in the absence of lust or desire: the corruption that has been in him - and has reached Guts as well - has spread. Griffith’s surrender to the call of power, and his intolerance for more of his own pain, silences all empathy in him.

In conclusion, nudity has various narrative functions, beside the suggestion of the erotic: through each character’s naked body, male or female, we see their vulnerability and their fundamental humanity [and if I remember correctly in contrast the rapists are always dressed or covered]. And rape has a symbolic meaning, beside the literal one and the psychological exploration of trauma. Violence but in particular sexual violence is one of the most estreme and powerful tools that can be used in stories [especially in visual media], but unfortunately the overuse of it in an edulcorate format, or as a tease, or devoid of any meaning, has ceased to call for disgust and challenge us to think, has perhaps lessen the impact and the gravity around it. In the 1970s Pasolini saw the dark side of the sexual revolution and how the rich and powerful were willing to build economic empires just to have access to the youth and to the most beautiful women. But he wasn’t the only one. We should reconsider Belladonna of Sadness and the original meaning of those themes in films or later in manga like Berserk and think about it deeply and seriously and not approach every piece of art as entertainment.

Videography:

How America got so Stupid [1]

Miyoshi Umeki: The First East Asian Woman to Win an Acting Oscar [2]

Predatory Romance in Harrison Ford Movies [3]

#berserk meta #casca berserk #manga analysis #this is so long is embarrassing #today we have largely divorced the aesthetic from the political and we look at the last century and don’t fully understand it #editing when I catch a mistake or a misspelled word #eri reads berserk

[granulesofsand]

System Accountability, Again

🗝️🏷️ RAMCOA, syscourse

My opinion has not changed since last time this was up for debate; system accountability relies on the system being seen as one whole, and we do not use that model.

There are pieces of decency that I extend as a person, but I won’t pick up any more than that because I share a body with others.

Some things I will do, as a person:

Try to mediate: if I care about the outsider or the insider involved, I do my best to deescalate and resolve. I am the only one who gets to decide whether or not to put myself at risk. If any of the participants are dangerous to me, I don’t give a rat’s ass what is morally correct — I am allowed to maintain my own safety, even if my giving it up would be detrimental for the situation.

Educate: either the insider about why their behavior was inappropriate/unhealthy or the outsider about why this behavior is appropriate/helpful. Still refuse to be forced into the role; it’s a decency thing, and I’m not respecting the personhood of an outsider over my own. We are both important, and we don’t have to coexist if one of us is being harmed.

Discuss: before or after a conflict does escalate, many of us are now able to clarify and communicate without turning to inappropriate behavior. Many is not all, and while I respect the right of an outsider to cease interaction with our system, I’m not taking responsibility for whatever that alter did. It’s not unlike social media, where the website is not responsible for the content unless they are knowingly hosting threats. It wasn’t me, and we will not be adopting a model that hurts us because it would be convenient.

Walk away: I, as an alter, have enough proficiency with technology to block off channels of access if an outsider does decide to cease contact. It’s okay if you can’t find safety with other of our alters after a bad encounter with one. You are allowed to leave (or ask us to leave, if it’s your space) and make decisions about your own boundaries.

Sometimes I do take it upon myself to repair damages another alter caused, but it is not required of me. I see it much the same as our external family; they can be dangerous, and they do cause harm both because we were involved and for other reasons — I did not cause that harm, and my reaction to that is up to me, just as anyone who faced that impact.

Some of our alters care more about relationships than others, and they might go further for the sake of preserving a bond. That’s great, and it’s their choice.

The choices are very important to us because we did not always have them. Our background in programming and coexisting with many programmed systems informs our opinions quite a bit, and we were not allowed to present ourselves authentically as a requirement of that environment. Our individuality is crucial to our existence, and while you are free to describe yourself/selves however you want, you do not get to choose for us.

I can talk more about why we insist on being separate people rather than feeling like separate people, or anything along those lines. I know it’s contrary to dominating clinicians, but I still value my/our lived experience over their learned experience. We do listen to their opinions and mind the evidence presented, and the stance we present externally is as close to a consensus as we can get. You don’t have to understand right now to give us this kind of respect, however, if you don’t, I will not continue to extend it to you.

There’s a lot of ideas in RAMCOA and general CDD spaces that are cultural, and that can be good and safe if it feels right to you. We will still reflect whatever you use when we address you, but please be aware that what works for you might not for us. Differences are okay, and I have yet to find the statement without exception. It’s part of being a person, and you are doing it just fine. I need you to consider we are doing the same.

#syscourse #osddid #did osdd #cdd system #dissociative identity disorder #ramcoa #tw ramcoa #traumagenic system #adaptive system #ec did #hc did

[thegoodlannister]

so this is my post about the changes to DAS (disney’s disability access services). while the changes won’t affect me because I’ve been diagnosed with autism, the fact that they are denying DAS services to people with mobility issues and other physical disabilities is unconscionable. to limit the use of DAS to those with developmental disabilities is to deny a HUGE portion of the disabled community, many of whom love disney. a part of the reason for that—at least for my wife and I—is that we have always felt included and cared for, my needs have been met, and we’ve always been able to enjoy the parks like anyone else.

here’s the thing: I have scoliosis, severe spinal stenosis, spina bifida occulta, and cysts on my spine that make standing for any sustained amount of time incredibly painful (and at times impossible due to loss of feeling). whenever I am out and about—and this includes at the disney parks—I use a rollator, which both gives me stability and a place to sit when necessary. without DAS, however, the only way I could visit a disney park would be in a wheelchair. DAS makes using my rollator there possible because of the shorter times I need to spend standing in a line.

that I would be forced into a wheelchair were it not for my autism diagnosis makes me frustrated and angry and embarrassed. I am NOT being cared for. wheelchairs are great for many, many people. they are a useful and important mobility aid. however, I don’t want to be told how to comport myself; I don’t want my mobility to be decided for me. I—and all other physically disabled people—should be allowed to make our own decisions about how we wish to move through the world. we know our bodies and abilities/limitations best. we live with our conditions and know them better than DAS ever will. to have my mobility dictated in this way is demeaning to my experience and intelligence (as well as my pain).

so explain, disney: why don’t your care about your guests with physical disabilities?

