#not looking for advice or platitudes

[jesncin]

Hi! I'm sorry if this an inappropriate question to ask, but I was wondering if you had any advice on how to accurately portray characters of color? I'm White and my creative fiction includes a lot of diverse characters, and I don't want to just ignore how their races impact their stories but at the same time being a racial/ethnic minority isn't something I've personally experienced and I don't know how to walk the line between good representation and some White dude telling stories that aren't his place to tell. Do you have any advice on how to accurately present characters of color without appropriating?

Luckily I have time today so I'll give my 2 cents! For one: there is no such thing as "accurate" portrayals of POC. Our experiences aren't a monolith. Something personal I would write and pull from my lived experience might not be relatable to, say, another queer Indonesian. And characters I write that are outside of my identity (Black, disabled, etc.) are inevitably going to be less authentic compared to someone of those identities tackling those characters. That's just something to make peace with- we can only do the best we can with the perspective we have.

With that: the usual platitudes are "do your research" and "listen to POC", I dislike both of these sayings! I get what they mean, but I don't love the insinuation of "doing research and listening" as a means of personal creative benefit. So instead I encourage different mindsets:

Instead of "do your research" (where identities can be treated as subjects to be learned and not people) I prefer "expand your perspective". Art is so cool because it's self expression. Stories are awesome because it's a shortcut to a person's deepest feelings. They get you fascinated and invested in a life so unlike your own. I can't stand "I only read queer books" people because it's an admission that they refuse to engage with identities they can't relate or project onto. There are so many important stories out there outside of your bubble. Get into the habit of earnestly learning about perspectives outside of your own. And not with the mindset of "this'll make me a better writer if I consume the identity and can become them" but with the mindset of getting to learn about a new friend. I think people take "stay in your lane" too literally sometimes where they focus so much on writing about their own experiences that they miss out on empathizing with other people.

Instead of "listen to POC" (I hate this one. Because our opinions aren't a monolith, it essentializes all of us to being media critic savvy experts, and white people tend to cherry pick the POC opinions they like instead of looking at the wider conversation) I prefer "improve your media criticism skills, and supplement with different perspectives". Not only should you "expand your perspective" as my last point said, but you should also be critical of things you read and learn! Learning about how ableism, racism, classism, etc. operates in life helps inform your opinion of how an identity was portrayed in a story. Recognize that earnest, and well intended attempts at representation can still be flawed or performative (the amount of times I'm told "I'm sure they weren't intending to be racist" like I truly believe the writer is a mustache twirling racist villain is too much). It's important to be opinionated! Do the work to find different perspectives to inform your own.

Lastly, don't ask for labor from marginalized people haha. I know that's what you're doing now (and this always happens to me whenever I voice a critical opinion of race representation) but I happen to have time (I'm still waiting on my editors to get back to me, such is the life of publishing). Most people don't, and are exhausted with explaining themselves. I don't bother my other marginalized friends whenever I write perspectives outside of my own. I do as much of the work reading articles, history, criticism, art etc. first. Especially if it's going to be a published work, then find Authenticity Readers and pay them for their labor. Avoid asking general, easy to google answers y'know? A lot of people have done the work writing thought pieces in their own time about a variety of perspectives.

[bairdthereader]

Time to pay homage to the Spring Queen, Tori.

[This is a long one, folks. I have lots of feelings. Sorry, not sorry! TLDR can just look at the gifs for the gist of the story.]

Having read Solitaire, This Winter, and Nick and Charlie in addition to Heartstopper, my thoughts on Tori and how she's portrayed in the show are a bit difficult to organize and express. Since we don't get her backstory in the show (yet), we see her exclusively engaging with Charlie's story; this leaves out a lot of her depth and complexity, or at least leaves it to the viewer to piece together. BUT . . .

The specific ways she goes about protecting Charlie say so much about her.

It's established from their first on-screen interaction that Charlie feels safe with Tori, both to be himself and to confide in her that he's ended his pseudo relationship with Ben, a relationship no one else knows about at this point. Tori automatically assumes the fault was with Ben, which is not only peak awesome older sister behavior, but a cue to Charlie that she knows him well enough to trust that he was not only not the offending party, but that the breakup was a very positive move for him. She's affirming and bolstering Charlie without any platitudes or unsolicited advice, a sign of her care and respect for him, as well as her understanding of him and his needs.

In Solitaire, Tori explains that she rides the bus with Charlie when he's dealing with particularly bad mental health struggles, which puts the scene toward the end of S1E7 in a slightly different perspective. She knows that something is deeply wrong, but also that Charlie isn't ready to talk about it. She keeps an earbud out just in case, but doesn't pressure him in any way, another sign of respect and silent support.

