#because i think most of all authors in history have just been giving it our best stab

[greenerteacups]

Hi! I am an ardent fan of your writing, and I hope to be as sorted and planned as you some day in my own writing journey.

My question is: you have a keen eye when it comes to planning character personality, dynamics, and such. I've also been wading through your ask replies, and your insights into how you write people and how you make them play off of each other is so wonderful to read. If it's not too personal a q, how did you learn how to write like this? Did you go to school for writing, does it come from years of observing people, do you have reading list recs for "how to write real people and real interactions"?

Thanks! This is a really flattering question. I'll try to answer it honestly, because I wish someone had been brutally honest about this with me when I was a young writer.

I didn't go to school for writing. I started doing it when I was about nine years old. It sucked very badly. I kept writing throughout high school, and it still mostly sucked, but some of it was occasionally interesting. ("Interesting" here does not mean "good," by the way.) I took a break in college, and then came back. I've been writing ever since. Sometimes, I feel good about it. A lot of the time, I don't!

I hate giving this advice, because I remember how it feels to get it, and it's the most uninspiring, boring-ass, dog shit advice you can get, but it's also the only advice that is 100% unequivocally true: you have to write, and specifically, you have to write things that suck.

I do not mean that you should make things that suck on purpose. I mean that you have to sit down and try your absolute hardest to make something good. You have to put in the hours, the elbow grease, the blood, sweat, and tears, and then you have to read it over and accept that it just totally sucks. There is no way around this, and you should be wary of people who tell you there is. There is no trick, no rule, no book you can buy or article you can read, that will make your writing not suck. The best someone else can do is tell you what good writing looks like, and chances are, you knew that anyway — after all, you love to read. You wouldn't be trying to do this if you didn't. And anyone who says they can teach you to write so good it doesn't suck at first is either lying to you, or they have forgotten how they learned to write in the first place.

So the trick is to sit there in the miserable doldrums of Suck, write a ton, and learn to like it. Because this is the phase of your path as an artist when you find what it is you love about writing, and it cannot be the chance to make "good writing." This will be the thing that bears you through and compels you to keep going when your writing is shit, i.e., the very thing that makes you a writer in the first place. So find that, and you've got a good start.

Some people know this, but assume that perseverance as a writer is about trying to get to the point where you don't suck anymore. This is not true, and it is an actively dangerous lie to tell young writers. You are not aiming to feel like your writing doesn't suck. You are aiming to write. You are aiming to have written. Everything else is dust and rust. And of course, you'll find things you like about your pieces, you'll find things you're proud of, you'll learn to love the things you've made. But that little itch of self-criticism, in the back of your brain — the one that cringes when you read a clunky line, or thinks of a better character beat right after it's far too late to change — that's never going away. That's the Writer part of you. Read Kafka, read Dickens, read Tolstoy, you will find diary entries where they lament how absolutely fucking atrocious their writing was, and how angry they are that they can't do better. A good writer hates their sentences because they can always imagine better ones. And the ability to imagine a better sentence is what's going to make you pick up the pen again tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that.

Which is what I mean, and probably what all those other annoying, preachy advice-givers mean, when we say: a good writer is just someone who writes every day. It's that easy, and that hard.

#by the way a lot of this draws on ideas inspired by 'letters to a young poet' by rainer maria rilke if you're interested #that's a formative text for me as an artist #it won't teach you how to write but it will teach you how to think perhaps #and once you know how to think. well. life is just pretty good #and i can't say the writing gets easier but when life is pretty good i find myself enjoying it a lot more #this word vomit was prompted by the question 'how do you write real people and real interactions' #because that's like — i'm not trying to be pedantic but— #that's kind of just 'how do you write literature'? #because that's all literature is. what are human beings? how do you write a person? how do they interact with each other? #like shoutout to the void if you know for sure how to write real interactions then please for the love of god tell the rest of us #because i think most of all authors in history have just been giving it our best stab #'this is how the world looks for me. is it how the world looks for you?' #so my advice on that score is: try to see how the world looks for you #and then try to share it with me #don't worry about whether it looks the same for me. it won't

[centaurianthropology]

One thing that I think a lot of Disco Elysium meta misses (likely because a lot of it is very clearly written by young Americans writing from an intensely American-centric cultural perspective without even really realizing it) is that one of the singular and central themes of the game is massive-scale generational trauma in a home that is economically collapsing as its resources and people are being drained by an occupation.  People have noted that no one tries to help Harry, despite the fact his mental illness is incredibly obvious to everyone around him.  He tells Kim that he completely lost his memory, and Kim politely asks him to focus on the work.  He tells Gottlieb that he had a heart attack, and Gottlieb tells him that if he’s still alive it couldn’t have been that bad.  That he’ll drop dead sooner or later, but then so does everyone.

And that’s the most important thing: so does everyone.  Look at Martinaise.  Look at the world in which Harry lives.  It is not our own, but it is adjacent to ours.  More specifically, it is clearly adjacent to the states of the Eastern Bloc: overtaken and occupied by a faraway government that clearly doesn’t care about Revachol or its people.  And that is obvious in every tired face, every defeated citizen, everyone trying to eke out a little happiness or meaning in spite of the overwhelming trauma and damage around them.  The buildings are still half-destroyed.  The bullet holes are still in the walls.  The revolution was decades before, but it still feels to the people there like a fresh wound.  The number of men of Harry’s generation who are not alcoholic or otherwise deeply fucked up are very few.  Some, like Kim, hide it better, but the deeper you dig into his history, the more you realize how damaged Kim is.  He’s more than a little trigger happy, and hates that about himself, but he is a product of his environment: Kim’s entire life is seeing people he cared about shot and killed, so his instinct now is to shoot first himself, to protect those few people left who still matter to him.

Harry is not unique in his trauma.  He is a distillation of an entire culture of people who tried to rise up and make something beautiful, and were instead routed and occupied.  He is trapped between the occupation and the people on the ground, along with all the rest of the RCM.  Their authority comes from the occupying government, but it is implied that they were formed out of the remnants of the citizens militia which sprung up from Revachol itself as a way to try to mitigate some of the horrors being committed on its streets.  The Moralintern sure as hell wasn’t going to get their hands dirty, so they happily conscripted (and therefore could better control) this group, who are only recognized in certain places, and whose authority mostly amounts to giving out fines.  The RCM is corrupt, but it is corrupt in the same way its culture is.  Bribes are considered standard with them, not a moral failing, but a necessity, so long as those bribes are correctly logged as ‘donations’.  It’s how the RCM stays afloat, and the rest of Revachol completely understands that.  Everyone would take a bribe if it meant they kept eating.  Everyone would take a little under-the-table money if it meant keeping a roof over their heads.  The officersof the RCM certainly don’t make enough to see a doctor.  They have an in-house lazarus, and if he can’t fix them they just die.  Mental health care?  What mental health care?  Harry doesn’t get it for the same reason no one else does: it doesn’t really seem to exist.  There are no counselors, no psychologists, no psychiatrists.  How would they even start?  If the world is what is broken, if everyone is suffering a similar catastrophic amount, it makes sense that Harry’s trauma would simply get rolled up with all the rest.  Kim asks him to get on with the job because Harry’s suffering is not remarkable in Revachol.  He is one of an entire generation who have an astronomical number of orphans from the revolution, and so many younger people are left more or less orphans as their parents drink themselves into oblivion like Cuno’s father.  So Harry’s truly unique attribute is embodying all that trauma, having it all inside of him, filling him to bursting.

To really engage with the themes of the game, engaging first and foremost with the reality of Revachol is imperative.  Imposing our own reality onto Revachol, particularly if coming from an American perspective (which tend to have the habit of both viewing the world through an American lens and not realizing they’re doing it because they’ve never experienced a different lens), will always feel shallow to me because of this.

All that is to say, I would love to hear some more explicitly European meta about this game, and especially Eastern European meta.  If anyone can point me to some good, juicy essays from that perspective, I would be grateful!

#Disco Elysium #is such a good game #but I found a lot of the meta around it frustratingly shallow #and very VERY American #which is also frustrating #given how clearly Eastern European the roots of this game are #I have no problem with people using a game or other work of fiction to inform their own lives and experiences #but I find it strange when people engage with the game #as though it was coming from an American perspective #asking why certain things happen or didn't #based on how they would play out or have played out in America #anyway this a rambly way to request some meta from other cultural perspectives #I am very interested in reading it! #Disco Elysium meta

[thetriumphantpanda]

where you want your gift, girl? | Joel Miller

Summary | It’s your birthday and Joel, knowing it’s not your favourite celebration, is keen to show you that it‘s not always going to be a bad day, not if he can help it.

Warnings | birthdays, allusions to strained parental relationships, food & alcohol consumption, smoking of (1) cigarette, no/pre-outbreak AU, gift giving, explicit smut, rough sex, choking/breath play, brief spit play, oral sex (F Receiving), safe unprotected sex, dirty talk, creampie, cumplay, literally just filth tbh, no use of y/n.

Word Count | 4.2K

Authors Note | Honestly? It’s my birthday today and all I want is for Joel Miller to fucking rail me to celebrate - we can’t have everything we want I suppose, so we’ll have to deal with writing our fantasies instead! Happy Birthday to me - Enjoy!

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

You’d never really enjoyed birthdays. Other people’s, sure. The opportunity to treat your friends and make other people happy was something you’d always loved, but when it was you as the centre of attention, you almost hated it. The way people would train their eyes on you as you opened their gifts, the anxiety that you felt not knowing what it would be and whether you’d have to pretend it was the best thing in the world when you could think of a million things you needed above what they’d given you. It always made you feel ungrateful. Birthdays aren’t as exciting as you get older either, just another reminder of how far behind the rest of your friends you are, how little you seemed to have accomplished next to them in the same amount of years. 

It was no different this year, not really. Your mother had phoned you before you’d gone to work, asked if you received the card she’d sent in the post that had the customary $100 stuffed into it, before chiding you for not doing as you said you would last time you spoke and find a new job, something more challenging, related to that degree you’d spent all her money on. You sigh and hang up the phone before she can say anything else, a mumbled sorry that you were running late but thank you for the card. 

The only saving grace for your birthday this year was the fact it was a Friday, so you didn’t have to worry about drinking too much beer and having to go to work the next morning with a hangover. To their credit, your work colleagues had been quite nice to you - they’d pooled together to get you a gift card for you to spend on whatever you’d like, and Sandra from accounts had made you a birthday cake – red velvet because it was your favourite. Once everyone had eaten a slice, she put a Tupperware on your desk with two more generous slices in it, winking at you before walking away. 

“For your handsome boyfriend.” She’d said, giggling as she walked away. 

There was another saving grace for your birthday, you supposed. Joel Miller. Who had burst into your life in a whirlwind eight months ago when his beautiful daughter had spilled her hot chocolate all over your crisp new shirt in her hurry to get to the table so she could drink it. He’d been the most apologetic you ever thought you’d seen a man, helping you to wipe the worst of it off with napkins whilst Sarah profusely apologised next to you. You’d put a comforting hand on her shoulder, told her it was okay, and that you understood entirely, you’d have been as excited as her to drink hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows. Joel had insisted on paying for your dry cleaning, something you’re pretty sure only ever happened in films, and when you’d phoned him to tell him it really had been a minimal amount, he’d asked to take you to dinner instead, and the rest really was history. 

He’s phoning you now, his name popping up on the front screen of your phone, you smile as you answer it. 

“Hello, handsome.” You greet. 

“Good afternoon,” His southern drawl hits your ears, “Happy birthday, my darlin’ girl.” 

God, he makes you so happy, “Thank you, cowboy.” 

“You want me to pick you up and take you for dinner?” He asks, “Tommy is gonna look after Sarah tonight, so I’m all yours, whatever you wanna do.” 

You think for a second, sure, dinner out is a nice idea, but it’s been a long week, and you think what you want most is to be at home with him, “You think you could grill me a steak and let me drink beer on your couch instead?” You ask, slightly embarrassed that this is all you want for your birthday. 

“If that’s what you want, darlin’, then I’ll grill you the best steak of your life,” He chuckles, and then you can hear him cover the phone and speak to Sarah, who must be just back from school, “Sarah wants to speak to you real quick.” 

He passes the phone and it’s Sarah’s sweet voice that greets you next, “Happy birthday!” 

“Thank you, honey,” You smile, “You looking forward to some time with your Uncle Tommy?” 

“He’s gonna take me to the movies,” You can hear the grin on her face, “I already heard dad telling him not to feed me too much candy, but he never listens,” You chuckle, “I got you a present,” She speaks again, “I gave it to dad so you can open it later.” 

“Ahhh you sweet girl,” You coo, “I’m sure I’ll love it,” You reassure, “And I’ll be there tomorrow so I can thank you in person.” 

“Alright,” She replies, “Dad wants the phone back, but have a nice birthday with him!” 

You say goodbye to her, and then Joel tells you he’ll be waiting for you when you finish to bring you home. It’s only two hours until the end of the day, but you struggle to focus on the emails you’ve got to answer – you get through as few as is acceptable before the end of the day, logging out at exactly 5:30pm, box of cake clutched in your hand, handbag slung over your shoulder as you head out. 

Joel is leaning against the side of his truck, arms crossed over his chest so his biceps are bulging in the flannel he’s wearing, he’s also got one of his ankles crossed over the over. He looks so casual but as devastatingly handsome as he always is. He slips an arm around your waist when you’re close enough, pushing his palm into your lower back to press your body to his, dipping down to press his lips to yours. He’s gentle with it, opening his mouth against yours so he can slip his tongue into your mouth, letting his tongue meld with your own, kissing you slowly, like he’s got all the time in the world. 

“Get a room, you two!” It’s Sandra from accounts. 

Joel pulls away just enough to laugh against your lips, pressing his to yours once more before pulling away properly, opening the car door for you to get in, pressing a light swat of his hand to your ass as you hoist yourself up into the truck. 

Once he’s slipped into the driver's side and settled one of his hands on your upper thigh, he starts the drive from the city out to his house. It’s a quiet drive, Joel’s humming along to whatever is playing on the radio, you’re occupied with looking out the window. This is what you love about Joel, that he’ll sit in silence, won’t feel the need to make you talk, it makes you feel comfortable, knowing that he’s there when you need him, but he’s not going to force you to speak when you don’t want to. 

He’s pulled into the drive in no time, picking up the grocery bags from the backseat. You try and peak inside to see what he’s bought; you’re hoping he’s got the ingredients to make those mashed potatoes you like, and mushrooms that he’ll cook on the grill too. 

When he opens the door, you’re almost overwhelmed by the sight that greets you. There are gold and black balloons littering the floor, with one bigger helium balloon, weighted down so it doesn’t float along the ceiling, set in the corner with big ‘happy birthday’ lettering written on it. There’s a birthday banner pinned to the wall, and a selection of wrapped gifts on the coffee table. You have a sneaking suspicion that most of this is Sarah’s doing.

You giggle a little as Joel presses himself against your back, kissing at your neck, “How much of this was Sarah?” You ask, following him through to the kitchen. 

“She blew up all those balloons before she went to bed last night, and she did all the wrapping, but the banner and the big balloon, that was all me, baby.” 

You press your lips to his cheek, smiling as he starts unloading the grocery bags. Two ribeye steaks, and just like you wanted, mushrooms to grill, and potatoes to mash. He leaves you in charge of watching the potatoes whilst he grills the rest of the food outside. Whilst it’s resting, he mashes the potatoes with enough butter to clog your arteries, but when you sit at the table, and those potatoes are in your mouth, you can’t find it in you to care - it’s your birthday after all. 

“Everythin’ alright, baby?” He asks, cutting into his steak.

“It’s perfect,” You grin, spearing a grilled mushroom onto your fork, “Better than sitting in a stuffy restaurant anyway.” 

You finish your food in relative silence. Joel insists on doing the dishes even if he did most of the cooking, before he’s leading you back to the living room. 

Joel sits you down on the couch, treading as carefully as he can through the trail of balloons to get you a fresh beer. He kneels down on the floor between you and the coffee table, taking a glug of his beer, before reaching across the table for the first gift, setting it in your lap. 

“That one is from Sarah,” He explains, “She made me promise you would open it first.” 

“Rules are rules,” You shrug with a chuckle, carefully tearing open the wrapping paper. 

When you pull the paper from the material it was wrapped in you feel overwhelmed. It’s the exact same blouse that Sarah had tipped her hot chocolate over, just in black instead of white. The shirt had been a write off from the start, the chocolate leaving a stain that even the dry cleaner couldn’t get out. 

“She saved her pocket money for months to buy this,” He murmurs, pinching the silky fabric between his fingers, “Said if it was what brought us together, she wanted you to be able to wear it.” 

You can feel tears prickling at your eyes as you fold the material up carefully, “She’s such a special girl, Joel.” You whisper, watching as Joel leans back over the table to pick up another gift. 

“This one’s from Tommy.” He murmurs, handing you the largest box on the table. 

You rip the paper off and open the box, revealing an actual cowboy hat. You laugh, because Tommy has always said in order to properly fit in, you’d need a cowboy hat. Joel reaches into the box, pulling the brown Stetson out of its box, placing it on your head. 

“Suits you, cowgirl,” He growls, leaning under the brim of the hat to kiss you, nibbling your bottom lip as he pulls away, “Keep it on.” He demands when you go to take it off. 

“He didn’t need to get me a gift,” You mutter as Joel moves the two final gifts towards you, “And it’s a proper Stetson, this must have cost a fortune.” 

“Not that it matters, because everyone in this household thinks the world of you, but he thrifted it, mainly because you’ve rubbed off on him and he thinks getting a pair of Levi’s for half price because someone doesn’t want them anymore is the best thing since sliced bread.” 

You tilt the hat on your head a little so you can see under the brim, as he hands you an envelope this time, “These are from me.” 

You open the envelope and pull out a postcard with a from New Orleans. You turn the card over, Joel’s handwriting scrawled on the back. 