#disability #disabled #disney #das #physically disabled

[graceful-starker]

Please Just This Once

Summary: The aftermath of Tony accidentally gets roofied by Peter and Peter takes advantage of this situation.

@starkerfestivals’s bingo square: Overwhelmed

(Part 2/2)

Warnings: dubcon mention, manipulation mention, they both get off on it, unsafe sex, dark(ish)!Tony and Peter.

Notes: Trans!Peter, wc = 3533, I'm so sorry this is a day late!! I still suck at endings, but I tried to wrap it up nicely <3

~~~

Tony’s hand glides across to Peter’s cheek, the fingers moving almost lovingly, featherlight and sweet. Peter almost leans into them. 

He’s so confused. He doesn’t understand how he got here, to Tony looking at him like that and not with Peter being thrown out on his ass with hatred in Tony’s eyes. He doesn’t really understand why Tony isn’t angry, or at least hurt by what Peter did. 

Tony’s smile turns sharp, and those fingers drift up to twist meanly in Peter’s hair. Peter cries out, the sharp sting unexpected yet not unwelcome. “I want you to get me hard again. And then, I want you to let me show you how I would choose to fuck you. That’s what I want you to do.”

Peter swallows thickly, nodding quickly despite the tight grip on his hair. He obediently reaches up to wrap his hand around Tony’s cock, ignoring the hiss of overstimulation and stroking it slowly. “Anything you want,” Peter whispers, and regrets it almost immediately based on the way Tony’s eyes glint. 

Tony smiles, showing off far too many teeth, and pulls Peter closer to his cock by the hair. “I want to fuck your throat. I want to take what I want from you, since you took what you wanted from me.” He doesn’t push Peter any further, just keeps him there while his eyes search Peter’s face. 

Tony is playing a game, one where he acts like he wants revenge. But he’s asking for permission at every step, clearly communicating everything he wants to do. It’s such a stark contrast from earlier, when Peter took everything he wanted without asking, when he cried and begged until Tony caved. 

It makes something hot and heavy burn in Peter’s stomach, and he can’t decide if it’s shame or lust. Maybe both. 

Peter doesn’t verbally answer, he just opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out, looking up at Tony with wide eyes. If Tony’s cock twitching in his hand is any indication, Tony seems to approve. 

Tony licks his lips, pushing Peter’s hand away and taking himself in his own grip. “Put your hands on my knees and keep them there.” Peter obeys without hesitation, squeezing lightly. “Don’t move them,” Tony threatens, but it’s more of a promise because Peter is pretty sure that’s what he’s supposed to do if he wants Tony to stop.

He doesn’t want Tony to stop. He doesn’t ever want Tony to stop. 

Tony slips the head of his cock into Peter’s waiting mouth, rubbing the head teasingly over Peter’s tongue. Peter whines in the back of his throat, cheeks pink and eyes sliding half closed. Tony's cock head twitches on the tip of Peter’s tongue, so Peter makes the noise again and shuffles impatiently closer on his knees. 

If Peter hadn’t been sure before, he is now; he is undeniably a cock slut. 

Tony hums, twisting his fingers harder in Peter’s hair and forcing his face down. Peter has about half of Tony’s cock in his mouth when the older man stops, keeping Peter still by the hair. He whines again and suckles on what he already has access to, eyes flicking between Tony’s crotch and his eyes pleadingly. 

“Haven’t you already selfishly taken everything you wanted? Isn’t it my turn?” Tony’s eyes glint in a way that makes a spark of fear shoot up Peter’s spine. 

He’s surprised to find he doesn’t find it unpleasant. No; instead it makes Peter’s heart speed up, and it makes him throb between his legs. 

Peter forces himself to relax, to allow Tony to do whatever he wants. Even if all he wants is to stay there and tease Peter forever; Tony is owed it, after all. After what Peter did. 

Tony hums in approval, and slowly starts to move his cock over Peter’s tongue again. This time Peter lets him, just sitting still and letting it happen how Tony wants it to happen. 

Once Tony is sure that Peter isn’t going to try anything again, he slowly pushes his hips up until Peter’s nose is squashed in Tony’s crotch and Peter is choking.

Peter fights the urge to reach up and grab onto his throat, tears forced out of his eyes as he chokes almost violently. He’s never taken a cock so deeply before, usually just using his hand to jerk off whatever doesn’t fit in his mouth. It’s uncomfortable and Peter can’t breathe; but it’s what Tony wants.

Tony waits until Peter calms down before he pulls out, and Peter gulps down hungry lungfuls of air. “Good,” Tony murmurs, and shoves his cock back down Peter’s throat. 

Peter doesn’t even have time to think about the way Tony’s praise makes him feel. 

Peter chokes but stays still, looking up at Tony through thick tears. One falls down his cheek, allowing him to see Tony more clearly, and the hungry look in his eyes. It seems Peter’s tears don’t bother him half as much when he’s causing them on purpose. 

Tony starts a slow pace, pulling out until his hips hit the bed again and only half his cock is in Peter’s mouth, before pushing back up as deep as he can get and forcing choking noises out of Peter. 

Peter whimpers when Tony lets him breathe again, fighting the urges to touch himself and push Tony away both. Fat tears stream down his face, and he has to work hard to keep himself still. 

He does not remove his hands from Tony’s knees. 

Tony eventually speeds up his thrusts, hips pumping off the bed with a force that makes Tony’s grips on Peter’s hair very necessary to keep him in place. 

Peter chokes and gags and sobs loudly, the noises in the room combining to leave Peter absolutely throbbing with want and need. He didn’t think he would be into pain, or not being able to breathe. Maybe he isn’t; maybe he’s just so desperate for Tony that he’s going to enjoy anything the older man wants.  

And oh, is he enjoying it. 

Tony grunts and pulls back again, instead forcing Peter’s face down until he can’t go anymore, his nose squashed uncomfortably. 

Peter squeezes Tony’s knees, but doesn’t let go. He wants this, he wants this so badly, even though it hurts and it’s uncomfortable. Anything Tony gives him, at this point, is more than he ever thought he would get. And Peter wants every last second of it.