And of course the moment when Charlie is desperately vulnerable, scared, admitting his darkest thoughts to her, when she realizes for the first time (in the show timeline) just how deep the pain goes, she takes it seriously. She knows what it could mean. Though we as viewers haven't seen it yet, Tori knows her own version of this particular darkness and recognizes it in Charlie. She grounds him with firm, safe, physical touch and a truth that only she can give--which makes it the truest kind of truth, a bedrock truth for Charlie to stand on--that he is valuable to her and vital to her life.

After Charlie tells his parents about his relationship with Nick (with fairly negative results, but that's a whole other post), Tori's concern for Charlie is immediate. Not only does she remember how terrible the bullying Charlie experienced was, but she also knows how fragile his newfound happiness really is. Charlie misinterprets her question--whether intentionally or not I think might be up for debate--and assumes that her concern is mainly for Nick, asserting that he can protect Nick. Tori knows that Charlie will need that protection as well, maybe more, but also respects his choice to view the situation in this way. [Side note: respect is like Tori's secret love language; she doesn't give it very willingly.]

"Look after him or you die" seems funny, but Tori is dead serious. Her later accusation that Nick doesn't keep his promises feels harsh at first, and he doesn't really deserve it, but we have to see it for what it is. Tori is trusting Nick with a responsibility that she usually puts on herself, and she doesn't take it lightly; very few people can care for Charlie the way Tori does, and to her, failure to do so is indefensible. Nick's failing her test in this moment, though she's a complete enough person to recognize that it's a momentary lapse and trusts Nick with Charlie later in the story.

And of course there's the infamous Nelson dinner party, where Tori does in reality what we ALL want to do in spirit and knocks David down several pegs. She sees in him exactly the kind of person who bullied Charlie and made his life miserable, and she's not about to let it happen right in front of her. No real commentary here, just a deep appreciation for Tori's sisterly rage and complete disgust with David.

And then there's this:

Oh, season 3 Tori is going to be something to behold. I absolutely cannot wait. All hail the queen.

[itsclydebitches]

Things I Adore About Diamond Dog Trent (in Chronological Order):

Intense confusion over Beard barking that becomes Roy scaring the shit out of him (again) as he slams the door

"Oh, I'm in." IMMEDIATE. NO HESITATION. 100% COMMITMENT. Keep in mind that he's just been told they share their "most initiate thoughts, feelings and experiences" like oh, I don't know... the fact that you're gay? But Trent is Ted's The Lasso Way's #1 Fanboy so he's feeling safe and validated, baby!!

This is very much enhanced by the return of the rainbow mug

30 seconds into his new membership and Trent has gotten used to the barking enough that he can manage an awkward little wave of acknowledgement. 10/10 very cute

Subtle eye-narrowing of judgment at Ted right after Beard's "Unbelievable." They really are on the same wavelength this episode I'm digging it

"Can I just talk whenever?" OH I'M SORRY, IS TRENT "BRINGING THE HEAT" CRIMM POLITELY REQUESTING PERMISSION TO ASK POINTED, PERSONAL QUESTIONS? We love us some character development, yes we do

Teeny tiny smile when Higgins agrees with him. He's! So! Proud! Of! Himself! And he should be!!

Copying Beard's pointing. It reminds me of him subtly flipping Jamie off but also kinda pretending like it's a coincidence. Trent wants to be included so, so badly and he's someone who displays that by mimicking the actions of those around him. Something, something, Isaac's study of body language

The fact that for once Trent isn't holding his notebook and doesn't stop to grab it. He has a good handle now on what can and cannot go into his book. "Don't print that" is a running gag he no longer needs

A more meta-y take, but I love that Trent's first meeting is the perfect example of what the Diamond Dogs are meant to be accomplishing. It's not just a place to vent or get platitudes (though it's that too), but rather to receive the honest, sometimes hard-hitting advice so you can make better and more informed decisions. Ted went in looking for sympathy and got a doozy of a wake-up call instead, which I think highlights the group's purpose for Trent far better than many other meetings might have

You can see Trent open his mouth a little bit while the others are howling like he wants to join in (because he does HE DOES) but doesn't quite have the courage yet. It's only when the others quiet down - when he's not 'imposing' on 'their' thing - that he lets out that little *woof!* of his own

The woof. Yes, that gets its own bullet point

[oldshrewsburyian]

I love this ask! A Persuasion Campus novel please. (Must go lie down at the thought of Ciarán Hinds as a college professor.)

So, to address your parenthetical first: you've seen Circle of Friends, right? I didn't love it, and his role, iirc, is not sympathetic; however:

The academic gown over the three-piece suit is just gratuitous. AHEM. A Jane Austen campus novel AU is tricky, I think, because I have to undo most if not all of the family relationships in favor of other connective nexuses (nexes? nexii? help). Here goes. I might have spent too much time thinking about this over my morning tea.