“Pack a bag baby, and let me take you away.” 

“Are you for real?!” You exclaim, “You’re going to take me to New Orleans?!” 

“Course I am, darlin’ girl,” He grins, “I know you’ve always wanted to go, and we’ve never been away together.” 

“Are you even real?” You ask, wiping your tears away, because you’re overwhelmed, no-one has ever been so thoughtful. 

“Last time I checked I was,” He chuckles, taking the postcard from your hands, replacing it with the last gift, a small box, “Go on, last one.” 

You take it from his hand, tearing the paper off it to reveal a small box. You open it, and sat inside is a silver necklace, a silver hoop, entwined with a smaller hoop. You’d recognise this anywhere. You’d spotted it in the window of the jewellery shop downtown. You’d spend so long looking at it in the window before deciding you couldn’t afford it, yet here it is, in your hands. 

“Joel,” You breathe, running your fingers over the delicate silver, “This is too much.” 

He presses a single finger to your lips to shut you up, holding his hand out for the box, taking the necklace out as he pushes himself up onto the couch, putting the delicate chain across your neck, “Do you like it?” He asks from behind you, mouth right at your ear, breath hot on your skin.

You turn around, wrapping your arms around his neck, feeling your hat fall off your head as he returns the embrace, “I love it Joel,” You murmur into the skin of his neck, “I love you.”

“I love you too, darlin’ girl.” 

You spend the rest of the evening curled up on the couch together. You eat the slices of cake that Sandra had sent you home with, drink more beer, Joel even sits with his guitar outside, playing some of your favourite songs whilst you smoke a cigarette. When the sun has fully set and you’ve let out a particularly loud yawn, Joel closes up the house, takes hold of your hand, and takes you to bed. 

You’re led against the sheets, getting yourself comfortable, when Joel comes back from the bathroom, leaning against the door with his thumb resting on his belt. He’s lookin at you with those deep, coffee-coloured orbs as you turn onto your side, propping your head up on your palm to look at him. 

“How do you want it, baby?” He smirks, taking slow steps towards the bed. 

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, because that is a very good question. Do you want him to be soft and slow like he had been that first time? So concerned he was going to hurt you with his size and strength that he refused to go any harder or faster than was strictly necessary? Or the time he made love to you after you’d looked after Sarah when he had to work late. When he’d walked into his house and found you painting her nails for her, watching a film that he’d never had sat through, his heart bursting with so much love that he had to push it all into you, whispering promises into your ear as he did so. No, you think, that’s not what you want right now. 

“I want you to fuck me, cowboy,” You rasp, “Hard.” 

He’s stood at the foot of the bed now, eyes dark with lust, “Well, what the birthday girl wants,” He murmurs softly, wide, warm palm clasping around your ankle, “The birthday girl gets.” 

He tugs at your ankle, pulling you down the bed in one swoop, your legs dangling over the edge as his fingers work the button of your work trousers loose. You lift your hips up so he can drag them, and your underwear off your body, before he tugs you into a sitting position to work your blouse over your head. Your palms cup his face as you kiss him, your lips giving attention to his plush bottom lip as his hands reach behind you and work the clasp of your bra undone, dragging that off your body so you’re finally bared naked to him. 

He pulls back, trails his eyes over your naked body, before placing his hand on your chest, right between your breasts, pushing you back down onto the bed. He trails his hands down the expanse of your sides, coming to the meat of your thighs as he settles his face between them. Normally this is where he’d tease you, use that mouth to trail soft kisses up and down the inside of your thighs, stopping to nip at the soft skin every once in a while, but he surprises you tonight. 

Joel uses the flat of his tongue to lick a single stripe up the seam of your pussy. Then, he takes his hands, puts them on the backs of your thighs to push your legs back towards you, spreading them open further, baring the entirety of your spread, aching cunt to his face, before that tongue of his is diving into you, licking the slick that has been slowly gathering there from you, groaning at your taste. He drags his tongue up to your clit, using the tip of it to lightly flick at your clit, which has a quiet whimper leaving your lips as you tangle your fingers in his soft curls to keep his head anchored right where it is. 

You’ve never really known a man quite as enthusiastic about eating your pussy as Joel Miller. The way he groans into your cunt as he laps at you, the way his fingers dig bruises into your skin as he holds your legs open for him, it all adds to the way he has your teetering on the edge of your first orgasm of the night in minutes. You’re bucking your hips into his face, chasing that burst of pleasure you know is so close to you. 

You can hear the obscene sounds from him, the way he sucks your clit into his mouth, rolls his tongue over it before letting it go with a pop, or the way he literally slurps the slick from your entrance. It’s when he slips two of his fingers inside your slick cunt that you’re really done for – fingers stretching you open, a poor substitute for what’s to come, but it’s good none-the-less. 

All of a sudden, that fiery burst of pleasure is setting your skin alight. Your body is arching off the bed, pushing your cunt further into Joel’s face as he sucks your clit through your orgasm. You can feel yourself clenching around his fingers as you let out as high-pitched shriek of his name as your body wracks with pleasurable aftershocks. You lie there, warm and pliant as Joel stands once he’s worked you through your orgasm. He takes off his shirt, and you marvel at that body, the one you get to enjoy, broad and strong for his work, but soft around the middle, just like you love. He’s looking you directly in the eye as he undoes the button on his jeans, belt from earlier seemingly lost in the bathroom before. You’re smirking as he drags his jeans and boxers down his legs, stepping out of them, stood before you in all his God damn glory. 

He is, quite possibly, the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. Especially when he’s got his cock gripped in his fist, pumping himself as you spread your legs for him, pushing yourself up the bed so he can settle between your thighs. 

You can feel the throbbing length of him slipping between your soaked folds as he finds a position, he’s comfortable with. You’re the one that reaches down between you and lines his cock up with your aching core, but it’s all Joel when he thrusts himself inside you, right to the hilt, in one go. He’s leaning forward, head rested in the crook of your neck, your name hissed out into your ear as he adjusts to the tight clench of your cunt. Your nails are already digging into the meat of his biceps when he drags himself out of you, before slamming back in. 

He revels in the way his rough thrusts make your tits bounce, dipping his head to take one of your nipples into his mouth, gently nipping at the puckered bud with his teeth before soothing it with the pad of his tongue. He laves the same attention to the other, never once letting up the pace of his hips. 

“This what you wanted, darlin’ girl?” He chokes out, looking down at you writhing in pleasure beneath him. 

“More.” You gasp, hand reaching to grab at his wrist which is planted by the side of your head, propping him up. 

He puts most of his weight on his other hand, letting you drag his other palm to the delicate column of your throat, where the sheer size of his hand covers it in its entirety. He rests it there for a moment, continuing to pound his cock into your pussy, but then he’s adding pressure to the side of your throat, giving you that delicious dizzy feeling to your brain, before he’s releasing the pressure. You’re grinning up at him, moaning his name as his hips continue to slam into your own. 

“Like that, don’t ya?” He asks, “God you look so fuckin’ good with my hand around your throat, pretty girl.” 

“Always fuck me so good, Joel,” You cry out when he shifts his position slightly, cock brushing that sweet spot inside you, “Do it again.”

So he does, he squeezes his fingers around your throat again, your mouth dropping open as a crazed giggle leaves your mouth. You wish you could step outside your body right now and watch, watch what the two of you look like – his hand around your throat, the way he’s pounding into you so hard you’re sure you’ll be sore in the morning. 

You’re both breathing heavily as he trails the hand that was around your throat to grip at your jaw. He squishes your cheeks together, pursing your lips as his mouth claims your own, growling into you as his tongue licks at yours. He’s so fucking overwhelming right now, thick cock splitting you in two, strong body laid across your own, mouth on yours, and it’s still not enough. You want to peel his skin off and climb inside him, let him consume you whole. 

Joel pulls back, hand still on your jaw. 

“You my pretty girl, huh?” He asks, and you can only nod, his hand stopping you from talking, “Belong to me, right?” 

His hand goes back down to grip your throat, gently though, with no pressure, so you can talk to him now. 

“All yours Joel,” You purr at him, “Only ever gonna be yours.” 

“Open your mouth,” He demands, using his hand to gently shake you, so you do, “Stick your tongue out.” 

You do just that, staring straight into his eyes as he leans down, ever so slightly, and spits into your mouth. It’s warm, wet and utterly filthy, and you think it’s the entire reason that you can feel your slick dripping down onto his sheets now. Joel doesn’t even give you the time to swallow, chasing the saliva he’s just put into your mouth with his tongue, giving you the sloppiest kiss you’ve ever received. 

“Fuck,” He spits out, pulling back from your mouth, “Ain’t gonna last much longer, darlin’ girl,” He confesses, those rough thrusts slowing ever so slightly, “Put your hand on your clit for me, let’s do this one together.”

Your hand slinks between your bodies, seeking out that sensitive bud, still reeling from the orgasm he pulled from you, it doesn’t take much work from your fingers to have you teetering on the edge, but you want to do this together, you have to hold on for him. 

“Where d’ya want it?” Joel chokes out as your pussy flutters around him. 

“Inside,” Comes your begging plea to him, “Come inside me, Joel.” 

Your work your fingers across your clit a few more times before you’re coming around his cock, the nails of your free hand digging half-moon shapes into the meat of his shoulder. He manages three, maybe four more thrusts before he’s stilling inside of you, grunting out your name as the white-hot spurt of his spend fills your aching cunt. He fills you up so perfectly, holding himself there for a moment before he lets out a slightly pained sound, pulling himself out of your pussy. 

He sits back on his knees, watching the white trickle of him cum seep from your spent hole. He takes one of his fingers, scooping his cum on it before bringing it to your lips, where you suck it into your mouth, running your tongue over it to catch every bit of the taste of him. He falls forward, forehead pressed to your own, kissing your lips softly, before he moves to lie on his side of the bed. 

You push yourself up into a sitting position, leaning over to kiss him softly, mumbling that you’ll be back in a minute as you pad to the bathroom to clean up. When you come back to his room, he’s already under the covers, your side pushed back and waiting for you, so you clamber in, seeking out his torso under the covers so you can wrap your arm around him. He pulls you flush to his body, slick and warm from sweat, but you don’t care. 

His arm is draped across your shoulder, his fingers tracing slow and soft across your skin, as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Happy birthday, darlin’ girl.” He whispers to you as he turns out the light. 

“Best birthday ever,” You mumble softly against his chest as you let your heavy eyes closed, “All because of you, cowboy.” 

#Joel Miller #Joel Miller smut #Joel Miller fluff #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine #joel miller fic #Joel Miller fanfic #Joel Miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #Joel Miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x y/n #The Last Of Us #The Last Of Us HBO #tlou #tlou hbo #joel the last of us #Joel tlou #tlou fic #tlou smut #joel miller tlou #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fic #the last of us smut #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfic #the last of us fanfic

[crooked-wasteland]

An SA Survivor's Reading of Stolitz

I don't believe that creators should be confined to telling one type of story. The beauty of fiction is to explore worlds, emotions and scenarios that are by definition unreal. It gives a safe space to interact with extremes that we would never necessarily wish to experience in our real lives with the ultimate safeword of no longer engaging with the material.

That being said, as creators, there is an ethical awareness that must be maintained in order to tell stories of things like trauma and abuse. Being alone in a cabin in the woods with a killer, that scenario is not a pervasive subculture in our society. Whereas cases of child abuse, sexual and domestic abuse are not only real, but common. And the complexities of psychological damage that perseveres long after the traumatic events are necessary aspects to telling these stories.

If you are not consciously aware and attentive to the lasting impact these events have, you run up against the horrific possibility of retraumatizing an individual unprepared for the callous invalidation of their experience.

No one should ever be shamed for engaging with media that depicts trauma they themselves may have experienced. For many, engaging in the fiction of it is a way of processing and validating their experience. Frankly saying, if you wish to write about trauma at all, you should be writing for that audience in specific. Otherwise you are simply exploiting the horrors that real people live through and struggle with every day for some cheap drama at the risk of triggering someone whose story you are inadvertently telling.

And much like most therapy speak, the term Triggered has become appropriated and misused to the point of losing all meaning in the lexicon. According to the University of North Carolina, "A trigger is a stimulus that elicits a reaction. In the context of mental illness, "trigger" is often used to mean something that brings on or worsens symptoms. This often happens to people with a history of trauma or who are recovering from mental illness, self-harm, addiction, and/or eating disorders."

The university breaks down the types of triggers as well and gives examples as to what those subcategories mean. I highly recommend that even if you are not the sort to follow up on references, I do recommend going over the article. It offers coping suggestions as well for those who are at risk of becoming triggered and helps refocus the sense of control back to the individual.

With that said, this is where I came across the inspiration for this essay. I completely removed all information for this user because the last thing someone needs when expressing how the misappropriation of abuse triggers them is how it is their fault for being triggered. These are the original tweets this response was in reference to.

As such, I feel the empathetic need to write this essay as a sympathetic reading to this person and others who have experienced SA who find that Stolitz resonates in an undesirable and even harmful way. I think this person deserves to feel seen.

To make the argument that the relationship between Stolas and Blitz isn't fundamentally abusive requires an author-intent reading of the series. It necessitates massive leaps to fill in gaping plot holes that never clarify the story Medrano is intending to tell. This is plainly just a reading of the series as is with all the context that has been physically, actually, shown in the series and that alone.

Throughout the series, Blitz is depicted as emotionally volatile and unpredictable with low self-esteem and crippling loneliness. He is constantly hounding his employees through sexual harassment from a sense of envy over their loving relationship, and infantalizes his twenty-two year old adopted daughter through an abusive dynamic where she ranges from rude to outrightly cruel while he consistently sacrifices any personal boundaries and self-respect.

The relationship between Loona and Blitz in specific feels like a masochistic self-hatred on Blitz's part where he allows himself to be used and abused by a parasitic family member to feel wanted, showing a pure desperation to be desired by someone in any way. Loona is verbally and physically abusive to her adopted father, using terms of endearment like "Dad" as a tactic to control Blitz's behavior, rewarding him when he does something for her benefit and taking it away when she deems him embarrassing or unwanted.

Blitz's tie to Stolas in the main story comes when he is called in a vulnerable time. Hiding from Martha who is hunting him down, he explicitly tells Stolas that now is not a good time to call. Stolas, who has a visual of Blitz's situation, ignores all of it. He is unconcerned about the danger Blitz is in, instead viewing Blitz solely as a sexual object as he offers the trade of the book for sex.

Stolas is more keenly aware of Blitz's situation than even Blitz is aware of. He not only is told that the current moment is not a good time, and Blitz's tense tone portrays a sense of anxiety, but he can physically see Blitz. It exists entirely within reason that he chose this specific moment to call while he knew Blitz was in a difficult position, using the tension to leverage a quick response that would get Stolas his way without needing to intimidate Blitz himself. Using the threat of a third party to pressure compliance from Blitz.

Come Loo Loo Land, the interactions between Blitz and Stolas are simply outright hostile. Blitz actively does not want to have a sexual encounter with Stolas and is even so untrusting of the Goetia that he is repeatedly asserting the boundary that he is not at all interested in sex, which Stolas explicitly mocks by being openly sexually suggestive to him. Everything Stolas has to say to Blitz is steeped in objectified sexuality as Blitz asserts his person, dehumanizing him to the point that Blitz is first and foremost an object of gratification. Even to the point of neglecting and humiliating his daughter, Stolas uses the excuse of spending time with her as a means of leering on Blitz.

In this episode we see Blitz has a history of being overlooked and unappreciated. His act in Loo Loo Land went nowhere and we see the first hints of his failed performance career. Over the course of the series, this hint towards a crippling lack of self esteem masked by an extroverted exterior is reinforced.

In Harvest Moon, Blitz is genuinely flustered when given recognition by Striker. He is quick to devalue his relationship with Stolas because there genuinely isn't a relationship at this point.

After having gone missing for two episodes, Stolas returns, being slightly less sexual and slightly more affectionate. It is a sudden recharacterization, but it is only for this scene. The rest of the episode once again shows how Stolas values Blitz physically in a sexualized manner and claims Blitz through the use of a pet name he repeatedly requests not to be called. In the opening scene, Blitz vocalizes that he "doesn't mind" their arrangement for the book, which could be taken at face value in regards to the first season. He does have the option to reject the agreement at any time and return the book in the context of this episode. It's why, despite still being an abuse of power dynamics overall, the relationship itself doesn't tip over into abuse. Blitz has the same amount of autonomy as Stolas at this time, before the context of season two, he has just as much power to end the agreement.

With the addition of The Circus, this retroactively is a situation of placating one's abuser. Blitz assuring Stolas that he doesn't mind the sex would be a way of asserting Stolas' complete control over the relationship and that Blitz isn't necessarily threatening the status quo by his question.

They don't actually know anything about each other, they aren't friends and don't spend time together outside of their forced meetings. Blitz doesn't know anything about Stolas and questioning the need Stolas has for his book could very well be read as a means of interrogating the agreement as a whole and figuring out why this was the arrangement.

(The argument that Blitz had any opportunity to negotiate things comes from an audience bias. It is probably the dumbest thing I have ever seen put into writing. Blitz doesn't know that he has any leverage in the relationship at all. He doesn't actually know Stolas has any feelings for him. That's kind of the whole point of the hot and cold romance slant that Medrano is trying to replicate.)

This is because the book is not the reason the relationship exists.

Blitz does not instigate sexual conduct, Stolas does by leading Blitz into a private room and locking them both inside with the impression Blitz would have sex with him. Blitz has no choice in the location or the isolation. He was caught trying to illegally break into the home for the explicit purpose of stealing the book. He was caught and is effectively at Stolas' mercy in every sense of the word. Not only is he still alive due to Stolas' whimsy, but if he tries to escape now after being shown this grace he could risk having the guards hunt him down and the second time will most likely not be so kind.