Tony fists Peter’s hair harder, physically moving the younger man up and down on his cock. He’s obviously enjoying the sound Peter makes when his tip moves in and out of Peter’s throat, based on the way his head twitches and is steadily leaking pre into Peter’s mouth.

Peter has never felt more wanted in his entire life, and he wouldn’t trade this for the world. 

Tony finally pulls Peter off after what feels like both not enough and far too much time, and Peter gasps desperately for air. His right hand comes up to his throat, coughing and attempting to soothe the ache there, but he squeezes Tony’s knee with his left hand to hopefully show he doesn’t want to stop. 

Peter doesn’t know how he could keep going if Tony stopped now. He has never needed anything as much as he needs Tony right now. He’s never been so turned on, literally dripping down his thighs with the evidence of it. 

Peter is not given much time to recover. Tony lifts him by the hair, the sharp sting mixing with the dull ache in his throat to make Peter just the right side of overwhelmed. Based on the look in Tony’s eye, he has a feeling he’s about to get a lot more overwhelmed. 

It almost looks like Tony is going to kiss him. He wants Tony to kiss him. He wants it more than he wants anything else.  

“I want you on the bed. Hands and knees. Now.” Tony loosens his grip on Peter’s hair, but he doesn’t entirely let go. He’s obviously testing the waters, seeing how Peter feels about the instructions. 

Peter’s earlier behavior is a red hot memory, flaming Peter and making him feel equal parts guilty and turned on by how obviously Tony wants Peter to want this. 

To be fair to Peter, he had also wanted Tony to want it very much. He just wasn’t going to let a little thing like Tony not, in fact, actually wanting it, stop him. 

Peter clambers gracelessly onto the bed, digging the heels of his hands into the bed and spreading his legs so his knees are shoulder width apart. The fact that Tony still has his shirt on didn't bother Peter before, but now that he’s in such a vulnerable position, it adds just that little bit of humiliation to the scene. 

Either Tony doesn’t want to encourage that feeling or he didn't notice Peter had it, because the shirt is on the floor almost the second Peter remembers he still has it on. Tony climbs up the bed so he can kneel behind Peter, grabbing onto his hips and grinding his spit wet cock between Peter’s cheeks. 

Peter makes a desperate noise, cheeks flaming red with a mixture of want, shame, and embarrassment. “Tony,” he whispers, grinding back into the older man’s hips. “Please, I want to be good. I want to do what you want me to do. Please.”

Tony makes an appreciative noise behind him, one hand moving up to roam over Peter's back and the other moving down to push two fingers into Peter’s wet and dripping hole. “I would get a condom, but you’re already dripping with my come from the first round. Seems pointless now.” 

Tony pulls his fingers out and Peter whines loudly, his hole clenching desperately around nothing. The older man leans over him, his entire front pressed into Peter’s back, and the skin on skin contact makes Peter shiver despite the warmth. His lips press into Peter’s ear as he breathes his next words hotly. “Besides, I think you look so gorgeous dripping with my come. I want you fat and full of it, I want to fill you up so much it has nowhere else to go but out and down the back of your thighs.”

Peter whimpers and new tears drip down his cheeks and onto the pillow beneath him. “I want that. I want to look good for you; I want to be good for you.” He pushes back into Tony behind him, trying to rub himself against Tony’s cock. It’s too much; this is all too much stimulation, but Peter doesn’t care. He likes it, he likes the way Tony has so easily pulled Peter apart at the seams and left him a mess. 

Peter whines when the older man pulls back, and Tony slaps Peter’s ass, hard enough to hurt and bruise and not at all teasing like he was earlier. “Yeah? You want to be good for me, now that you’ve gotten everything you’ve wanted?”

Peter whimpers in shame, biting his lip to hold back the pleas he so desperately wants to give Tony. He wants to beg until he’s blue in the face, beg for Tony’s cock inside of his greedy little hole, beg for his come, beg for Tony to do whatever he wants to Peter. 

Peter is sure he has limits and kinks that he would say no to; but he can’t think of anything right at this moment. He sincerely thinks Tony could ask him to do or say anything, and he would. Not only would he do it, he would do it happily. Peter would get off on it. Whatever Tony wants, his own limits be damned. 

Tony slaps Peter’s ass again, his other hand creeping down to stuff two fingers back into Peter. They spread easily, pushing through the come and pointing out wordlessly that Peter is already stretched out and dripping. Peter sobs and pushes his hips back into the fingers, clenching around them to entice Tony for more. “Please, Tony. Please!”

Tony groans softly and pulls his fingers out, again slapping Peter’s ass and turning the skin red from abuse. “Take what I give you, Peter. Don’t beg for more.” The instruction is so clear and easy to follow, but it makes Peter ache and squirm with the need to disobey. 

Peter whimpers softly but doesn’t beg anymore, simply forces his hips to stay still and take whatever Tony wants to give him; however much or little that should be. 

Tony rubs his tip up against Peter’s entrance, making Peter gasp and fight to keep his hips still. He opens his mouth to beg for it, but quickly bites his lip and forces his plea to stay inside. Tony doesn’t want to hear it right now, it won’t help his cause. 

Tony makes an approving noise in the back of his throat, one hand trailing up Peter’s side and feeling the smooth skin there. Peter trembles with it, skin prickling the second Tony’s warm hand skates over and leaves the area. 

He pushes his cock forward, and it slips past Peter’s hole. The younger man gasps and whines as it pushes through his folds and rubs over his clit. “You’re absolutely gagging for it, aren’t you? You want it so bad, you want my cock inside of you so badly you can’t stand it. So badly you would just take it from me, no matter what I wanted. Isn’t that right, baby?” 