Sir Walter Elliott is, inevitably, the college president. He's photogenic. He loves uttering empty and incorrect platitudes about his own achievements. He loves schmoozing with important people. Unfortunately, he's perfect for the job.

The Admiral and Sophy have been at the university for ages, and the Admiral loves to tell the story about how he was her spousal hire in 1987, not the other way around.

Elizabeth is using family money to take a never-ending PhD in fashion history. She's always weirdly vague about her project, and finds a way not to participate in chapter exchanges. Rumor says that it's Sir Walter's influence keeping her from being kicked out.

Mary took an M.A., married money, and has been (dis)contentedly living on the UWS ever since. It's not quite true to say that she's never looked back. She visits colloquia and other open department functions with a depressing persistency, and appears not to notice that this is sometimes awkward for people who are united by their passion for a subject in which she never excelled.

Louisa and Henrietta are grad students, and remarkably carefree with it. Somehow their work does, in fact, get done.

Harville is, I think, Wentworth's sailing club buddy.

Mr. Elliott will be a smarmy visiting academic at another area institution. Unfortunately, I know his type. Eventually it will come out that he's eternally "visiting" because of a plagiarism scandal in his past.

Lady Russell is, of course, Anne's PhD supervisor. Who else would be in loco parentis and giving prudent and unwelcome advice?

Anne administers the interdisciplinary center in eighteenth-century studies. While she is several decades younger than those who usually take on such jobs, this works out well for several reasons. She has a head for detail, and is conscientious to a fault. Also, the faculty are (almost) all extremely fond of her, and the importance of this in getting academics to comply with bureaucratic necessities cannot be overstated. She's an alum of the program, and did finish her PhD. Lady Russell still sometimes sighs, a little too audibly, when she sees her erstwhile star student being competent in the front office. But care-taking duties during her mother's long illness meant that Anne's progress through the degree was slow, and international conference travel to boost her reputation didn't happen. The job market, with its precarity and long-distance upheavals, didn't either. So here is Anne, still in the department. Anne herself may not have the career or the life she dreamed of, but she has employment and health insurance, which is more than many recent PhDs can say. She sings in a choir. She tells herself that she has a good life.

Frederick Wentworth was Sophy's student. (I will miss her big sister energy, but a PhD supervisor also has the lifelong privilege of dragging you and telling you to get your life together, so here we are.) Lady Russell thought he was always going to burn out. Sure, he looked good on paper: a bright scholarship student from a state school in the fields of nowhere. But his project, studying contested empire and constructions of masculinity in the Atlantic world using network analysis, was always too ambitious. Until it wasn't.

With several fellowships, a postdoc, and a visiting position at a SLAC behind him -- the OUP monograph is in press -- Frederick Wentworth is back. Lady Russell wasn't on the search committee. But not only is Frederick Wentworth competent to teach the gender studies courses the department wants and the survey courses the university wants, he is also willing to take on the military history courses that the jocks want. "Thank God," says Sophy bluntly, once he's accepted the offer, "I won't have to read their opinions of my haircut in the student evals anymore." Also, there's that OUP monograph. No one quite says out loud that they have in their midst that rarest of creatures, the photogenic male historian who actually is a historian. But the consciousness runs through the halls like a current. This, for the department, could be a beginning.

For Anne, it is something else. It's not that they dated, exactly. It was never that formal, or that limited. Only in retrospect, really, did she realize that it was odd to spend an entire day walking around looking at architecture, or to end up with intertwined ankles on a museum bench, or to cook freely in each other's kitchens, before having an understanding. The understanding came. It was a November night, and they were sitting on a bench in Riverside Park, and she didn't feel the cold. They had agreed that they'd go on the job market together. They would read each other's applications the way they read each other's dissertation chapters. And they'd move to wherever one of them got a tenure-track job first. And then everything fell apart. Anne still thinks that Dr. Russell was right, that it wouldn't have been fair to hold him. More, she thinks that she herself could not have borne to lose what they had in a slow death of long-distance phone calls, too-brief visits, awkward negotiations of what they could and could not expect. Better to be sensible. Better to make a clean break while they were still young, still resilient. But she has never felt resilient. And now Frederick Wentworth is back.

[justagirlthatlovedtoread]

Secrets, promises and stolen kisses.

In the bustling world of university life, Y/N and Jonah's lives are a tapestry of contrasts. Y/N, a humble yet secretly talented vet, and Jonah, with his undeniable popularity, seem to come from different worlds.