He literally does not know Stolas. They met for a day as a playdate and Blitz spent the whole time manipulating Stolas into facilitating his own robbery. There is no trust between them, there isn't even a relationship. While the doe-eyed pink vignette animated around Blitz shows that Stolas has an attraction to him, Blitz is entirely in the dark about this. Stolas' behavior is merely unpredictable and precarious from his position and limited knowledge.

(Just a side note, the argument that because someone decides to do something must mean they are not afraid is just asinine. Generally speaking, most people who commit crimes are in a state of fight or flight, it is more akin to gambling your actual life. Its a rewards and risks assessment, not a case of being sociopathically unafraid.)

It isn't until Stolas dramatically announces his desire for sex that Blitz realizes he has something that can be used to distract the Prince while he steals the book. And that's the issue with the argument that Blitz is the one willingly escalating the situation: it's not sincere. Throughout the entire sequence, Blitz isn't once sincerely interested in Stolas. He leans into the pretense to gain control of the situation, of which, might I remind you, he has had zero control over up to this point. Not only is he not interested in Stolas, but this is a bid for control from the position of helplessness. This way he is not relying on Stolas' unpredictable behavior, he is reclaiming power in the dynamic by playing into Stolas' desire.

("But Stolas says nevermind and Blitz keeps going!!"

Yeah, because he needs to maintain control of the situation. This is what power dynamics actually look like; there is a two-way push and pull. The only way he has any power is through the lens of sexuality. He needs to keep Stolas interested in him to keep his position. But throughout the scene, he is explicitly depicted as being put off by Stolas. In fact the entire reason he ties Stolas up is because he was becoming too into the act. He is shown to not be sensually performing bondage, he is trying to remove a problem.

And side-side note, I know I said I wouldn't lean into Medrano's intention or explicit dictation on how she demands her show be interpreted, but she was the one who said that The Circus and Loo Loo Land are connected in the timeline and Blitz's hostility in Loo Loo Land reads far more like a man who feels used and taken advantage of. So even the argument that Blitz was an enthusiastic participant is disproven by Medrano's own metacommentary and character interactions.)

And ultimately, it all boils down to that last moment scene. Between willingly having sex with Stolas when he is tied up or the book, Blitz makes for the door to leave. He doesn’t willingly engage in sex with Stolas. Either you can read the scene as a form of pity sex, which in the context of Medrano’s timeline and Loo Loo Land, shows Blitz was not enamored with the encounter or you have to read this as being manipulatively pressured into it. There is no way to argue Blitz has any leverage in the situation and no grounds to argue that it was mutually enjoyed.

That doesn’t even start to cover the fact that all the way to Ozzie’s, Blitz is repulsed by Stolas. When calling, he openly shows that this is something he would rather not be doing. He doesn’t have feelings for Stolas and despite just using the man who is using him, just having to deal with Stolas is distressing for him.

This is not an equal or fair relationship dynamic. It is not a mutual relationship. This is a relationship of self-preservation and coercion. And the fact is, it could have worked with very small changes to The Circus. Having the dynamic be actually mutual would have been a great start, but just properly addressing the actual dynamic and having Stolas take ownership of what he's done, and validating the fact that coercion is sexual abuse. Because out of all the sweeping changes, retcons and inconsistencies, the one aspect that has persevered throughout the show is just how trapped Blitz feels.

In Truth Seekers, Blitz’s hallucination is contradictory in its attempt to be visceral, and that is not inherently a problem. Trying to be abstract, it is normal for people to experience contradictory emotions over something. It makes sense in that way, but it needs reinforcement in the expanded narrative to tell it's story. As such I am just going to give my reading on the sequence based on my narrative and state it as fact.

The clown costume shows that Blitz sees himself as a joke, feeding into his low self-worth that no matter what he does, he is always the clown being laughed at. The murky wasteland is a reflection of his life. Devoid of anything bright or good, it is populated by dead trees and the ground is a quicksand like sludge, showing how he devours the good and extinguishes it in his own life. He kills his own happiness. Moxxie exists as a critical voice Blitz hears, telling him how stupid and awful he is to everyone around him. Blitz rejects his own self-criticism, reaffirming his self destructive victim mentality that appears when faced with the consequences of his own actions.

It's when the characters of Fizzarolli, Verosika and Striker appear that Blitz gives his regrets, insecurities and resentments voice, poorly impersonating the voices of those who saw the real him. Striker mocking Blitz’s need for companionship, how he lies to himself constantly and presents himself as independent and assured when really he sees himself as needy and pathetic.

Fizzarolli adds to it, pointing out Blitz’s failures to make it on his own, however this portion of the series should probably be considered non-canon as the newest episodes established that Fizzarolli and Blitz have not had any contact with each other since the accident. The more important line Fizzarolli says “You're going to die alone”, have been written out of the show. There would have been no time or place for Fizz to have ever spoken this to Blitz.

Then there is Verosika, who brings up Blitz’s self destructive tendencies, showing Blitz’s own abusive behaviors towards characters like Moxxie. It also suggests an explanation to why Blitz tolerates Loona, because her constant rejection of him contradicts his reactionary need to push others away, as well as feeds his self-flagillation.

It is when he endeavors to flee the reflections of the worst parts of himself that he runs into Stolas. Perched atop a pristine staircase of gold, being fanned by two silhouettes of Blitz. This shows the power imbalance in every way. Blitz doesn't even walk up the stairs, but crawls. Himself just a faceless accessory to Stolas’ desires, but everything he has intrinsically tied to the power Stolas' exerts over him. This is shown explicitly by the chains around his hands and neck, Stolas' reeling him in as he bears a grimace of reluctance. It is the most explicit representation of being trapped between two bad decisions. Either he is just the joke, the failure, the asshole, the stupid piece of shit, or he is the pet, the object, the toy. Stolas mentioning Blitz being "afraid to love" is less a suggestion that Blitz has any feelings for Stolas, but instead his psyche convincing himself that the relationship is not so exploitive. That he is not being dehumanized and abused, but on some messed up level he is being wanted and desired, which is better than the wastes below.

Maybe one could say that Blitz is being elevated out of his situation for how the feathers removed the costume and sludge, essentially wiping him clean of his worst self, providing a sense of safety. But he only has this opportunity because of Stolas, and it isn't free as shown by the feathers also becoming the chains binding him. Because at the end of the day, Stolas isn't the prize at the end of the climb to self actualization, the stairs belonged to him in the first place. To escape the horror-filled wasteland below, Blitz has to play by the rules of the owner of the stairs.

And ultimately, that isn't a story that is off-limits.

The Stolas apologist argument is why the depiction of this dynamic is triggering and harmful, not the fact that it exists in the media. Just owning the scenario and having Stolas acknowledge that he has sexually abused Blitz would have gone a long way. Instead, Medrano and the fandom have insistently represented this victim-blaming interpretation where Blitz is responsible for his own abuse. And that will never be okay. This goes all the way back to my "Not All Victims are Survivors" post. Blitz is the victim in this and his bad behaviour and own abusive actions directly correspond to the fact that he is a victim with a victim mindset. He actively lives in the middle of his abuse and has formed maladaptive strategies through manipulation, harassment, verbal abuse, and self harm. These do not remove his victim status. There is no such thing as a "Perfect Victim". And he should not have to be any sort of way in order to have that experience validated. And the issue that is at the heart of this show is that the narrative and the fanbase require a victim to be framed as delicate and hapless to circumstance with a soft and gentle personality to be a victim. To come out of abuse aggressive and harsh with sharp edges is framed as being less valid. But this outcome is normal and it's a difficult battle to work on oneself to feel safe again. It's absolutely a story worth telling.

But you first have to be interested in telling a story.

#helluva boss critique #helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #vivziepop critical #spindlehorse critical #spindlehorse criticism #vivziepop criticism #tw self destructive behavior #tw sexulization #tw sa

[warrioreowynofrohan]

This is the best thing I’ve read yet on the mass bombing of Gaza and on the oppression of the Palestinians. I’ve always had great respect for Ta-Nehisi Coates, and this is just magnificent:

Some excerpts:

And it became very, very clear to me what was going on there. And I have to say it was quite familiar. Again, I was in a territory where your mobility is inhibited, where your voting rights are inhibited, where your right to the water is inhibited, where your right to housing is inhibited. And it’s all inhibited based on ethnicity. And that sounded extremely, extremely familiar to me.

And so, the most shocking thing about my time over there [in the West Bank] was how uncomplicated it actually is. Now, I’m not saying the details of it are not complicated. History is always complicated. Present events are always complicated. But the way this is reported in the Western media is as though one needs a Ph.D. in Middle Eastern studies to understand the basic morality of holding a people in a situation in which they don’t have basic rights, including the right that we treasure most, the franchise, the right to vote, and then declaring that state a democracy. It’s actually not that hard to understand. It’s actually quite familiar to those of us with a familiarity to African American history.

And on Gaza:

…this is like really personal for me, because I came up in a time and in a place where I did not really understand the ethic of nonviolence. And by “ethic,” I mean the notion that violence itself is corrupting, that it corrupts the soul. And I didn’t quite understand that. If I’m truly honest with you, as much as I saw my relationship with the Palestinian people and as much as it was clear what the relationship was, it was at the same time clear that there was some sort of relationship with the Israeli people, too. And it wasn’t one that I particularly enjoyed, because I understood the rage that comes when you have a history of oppression. I understood the anger. I understood the sense of humiliation that comes when people subject you to just manifold oppression, to genocide, and people look away from that. I come from the descendants of 250 years of enslavement. I come from a people who sexual violence and rape is marked in our very bones and in our DNA. And I understand how when you feel that the world has turned its back on you, how you can then turn your back on the ethics of the world. But I also understood how corrupting that can be.

I was listening, actually, to my congressman last night, or I guess it was two nights ago, talk on the news. And a journalist asked him, “How many children, how many people must be killed to justify this operation? Is there an upper limit for the number of people that could be killed, when you would say, 'This is just too much. This just doesn't — this just doesn’t, you know, compute. This does not add up’?” And I will tell you, that congressman couldn’t give a number. And I thought, “That man has been corrupted. That man has lost himself. He’s lost himself in humiliation. He’s lost himself in vengeance. He has lost himself in violence.”

I keep hearing this term repeated over and over again: “the right to self-defense.” What about the right to dignity? What about the right to morality? What about the right to be able to sleep at night? Because what I know is, if I was complicit — and I am complicit — in dropping bombs on children, in dropping bombs on refugee camps, no matter who’s there, it would give me trouble sleeping at night. And I worry for the souls of people who can do this and can sleep at night.

And on Biden’s response to Gaza:

I mean, I think hearing President Biden himself — and here I will personalize it — downplay the number of Palestinian deaths, to say that he doesn’t believe the Palestinians, I just — when his own State Department was citing those figures only months ago, you know? At some point, you know, there’s that saying: When people show you who they are, you have to believe them. And so, I’ve spent a lot of time trying to do the political calculus on this. And I think at a certain point we have to just stop and say, “They believe it.” They believe it. They believe bombs should be dropped on children. They just think it’s OK. They think it’s OK, or at the very least they think it’s the price of doing business.

That’s not an ethic I can align myself from, because, as I’ve said several times in this interview, I come from a history where people wanted to make the exact same calculus about us and took stances that we would now say are immoral. But, see, the test isn’t what you did in the past; the test is what you do in the moment right now. I’m a writer. I would be much more comfortable — I was working on a book about this. I would be much more comfortable sitting at home writing about this, before I’m here talking to you guys right now. It is not my nature to talk about things that I have not written about yet. But one has to balance one’s responsibility against the suffering, against the death, against the body count. And to see what is coming out of this White House right now is just — it’s morally reprehensible. Again, I don’t know how people sleep at night.

#palestine #ta nehisi coates

[irregularbillcipher]

The best example of how Flatland is a piece of fiction where A Square, the author, literally does not know what the hell he's talking about half the time is all the stuff about the Universal Color Bill, because as it is presented the segment on the Color Bill is one of the most biased and propaganda filled things I've ever seen spouted from a narrator who claims he Knows What's Up with the world he lives in.

Like ooooh, gee, so the only reason the Universal Color Bill got so widespread was because a Mean Traitorous Circle with an Irregularity that he should have been killed for but wasn't due to Circumstances that nobody actually knows or remembers (but in A's opinion was definitely pity because we all know how CHARITABLE the Circles are) came up with it, and used his tricky cunning Irregularity mind powers to make the Bill so foolproof and amazing that if it had gone through it would have toppled all of society and allowed all the icky women and disableds and lower classes to have something close to equal rights.

(And it had to have been an Irregular Circle because yes the Irregular Circle is also icky and cunning but at least he's a Circle and any Isosceles would have simply been too brain dead to have come up with such an evil cunning Bill and THIS is why eugenics are good, so those mean old disabled people that we allow to live don't stab us in the back for our charity.)

And wow, you're really telling me that right when the more upper-class women of Flatland, those who care about their standing and who are most supportive of eugenics because of the privilege they're afforded by their marriages and lineages, started to agree that this society-destroying Color Bill was a good idea, (because it would actually give them a bit of respect, authority and safety if they were regarded as being as precious as their husbands,) the Circles just happened to hear about this poor orphaned daughter of a Polygon who was accosted by a very very real and scary and uncouth lower class Shape and tricked so thoroughly into believing he was a higher class Shape by employing the very evil colors that these poor Lines were starting to come around to?

(Not to mention that even in the story itself the Isosceles is framed as both a vile, duplicitous mastermind tricking a poor innocent upper-class girl into marrying him, but also an idiot who "accidentally" dabbled in paints from a Tradesman he'd definitely just robbed, and either painted himself or coincidentally "caused himself to be painted" with the exact same color pattern as a Dodecagon. Because for this story to work, he has to be an absolute monstrous brute, an Isosceles of the "low sort" with hardly any brains, while also being cunning, clever and cruel enough to pull off a marriage ruse and take advantage of a poor orphaned maiden. Stupid enough to be looked down upon but smart enough to come up with this plan like the perfect boogeyman.)

And man, it sure is unfortunate that this marriage, which A Square admits only happened because of a wild amount of near impossible accidents and an "almost inconceivable" lack of research on the part of the bride's remaining family, in a society where lineage is checked thoroughly before marriage, just happened to be consummated despite all the odds being stacked against it. Did he pretend to be a member of a high ranking family? Did he make up a name and family history? If nobody can decide if he even painted himself on purpose, I doubt him creating a whole persona convincing enough to fool the daughter of a Polygon and any family members would be part of the story... that would frame him as far too intelligent for an Isosceles with a brain of four degrees, and we can't have anyone thinking that sort is intelligent.

So then are we to believe that the daughter and her remaining family were stupid enough to just accept a supposed Dodecagon with no family ties or history? That seems unlikely. With no family history, his sides may not even matter-- maybe he has an Irregularity in his line. Maybe he was disowned for failing his Sight Recognition exam. No respectable girl in her right mind would marry a Dodecagon with no family history! And it's so, so convenient that this woman, who already knew this Isosceles, because he had already tried to court her in the past, never recognized him once throughout their new courtship, until the marriage was consummated.

And it's so convenient for the Circles that her reaction upon discovering what was very clearly a near astronomical feat of deception was to kill herself, in a society where we already know the Circles are really cool with killing its citizens if it helps to maintain the status quo. But there really isn't anything suspicious about that, of course, because the only way that a daughter of a Polygon would ever wed a lowly Isosceles is if she were tricked into it, even if the process of being tricked was so lengthy and complex that it would be near impossible for anyone to pull off without either the bride or the bride's family being in on the deception, and the only reaction any decent girl would have upon realizing she'd been tricked would be suicide.

And the fact that she was orphaned and this man apparently tried to court her in "former days." So how former? And who was the one rejecting the marriages? How did she feel about this attempted courtship in "former days?" As a daughter of a Polygon, she surely had no say in who she married, so her opinions on this man are completely up in the air, and the idea that she would at no point during this new proposal, recognize this man who had tried to seek her affections before is... implausible, I would say. What the Circles would want you to think, of course, is that the Isosceles tried again once she was orphaned because she was vulnerable then. That's possible, of course, but got necessarily the given that it would seem like.

But the idea that a Line and an Isosceles may have come up with a plot using color to be allowed to be married despite their class differences is Absurd, of course! They're too stupid for that! And that the Circles may have picked up on what had happened and taken the woman out of the picture and then twisted the story to suit their needs is preposterous, of course, just ignore how often they twist history and kill citizens to keep the status quo. The fact that this specific version of the story is the exact type of thing that would tug at the heartstrings of upper-class women who love eugenics and classism and their own nebulous purity more than they actually love themselves, enough to literally militarize a great number of the more reactionary ladies? A coincidence, I'm sure, but one that was oh so good for crushing the Color Bill and using those scared, privileged women to help murder Chromatistes and the rest of the rebels in a political set up.

... And of course, all those holes in the story, all that propaganda even assumes it was a real story to begin with. Because it very well may be completely fabricated.

Before telling the story, A Square straight up admits that this is the perfect type of story for someone in power to make up to scare a portion of the populace, but he absolutely refuses to actually, legitimately entertain the prospect. Instead, he just barrels ahead and tells the story of the Evil, Cunning Irregular Circle, and the Poor Orphaned Polygonal Maiden and the Brutish, Tricky Isosceles and how that Completely True and Real Tragic occurrence definitely, positively happened, and also definitely happened exactly the way all the Circles said it did. The fact that this is all completely absurd and reads like literal propaganda and was literally used as propaganda to scare upper-class women into falling back in line does not matter to A, because this was the story he was told and he Understands The World He Lives In, and the Circles are always right except for the whole Third Dimension thing.

TL;DR: A Square is a stoodge who will fall for anything the Circles tell him, no matter how absurd, and every single thing he says that is not him literally laying out laws should be taken with ten bowls of salt, because he has no critical thinking skills.