Peter flushes with shame, but nods in agreement. He should be ashamed of himself, but right now he doesn’t, can’t care. All he wants is Tony, and he doesn’t care what Tony gives him. He doesn’t care about how he gets what he wants, as long as he gets it. He’s so overwhelmed with want and sensation, he can’t think about anything other than being good. 

“Dirty little slut,” Tony whispers, dragging his cock back again before pushing his tip into Peter’s hole and keeping it there. He teases Peter, just moving the tip in and out of Peter’s entrance slowly and deliberately. “Fuck, Peter, you’re still so tight.”

Peter whimpers and brings one hand up to cover his mouth, trying to stifle his noises. He didn’t know it would be possible, but Tony feels even better inside of him at this angle than he did before. His cock is so wide and big, and even the tip is stretching Peter so much. He wants more, wants Tony to absolutely ruin him. Peter wants Tony to fuck him so well that he can’t even imagine anything else inside of him. 

Tony pushes down between Peter’s shoulder blades, and Peter’s arm gives out easily. His face hits the pillows, and he grinds his face into it for comfort. “Please,” Peter whispers, not sure if he hopes Tony hears it or not. He grips the sheets under his fingers and twists, trying to find anything to help ground him. 

Tony slowly pushes into Peter, as deep as he can go, until his balls hit Peter’s pubic bone gently. He ignores Peter’s plea, grinding as deep as he can and enjoying the way Peter cries and squirms in overstimulation. 

Peter sobs and clenches, biting at the pillow in a useless attempt to control the feelings inside of him. Tony is so deep inside it almost hurts, especially the way he keeps grinding deeper despite there being nowhere else to go. His cock pushes against Peter’s spot, rubbing against it without paying it any special attention. His balls rub lightly against Peter’s clit, just enough to tease and not enough to get Peter off. 

Peter feels so close to the edge that a change in the wind could push him over; it’s too much and not enough and Peter aches. 

Tony pinches Peter’s thigh roughly, in the spot where Peter’s ass meets his thigh, and hums at the way Peter sobs and squirms. It’s just enough to bring Peter back into his body, but not enough to help Peter calm down. “Did you mean it, Peter?” he asks, voice low and gravelly. 

Peter grinds his face into the pillow, and almost just agrees without thinking about it. Tony pushes harder on Peter’s back, making Peter’s chest rub roughly against the sheets. “What?” Peter sobs, his thighs shaking with the effort of keeping still. Tony pulls out until just his tip is still inside Peter’s folds, and then slams back in roughly. Peter cries out loudly, all thoughts fucked right out of his head. 

Tony tsks softly, and the disapproving noise almost breaks the younger man. “Did you mean it, when you said you would do anything to have me? That you wanted me more than anything?” He pulls out and pushes back in harshly, dragging Peter across the sheets and punching a desperate noise out of him. 

Did Peter say that out loud? Does it even matter any more? Even if he hadn’t said it, it’s obviously true by the way Peter is acting. “Yes!,” Peter cries, rubbing his face into the pillow, wet with his tears. “Please, anything you want. I need you, I want you so bad!”

Tony slaps Peter’s ass and is rewarded by the instinctual clenching of Peter’s body. “Then you can take it, can’t you? You can take anything I want to give you, because you want me that badly. You would let me do anything to you right now.” Some of those words were questions, but the way Tony says it doesn’t sound like a question. It sounds like a statement of fact, like Tony couldn't possibly be wrong. 

He isn’t wrong. Peter would let Tony do anything to him right now, no matter how much it hurt.

“Yes!” Peter cries, gasping as Tony picks up the pace and starts fucking the air straight out of Peter’s lungs. “Anything you want, Tony, anything!”

Tony starts to fuck Peter so fast and so hard that Peter’s mind goes completely blank, and his ass cheeks clap loudly against Tony’s thighs. He thinks he might be sobbing, but he doesn’t even care. He doesn’t want Tony to stop; he wants for Tony to never stop. 

Tony’s head rubs past that spot inside of him without even trying, and his balls slap into Peter’s clit hard enough to feel good and not hard enough to hurt, and the hand on Peter’s ass is as hot as a brand and the hand on his back is bruising and the sheets rub against his nipples and he can’t really breathe and-

And Peter has never felt such pleasure in his entire life. 

Peter cries out as he starts to orgasm, clenching and squirting around Tony’s cock. He can’t think or hear or feel anything; his entire world whites out with pleasure. He doesn’t even get to feel Toy filling him up again, doesn’t get to experience the bliss that is Tony’s orgasm due to Peter’s body. He’s so overwhelmed with the feelings that his mind takes mercy on him and dulls everything else.

He comes to a few minutes later, and Tony is still inside of him, petting Peter’s hip softly with one hand and his inner thigh with the other. “...didn’t even need me to touch you, did you? You just came from my cock inside you by itself, that’s all you needed.” His words would be embarrassing and make Peter feel self conscious, if they weren’t spoken with such awe and desire. 

“Tony?” he asks softly, his hole spasming around Tony with an aftershock of his orgasm. Tony groans and pulls out, and Peter gasps as he feels Tony’s spend also start to slowly slide out of him. 

“I’m here,” Tony promises, moving both hands to Peter’s thighs. He spreads them further, his thumbs pulling apart Peter’s folds so he can get a better look. Peter whines in embarrassment, cheeks red as he looks up at Tony from over his shoulder. 

Tony laughs darkly, pushing his thumb into the mess and causing Peter to clench around it. He pulls it back out and his eyes track the glob of come that spill out and slides down Peter’s thigh. 

“I’m here,” Tony repeats, moving up the bed and laying down beside the younger man, pulling Peter into his arms happily. Peter chooses not to look a gift horse in the mouth and nuzzles under Tony’s chin, allowing himself to settle happily into Tony’s embrace. 

They stay like that for several moments, before Tony sighs and kisses the top of Peter’s hair. “Do you actually want to be mine?” Tony whispers, hugging Peter more tightly to his chest. “Did you mean it?”

Peter nods without hesitation, before Tony is even done with his sentence. “Yes, Tony. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life.”