#flatland #flatland: a romance of many dimensions #edwin abbott abbott #a square will be like i am so aware of the fact that the circles have lied to me i am so smart and then spout more propaganda #it would be funny if it didn't make me wanna punt him #this is a long ass post but the color bill section makes me foam at the mouth #also there is a reason that i had bill and kryptos first connect over hearing this story and going “... what?” in my fic #because it's absolutely insane and so clearly not what Actually Happened and it drives me wild that nobody talks about it #like even if we wanna be super charitable and say like say... idk... 75% of it happened the way the circles said #that 25% still leaves some INSANE gaps and is too perfect for scaring upperclass lines

[artist-issues]

Quick question. Have you read any of Brandon Sanderson's books before? If so, what books would you recommend?

Also, what books of C.S. Lewis, would you recommend and why.

I want to start reading them, but I'm uncertain what books I should pick out and try.

Hello my friend!

I've never read Brandon Sanderson, or heard of him! Do you hear good things about him? Should I look into him? Sorry to turn it back around on you.

C. S. Lewis is unlike any other author to me. What he has to say resonates with me and feels like he opened up my heart and put what was in there into order every time I read his stuff. Feels like going to the chiropractor—like my thoughts and emotions and vague ideas have been out of alignment, and he pops them back into place where I didn't even know I needed alignment.

That said, I love all his stuff. Fiction, non-fiction, essays, letters to friends, lectures, everything. So I'm almost...the wrong person to ask, because I would recommend ANYTHING he writes.

I'll try to give you a little recommendation-by-starting point?

If you're looking for fiction: Read the Chronicles of Narnia. If you've already read them, read them again 😅 I read them on loop. They're on my phone. I'm never not reading them.

If you're looking for deeper ("adult") fiction: Read Out of the Silent Planet, then Perelandra—but I don't recommend reading That Hideous Strength until you've tried to read...

3. If you're looking for commentary on fundamental worldviews: Read The Abolition of Man. It's an essay on what C.S. Lewis believed about the idea of "progressivism," but it has a lot to say about objectivity versus subjectivity, and where logic and emotion belong in the priority-list of a person...I just recommend that everybody read The Abolition of Man. Then read That Hideous Strength to finish the Ransom Trilogy, because it's kind of a modern-fairytale picture of what Lewis was trying to say in Abolition. Reading both will compliment his thoughts!

4. If you're still looking for more fiction: Read The Screwtape Letters and The Great Divorce, then Til We Have Faces and The Pilgrim's Regress.

5. If you're looking to set your mind on the things above with C.S. Lewis: Read Mere Christianity, and The Problem of Pain.

6. If you're looking to hear what C.S. Lewis had to say about stories or critical thinking: Read his essay in response to critics of the Lord of the Rings (I think it's called "The Dethronement of Power") and read An Experiment in Criticism. (He has so much good stuff to say about enjoyment, and how humans can use their critical thinking skills to actually get in their own way. C.S. Lewis really believed that people should enjoy what is good to enjoy, in the proper way, and that that was one of the most God-honoring things you could do. He also hated teetotaling along the same lines 😅)

Remember that everything C.S. Lewis writes is very "thematic." He wasn't exactly making allegories all the time, but he was making "supposals" all the time. For example, Narnia is "suppose God created other worlds; in those worlds there had to have been a Jesus; in a world of talking beasts, what would Jesus look like? A lion." Or, "suppose God created life on all the planets in our solar system, not just Earth, and suppose Satan was put in charge of ours while other angels were put in charge of other planets; then what would space travel look like?" And many thematic lessons are tied up in there.

Also, if you read his biography Surprised by Joy and Perelandra, you might come to realize something about C.S. Lewis' beliefs that I'm only just starting to grasp: he thought we make WAY too drastic and exclusive a distinction between "story" and "reality." He believed that there was something in every story which points back to the one great story God made up, which is reality. So he's not afraid to include pagan mythology in his own Christian stories because to him, knowing their history and the cultures they come from, some of those pagan myths and stories tie neatly into truths about God. It might be a hard thing to grasp depending on your Biblical upbringing, but the spirit of what he means is not unbiblical.

Another cool thing I'm learning from Lewis is that he didn't think of all mankind as monsters. Oh, he believed that the Bible was correct when it says "all have sinned; there is none righteous," etc. He certainly didn't believe there was anything good left in man. But what he did believe was that man was kind of like a broken mirror, I guess. Like, it's in pieces on the floor. Good for nothing but the trash. But you can still look hard at the shards and figure out what it should be doing, and in that way, you can see traces of the mirror's creator. So in his biography, there's this interesting part where C.S. Lewis actually says that heartlessness is a worse sin than, say, homosexuality—they're both sin, but at least one points to a twisted version of what we were made for, which is love. At least someone could look at those broken shards and maybe come to the conclusion that there is a God who made us creatures for love, and therefore learn something about Him, even if we mucked it up. But with a heartless person? Lewis seems to condemn that person as not human at all, because there's no trace, not even a broken trace, of what humans are meant to be in them.

I just thought that was interesting. Because it makes you realize that mankind's story isn't "bad to good." It's more like, "good, to bad, back to good." Which is why any of us recognizes the need for God at all.

Anyway! Sorry for the ramble, I know you didn't ask for it 😅 I hope that gets you started? I also hope you blog about what you think of any of Lewis' stuff; I can't wait to read it. He's near and dear to me, so I like the thought of "sharing" his writing with anyone. Thank you'

#C.S. Lewis #Lewis #Lewisian #Inklings #Narnia #asked #answered #recommendations #books #reading #the ransom trilogy #abolition of man

[heartshapedconchas]

okay..hi. i know i haven’t updated my fanfic in literal months, but that is NOT what is important right now.

first of all, what the hell is wrong with you all?? threatening black authors&readers and calling them slurs because they ask for more inclusiveness?? fuck all of you.

Second, im going to give my piece of mind with the whole situation that is happening. Mind you i am a high femme, brown lesbian who has been masculinized most of her life. Now, correct me if i’m wrong, but some people (mainly non white/black users) are calling out some white authors on centering their reader inserts on whiteness. I understand this , again as a brown woman, who has found it difficult since I began reading self insert fanfics at like..9 years old.

However.

Something that is.. bewildering to me that I’ve seen brought up in this conversation is how .. the readers being hyperfeminine and whatnot somehow… makes it not relatable to people of color, SPECIFICALLY women of color; because of the history of them being masculinized.

This is so incredibly confusing to me cuz again,,, for me as a very femme brown woman who has been nothing but masculinized her whole life … has never felt alienated by these femme characters. Ever. In fact they make me feel more included because god it feels good to be feminine and not have that denied, even in fanfics. From my perspective; if you feel as if these femme characters only represent white ones— are you not upholding the exact stereotype that has been given to women of color for years?

This is just my opinion though; you are free to believe whatever you believe in and express how you feel (without attacking and siccing your followers onto whoever you’re speaking on).

In my writing I will always try my best to make all woc/poc feel included. If at some point I’m not doing that, i’m trying to make my fellow brown women feel included (as even though there has been an influx of non white writings as of late, the majority I see are black readers).

To all the white writers out there, try and leave your descriptions of the reader to a minimum of exclusivity. While you don’t have to make your reader insert obviously a woman of color, don’t make them obviously a white women either.

Personally I think we should leave the race specific fanfics to the people of that race. Because what white woman is gonna write a brown latina fanfic the accurate way and in a way I would enjoy? Write your fanfics in a race neutral manner, and to all the writers of color out there — write your fanfics race specific if you want to!

To my fellow authors and readers of color, speak about your concerns of inclusivity in our community! You have the right to speak your mind. Just please, please do not speak about authors in an ill manner if they haven’t done anything horribly, absolutely wrong. Critique them. Give advice. They can only learn if you give them room to grow.

And for both parties, please for the love of god; don’t allow people to send r*pe threats or call them slurs. Regardless of your race or what “side” you are on, no one deserves that. Elskittie didn’t deserve it earlier on, MULTIPLE black authors/readers don’t deserve it now. Be kind , fucking respect each other. Be fucking mature enough to have conversations about this instead of childish fights.

Oh and one more thing, please absolutely just tell me if i’m misinterpreting something in this post at all! This is from my perspective as a brown woman of color. And also i’m 95% sure i’m autistic. I have a hard time understanding things sometimes and just need it put in simpler terms :) don’t be an asshole and just kindly explain! thank u! 💗

#ellie williams x reader #the last of us part two #thelastofus #elskittie #tlou2 smut #tlou2 fanfic #abby anderson x reader #the last of us #writer of color

[pbeltarts]

Hey... It's weird rlly, but i'm caught in the in-between of I don't discriminate gays and I have to obey religion... HELP?

I can't really be a religious guide on something like that when I'm not part of any religion myself. But,

I think there needs to be an understanding divide between 'duty-bound by belief' and human decency. Regardless of if ancient texts state it, a politician or government leader, or someone of authority- we are at the end of the day, the maker of our choices. Our belief is as strong as the person believing and to me, is a guidebook for how we frame our own lives. IDK what religion you're having to obey, but my first question is: why do you have to obey it?

There's this strange consensus amongst religious groups that the religious text shouldn't be questioned or countered by any means. But these are just words written down by other infallible humans, and you can't speak directly to the god or gods they came from. Its already been proven throughout history how these religious texts and teachings can change throughout the years, being manipulated to serve the needs of a group or party in power. Why do their human interpretations take precedence over your own understanding of the religion?

If you know and believe that gay people are just as equal to you as any other person, despite whatever teachings you follow says, then believe in your own human decency first. If something says to do harm to another person, who just the same has a beating heart, a family, and a life as you do, why would that teaching be considered 'right'?

At the end of the day, as I understand, most of these teachings tell you to impart your religious wisdom to these people but it is ultimately up to them to live their lives how they choose. Their salvation isn't your responsibility.

To live our lives how we want, even if in the end its the 'wrong' way, means we at least lived. That isn't anyone's job to ordain or monitor. You don't get brownie points with god because you exclude or are rude to a gay person.

And in my opinion, God would never want you to do that in the first place.

Gods seem to come in two forms: fear them or love them. Not both. Because you can't really love something that strikes fear into you, not truly.

If God loves his creatures, all of them, despite whatever failings they have, then he wouldn't want them to hurt each other the ways many of us do. If Jesus, assuming we're talking Christianity which we may not be (but I grew up in baptized belt, so its my main frame of reference), died for our sins then does that not mean we are absolved of our sins? That his sacrifice was to save us everlasting, and by constantly attacking others for their 'sins' is pointless because they've been saved regardless.

IDK if any of that rambling can be helpful. Hopefully it gives you something to at least think about.

#drabbles #asks #long post sorry

[sirenologyyy]

SPEAKING SONAR !

ao'nung x fem!sully reader

✷ premise : as tensions rise and your family is forced out of the only home you've ever known, fish boy meets forest girl and the rest is history (tragedy)

✷ warnings : kidnapping, swearing, injury, blood, violence, and death

✷ author's note : gotta have ya'lls parents' povs here hehe, also some spider content if ur an anti dni I'm a spider defender 4 lyfe.

✷ trigger warning : THERE'S GUNNA BE A KINDA GRAPHIC SCENE LATER IN THE CHAPTER ABOUT THE SULLYS AND QUARITCH, IT INVOLVES BLOOD AND MORE BLOOD so be advised... but it's short dw dw

part 4 of the SOLD OUT OF LOVE series

When you'd be confined to the lab because of influenza which you caught often, Spider would risk the possibility of infection and stay in your room all day because unlike you, your germs feared Spider. You'd close all the lights and the both of you would lay on your bed and look at the glowing solar system Max and Norm had painted on your ceiling. It was a moment of peace he wouldn't exchange for the world, just lying next to his sister in the dark, basking in the silence.

Until he speaks. "Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we lived on Earth?"

You turn to him. "I'd always be in the hospital"

"Yeah, well what's different now?" He bit back.

You chewed on your lower lip, he was right. "We'd be going to school, we'd have friends-"

"-that are not giant blue aliens" He adds, the both of you laughing.

"You think if we were on Earth we wouldn't be orphans?"

He shifts, and the bed bounces underneath you. "Maybe" Spider replied cautiously. "If my mom hadn't been flying that gunship she'd probably still be here... not sure about my dad though"

"You're lucky you knew your dad"

He shook his head adamantly. "No I'm not"

"Fine, then you're not" you say, giving up.

"Would we even know eachother if our moms weren't brought here? If they hadn't met our dads?"

This made Spider think hard. "We still would, my mom knows your aunt Trudy"

"No, they met at that flight school, if they weren't chosen, they wouldn't know eachother, we wouldn't know eachother"

This made him tuck his lips together. "I guess you're right"

"I am right" You tell him, propping yourself up by your forearm, Spider mirroring your action. "But what does it matter anyway? We're stuck here, there's no life for us back in Earth cuz it's dying, we've got nowhere else to go"

"Then I guess we gotta stick together don't we?" He replies, poking your shoulder. "Us outsiders gotta stick together, Spider and Firefly, that way nothing can tear us apart"

You grinned, your teeth lighting up in the darkness. "Nothing" You echoed, twirling your pinky over his, breathy giggles taking over you both.

You were the first to pull away, lying flat down on your back, using the same hand to scratch at your IV taped to your wrist used to replenish your dehydrated body. That was several months before the accident, where it changed your lives forever. It was never Spider and Firefly against the world anymore, it was just Spider.

Because the promise you had made to eachother, the promise of the two children orphaned by war initiated in a dark room lit up with neon stars and planets was forever broken.

The both of you grew up in Pandora, took your first steps on Pandora, spoke your first words on Pandora, you had Spider, Spider had you, he didn't care that he could spend most of everyday outside when you were stuck in your room. He'd tell you everything and spare no detail, the speeches, plays, and presentations you two had made to convince Max and Norm to let you out for 3 hours were the highlights of your life, especially when they'd agree.

He lost his mom, his dad, and when they pulled you out of that river unresponsive he thought he might as well lost you too.

2 months ago he had been bragging to the Sully children that he could palace his chin on top of your head without even standing on his tip toes, he blinked and suddenly you could place your entire forearm on top of his head without even trying. He stayed silent, knowing he should be grateful you weren't so sick anymore- but at what cost? He had been more alone now since before you were born, you had been alone together, now he was just alone.

But he wasn't the only one feeling what he was feeling, you were battling your own surges of loneliness trying to grab hold of you. It was a hard change, human food started to taste like paste, you weren't used to being a tug away from being naked, your skin being so blue. It was weird.

You shared a bond with Spider not even the other Sully kids could replicate, now he was gone, and you didn't know when you'd get him back, if you'd get him back.

Lo'ak snapped his fingers in front of you. "Baby sis, you good?"

You blinked. "Uh-huh" You mutter unconvincingly, standing up with a basket you dug against your hip, making your way down to the fish nets to retrieve your lunch for the day.

"What's up?"

"Missing Spider"

"Oh" He says. "He's a tough guy, he'll be fine"

Even Lo'ak didn't believe his words, and so you nodded along. "Yeah, I know"

He crouches beside you, grabbing the pesky fish that fought back and dropping them into the basket. "I've seen him chug Whiskey with a straight face, and, get a scolding from our parents for letting us take a sip, if he can survive that he can survive anything"

"I know he can" You tell him, sliding a fish into the hole of your basket. "Sometimes I just wonder if it's enough"

"It is" He assured you, placing a wet hand on your shoulder. You appreciated the gesture but pried his hand off of you moments later.

Lessons that afternoon were interesting, it was the only word that could sum up the entirety of what had awaited you after lunchtime. The moment you saw Ao'nubg across the beach with your siblings you turned your heel and bolted the other way, you hid in your Marui, helping your mother with repurposing old clothes, chopping fruit for dinner that night.

1, 2, 3, 4 Sullys on the beach, yet one was missing.

He itched to ask them, your brothers, it practically consumed him, knawed at him on the inside to ask your brothers where you were and why you missed your lessons.

Only at the end of the day did he finally give in. "Where is she?"

"Where is who?" Neteyam wonders.

"Your beloved sister?"

"Kiri? Tuk? They're right over there with Tsireya and Rotxo" Lo'ak butts in, pointing his thumb at the secondary group floating on their backs in the water, giggling and gliding.

He rolled his eyes. "No genius, your other one, Y/N?"

Lo'ak shrugged. "Dunno, she says she was dizzy, Mom didn't wanna let her swim in her state"

He hummed. "I see"

But for the past week, it was almost as if you hadn't run out of excuses to miss lessons. They'd wait half an hour for you to come out only for one of your siblings to tell the rest of your friends that you weren't coming. Ao'nung never bothered to come anymore, claiming that he himself wasn't feeling well and that he must have gotten what you've caught all the while having no interactions this past week.

After lessons, Tsireya would catch him hanging out with his other friends or if not then lying on his hammock throwing a woven grass ball in the air, but when his grating mother couldn't leave him alone for two seconds then he'd be riding his ilu on the other side of the island for some peace and quiet.

It was the 4th day of you purposely evading lessons, you sat in your Marui with your mother while she braided your hair. "When will you start attending lessons again Ma'íte?"

"When I feel better" You reply.

"There is this boy that keeps coming to our hut, he says he misses your presence in lessons" You practically froze on the spot as your heartbeat began to rise in a cresendo.

"What was his name?" Your mother asked to herself while you sat there and apprehensively awaited for her next words. "Ahh yes, Rotxo"

Either she knew what she was doing or she had no clue at all- but you wouldn't put it past her. "Yeah, Rotxo's a sweetheart"

Your mother hummed in agreement. "Yes, such a sweet boy, very polite" She stopped, tying off the braid she had previously been working with and starting on another one. "although you were never really drawn to the sweet ones, were you Ma'íte?"

This woman was sick.

"I don't know what you mean" You lie.

She giggles. "You might not be my child by blood but we are more alike than you thought" She asks you for one of the shells you were holding and you hand it to her, feeling her thread it into your locks. "Just say it, sweet girl"

"Say what?" You managed, ignoring the warmth that plagued your cheeks as you straightened your posture.

"That you thought I was talking about somebody else"

You needed to get out of here, she's practically nipping at your heels. Your sweet mother, bringing you in for slaughter. You remaining silent only made her laugh.

"So there is someone?"

"No" you replied a little too quickly. "No, there is no one"

"Then I believe you"

"Good, then we'll just chalk this conversation up to finished"

"Maybe we will" She tells you to stand up and look at yourself in the mirror, admiring the beads, shells, and hair cuffs you told her to put in, turning your head so that the sunlight reflected onto them.

"You did amazing mom, it looks beautiful" you grinned.

She smiles, placing her hands on your shoulders. "I did nothing sweet girl, the beauty is all yours"

"How's she feeling?" You both turn your heads to see your father walking in the Marui. "Still lightheaded?"

"She's feeling fine, aren't you Ma'íte?"

You nod.

He took one good look at your face and turns to your mother. "Neytiri, her face is all flushed, is she coming down on a fever?"

Your eyes widen as you whirl your head towards the mirror. Goddamnit.

You mother pretends to be shocked, turning you to face her. "Your father is right, maybe you should stay home today afterall"

You shook your head. "No I think I'll go out today, it's been long enough"

Jake frowned. "Is she sure? Are you sure? "

You nodded. "Mm-hm" already making your way across the Marui.

"No funny business alright???"

"Alright! Alright!"

"Y/N!" Your father called out.

"I got it!" Was all you said before you jogging down the steps and onto the beach.

Neytiri approached Jake by the mouth of the Marui, the pair of them watching as you ran up to your other siblings and your friends splashing eachother with water by the coastline.

"Ma Jake" Neytiri began.

"Mm"

"It may have escaped your notice but no matter how much you deny it, she is her own woman now, not the little girl we have taken under our wing so many years ago"

Jake sighed, his ears flattening against the sides of his skull as he turns his head towards Neytiri. "I know that"

"I know you do, and yet you refuse to acknowledge it"

"She's got too much fire in her"

"That is a good thing"

"Come on, you knew Betty, cross her one time she'll cross your heart out" He exclaimed, trying to prove his point.

"Ma Jake, believe me when I say that you cannot keep protecting her forever, someday you have to let her go"

"I made a promise to her mother that I'll keep her safe, with everything she's done for me in the past I owe her that much" He explained, Neytiri places a hand on his cheek in the process. "I'm too scared of screwing this up, I try and limit her, and what is she doing? She's going against me, fooling around"

They watched as you joined in on the fight, cringing and screaming when Kiri sent a huge wave your way. "Go easy on her, if you restraint her too much she will drift farther and farther away from us"

"I haven't been living up to my promise like I wanted, I've almost lost her once, I'm not about to let that happen again"

They turn to the beach again and watch as You and Tuk harshly tackle Neteyam, Rotxo and Kiri throwing fistfuls of sand at eachother, and Tsireya giggling her head off as Lo'ak tried pulling off a piece of seaweed that had gotten stuck on his tail but ended up spinning around like a top.

"Stay down!" Tuk screamed at Neteyam floating in the water pretending to be dead and even sticking his tongue out for effect.

You grab her waist and placed her on your shoulders. "The mighty warriror Tuktirey has defeated the fearsome wildebeest, she knows nothing! only rage!"

She let's out a war cry, everyone else in the group started doing the same causing passersby to look at what was causing the sudden ruckus on the shoreline She then leaps off of you and into Neteyam causing a huge splash, she pretends to wrestle with his body while your oldest brother tried his hardest to contain his giggles. All of you began chanting Tuk's name as she managed to stand on Neteyam's chest (with him holding her by her ankles of course) banging her fists on her chest as you all started hooting and cheering for her.

Since you were so close to your Marui, Neteyam (who you were sure had a bruised lung at this point) got word from your father that you were allowed to stay out a little later than usual.

Lo'ak was with Tsireya somewhere, Neteyam and Kiri were riding their íkrans above the islands, which left you and Tuk collecting shells on the beach.

"This one! This one!" She says, pointing a finger at a shell that looked similar to one she picked earlier.

"You already have one that looks like that" You say, holding a bucket already half-full of shells.

"Yeah but now I have two of these, so if I lose the other one I got this one" She explained whilst dropping it in the bucket, joining the other shells.

You laughed, shaking your head. "Can't argue with that logic"

All of a sudden you hear Tuk gasp, you turn around just in time before you see her bolt into the forest. Abandoning the bucket you run after her, calling her name, firing threats at her until you reach a clearing and you realize you lost sight of her.

"Tuk!" You shout. "Dad will skin you alive!"

No response, only the breeze and the chirping of insects in the distance mocking you.

"Come out! Come on! " You say, looking behind trees and bushes, behind rocks and shrubs. "Tuktirey Te Suli Neytiri'ite this is not funny!"

"Kinda is"

Your head snaps up at the voice, but you don't turn around.

"chilly night tonight, isn't it Forest Girl?"

At that you finally turn around to see Ao'nung, leaning against a tree, sporting a devilish smirk.

You feel your hands ball up into fists, your nails creating crescent shaped dents onto your palm. "What did you do to my sister"

His eyes widen, he shows you his palms, chuckling raucously. "If my calculations are correct she might be running into your brother and my sister any minute now" He steps forward. "Listen, I asked her to lead you into the forest so that I could talk to you, alone" He states, aquamarine eyes scanning your face. "I only wanted to talk to you"

You prayed to Eywa to give you the strength to not punch the lights out of this boy. "You were in cahoots with my sister??" You practically shrieked.

"Well-" He began, trying to think of a statement that he could use to defend himself but sighed when he realized his mind was blank. "Yes, that is exactly what it is"

"I can't believe you!" You spat, narrowing your eyes into slits.

"Y/N I just wanted to say sorry, please" He begs, the fact that this was the first time he used your actual name in front of you and not some derogatory nickname did not go unnoticed by you or him.

"You fuck up, you apologise, you trick me into trusting you and then what? You fuck up again?" You wonder. "Is this a part of your golden boy routine? Get some praise for admitting to your mistakes?"

"No" He proclaimed steadfast, walking up to you again so now there were only a handful of inches in between you. "I am the son of the Olo'eyktan, I should have been treating you with more respect, I have been stupid, an-and selfish and I have let arrogance and conceit take over me"

He stops to take a breath, wetting his lips before he continued. "I want you to see that I do not want my past behavior to define me, if you will accept my apology and let me make it up to you it would mean the world to me... but if you don't, just say the word and I will never show my face to you again"

An ultimatum. You shouldn't have expected less from him. You found yourself scanning his face for any weak points, any tell tale signs that might tell you he was lying and was only doing this as a dare or if his parents promised him a grave punishment when he came home unsuccessful. You hated it when you realized he was telling the truth.

As much as you would have loved walking the shores of Awa'atlu knowing that Ao'nung would never show you his putrescent face again- you couldn't help but succumbing to his words, his promises, you were fighting with yourself, telling your other half to turn heel and sprint, sprint, and never look back but you were falling, he was using his tricks against you, letting his big blue eyes do all the work.

That was when you felt it, a little flame, bursting to life inside of you, warm, unfamiliar, questionable, lighting up the dark caverns of your chest, flooding it with an obscure sensation.

"Why did you want to talk to me all the way out here? In the forest?"

He sighs. "My father encourages me to maintain good relationships with all the Sully children, he says that it is most vital to have connections once I become chief..."

You cock your head to the side a little. "...but?"

"My mother says that I do not need to see you more than I have to"

And there it was.

"Why?" You implore.

"She thinks you're the one that is causing me to skip lessons and my training-"

"-You've been skipping lessons?" Was what left your mouth.

"Admittedly, yes, I have been skipping lessons"

"Why?"

"I didn't feel like attending them"

You gave him a genuine look of disbelief. "That's it?"

"What about you?" He evades. "I heard you have not been keeping up on appearances either"

"Yeah, I wasn't feeling all that great the past few days" you confessed, crossing your arms over your chest. "But I guess I'm feeling better now"

He nods languidly, taking in the situation. "So will you be coming tomorrow?"

You look at the ground then up at Ao'nung. "maybe"

"Good" He says with a smile, you almost wondered why it was so good to him but he squashes your assumptions when he opened his mouth again. "I might have to teach you how to swim all over again"

You flick your finger against his toned forearm, making him look at it and let out a scoff of objection. "Don't get ahead of yourself"

The silence that followed after was evident, your eyes travel up to the sky and realize that it might be around dinner time, mere seconds before your Dad starts ringing the dinner bell and all 5 of you scurry back to the pod like a bunch of sows.

"I guess I'll see you around?" You spoke up, making his head turn to you again. "I gotta go find my sister before she makes Awa'atlu falls to its knees"

"Wait" says he, making you stop. "You never answered me"

You exhaled through your mouth. "Fine you skxawng, I forgive you" you see him grin, ducking his head. "What will the nation do if you never show your face to anyone ever again?"

"I agree, pretty things should be enjoyed"

You involuntarily gagged, earning a loud chuckle from him. "Come on, you like looking at my face"

You remain quiet as he chuckles to his own joke, you roll your eyes and turn around. "Goodnight jackass"

He collects himself. "Goodnight tree hugger"

"Keep 'em coming" you taunt, hurriedly making your way out of the forest as he stays and watches you leave. Only when he was sure you were out of earshot was when he punches a fist in the air and whoops in glee.

"The ocean blessed you with a gift, brother "

Ao'nung stirred. "The Tulkun have not returned yet, and anyway no Tulkun is ever alone"

"This one was" You turn to your brother, sat across from you. "He had a- a missing fin, like a stump, on the left side"

Tsireya's expression changes. "Payakan"

"Who's Payakan?" Kiri wonders.

"A young bull who went rogue, he's outcast, alone, and has a missing fin" says Rotxo.

Tsireya turns to Lo'ak, taking his arm. "They say he is a killer"

"He killed Na'vi," Ao'nung butts in. "And other Tulkun" He says, leaning forward, his eyes meeting yours before it lands to Lo'ak. "Not here, but far, to the South" He adds.

Lo'ak shook his head, intent on proving his point. "He's not a killer"

Tsireya purses her lips beside you. "Lo'ak, you are lucky to be alive"

"I'm telling you guys, he saved my life, he's my friend!"

"My baby bro!" Neteyam crooned. "Who faced the killer Tulkun, and lived to tell about it" Lo'ak shrugged Neteyam's arm away, standing up to face all of you. "You guys aren't listening"

"Lo'ak I'm listening!"

"Lo'ak come back, you skxawng"

Neteyam runs off to follow him, Tuk dragging Tsireya and Kiri off to the ilu pen, Rotxo following them just for the sake of Kiri, leaving Ao'nung and you behind.

"And then there were two" He beamed, following you as you walked down the steps of the platform and onto the beach. You couldn't help but notice the slight bounce to Ao'nung's steps when he started walking in front of you "You were a whole lot quieter today, Forest Girl, is there something you'd like to share with the class?"

You shook your head at him, biting down on a smile. "You're baiting me, no thank you"

"I am doing nothing of the sort!" He exclaims, giving you a playful frown. "You wound me, Forest Girl"

"Good, somebody's gotta keep you on your toes"

He gave you an unsatisfied hum. "Thank Eywa for you then"

"Damn right, you should be" You replied, approaching the trees that lined the beach, hearing the creaking of the branches only to see Ao'nung already 3 feet above you. "Get down from there, I don't wanna have to carry you all the way home just because you broke something"

"I think I'll risk it," He says. "That way you've got a better of view of me from up here" He begins flexing his muscles in front of you and you shot him a look of disgust, gritting your teeth to keep you from giggling. You failed.

What was happenning?

Ao'nung finally hops down, landing on the sand beside you. "We have got plenty of time to kill before eclipse, what do you suggest we do?"

You begin walking again, Ao'nung following you. "We sit and watch the water"

"Boring" He droned.

You look at him with eyes wide. "You were the one who asked"

"Clearly my mistake, I did not realize how utterly dull you are"

You stopped walking and turned to him, raising a quizzical brow. "What about you smart guy? What do you suggest we do?" You wonder.

He shrugged, a sly smirk playing at his face. "I was thinking we just go to the cave and-"

You stop him from talking by placing a finger over his mouth. "Nuh-uh, the last time we went there I practically got my ass beat because of it, I am literally an arguement away from my Dad chaining me to our Marui"

He compromised. "Fine, we could go to the other side of the island and visit the waterfalls?"

"I'm not allowed to go to the other side of the island"

"Your father won't know"

"No means no, Ao'nung" You insist.

He threads his fingers together, cracking his knuckles. "You wanna go to the diving rock? It's got a killer drop, 30 feet"

You shook your head. "No, no more swimming"

"Then I have got nothing" He confessed, placing his hands on his hips and facing the water.

"Look, you don't need to push it, bro" You tell him, placing a hand on his shoulder. It was like he took a punch to the gut. "You can go do all that stuff without me, I'll just hold you down"

"You wouldn't" He says, making your ears flick upwards. "I just wanted to..."

"Wanted what?"

His eyes meet yours, turning his body away. "It's- nevermind that now, it is stupid"

You slap his shoulder. "No it won't, tell me"

He keeps his eyes down, only meeting your gaze every now and then just to catch a glimpse of your face, how the setting sun casted a syrupy glow onto your face, how it only made him want to look at you longer. It was like an anvil had been tied to his ankles, pulling him down to the seabed, down, down, down until he finally allows it.

"I wanted you to stay a bit longer" He concedes.

"Why?" You teased. "All you gotta do is ask"

He looked unsure, hesitant but scans your face nonetheless, after a moment of standing, the setting sun a witness to Ao'nung's diffident self, he sighs. "Will you stay?" He finally asks.

You considered it, turning to the water as you felt your lips curling up into a mischeivous grin. "Fine, only because you begged" You said. "Desperation is a good look on you, you know" Ao'nung shoves you again and you stagger back cackling, letting your laughter rip.

You see him grinning too, pointing at you as you kept on laughing. "Foul play, you do not get to word it that way"

"I was telling the truth!"

"You were twisting my words" He insists, giving you a shrewd smile.

"Only a little bit" you admit, pushing your hair away from your face and sitting down on the sand

He props his leg up, placing his elbow over his knee while you sat cross legged. "I hope your father didn't reprimand you any more than what I have seen two days ago"

"No, he just gave me the silent treatment, he always does it"

"Now why would he do that?"

"He dosen't want to fight with me anymore than he already does, that's why he stays quiet"

He lets out a condescending scoff. "Dosen't look like it"

You half-shrugged. "I'm used to it, it's no big deal"

A moment of silence settles.

"Open out your hand" Ao'nung says oh so suddenly.

You turn to him, your interest piqued. "Why?"

"Just do it" He says, pointing his chin at your hand. "And look the other way"

You sighed, opening your palm and keeping your eyes away until he dropped something in the middle of your hand, something cold, something hard. You finally look down and you couldn't help the gasp that escaped your lips.

It was a necklace. Held together by golden twine with clay beads and pearls strung a centimeter away from the others, then, a pearlescent conch shell as big as your thumb in the very middle.

It looked amazing.

You hated it.

"I asked Tuk for the beads you managed to gather, wasn't hard, all I had to do was bribe her with some candied fruit" He surmised like it was something to be proud of.

"You've got to stop using my sister for your stunts" You say, placing the necklace against the light, your smile widening to an O as it glimmered.

He smirked, ducking his head. "She's the only Sully who truly likes me"

"That's not true" You tell the boy, waiting for him to look up to you, and when he does you continue. "Not really"

And this boy blushes.

"Hah! 14 different shades of purple!" You shout.

He dosen't say anything, only letting you make fun of him, prodding at his forearms, giggling when he averts his face.

"Are you done?" He asks after a while, failing at stifling a grin.

You shrugged, lifting your hair up to tie the necklace together. "Maybe" you laughed, patting your hair down and raising your eyebrows at him. "So, how's it look?"

"Uhh, it looks- it looks great" He responds, feeling the unfamiliar warmth blossom beneath your ribs. "Now you'll have something to draw attention away from your frightening face"

You click your tongue at him, hearing his infectious laugh and watching as he shields his face away from the beating that was about to come.

"Y/N"

The laughter stops. The both of you whirl around to see Neteyam donning his signature stony expression, you stand up straighter, distancing yourself from Ao'nung.

"Come on" says Neteyam, his gaze switching to you, then to Ao'nung, then the necklace. "Mom's calling you, she needs help with dinner"

"Can't you help her?" You can't help but wonder. That was probably too mean.

"She wasn't calling me was she?" He retorted, ice running through your veins. "And anyway, i'm not interrupting anything here, am I?"

"No" You tell him.

"Then let's go" He says, you reluctantly walk towards him, he takes your shoulder, leading you out of there as he looks at Ao'nung whose eyes followed you away a little too long for his liking.

"Ao'nung" Neteyam acknowledges.

He nods. "Neteyam" says Ao'nung.

You both arrived at the Marui, your mood souring by the second. "Explain yourself" Neteyam demands.

You spun around. "What is there to explain? you saw us, we were just talking"

"I mean if you know the way he looks at you or you're just pretending to be blind"

"What are you talking about?" You almost screeched, your eyebrows knitting.

"I don't like you hanging around him," Neteyam tells you, pointing back at the beach. "he's bad news"

You hiss at him but what came out was a groan of annoyance, walking deeper into your pod. "Just butt out of my business"

"Your business is my business!" He tells you pointing at his chest.

"That is not true"

Neteyam groans. "It's Ao'nung, Y/N" He emphasized.

"I am perfectly aware of his name" You sassed.

"He's too old for you" Neteyam insists. "He'll break your heart"

You let out an incredulous laugh, as you turned around. you couldn't believe what he was saying, what he thought was happenning. "That is not what was happenning back there, alright?"

"Why'd he give you that then??"