Tony hums softly, running his fingers along Peter’s arm. “Good,” he says, voice soft and deep. “Because I want you to be mine too.”

Peter melts into Tony, kissing and nipping softly at every inch of skin he can reach. “Yours,” he promises, and feels Tony’s chest rumble in approval. 

#starkerfestivalsevents #starker #sfsummerbingo23 #tw: dubcon

[spacelazarwolf]

this feels like a silly thing to ask but, how do you actually...leave an abusive relationship? He never lets me leave the house without him.

not silly at all. leaving is incredibly difficult, especially if you live together. it will require some planning on your part.

(and just a disclaimer, i’m not a lawyer or a therapist or any sort of professional, i’m just a dude who’s been in and gotten out of an abusive relationship and know others who have as well)

if you have your own source of income, try your best to keep it in an account only you have access to or an account you have ownership of. do your best to save as much as you can. if there are birthdays or holidays coming up, you can always say you’re saving up for presents.

if you can, see if you have friends or family you can stay with. if not, talk to people at your place of worship if you have one, your job, domestic violence shelters, and someone will be able to find a place for you to stay. if you don’t feel comfortable disclosing why you need a place to stay, you can come up with another reason or just not give one.

once you have a place to stay, find a time where he’ll be out of the house and plan to have someone come over and help you move all your stuff out, or at least all the essentials. make sure you have all your important documents like drivers license, birth certificate, passport, green card, etc. as well as any financial documents you may have.

if you are white, you may be able to contact your local police station and have them send over some officers to supervise your move out in case he comes home. this is risky because the officers don’t always side with the victim, but there will at least be police presence there to deter him from becoming physically violent if he does show up. if you’re not white, this is obviously not going to be as safe and may not be an option. i’d say this is really only for if you think he’ll get physically violent or try to physically prevent you from leaving, and it’s not guaranteed.

once you’re out, avoid posting on social media. don’t give him any hints as to where you’re staying. if you’re married, this is the point you’ll probably need to talk to a lawyer about divorce. if not, don’t contact him. don’t answer calls or texts, just ignore him and try to focus on yourself and your safety. eat some ice cream, watch your favorite show, don’t think about what’s next, just try to relax as best you can. you can work out the details later. you don’t owe him closure. if you want to block his number and never speak to him again, you can absolutely do that.

if you’re in the us, this is a collection of housing laws relating to tenants rights when it comes to domestic abuse. (it’s from 2013 so it may be outdated but it’s a good place to start). additionally, if you work, you may be entitled to time off to get things sorted.

that’s all the practical stuff, but when it comes to actually working up the courage to leave, that’s the hardest part. it took me months to decide i wanted to leave my abuser. tbh it was like a whole year before i left that i realized he was abusive. i was lucky that we weren’t living together so i wasn’t in any physical danger, but he had very thoroughly fucked up my brain by then with incessant gaslighting, so having friends who could tell me what was real and what wasn’t was incredibly important. even just telling a friend you want to leave could get the ball rolling. if he has access to your phone, i’d suggest using an app like snapchat where the messages disappear once they’re read.

and like maybe controversial but let yourself be a victim. not in the “allow yourself to be hurt” sense but the “allow people to dote on you and try to help you” sense. i was really hesitant to accept help because i didn’t want to be a bother, but people are more willing to help each other out than we think. if you ask for help, there’s a good chance someone will offer it.

#ask avishai

[tallerthantale]

What Does Aziraphale Actually Believe, Part 5: Temptation

This is a series of my takes on what Aziraphale believes through the timeline of the show. It is all my personal interpretation, and I am happy to hear others. You don’t need to read them all in order, but know that I am coming from a perspective on Aziraphale’s machinations that can be difficult for people without a psychology background to follow without the first two posts as a primer. The quick version is that Aziraphale has a set of beliefs that exist in some form or another within his mind. However, at any given moment, only some of them exist ‘with awareness’ or as I am putting it here, conscious!Aziraphale only has access to the beliefs that the rest of his mind, veil!Aziraphale, allows him to know about. The context of the moment will determine what lives on the surface and what stays buried behind the veil, whatever arrangement best prevents a threat to Aziraphale’s sense of self and makes whatever he is inclined to do feel right.

In this part I will be starting with the ox rib we skipped over last time, then moving forward through the cold open flashbacks between Job and Edinburgh. Edinburgh itself will be the start of the next post. The focus is on temptation, Crowley tempting Aziraphale, Aziraphale learning to do Crowley’s temptations, then Aziraphale learning to tempt Crowley himself. 3.7k words. I just keep getting carried away don’t I…  All hope was lost when I started doing end notes.

Temptations are Crowley’s department, all the way back to the apple. He was perhaps the original tempter. I have commented before that his description of himself as only ever having asked questions could be a description of him essentially tempting the other future demons to try to unionise heaven. He likes crafting a persuasive argument, and he makes them based on a model of what he knows other people believe, rather than his own beliefs. While Aziraphale shifts what he believes he believes, Crowley shifts the belief he is arguing, his actual beliefs stable but obscured. 

Are You Trying to Tempt Me?

“Not at all, angels can’t be tempted, can they?”