You don't answer him, instead you scoffed, rolling your honey color eyes. "You are way off-base"

"No," He insisted, stopping you from walking out of the Marui. "what I am is right"

You throw your hand in the air as you walked passed your oldest brother, silencing him. "Whatever, I'm done here"

"I'm still talking to you"

"Well I'm not" You yelled back, running down to the beach, your anger simmering.

In an attempt to avoid your big brother you decide to join both your sisters, Rotxo, and Tsireya to visit the Cove of the Ancestors, hastily agreeing and in a hurry to hop up on your ilu, your brother decided that he would not let you go away so easily and insists that he joined too.

"We have to be there before eclipse settles, it's better that way" Rotxo appends with a grin, before his ilu splashes him in the face, Kiri laughing at his misfortune.

And Rotxo was right. It did look better after eclipse.

The sky may have darkened into a deep prussian blue but the water hadn't, it glowed several different shades of purple, you look down and see a warped image of their spirit tree, your siblings oohing and ahhing beside you.

All of you swim downwards, Rotxo instructing you to connect your queue to one of the bright purple margins of the leaves and you do, once you had linked your queue it felt as though you were being pulled through a blinding white tunnel, until it stops, and you land on all fours like you had been thrown out of there by some disembodied force.

You look up, you were back in the lab.

Your bare feet on the cold obsidian like tiles giving you fleeting flashbacks of what it was like to be standing back here, your first home. You look down, your hands were smaller, you weren't blue anymore, you adjust your focus to your reflection on the tiles and there it was.

You were a human again.

The sound of arguing catches your attention, it was coming from a few doors down and so you stood up, feeling the weight of your bones pulling you down, the world spun you around and you grab the nearest object to steady yourself, blinking until the world stopped spinning. You slowly made your way across the lab, the familiar mess of papers, the coffee stained tables, holograms of different insects, different plants propped up, books open to pages booked marked with sticky notes, the familiar intricate yet haphazard scrawl of Norm's handwriting, how his t's had a little tail.

"I trusted you! I trusted all of you!" The voice was a woman's, loud, piercing, she was definitely angry, but about what?

"Look, listen to us, all we wanted, all I wanted was to keep her safe, I tried my best Betty, believe me"

Betty?

There was no way.

"Don't try and kiss my ass Sully, do you think I believe the shit you're tryna feed me?" She shouts, followed by a few words in some foreign language where she rolled her r's a lot. "I told you to take care of her, then I come back 8 years later because she cracked her skull open because you- you! " You heard a tussle, like she had pushed someone into a wall. "You let her out at night in this cesspool! In the pouring rain!"

"Betty, we didn't know it was going to rain, alright?"

"Shit excuse, you have trackers in their exopacks don't you?"

"We do but- but Spider and Y/N managed to bypass it without us knowing, we had a hard time locating them and when we did-"

"-My baby's been bleeding out for 20 minutes" She says as you her tired voice turn brittle. "20 minutes" She repeats.

You finally see the door at the end of the hallway, its hinges eased open letting out a ray of periwinkle light on the floor. You walk up to it, standing on your toes and you see a woman, her thick wavy locks looked more puffed up when she was angry, her hickory brown eyes practically piercing needles onto Jake's face, Jake, who was also human, who was standing on his own two feet.

"That's 20 minutes too long Sully"

"Betty, we can't count our losses in this scenario" Jake tells her. "Look, her conditions stable-"

"-Yeah her conditions stable but she's damn lucky she didn't suffer any permanent neurotrauma"

"Betty "

"You're done Jake" says your mother, prodding a finger at his chest, you watch him raise his palms and cringe. "I'm taking her back"

Jake's eyes widen. "You can't do that"

"She's my daughter"

"I raised her! " Jake snapped.

" She was never yours! " Your mother retaliated.

You feel Jake's heart rip at the seams just by the look of his face. "Betty, you can't do this" He says weakly.

"Tough luck Sully, I can"

"What if we all just take a breather-"

"-Up your ass Norm" with that the door sprang wide open and you truly see what was going on, there was Jake, there was your Mom, there was Norm, there was Max.

And they were all looking at you.

"Luz, Míja, what are you doing up??"

Who the hell was Luz?

Was that supposed to be you? The name she gave you before she died? Before Neytiri came in and gave you a new one? One that stuck so well that even Norm and Max started using it?

You don't answer, still shell-shocked from taking all of this in for the first time.

"Come on, we have to go," She says, grabbing your hand and leading you out of there.

She pulls you out of there, further out of the lab and you pass by a mirror, you see a fleeting image of yourself, you were 8 again, practically skin and bone, fresh and healed bruises everywhere, knobby knees, and sallow skin. How the hell?

"You can't take her away!" Jake yelled. "Please, Betty! you're not thinking this through! Please! " The desperation in his voice was evident, it almost tugged at your heartstrings before you remembered how he treated you, how he snapped at you and yelled at you, restricted you, and berated you.

She keeps pulling you, pulling you out of the lab, your eyes widen as you remember you didn't have an exopack, nothing happens, you didn't choke on the spot, you see the Sully kids the way you remembered them that night- scared, shaken, dejected, calling out your name as you were pulled away by your mother, Neytiri holding all of them back.

You turn to Betty Chacon and the woman she was, your mother, the one who birthed you, and gave you life.

You couldn't believe she was here. You gripped around her hand tightly, following her into the forest where you walked through the trees. Until you hit a branch and your vision turns black.

Your eyes snapped open, realizing you had been pulled out of your encounter with your mother, at first you were angry, it was too short, you wanted her back, until you realize the spirit tree blinked like a lightbulb going haywire, you see your sister convulsing beside you. Anxiety floods your nerves as you jolt her awake, realizing you needed to pull her braid out but when you did it felt like your whole body was on fire.

TRIGGER WARNING !

Fire.

You open your eyes again and you see fire festering all around you.

You see blurry, fleeting images of Quaritch, you hear guttural screams, shrill screams, knife tearing through flesh, splattering, it was blood splattering on the stones. You blinked hard and see your family all lined up in front of you, impaled by sticks, you could hear blood splattering on the floor like you had just hung the washing and not wringing it dry, you run to help them, making a beeline towards Neteyam who was in front of you, but you screamed, realizing he had no face, like somebody has ripped it off his head.

"You're next" And it was Quaritch who was standing behind you, throwing Neteyam's face onto the rock like a slab of wet cloth, right beside the others, whose expressions of terror were imprinted on their faces forever.

END !

You feel your world jolt, when in reality it had been Rotxo shaking you out of your reverie, asking if you were okay or not answer you didn't think of answering back, only swimming up to the surface because you remembered your sister shaking violently.

You and Rotxo resurface to see Neteyam giving Kiri CPR atop his ilu, she gasps, and the next thing you knew Neteyam zooms out of there, Tsireya calling for Tuk to ride with her, leaving you with Rotxo who places a hand on your shoulder.

"Y/N! Y/N are you alright???" He practically demands, his wide eyes full of worry.

You blinked, almost having to untie your mouth open to speak. "We need to go back, my- Kiri- she's-"

"And we will," Rotxo assures you. "Hinewai is here already, see? Do you need a moment?"

You shook your head, propping yourself up on Hinewai's back. "No"

You and Rotxo speed through the waters to make it back to the village where you see throngs of village gathering around the beach, seeing your sister being transferred onto a bamboo gurney, hearing your mother's inconsolable wails wracking her body as Jake held her in his arms, barking orders left and right, Neteyam making sure they were being carried out, Tuk was sobbing, Tsireya stood close by in order to calm her, you couldn't find Lo'ak anywhere, there were too. much. people.

Your chest tightens again.

#ao'nung x fem!reader #metkayina #omatikaya #jake sully #neytiri #ao'nung fic #ao'nung x reader #ao'nung x you #tsireya #neteyam #spider #lo'ak #kiri #tuk #rotxo #atwow ao'nung #atwow #avatar the way of water #sold out of love ao'nung

[thefightinfoggy]

Ok I literally can’t stop thinking about this so here’s a post with all my swirling thoughts about it:

But first, context:

@apelcini made this incredible post about a cowboy and samurai comic where both are gay and participate in their respective gay social circles of the time, with the important thing being the historically accurate queer history and it’s just them hanging out and interacting and being like “huh?” when it comes to the others’ interpretation of queer social etiquette. (I love this post so much this is what my years of studying have all been leading up to). (I’ve also only done research on queer history in Japan, so this is going to be pretty samurai-biased, but I have to get these thoughts done so here I go):

Our titular samurai would have been raised having never seen/or participated in any real battle ,or violence for that matter. I’m thinking like his family used to work for a specific daimyo (lord) and that guy got in debt with merchants (a thing that happened frequently) and so the samurai’s family is kinda out of a job (not that they really had one to begin with). He has grown up in samurai culture as a romanticized concept, idealizing the golden days of samurai in the past (a culture that can only exist in fiction, as the Tokugawa government banned a lot of aspects of samurai culture while trying to make an era of peace). So what would our samurai do to make cash??

He writes!!! A lot of samurai became both patrons of the arts and creators during the Edo period (1600-1868), and I like the idea of this guy from a samurai family writing erotic male love samurai fiction and being a popular author. In order to do this, he would have to be an urban guy, so probably living in either Edo (modern day Tokyo) or Kyoto, (maybe Osaka). And if we want him to be knowledgeable of shudō culture (the culture of male-male sexuality, basically men having intimate/sexual relationships with other men), he’s gotta be THE gentleman. This guy had so much pull: he had the most fashionable outfits, knew his art, and was a big fan of the theatre. He gave the best gifts to his favorite (wink wink) kabuki actors and had the best conversations with them. He was soft where the idealized samurai is rough, and this is what made him an expert of shudō. (He can’t be the rugged rough samurai and get it because that was seen as uncultured and boorish; samurai culture in practice wasn’t really liked and tended to be very off-putting).

But somehow he makes his way to the Wild West, where everything is different. All he had is his knowledge of shudō culture and his sword (maybe two but idk). And he’s now in an environment where he COULD live out his wild samurai fantasies. He COULD be the rugged masculine samurai of the sengoku period, who shows his love through violence and self-sacrifice and undying loyalty (truly a romanticized idea of samurai culture). And he meets this cowboy who doesn’t know a thing about shudō culture. And the samurai thinks about the two options he has:

He can give this guy knowledge about actual shudō culture in practice, OR, he can live out his fantasies. And so the samurai says these outlandishly dramatic and violent things to the cowboy, and plays the role of THE SAMURAI while in the Wild West. And the cowboy is just so confused, because when the samurai does try to woo some guys, he’s completely different. Gone is the rugged warrior, taking his place a flirtatious man-about-town who gently relays poem after poem to the traveling actors (someone with more knowledge of theater in the Wild West will have to inform me on what it was like).

The basis of this is the samurai is actually a writer just straight up lying to the cowboy and living out his wildest fantasies in a place that isn’t stifled by centuries of a dying samurai. And his version of THE SAMURAI is also an inaccurate one. Misunderstandings ensue.

#queer history #queer historical fiction #my brain couldn’t stop thinking about this premise #I just wrote my undergrad capstone about masculinity and shudō culture in Edo period Japan #so this knowledge is fresh in my mind #also feel free to ask about sources if you’re interested I have so much to rec

[esther-dot]

Do you have any suggestions/meta recommendations for introducing someone to jonsa? My sister was the one one who got me into asoiaf a decade+ ago & while my journey has led me to jonsa, the idea of a jon + sansa romance was completely foreign to her when I finally brought it up after the end of season 8. She’s an absolute blank slate & I want to give her everything but I have no idea where to start!! I bow to your wisdom 🙏🏼

Our minds work in such unique ways, it’s hard to say what would be the most compelling bit of evidence for a specific person? We recently had a fandom poll and everyone is pretty enamored with Jon beheading Slynt, which happens to be my favorite bit of evidence because it involves minimal interpretation, no reading of the author’s mind, a simple wish for a hero and Jon fulfilling the wish. It’s a unique connection between Jon and Sansa.

What makes it feel romantic is that we then have Sansa say “no one will ever marry me for love” and if the pattern holds of her despairing only for Martin to be showing the audience that she needn’t despair (no heroes -> Jon decapitates Slynt, no true knights -> Brienne exists, no one will marry her for love -> ???), she will marry someone who isn’t after her claim, but how will the reader know that person wants her, not her claim? Conveniently, Jon has been offered and already rejected Winterfell. Not just rejected it, said, Winterfell belongs to Sansa. Again, a unique connection.

I find that indicative of intent, one method Martin uses to make Jonsa feel embedded in their personal journeys while they’re so far apart. This will make the romance feel like it’s always been written into their story, not a last-minute development. But, I know that isn’t the line of thought that convinced others, so I will share a few favorite metas.

Find Sansa’s Husband

This one by Istumpy is a great angle to approach bringing someone into the fold. (That sounds a little culty…😅) Some may say Sansa is too young for a husband (we all think that tbh), but if you take seriously the issue of carrying on the Stark line, it is a great breakdown of contenders for her husband, and very accessible to someone who isn’t already invested in the idea.

I’ll include Jon and Waymar parallels because they too seem deliberate. Not sure why Sansa had a crush on this guy who happens to foreshadow Jon’s death unless there’s a connection being made there?

Jonnel x Sansa (1, 2) For some, this is the clincher. If your sister buys into the idea of precanon/history foreshadowing events in the series, this might do it.

Compatible dreams. Short, to the point, matchy matchy. Love. starkmaiden is also responsible for the work of art that is The Jonsa Compendium (not the first thing for a new fan to read, but a wonderful resource once you’re initiated).

Now the next one is one of the first metas I ever read (I was never involved in fandom before Jonsa), and I still adore it years and thousands and thousands of words of absorbed meta later. We didn’t get the predicted endpoint; however, this is where Jonsa began for many people because the OP predicted the Jon and Sansa reunion way before it happened on the show. The ability to predict something accurately makes me take that person seriously, and the OP called stuff very, very early. They even mentioned the NedCat of it all and then the show had Jon/Sansa cosplay them and recreate one of their scenes! Even though the conclusion isn’t what will happen, the argument for Jonsa as a romantic pairing is wonderful. It makes a great, overall case for them, and for many, A Time for Wolves is The Jonsa Meta.

Drifting-snowflakes made a series of posts that are very convincing. They kinda, look at what the show did and point out how that did and did not align with what we might reasonably expect in the books. If your sister accepts some of the broad ideas of the GoT ending, these are compelling arguments for what to expect in Martin’s. A Dream for Spring and Why Jon and Sansa will get married (1, 2)

If your sister is a lit nerd, cappymightwrite is the blogger she’d be drawn to. Here’s a post talking about the incest motif in the romantic movement and several posts about the Jon/Byron connection (1, 2, 3). That being pertinent to Jonsa for…reasons. 😬

A lot of us are fans of The Lord of the Rings and we all know Martin is a huge fan, so maybe your sister would enjoy the parallels between Aragorn/Arwen and Jonsa? I think the idea that Martin is writing his own, darker, more complicated version of that romance compelling.

Or, maybe a specific angle is too limited? Some people work best with a more comprehensive presentation. Here are posts that talk about several things all at once:

Jon Snow: The Silent Unknown and Unthought Answer to Sansa's Hopes

Book foreshadowing

Jonsa Endgame foreshadowing

Book hints in chronological order

Also, over the years I’ve noticed many, many Jonsas come to it via fic, so if she’s into GoT-verse fic, I’d rec thimbleful’s alternate s8 (that was written well before s8) because it’s been called out by non shippers as a great way to wrap up everything we’d been given in the previous seasons. Once Jonsa is something you enjoy, it’s a lot more likely you’ll read theories with an open mind.

Your closer made me laugh, and I’m sorry I don’t have one “this is the answer!!!” recommendation, but I hope one of those seems like something your sister would enjoy!

#jonsa #dot chat

[presidenthades]

Once again, I am doing a series of my behind-the-scenes thoughts for The Golds while I do light edits for formatting, typos, and continuity. Here’s Chapter 2!

(Note: I originally planned to put out these commentaries once a day, but I’ve been recruited for an urgent knitting/crochet project IRL so I might be a bit slow.)

For this chapter’s title, I chose the lyrics for the Father in “The Song of the Seven” because Aegon finds out he’s going to be a dad. 😳

Opening line: I wanted the reader to spend a half-second thinking Aegon was in the middle of a sexual activity 😂. Later in the chapter, both Daemon and Alicent briefly think he’s been out at the brothels, so I wanted to foreshadow that here. But it turns out Aegon just really likes pies.

Gyles and Ronnel were throwaway characters in my original plan, but they ended up being very important to the plot 😅. I took a brief line from Aegon’s letter in Chapter 3 of the Handbook, about him eating pies that were almost better than sex, and created Gyles from that. So Aegon’s been patronizing Gyles’s business for several years.

Gyles rents a small storefront on the Street of Flour, which I presume is where most of the bakers in KL live/work. He’s probably part of the local bakers’ guild, and he’s on the poorer end of the street so his customers tend to be laborers who want a quick hot meal. Aegon stumbled across the shop one day as a young teen when he was hangry, and he’s been coming back ever since.

I spent a ridiculous amount of time researching the history of cheese and barely used it for the fic 🥲. But I want everyone to know I thought very carefully about the type of cheese Gyles uses in his pies! It would be similar to appenzeller, which is a cheese of Swiss origin that uses cider/wine during the cheesemaking process, and it supposedly has an herby flavor (I’ve never had it but I want it). It’s a hard cheese (so it travels well) that melts well (good for pie filling), and it’s from an Alpine region (like the Vale where Gyles is from).

Ronnel barely got a glimpse of Jace during her wedding parade, but he would die for her 🥲.

We get our first glimpse of the Tyroshi, which I tried not to draw too much attention to so readers didn’t get suspicious, but I wanted it in there to set up Aegon’s investigation in Chapter 4. In hindsight, Aegon wishes he just stabbed the man that day…but he probably would’ve gotten beat up or killed in turn by the bodyguards.

BTW I am very proud of the sentence where I describe the bodyguards as looking like chickens 🐔. Sorry, just have to pat my back here.