“Certainly not.”

“Well, then you’re free to try the food.”

This is, once again, a fallen angel, an entity who was an angel, ‘did the wrong thing’ and now isn’t an angel anymore because of it, telling a current angel that it is impossible for an angel to do the wrong thing. Once again, Aziraphale endorses the face value assertion. Aziraphale may be starting at times to adopt a view where Crowley’s fall didn’t happen because he did the wrong thing, but because God has an ineffable plan for Crowley. 

That said, it is still funny to me that Crowley makes this argument, given that he at least considers the fall to have been intended as a punishment for doing the wrong thing. He knows the argument will work on Aziraphale anyway, because Aziraphale likes to assure himself with absolutism. Crowley knows that by claiming Aziraphale is inherently incapable of being tempted he’s framing things in a way that mindfucks Aziraphale. He is offering Aziraphale options for how to rationalise his actions. He also makes a point of presenting the platter, and holding it and himself still, such that every action Aziraphale takes is within his own control.

Aziraphale tries the food because he wants to. He would not have realised that he wanted to if Crowley hadn’t put it in front of him. He might not have gone for it if Crowley hadn’t verbally handed him the rationalisation. Individual definitions of temptation may vary, but I’m pretty sure this qualifies under most of them. Or rather, the degree to which it qualifies depends on the value judgement we put on eating the ox. We wouldn’t generally say a dehydrated person was tempted to drink water. 

Does Aziraphale think that he was tempted after the fact? For the rest of the Job minisode he’s got bigger things to worry about, and we don’t see him again until 2533 years later. However, flashing forward to their interaction in Rome, my take would be that he does come to believe Crowley tempted him with the ox rib, but he feels positively about that. 

Aziraphale has a peculiar trust in Crowley, where he never rules out that any particular thing Crowley says is a lie, either directly or through misleading, but has utterly unshakable faith that Crowley will not substantively abuse their bond. He is not worried for a second that Crowley will blackmail him or harm him. I think that version of complex trust extends to believing that Crowley can and will tempt him, including in manipulative ways, but it will only ever land him somewhere he will in retrospect be happy to have gone. Aziraphale can believe Crowley manipulatively tempted him to pick up earthly pleasures, and also believe at the same time that Crowley did him a favour by tempting him, as an act of service. 

Aziraphale tends to sort things as morally bad when they feel wrong, and morally good when they feel right. Before trying the food, his desire to eat felt wrong, and he was at war with himself about it. He was being nudged towards something that felt wrong, he feels he might be being tempted, he feels conflicted, he is not at peace with himself. Once Crowley nudged him over the line, and he tried it, it felt right. His inner conflict was cured by the nudge, and now eating food feels right, and the temptation wasn’t like… a TEMPTATION temptation. Just a little tempting, as a treat. 

While I think Crowley hesitates to tempt frequently, largely out of fear Aziraphale will decide it was the bad kind of temptation, Crowley is actually very protected from that outcome. In the event that Aziraphale doesn’t enjoy the thing, he won’t pick it up as a habit, and the TEMPTATION will have failed. Any temptation that works is the good kind, so Aziraphale won’t take up a vice and then feel negatively about Crowley for the fact that he has the vice. Even so, the pattern puts a lot of heavy lifting and responsibility on Crowley, and I can see why Crowley wouldn’t push those lines often.

Not Quite Allies

We next see the duo at the Crucifixion, where Aziraphale laments that he is not consulted on policy decisions. It is a tacit admission that he would not have made the same call if he had been in charge. He doesn't have any authority over what heaven decides to do. Does he think God made the decision? Does he think God was playing games with the angels to see what they would go along with? I don't know, and I'm not sure Aziraphale knows what he thinks either. At this point I think he tries to not have opinions as often as he can, but isn’t always successful. He wants heaven to be different, but he doesn’t have a plan. Does he want to be consulted on policy decisions? Not if it won’t make a difference. If he is too outnumbered for expressing dissent to matter, that is a workplace politics nightmare, and he might have to fake a position to avoid retaliation. Best to avoid that. But what if it is a case of pluralistic ignorance? See end note.

Crowley had a temptation mission and didn’t like how it went. 

“Still a demon then?” 

“What kind of stupid question is that? Still a demon? What else am I going to be, an Aardvark?”

“...Saluteria.” 

Crowley’s bitter sarcasm, while partly from his already sour mood, still makes me think he doesn’t believe it is physically possible for him to stop being a demon. I don’t think Aziraphale has any material knowledge Crowley doesn’t. Aziraphale has no reason to have the hypothetical possibility in his mind that Crowley could stop being a demon. Sure it was just a fumbling awkward thing to say, but it had to be in some part of his mind first to come out of his mouth. As I have said before, when Aziraphale believes something inexplicably, it’s because he isn’t emotionally prepared to live in a universe where it isn’t true. Aziraphale isn’t emotionally prepared to live in a universe where Crowley will forever be a demon. That said, he’s going to have some fun with the fact that Crowley is a demon for now.

“I thought I’d try Petronius’s new restaurant. I hear he does remarkable things to oysters.”

“I’ve never eaten an oyster.”

“Oh! Oh, well, let me tempt you to… Oh, no, that, that’s your job, isn’t it?”

Gulp