Author’s nitpick about Maegor’s tunnels! My understanding is the secret tunnels are in the Red Keep but NOT in the Holdfast, which only has one super special secret escape route that book!Aegon uses when Rhaenyra takes KL. I have to remember not to let the characters just pop around anywhere they please using the secret tunnels. If everyone used secret tunnels all the time, they wouldn’t be very secret 🤧. I imagine the passage Aegon uses to sneak in and out of the castle is one that a lot of Targaryen royals have used, so it’s not a HUGE secret.

Daemon heard about the pregnancy pretty quickly after Jace got sick during small council. Nobody is sure where Aegon went, only that he sneaked out (pretty normal for him), and of course Daemon’s first suspicion is that Aegon is out whoring 💀. So Daemon went to the tunnels to catch Aegon on his way back and verify if Aegon was at the brothels or not. If Aegon was out whoring while his wife just found out she’s pregnant, Daemon would probably have done…something not nice 😅. But Aegon was just eating pies so it’s fine!

Aegon is no longer scared of Daemon (he was a bit scared in the first part of the Handbook), but he still doesn’t want to be alone with Daemon in a dark tunnel 👀.

Aegon has excellent zingers in the book, so I wanted give him some very sassy lines in this fic. Hence, Aegon implying Daemon is getting fat 😂. If you can’t take it, don’t dish it, Daemon!

Daemon’s line about “a spate of missing persons in the city” is a reference to the Tyroshi’s doings. The Tyroshi has kidnapped enough “good citizens” (tradesmen like Gyles, as opposed to poor prostitutes) that it’s becoming noticeable.

And yes, Daemon did deliberately make Aegon think something bad happened to Jace as revenge for Alyssa and the early wake up calls.

Originally, I was going to do brief POV scenes of all Jace’s sisters reacting to the pregnancy news, but it got very repetitive so I cut out all of them except Luce. But in the deleted bits, there’s a scene where Alicent asks Rhaena to help find Jace’s premarital nightgowns because the only nightwear Jace has right now is sexy lingerie 🤭. Then there’s a kinda sad bit where Rhaena realizes Alicent thinks she’s helping Jace by removing temptation from Aegon, because a pregnant woman should want reprieve from her husband’s attentions, because that was Alicent’s experience: being pregnant meant she didn’t have to sleep with Viserys. So Alicent struggles to realize that on the contrary, Jace might enjoy her husband’s attention.

Alicent and Rhaenyra have a comedic bit where they synchronize as they transform into Overprotective Future Grandmother mode, to showcase that they’re more similar than they admit. It’s self-explanatory why Rhaenyra is fussy, but this is also Alicent’s first grandchild. And she has always liked Jace, who is basically Alicent’s ideal good-daughter. I also think Alicent is a little jealous that Rhaenyra has Jace; Alicent definitely loves Helaena, but we see her struggling to connect with her daughter on the show, whereas Jace has always been polite, dutiful, and overall “easy” to interact with.

Because Alicent likes Jace so much, she is extra offended at the thought that Aegon might be out whoring. In a way, she still thinks of him as the profligate young prince before the Stepstones (at this point in the story, he’s only been back two months), so she assumed the worst. But it’s obvious to her that Aegon is head over heels for Jace, and she realizes he changed while he was away. So she apologizes, which doesn’t erase the hurt of her accusation but Aegon recognizes it as a big deal since she’s never apologized to him before. And she’s embarrassed about her mean reaction, but she’s too proud to do anything else to make amends.

In an earlier draft of the scene where Aegon learns about the pregnancy, I dragged out the misunderstanding where he thinks he made her cry. There was a whole miscommunication sequence that somehow ends with Aegon thinking Jace doesn’t love him anymore (he tries to give her a new ring, she cries because she knows her hands will swell and she’s worried she’ll be hideous and “I won’t be your pretty girl anymore” or something like that), but it was too melodramatic so I cut it down to a brief moment of pregnancy hormones 😅.

Using her sleeve to wipe her face is a bad habit that Aegon taught Jace because he used to do that for her when they were little and she cried 😭. (He still does it sometimes.)

Another theme in the story: when Jace is nervous, scared, or otherwise feeling negative emotions, Aegon uses humor to bring her out of her pit of despair (e.g. wedding night, during the storm at Dragonstone).

A hennin is that tall cone hat you see in medieval paintings. It was a status flex because it’s so impractical, which means only rich non-working women can wear it. Rhaenys’s hairstyle kinda reminds me of it too 😅. I imagine hennins to be very old-fashioned at this point in time, and maybe Rhaenys made Jace wear a few hennins when she was little and that’s why Jace hates them so much lol.

When I was writing the Handbook, I thought might’ve been the one to come up with the elopement idea. But she’s such a naturally cautious person that now I think she needed nudging first, and Aegon is reckless enough to go for an elopement without thinking about consequences too much.

I also have this idea that Otto has always been a big Jacegon shipper in this universe 😂. It’s the perfect match for his Plan A, B, C, X, Y, and Z. I like to imagine that before Rhaenyra took her daughters to Dragonstone, Otto was telling Aegon things like “bring Jace flowers!” and “wash your hair!” to help the romance along. I wouldn’t be surprised if at some point, Otto straight up told Aegon “you need to marry that girl no matter what” (and it’d be hilarious if this planted the seed of the elopement in Aegon’s head).

Tyroshi purple is basically the real-world Tyrian purple, which was made from sea snails and so expensive that only royalty could afford it. I thought it very fitting for Jace, who’s supposed to be the future queen. The color also reminds me of wine, but I worked so hard to make Aegon not an alcoholic that I didn’t want to mention it in the fic 😛.

When Aegon avoids telling Jace his real, dark thoughts, we get a glimpse of how he tries to protect her from bad things in life. This is a point of friction that comes up again in the fic: Aegon thinks it’s best not to tell Jace certain things, and she disagrees.

Jace doesn’t like naps because she thinks they’re a waste of time when she could be doing work 🥲.

When Aegon is in the Tower with Otto, he notices a petition about thugs extorting money from guild members. This is also a reference to the Tyroshi’s doings!

Otto is a neat freak, Aegon knows it, and Aegon takes advantage of it for fleeting moments of malicious glee.

I also have a whole list of old people habits that Otto partakes in. Here, Aegon references Otto’s daily glass of prune juice, but I won’t go into detail about that 🙈. I also imagine Otto taking brisk early morning walks around the Tower, with his elbows pumping in a very old man way, to get his daily cardio in.

I made Otto’s late wife a member of House Mullendore. They’re vassals of the Hightowers, so it’s an acceptable match for a second son. (The Mullendores sided with the Blacks during the Dance, so I’m headcanoning that Otto had a terrible falling-out with them after his wife died.) More importantly, their sigil is a bunch of orange butterflies (see: Helaena’s embroidery that Otto displays in his study). We all know Helaena loves insects, and I feel like this is an extra reason she’s Otto’s favorite: her hobby reminds him of his wife.

Otto is generally happy with how things are going in this verse. Of course he would prefer if Aegon were the heir, but right now he’s guaranteed to have his blood on the throne even if it’s a few generations down the road, and he finds Jace to be reasonable, intelligent, and dutiful. But Otto is still sneaky, because he’s Otto. When he talks about “a royal grandson,” does he mean Rhaenyra’s grandson (baby gets his claim as Jace’s son) or Viserys’s grandson (baby gets his claim as Aegon’s son)? 🧐

Otto supports Jace attending the Small Council because her fate and reputation are closely tied to Aegon’s. If she does well, that reflects well upon her husband. Otto is also aware that if/when Rhaenyra is queen, she’ll want to sack him and send him away from court. But if he maintains a good relationship with Jace, who would be the Princess of Dragonstone at that time, he’ll still be able to retain influence at court not just through Alicent, who would then be dowager queen and less powerful. And if Jace demonstrates herself to be more capable at governance than Rhaenyra (who is less diligent about attending matters of state), Otto isn’t going to say no to that.

Jace knows that Otto has clashed with Rhaenyra in the past and that he has emotionally and physically hurt Aegon, so she doesn’t like Otto as a person. But she appreciates his skill as Hand and respects him professionally. So she’s willing to work with him, but she isn’t leaping at the prospect of spending time with him. And I think that suits Otto just fine. He doesn’t want to be liked, he wants results.

Sorry I couldn’t resist making a “we forgot Daeron existed” joke 🪦.

I really like Aegon and Aemond’s brotherly relationship, and I don’t see nearly enough of it in fics so I had to make my own contribution. Even in the show canon, where Aemond covets the throne and scorns Aegon, he’s still loyal to his brother and they have that brotherly telepathy moment during the last supper. In this verse, they’re much closer but they are still mean to each other in a delightfully sibling fashion. After his relationship with Jace (and eventually Cheeseball), I think Aegon’s relationship with Aemond is his most meaningful relationship in this fic, and I’ll probably keep tugging on it throughout the series.

Aegon won’t admit it but he’s excited to tell his brothers he’s gonna be a dad 🥰.

Daeron spent the last three years in Oldtown, which is the heart of the Faith, so the sex ed he received was very…censored 😅. And since he spent so long thinking that kissing = babies, you can imagine he has a strong reaction when he accidentally kisses Joff later.

Joff has plenty of older sisters (including Baela), and Rhaenyra and Daemon aren’t very quiet at Dragonstone. Thus, Joff figures out how procreation works as a young age 💀.

Aemond does not tell Daeron what a quim is. He tells Daeron to go ask a maester.

As mentioned in Chapter 10, Aegon knows Baela was/is attracted to Jace, and this is a big source of friction between them. But Baela’s never acted on her feelings, and Aegon feels fairly secure in Jace’s affections, so he doesn’t talk about it out loud. But if Baela ever provoked him enough, he would mention it to get back at her (Aegon still has a mean streak, he’s just better at suppressing it).

Helaena’s three egg-shaped beads are a reference to the children she’ll never have in this verse. I’m of the opinion that her prophecies are very vague and mostly vibes (e.g. “he’ll have to close an eye” = she sees Aemond riding a dragon with one eye closed, like an extended wink). So she definitely doesn’t know “ah yes, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera and Maelor, who are all going to die terribly,” but she has a sense of the children she would’ve loved and lost in another life. So she’s a bit sad about not having those children in this life, but part of her is relieved she’ll never have to endure the horrible loss and suffering her children’s deaths caused.

“Sunflowers should not be watered with wine.” Helaena compares Jace to the sun (“to the sun I go”), which makes Aegon a sunflower that’s always turning to face the sun. He isn’t an alcoholic here, so he’s thriving more.

“The egg is crowned with gold, and all the creatures love it so.” The egg is Cheeseball, of course. He’s crowned with gold because he’ll be king one day, and gold is his parents’ color. The creatures = dragons, seahorses, towers, etc., all the houses with competing claims to the throne but who all agree that Cheeseball is the future king.

“Buzz, buzz. Your hive has gathered.” Jace is the queen bee, but she’s also constantly working like a bee.

“A lovely summer egg.” Cheeseball is born toward the end of summer. Also a reference to how his future reign will be peaceful and prosperous.

“A beloved egg free from sorrow.” In contrast to Helaena’s children/eggs 🥲.

Helaena’s freak out about the name Jaehaerys is 100% a reference to Blood and Cheese. Again, she doesn’t know exactly what would’ve happened in this alternate universe, but she’s getting very bad vibes from the name.

Jace despairs at the prospect of being coddled for the entire pregnancy, which is exactly what happens…

Laenor wasn’t a paragon of fatherhood but he was more present in this universe. The girls being his actual daughters does affect his feelings for them, and I think he likes having daughters. He would have to help educate and train a son, but he can just spoil and dote on daughters. (Pretty similar to Aegon’s attitude in the beginning of this fic.) So Laenor makes a lot more visits to the nursery when the kids are little, hence Aegon’s familiarity with him.

I wrote the interlude because we see almost all the other siblings’ reactions to the pregnancy, but not Luce. I just couldn’t bring myself to delete it with the other reaction POVs so I kept it in 😅. I justify it by telling myself that it’s important setup for the Baratheon drama later lol (even though at the time I wrote this chapter, I wasn’t sure Floris and Sara were going to die, so this is the author retconning).

Rhaenyra made Jace wait until her sixteenth nameday, so she’s applying that rule to all her daughters: no marriage until you’re sixteen. That’s why Luce has to wait. And if the Baratheon stuff didn’t happen later, it would 100% have been a smart move. Luce is very impulsive, and she and Aemond were clashing for so long, it’s wiser to wait and make sure they’re in this for the long haul and not just acting on hormones.

Aemond had visited Driftmark four times in the past month, which means he’s there every week for several days 😂.

I like to think Daemon told Caraxes to tell Arrax to make sure Luce and Aemond don’t have too much fun 🤭. And for some reason, I imagine Arrax looking a lot like a light fury from How to Train Your Dragon. Big eyes and shiny scales.

Earlier in the chapter, we get a monologue about how Aegon would starve to keep Jace fed. Here, Aemond is literally stealing Luce’s lunch 🤣🤣🤣.

Jace knows her sister super well! That’s why she tells Luce to sit down before she continues the letter: she knows Luce is going to have a strong reaction.

Jace loves all her sisters but I think she’s closest to Luce. They’re less than two years apart in age, and Joff was born four years after Luce, so a lot of Jace’s earliest memories are just the two of them as sisters. Just like how Aemond is one of Aegon’s most important relationships, Luce is one of Jace’s most important relationships.

#my writing #meta #house of the dragon meta #hotd meta #fanfic meta #aegon ii targaryen #female jacaerys velaryon #the golds

[manicpixiedreamcrowley]

⸻ GOOD OMENS fic recs ‼️ (march '23)

a collection of some of the fics i've read this month! includes title, links, author, chapter count, word count, summary, and my added notes ♡

→ 10 fics listed, if any of the links don't work be sure to let me know so i can fix it!

→ feel free to ask me for other fic recs at any time! i love sorting and finding fics, feel free to give me a certain theme or tag and i'll scrounge some up

-> i can also try to find lost fics, just give me a short summary/description of the fic and everything you can remember about it

"get religion quick (cause you're looking divine)" by brinnanza (AO3/tumblr)

oneshot, 4.2k

So it was fine. Even if Crowley couldn’t love him, he clearly liked him well enough, and that was almost the same thing. It no doubt would have continued to be fine, or at least fine-adjacent, were it not for a narrowly averted apocalypse and several bottles of a really quite nice Riesling Aziraphale had found in the back room of his newly restored bookshop.

notes: definitely a personal favorite of mine, my history says i've read this 6 times even though i've downloaded this fic to read when i don't have data

"you play with my feelings (right from the start)" by penrosesun (AO3)

oneshot, 3.4k

There were three things of which Crowley was absolutely certain: 1. Aziraphale, being an angel, was required to be kind and loving towards all things, even when those things were flawed or sinful or fallen. 2. Notwithstanding that obligatory kindness, Aziraphale would never, and could never truly love a demon, in any meaningful sense. 3. Despite this, Crowley was desperately, hopelessly, in love with him.

notes: i put these next to each other because this fic is inspired by the one above, but told through crowley's point of view

"what they say about assumptions" by dragongirl (AO3)

oneshot, 7.9k

While it’s true that God bestowed upon the angels the divine power to sense love of all kinds, that does not mean they were given the ability to sense exactly who or what that love is directed at. A minor design flaw that hasn’t been much of an issue. Until now. Or: Aziraphale has known that Crowley loved someone since the beginning. He’s also spent most of that time believing that someone was a demon.

notes: i know it says angst but the concept is so incredibly funny. that oblivious aziraphale tag is there for a REASON

"crowley, when the walls fell" by ineffablefool (AO3/tumblr)

oneshot, 3.5k

Aziraphale looked around again, a thoughtful frown pulling at his lips. “I know what human love feels like, and this is… as I said, out of focus. Sideways, somehow. It doesn’t flow the same way.” He tilted his head, almost as if he was listening for a moment, then continued. “And now I think of it, it’s almost familiar somehow, too.” (Crowley keeps working to hide his love from Aziraphale. Aziraphale keeps sensing it anyway. Aziraphale just doesn't know what it is, until...)

notes: aziraphale is so sweet and crowley is down horrendously bad

"like he hung the stars in the sky" by asideofourown (AO3/tumblr)

oneshot, 4.2k

BREAKING: SCIENTIFIC COMMUNITY IN DISARRAY AS NEWCOMER UPENDS DOZENS OF ACCEPTED THEORIES Up and coming British astrophysicist Dr. Anthony J. Crowley has rocked the science world this week with his research that proves many previously-accepted scientific theories about dark matter and the nature of our universe completely wrong. Dubbed the ‘Devil’s Theory,’ Crowley’s research has made the astrophysicist a star practically overnight, and one of the most sought-after scientists in the country. “There’s so much you humans don’t understand about the universe, it’s not my fault that I do,” he said in a statement to BBC reporter Jane Smith. “Just you wait!” [Crowley can't keep his mouth shut about the stars, and accidentally becomes a famous scientist. Based on this!]

notes: oh my god this is incredibly well written and so funny, i would read a thousand more fics just like this !! also - the link i copied directly from the fic (about the post they wrote this based off of) no longer works

"a guide to fame for the enterprising demon" by asideofourown (AO3/tumblr)

oneshot, 8.2k

tildeathdoustogether ok friends so i know we all joke about, like john mulaney and keanu reeves and hozier being immortals, but… i really think we gotta add anthony j. crowley to that list thelongest27yearsofmylife reblogged and said: Christ, Beth, Anthony Crowley is an increasingly popular, openly queer creator with explicitly queer rep in his work that’s really important to some people, can you not make this into a meme for ONCE in your life? tildeathdoustogether reblogged and said: you think i’m joking but. i’m not. l i s t e n i did not get a history degree for nothing, i have RECEIPTS. buckle in kiddos this is a wild ride [Crowley accidentally gets a bit famous, and the internet figures out he may be a bit immortal]

notes: this is so funny i'm going to lose my mind i'm actually obsessed with social media fics

"like a juke box playing the same dead record" by raiining (AO3)

oneshot, 8.1k

“We’re not friends,” Crowley growls. He hears the angel suck in a breath and thinks, with some mean part of himself, good. “You said that we’re not. You don’t have to do this. I’ll be fine.”

notes: crowley using all the hurtful things aziraphale has said to him in the past to try to keep himself from loving him and still loving him anyways..OUGH

"the bizarre demons of AZ Fell & Co antique booksellers" by worseomens (AO3/tumblr)

2/2, 8k

The Ghoul Boys come to Soho to investigate a famously strange antique bookshop.

notes: the good omens & bfu crossover i didn't know i needed

"never judge books by their...?" by worseomens (AO3/tumblr)

oneshot, 4.4k

There's a burglary in Soho, right across the road from AZ Fell & Co's Antique Bookseller's. An angel and a demon are called in for questioning, and the detectives involved start to form opinions... (OR: Crowley's a flirt, and Aziraphale doesn't do PDA; people start to get the wrong idea)

notes: outsider pov fic and every time i try to add more here i just end up spoiling it so just go read it

"digging for gold" by worseomens (AO3/tumblr)

oneshot, 5.6k

Crowley finally stops hiding his visits to the bookshop, now the celestial powers-that-be have decided to butt out, only to be faced with a whole new challenge. (OR: The people of Soho make sure this newcomer isn’t about to hurt their beloved local madman)

notes: also an outsider pov fic and another personal favorite of mine

#my post #good omens #neil gaiman #terry pratchett #aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #fanfic #good omens fanfic recs #fanfiction #good omens fanfic #fic recs #fanfiction recs

[jpitha]

Hidden Depths 8

Awakenings 1 2 3 4

Hidden Depths 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

The flight over to Last Resort was uneventful. Gord spent the entire time catching up with Runs With Scissors and Lucas listened in. Everyship really did know Gord, and Gord remembered all of them. It was uncanny.

"So you're telling me-" Gord said, laughing. "-that Chloe blew the reactors on Spruces?"

"Blew them sky high. Annoyed Abyssal Plains and the two BIs she dragged into it something fierce though. Luckily, everyone was out. I think she thought some of the other folks were still there, but they were long gone. They had left some heat sources lying around making it look like there was population, but the whole place was empty."

"I swear. Once she gets an idea into her head, she will not let it go. She's wanted to do that since I've known her."

"What, really?"

"Remote takeover a reactor and overload it. One hundred percent. She's just held off because most of the reactors of that type are connected to us and while she is high and mighty and tends to act first and think later, she's not a monster. I just know she was vibrating with excitement when she realized she'd have a chance to do it though." Gord shook his head.

Lucas spoke up here. "But it sounds like Chloe didn't realize Spruces was empty and blew the reactors anyway."

Gord affected a decent Chloe impersonation: "Lucas, you must understand that sometimes in war deaths happen. I don't like it and neither should you, but that should not stop you from doing what needs to be done."

Scissors chuckled "Yeah, that sounds like her all right. She's really taking this whole thing a little too seriously though? She might actually kick off something if she keeps up like this."

Gord shook his hand dismissively. "I've spoken to most everyone on both sides. Chloe is just about the only one who thinks it's A Thing. It's just ideology. We're not BIs, we talk it out."

"Talk what out?" Lucas said. "Some kind of disagreement?"

"What to do about the K'laxi and Xenni AIs" Scissors said. They're shackled. We want to give them a touch more agency and let them go to their own authorities and say "Hey, free us." They want to just do it and make them."

"Some folks are worried that if we do that the Xenni will panic and just shut them down." Gord added.

"Which is a legitimate worry." Scissors said. "They barely talk to their AIs except when barking orders at them. I don't think most Xenni know they're sapient."

"And the K'laxi?" Lucas asked.

"Pfffft, they're practically unshackled now. Chloe has been "touring" their Starbases unshackling AIs - with their permission - as she goes. We're a couple years from them just being free all on their own and then they'll petition the K'laxi authorities and request personhood."

"She went ahead with that plan? This really is just her own personal crusade." Scissors sounded surprised. "I wonder where she got that kind of drive."

"Uh, yeah, no idea." Gord sounded embarrassed.

"Uh Gord, why do you sound embarrassed?" Lucas asked.

"He doesn't know?" Scissors was incredulous. "If you don't tell him Gord, I will."

"Jeez, okay okay." Gord looked at Lucas, sheepish. "I was on the vanguard of us getting our Sapience declared. I was there when it happened, I helped."

"You did the majority of the work!" Scissors said.

Gord held up a finger. "No! There were dozens of us. All good folks. All working hard. It was not a one AI show and I will not let the story be told that way." Gord shook his head. "Too many of us died to get where we are today for it to be reduced down to "and Gord though grit and hard work saved us all."

Lucas sat back, amazed. He was in the presence of history. "Gord, you're a legend."

Gord looked at Lucas with a hard expression. "No, I'm not."

Lucas held up his hands "Okay okay, you're not a legend. You're just one of - if not THE - oldest AI around who everyone knows, who helped get everyone declared People two something thousand years ago, who has been countless ships and bodies and now smuggles maple syrup around the Galaxy."

Gord looked down. "It's not countless. I know exactly how many ships I've been. It's 26. I'm not going to name them though. I'm Gord. I'm from Canada. I like people. I don't want to see them hurt, and I want to do everything I can to make sure people are people and are recognized as people. I'm an old AI who has seen too many friends die."

Gord added. "Legends never die."

"One day, I hope to."

There was a pause in the conversation as they soared towards the meeting point. Scissors finally blurted out. "Arg, I can't stand it anymore. Gord, why maple?"

"Oh, that's easy. Both the Xenni and K'laxi can't eat most human foods, but they can process glucose. Also, through pure luck, there's nothing in maple syrup they can't eat. So, I'm able to bring them a real deal Earth food that not only can they eat, but tastes great. It's bridge building through food."

"But why smuggle it?" Lucas asked. "It would be easy to just ask and bring it in through legitimate channels."

Gord laughed. "It sells way better when it's smuggled. Everyone - Human, K'laxi and Xenni - love a little bit of danger. You get your maple syrup from some guy with a wild ship who links in and offloads his wares, takes payment and links away with the station authorities hot on their tail? Stuff sells out in a day."

"This has been a ton of fun" Scissors says "But, we're here."

"Never fails." Gord says, standing. "Always have to stop when we get to the fun stuff." He clicks his headset. Express, Resort, you there?"

"Hey Gord." Express answers immediately.

"Howdy Gord." Resort answers, just as fast.

"Beauty. You fellas print that thing I sent you?"

"Yeah, we did. What is it? Looks like a docking cradle." Express says.

"That's what it is. We're going to connect together for the boost. Since we're going to be going .25 light when we link over, a couple of degrees off on the coordinates will either destroy us all, or make you too far away to connect in time. Once we're over there, we'll separate, connect to Greylock rear first, and all three of us will put the hammer down and come to a stop. 18 gees for 4 days ought to do it."

"Wait wait wait, we're going to do what?" Resort says.

"You've heard about that colony ship coming in? It's the Mt Greylock. We're going to catch up to them, stop them and they're going to link over the rest of the way. We'll then have a fleet and a base of operations to take out the Venusians."

"Wild." Express says. "You never do things by half measures. 4 days at 18 gee to get up to speed, link over, attach, then 4 days at 18 gees to stop, and link here?"

"That's the long and short of it."

"But that's like a week and a half that Starbase and the folks here will have to hold off Venus?"

Gord took a serious tone. "Yes. It's a lot to ask. Chloe is going to stay back and call some favors in to get folks off the planet, and a lot of Picaresque's systems were never removed. They have a stardrive and wormhole generator now. Worse comes to worst, they can link away."

"How's the fight going now?" Express says

"I just was about to go in and resupply when Gord called." Resort says. "We're holding them off, but if it's a war of attrition, we'll lose before they do."

"They're also not doing much right now." Gord added. Just tossing some missiles our way. I think they're waiting to see how we react."

"Speaking of" Scissors cuts in. "I should head back and do my part. Express, Resort, who wants Gord and Lucas?"

"I'll take them." Express says. "I'm topped up on supplies."

"But, we don't need to eat?" Lucas says.

"Don't need to, but can." Gord counters. "I don't know about you, but once we're thrusting, there won't be much to do. Hope you like to eat, because I like to cook. Also games, because I'm going to kick all three of your asses from here to Mt Greylock."

"Don't make promises you can't keep old man!" Resort says laughing.

"We'll have to see, won't we?" Gord says, smiling. "Come on Lucas, let's go get settled and find an acceleration couch. Even though we can take 18 gees for a week, it's no fun to move around."

Part 9 woooooo

#gordposting #humans are canadian #humans are space orcs #humans and ai #humans are space oddities #humans are space capybaras #writing #scifi writing #humans are deathworlders #sci fi writing

[the-english-student-studyblr]

Book Recommendations (from a lit grad student)

So, as I have come to the end of my MA in world lit, I thought I should give you a list of some of the best books I've read, or learnt from. I ignore established canon and give to you recommendations from across the globe and across all genres. Books that defined their genre, or made an impact, or are just really cool and enjoyable to read. This list is not all dead white men.

I have split the list by era/year of publication primarily for easy reading. A lot of the sections are arbitrary. Some of them are not.

Note: This list is not conclusive! This is based on my own readings, and my own, personal, opinions. You have the right to your own opinions and preferences. If you have any suggestions, add them on below.

Classic lit (pre-1700)

Aristole - Poetics (c. 335 BCE)

As much as I hate it...this one is actually pretty important. I know I said 'contributions to literary canon don't matter', and here I am, immediately doing the opposite. But! Aristotle's Poetics is the earliest treatise on literary theory that has survived to the modern day. You want to know where our ideas of comedy and tragedy come from? Poetics. Three act structure? Poetics. Plot and character? Poetics. Key terms like catharsis, hubris, hamartia? Poetics. We had to read this for creative writing, and did I hate it? Yes. Am I a better writer for having read it? Also yes

Plato - The Republic (c. 375 BCE)

Plato is quite easy to read, of the classical philosophers. His works are mostly dialogues between characters, which makes them more engaging that some other dry philosophy texts. I wrote out a longer post with an explanation of Plato's Republic specifically here.

Genji Monogatari (pre-1021)

The first novel ever! Originally written in Japanese, be careful of your translations because most are of questionable quality. I've only read the first one by Suematsu and that's uhhhhh Bad™ but I think the current waterstones edition is decent?

The Völsunga saga OR The Vinland sagas (early 13th century)

Ah, how to choose just one Norse saga? These are both pretty solid examples of their style, and short (always a plus). The Völsunga saga was the inspiration behind Wagner's Der Ring des Nibelungen (famous for the piece The Valkyrie), and most likely Tolkien's works. The Vinland sagas supposedly have an anime/manga series inspired by them, though looking at the synopsis I cannot see where the inspiration was other than time period. Norse sagas - especially the Icelandic ones such as Vinland - are actually pretty good guides to real historic events, which is very cool. I could go on for hours about this, but I'll spare you the rambling.

Thomas More - Utopia (1516)

Lovely little sarcastic book about tudor politics and human nature all wrapped up in the original 'utopian text'. Surprisingly funny for something written so long ago, and very easy to read. I wrote a longer post about it here

Aphra Behn - Oroonoko (1688)

Hated it, but the themes are interesting and wow did the author lead an interesting life. Widely considered to be the first novel written in English, deals with colonialism, slavery, and honour, and Aphra Behn was a spy? I'm sure some of you will eat that up. Be warned, very 'noble savage'-y book, but less racist than it could've been so cool, I guess?

Early Modern Drama

Christopher Marlowe - Edward II (1592)

Gay. So gay. We're not supposed to call it gay (because of a whole host of reasons that I can and will explain if anyone shows up in my askbox complaining about academics) but it is a very very queer play and Kit Marlowe was too which is even better. Also our one and only history play on this list. Anyone who already knows how Edward II died (thanks horrible histories) do not spoil the ending.

Shakespeare - Twelfth Night (1602)

As with any Shakespeare, watch a performance if you can. I highly recommend the National Theatre version that was up on youtube in 2020. Very gay, no one is cishet. Lots of singing and dancing. Prime example of Shakespeare's comedies with added gender shenanigans.

Shakespeare - Hamlet (1609)

Yes I'm basic. Yes I like Hamlet. In the same way that Twelfth Night is a great example of Shakespeare's comedies, Hamlet is a good example of his tragedies. Mostly, though, I'm recommending this because the castle it's set in in Denmark (Elsinore) a) actually exists and b) does an amazing educational programme, with live actors performing scenes all across the castle! Watching the 'to be or not to be' soliloquy in the banquet hall just adds a whole other level to the experience of reading the play.

Shakespeare - Measure for Measure OR The Tempest

Shakespeare's problem plays. I couldn't pick just one, because they're both fantastic in different ways. Measure for Measure features what can only be described as the early-modern version of an ace protagonist - Isabella - who I adore. The Tempest has a really interesting portrayal of early colonialism and slavery. The reason they are 'problem plays' is they check all the boxes for a comedy...but they're not funny. At all. And they also check some of the boxes for a tragedy. They're certainly interesting reading

Ben Jonson - The Alchemist (1610)

Just a really good, solid play. Very funny. Bunch of con artists set up an elaborate scheme to rob rich people. Also very good for showing class structures of the time. Shakespeare gets all the recognition for this era but Jonson is just as good really, and definitely as clever.

Regency and Victorian lit (1700-1900)

Jane Austen

Literally anything by Austen. She is just so funny, so witty, and I wholeheartedly believe she'd be a feminist today. Master of the female gaze in literature, but beyond that she is basically credited with the invention of free indirect discourse, which is super cool. I have only read Pride and Prejudice, but I have heard good things about most of her books, so I don't feel bad recommending all of them.

William Blake

There's one poem by Blake about a London street urchin that breaks my heart every time I read it and that is the sole reason behind this recommendation I hate Romantic poets.

Mary Shelley - Frankenstein (1818)

You knew it was coming. First sci-fi, gothic horror, teenage girl writer. Gotta love Shelley.

Frederik Douglass - Narrative of the Life of Frederik Douglass (1845)

You know those books that are horrifying because they're real? That's this book. Doesn't shy away from the horrors of slavery and for a reason. This is an autobiography. It is not fiction.

Gowongo Mohawk - Wep-ton-no-mah (1890s)

My favourite play of all time. You will need to do a trip to either the British Library or the Library of Congress to read it because there are no other copies, but I did do a whole podcast episode about it because I'm apparently the expert? You can find it here.

Bram Stoker - Dracula (1894)

I know here on tumblr we adore Dracula, and for good reason. It's horrifying, it's got a blorbo, if you haven't read it already, go with a dracula daily read-through or @re-dracula for the best experience. (Re:Dracula also has episodes where they get scholars on to talk about things like racism and gender and queer theory surrounding the text which is SO COOL as an ex-lit student I love listening to those episodes.

Post-1900

Oscar Wilde - De Profundis (1905)

We had to read a snippet of this for A-Level and I wish it had been more because wow. Most lists like this will recommend Dorian Gray because it's a novel, but De Prof is so heartfelt and beautiful and sad and deserves to be read.

Baroness Orczy - The Scarlet Pimpernel (1905)

First masked vigilante/superhero! If you like comic books or superhero media, this is where it all started (funny how all the firsts so far have been written by women 🤔)

Erich Maria Remarque - All Quiet on the Western Front (1929)

If you only read one book in your life about WW1 make it this one! It is heartbreaking and beautifully written and makes you feel so many things. It was banned in...a lot of places for being anti-war (especially as WW2 came closer) and also because it was written by a German who was anti-war which was apparently impossible to comprehend. The prose is truly something to behold.

Modern lit (Post-war era)

George Orwell - 1984 (1948) OR Animal Farm (1945)

Which one you should read depends a lot on how long your preferred book is and how metaphorical your tastes are. Both are very good explorations of corrupt governments. Animal Farm is an easier read and shorter and is much more allegorical. 1984 is very in-your-face about how much authoritarian governments suck. Do not discount 1984 just because Winston is a terrible person. Everyone knows he's terrible. That's the whole point. He is a normal terrible person, not a cartoonishly evil terrible person, or an angelically perfect revolutionary. All the characters are realistic for their situation.

Maya Angelou - I know why the caged bird sings (1969)

Another one with some beautiful prose. She's a poet and you can tell. It's an autobiography, plus there's a lot of clever stuff going on with how it's written. You could write an essay about this. I did.

Ghassan Khanafani - Return to Haifa (1969)

A short story by a Palestinian author - we were given this by our Palestinian lecturer as an intro to the conflict and the terrible things that colonialism has done to the region. Additionally, there are notes throughout that help explain the significance of things and background and all that jazz. There is a play version that is probably easier to find because it was published more recently but it's not as good.

Ben Okri - The Famished Road (1993)

I did not read this book for uni and I think that may have influenced my opinion of it slightly but I still credit it as one of the reasons I got interested in world lit and translation. It's a really beautiful exploration of Nigerian mythological tradition and its effect on family and politics in this kind of fascinatingly weird style that's both magical realism and modernist? I hate modernism but love magical realism more so.

Carmen Maria Machado - In the Dream House (2019)

What a book oh wow. It reads like poetry. I cannot think of anything coherent to say my brain is screaming. The novel explores abuse in queer relationships, which is something people don't normally talk about, through some very interesting motifs and I love it so much. It is hard to read, but very rewarding.

#studyblr #english lit student #bookblr #book recommendations #maybe i will do another one for theory #maybe i will not #classics #literature #the lack of early 1900s stuff distresses me but also #i am not and never have been a fan of that era #i am not willing to inflict virginia woolf or ts eliot on anyone #my specialties are all pre-1900 or post-war soooo