Aziraphale tells Crowley it's his job to tempt him. It's a bit facetious, sure. But it's still in the context of genuinely encouraging him to go to an explicitly homoerotic fiction writer's aphrodisiac restaurant, so.... I have a long post about why Aziraphale wants Crowley to tempt him more, dubbed the spicy meta if you haven't read it yet. Long story short, it's a responsibility dodge for having desires in the first place. If Crowley tempts him, he can imagine himself to be accommodating Crowley’s desires rather than having his own. I would also speculate that given the popularity of the Roman baths Aziraphale has already figured out how to make the effort, at least as far as appearances go. At this point, is Aziraphale DTF on the grounds that it's just sushi with friction? I'm not sure I'd go that far, but I do think he is taking a baby step on a road that he knows is headed in that direction. See end note.

I don't think he thinks God would object, but I do think he imagines that returning Crowley to being an angel is a milestone on that road. He has seen the truth of Crowley's loneliness as a demon who can only go along with hell so far, and I think Aziraphale is already aiming for eventually creating a reformed heaven that wouldn't have cast Crowley out and could take him back. If he didn’t deserve to fall for Uz, why should Crowley be a demon for asking questions? Aziraphale treats Crowley’s demonic status as a temporary state. When he assigns qualities or features or allegiances to Crowley due to Crowley being a demon, Aziraphale doesn’t see that as an essentialization, because to him ‘demon’ is a transitory state of being, not an identity. That isn’t how Crowley sees it, and Aziraphale is frustratingly oblivious to that fact. 

Several hundred years later they are both stationed in Great Britain. Aziraphale refuses the first offer of the arrangement. Aziraphale likes doing good deeds. He gets carried away doing miracles for people. Doing good things makes him feel good, and he likes it when what he is supposed to be doing and that he enjoys doing gets to be the same thing. His only inkling towards accepting Crowley's proposal was a creature comfort one, "It is a bit damp." Notably, the offer was not one to cover or trade responsibilities, but to mutually stand down. The next time we see the arrangement offered, it's a bit different.

All the World’s a Stage

When Crowley and Aziraphale are facing the same direction, Season one goes extremely hard on always placing Aziraphale to Crowley's right, and Crowley to Aziraphale's left, all the way through the season building up to the body swap reveal. Except at the Globe. Here they switch back and forth, to show they are now comfortable changing roles.

At the Globe Aziraphale protests, before it is revealed that he has already done Crowley's temptations dozens of times. The number one flashback I want to see in Season 3 is the first time Aziraphale performed one of Crowley's temptation assignments from hell, and why he agreed to do it. My guess is that it was mostly the potential for Crowley to be doing blessings that sells him on it. Probably relating to Crowley's fondness for doing nice things for people, but also probably part of Aziraphale's hopes to get an angelic Crowley back. I would imagine that proving a demon can be saved and become an angel again would in his mind be a far greater good than the harm done by him personally performing the occasional minor temptation that was going to happen anyway.

It is also clearly observable that when Aziraphale loses the coin toss, is now responsible for doing Crowley’s temptation, and won’t be getting Crowley to do a blessing, he isn’t bothered by it. At some point off screen he has gained the ability to tempt people himself without it ‘feeling bad.’ He has also gained the making puppy eyes at Crowley ability. He can get Crowley to do things without asking out loud, and therefore without having to acknowledge that he was asking for something.

Aziraphale now has a card he can play to not take moral responsibility for temptation behaviour. As long as he is tempting someone, or baiting them into something, he didn’t actually do the thing himself, he didn't ask anyone to do that... We can observe that he is personally doing a job assigned from hell, and judge Aziraphale for not considering that to be getting his hands dirty. I certainly do. But Aziraphale is clinging to that distinction. He tempted humans, they still did it themselves. He only presented Crowley the opportunity to do a good deed, Crowley made the play a hit. The last step in the causal chain is what counts. Except when it doesn’t.

His initial objections to the arrangement are all for show. It’s the theme of the flashback, all the world’s a stage and Aziraphale and Crowley are playing their parts when they do their jobs, and can play each other’s parts just as well. But who is Aziraphale’s show of protest for? There is plenty of room for interpretation on this point, but it seems to me that any observation from heaven or hell of their shenanigans would get them both executed no matter how many times Aziraphale faux protested about it first. 

If Aziraphale’s sanity hinges on believing God is ok with what he has gotten up to, so he can assume he believes God already knows and doesn’t care, and the institution of heaven would condemn him either way, why the show? He doesn’t put up a show with the snacks. He’s just an angel that likes snacks. That works for him. Why can’t he just be an angel who’s friends with a demon? Because he isn’t at peace with it yet. His conflicted feelings about Crowley and about their allegiances are making a mess in the back of his mind, and the performance he is putting on is for himself.

Aziraphale’s initial protest lets him believe that Crowley made him do it. But isn’t he also, at the same time, learning to tempt others and not take responsibility for what they do? Yes. So does he believe the tempter is responsible, or does he believe the tempted is responsible? He CAN believe either. They are options he has, when his mind constructs his conscious experience. Whatever lets him do what intuitively feels right at the time without damaging his sense of self gets loaded into his awareness. 

The Bastille

Princess Peach is looked up in the Bastille. Aziraphale cannot bring himself to simply take Crowley out to lunch. That wouldn't be a very angelic thing to do, taking a demon out for a lunch date. But alas, his encouragement of the temptation demon to tempt him more hasn't gone in the direction he had hoped, and so yet again, he must personally do the tempting himself. How can he, an angel of the lord, tempt a temptation demon into a lunch date without it being a lunch date? Well, if circumstances arose such that he happened to owe the demon a favour, the angelic thing to do would be to treat him to lunch of course. It wouldn't be a date per se, it would be courtesy. Maybe he can keep finding creative ways to owe the demon favours. 

Once again we can ask, how much of this nonsense is keeping up appearances for heaven? I think it is basically zero. Aziraphale believes God already knows everything he and Crowley have done, and they have done it with God’s indifference if not blessing. Aziraphale will go to some effort maintaining appearances around the archangels, they wouldn’t like him fraternising. But I still don’t think the Bastille nonsense was an act for them. In my opinion he knows heaven’s management doesn't care if Aziraphale is out to lunch with Crowley because it's a date or if it's repayment for the Bastille rescue, it’s treason either way. There is a case to be made that Aziraphale is only ever worried heaven will give him a slap on the wrist for his nonsense, but in that interpretation I still think the distinction between lunch date and lunch repayment remains a distinction Aziraphale would know the archangels don’t care about.

So if Aziraphale isn’t putting the charade on for God, because God already knows, and he isn’t putting it on for heaven’s leadership, because the difference doesn’t mean anything to them, why is he doing it at all? Because needing the repayment excuse to take Crowley out for crepes isn't about maintaining an outward facing concept of appearances, but an internal one. 

Aziraphale has an internal sense of what he prefers, and what feels right. His feelings towards Crowley create a conflict between his sense of what he prefers and what feels right. He prefers to buy Crowley crepes. Inviting a demon out to lunch for a date doesn't feel right. Repaying a favour feels right, problem solved. Of course what would really feel right would be for Crowley to be doing the pursuing and tempting. Then he would just be accommodating the demon’s desires, not having desires of his own. Crowley isn’t taking on the tempting / romancing role without some very aggressive subtext paving the way, but by learning how to do Crowley's temptation assignments, Aziraphale has also learned how to tempt Crowley.

Aziraphale can believe he is acting in accordance with God's ineffable will as long as what he prefers to do can also feel right, and he can get very creative about what feels right. It probably felt very righteous to swap clothes with the executioner. It wouldn't have felt righteous to personally kill the man with his own hands, but Aziraphale didn't do that, so in his mind he isn't responsible for the death.

There is a poetic justice argument to be made in favour of killing the executioner, and Crowley does make it. But that isn't how Aziraphale understands it. We see in the modern era that Aziraphale claims to have never killed anything before. Unless he personally does the killing directly, it doesn't count. He doesn't consider himself responsible for the death of the fish in his sushi either, contributing to the market demand for animal products is even more abstracted than changing the executioner's clothes. 

Part 5/10

End Notes

On policy decisions: There is a Game Theory issue, where if one person can’t make a difference, and you risk destruction for speaking out, the right choice is not to speak out. Unless secretly a lot of people are all making the same calculation. Say you have a group of people, and there is a vote between green and purple. If purple wins, everyone gets 20$ and the organisers are fired. If green wins, everyone who voted purple is shot. The organisers say they will fine anyone who promotes voting purple. Everyone says they will vote green. Is it in your interest to vote purple? Only if you know you will win. Everyone says they will vote green, so you can’t ever have confidence that purple will win, even though purple winning is clearly the better outcome. This sort of trap hinders a lot of attempts to form unions IRL, even when a strong majority do want to form one. 

If Aziraphale wants to coup heaven, he’ll need to know he has enough angels siding with him to win. He isn’t in a position to pull off so much as a sneaky headcount while stationed on earth, and given how isolated heaven keeps angels I’m not sure he’d make any progress stationed in heaven. I think there are differences he’d like to make in how heaven runs, but it isn’t clear if arguing the point would make progress or get him a one way ticket to a scrivener’s closet with a wiped brain. If everyone in heaven really is on team whack the kids, it makes sense for Aziraphale to just keep his head down. But what if like 95% of the angels actually agree with Aziraphale, and are also just keeping their heads down, because everyone is individually incorrectly assuming the majority are on team whack the kids, because everyone is coerced into saying that they are on team whack the kids? Then we might see his unwillingness to force the issue in a different light. The second version feels very Terry Pratchett to me. 

On sushi with friction: I personally don’t think Aziraphale would have a romantic or sexual relationship with a human. I think he would consider it out of line with his responsibilities as a guardian / caretaker of humanity. I think at this point, that is the only reason he wouldn’t. Aziraphale parallels a lot of IRL behaviour of people with shame around their sexuality or sex drive, and it’s worth observing and commenting on, or feeling represented by for those who do. However I think his hang-ups with Crowley, wanting Crowley to tempt him, approach avoidance about it ect… are more about Crowley being on 'opposite sides' than about Aziraphale having shame responses around sex. That is just my perspective though, as with everything else here. Differing opinions are encouraged, I’m happy to hear what other people think.

On killing the Executioner: Theoretically modern Aziraphale could have not loaded the memory of the incident with the executioner into his awareness. We see when they go to the Ritz in S1E1 that Aziraphale’s memory of the time period has gaps, and he mostly remembers the crepes date. That said, we know from Neil’s recorded commentary on S1E3 that at least as far as Neil sees it, Aziraphale doesn’t take responsibility for the executioner’s death because that's just how he processes events at the time. 

#good omens #good omens meta #go meta #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #what does aziraphale actually believe