Y/N has always kept her profession a secret from university life, wary of people befriending her just for free vet advice, and discounts on operations/vet care. But fate intertwines two different paths when Jonah's dog Bella becomes paralyzed in her hind legs. Frantic and heartbroken, Jonah faces rejection from multiple vets and second opinions who suggested putting Bella to sleep. But Bella wasn’t “just a dog” to Jonah- she didn’t care about how he looked or how popular he was; she only cared about belly rubs and chasing squirrels. She taught him the art of unqualified love. How to give it, how to accept it. She doesn't care if you're rich or poor, clever or dull, smart or dumb. Give her your heart and she’ll give you hers. He was adamant that someone out there could help her, and It was clear in everyone’s eyes that he wasn’t going to give up until he found someone who had the opposite opinion to the one he kept getting. He had become a force of nature—a man on a mission to restore his best friends mobility.

Desperation led him to a vet clinic almost an hour away, where he encounters Y/N.

Jonah’s popularity preceded him at the university campus—the guy who could light up a room with his smile, effortlessly navigating social circles. Y/N, on the other hand, moved with purpose, her steps measured and her gaze focused. She was the vet who slipped through the crowds, her secret hidden behind those warm brown eyes. She only ever had one close friend, Tiffany.

They’d crossed paths countless times—Jonah with his easy charm, Y/N with her quiet competence. The hallways, the coffee shop, the occasional nod during breaks—it was all part of the rhythm of campus life. Neither expected more; their worlds seemed destined to remain parallel, never intersecting. Until now.

Jonah was apprehensive because he assumed he would hear the same tired platitudes as every other veterinarian he visits: “There’s nothing we can do”, “she’s too far gone”, “I think it’s time”, “it wouldn’t be fair to keep her suffering much longer” and so on.

But then blurted out Bella’s story, top to bottom: and Y/N listened, her eyes holding determination, her hands gentle as she examined Bella. She promised hope, and Jonah clung to it. The Paws & Whiskers Veterinary Clinic was Y/N’s sanctuary—a place where barks turned into healing, and the scent of antiseptic mingled with endless miracles.

When he finished, she nodded, her gaze flickering toward Bella and back to Jonah. “I’ll do my best,” she said. “But if it’s okay, I’d like to ask….”

And there it was—the secret. Y/N’s hidden talent, her gift for healing animals. Jonah’s eyes looked into hers knowingly, as if he knew what she was going to say “you’re a vet”, he whispered.

She nodded. “I am. But I’ve kept it quiet. People can be… opportunistic.”

Jonah understood. If word got out, everyone would flock to her, seeking free advice, exploiting her skills. Y/N’s anonymity was her armor, shielding her from the world’s demands. Yet there he was, stood between Bella’s well-being and Y/N’s peace.

“I won’t tell,” he promised. “Your secret is safe with me.”

And so began their pact—the unspoken agreement to protect Y/N’s anonymity. Jonah watched as she worked wonders with Bella, her hands gentle, her determination unwavering. Bella responded, tail wagging, and Jonah marvelled at the young girl behind the vet’s mask.

As days turned into weeks, their interactions shifted. Y/N’s eyes held gratitude, and Jonah’s admiration deepened. They met in quiet corners outside of vet and university hours—the library, the beach, the park—where Bella could strengthen the sensation in her legs and their friendship could bloom. Jonah became a constant presence, their conversations shifting from Bella’s well-being to deeper matters, and Jonah found himself sharing stories he’d never told anyone- conversations flowed effortlessly and Bella’s recovery became their shared secret, a fragile bridge between them. They laughed over coffee had deep talks, and sometimes, their fingers brushed accidentally, sending sparks through the room.

Jonah marvelled at the way Y/N spoke to Bella, her voice soothing and full of love. And when Bella finally stood on her own four legs, tail wagging furiously, Jonah’s heart swelled. Y/N’s eyes sparkled with pride, and he knew he’d fallen—for Bella, yes, but also for the enigmatic, beautiful girl who’d brought hope back into their lives, and he wished so much that he could’ve got to know her sooner.

On one particular evening, the moon hung low, casting a silvery glow on the water. Jonah’s pulse raced as he stood by the lake, as he waiting for y’ns arrival. Y/N’s presence was a magnetic force that pulled him closer. Bella lay nearby, her eyes half-closed, as if sensing the gravity of the moment.

A cool breeze swept across the lake, ruffling Y/N’s hair and sending shivers down Jonah’s spine. He reached for her hand as she arrived, fingers trembling. “Y/N,” he said, voice barely audible, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

Her gaze met his, and he saw it—the vulnerability, the fear of crossing a line. “What is it?” she whispered.

Jonah hesitated. The weight of their connection pressed down on him—the shared secrets, the stolen glances, the way her laughter echoed in his dreams. Y/N wasn’t just anyone; she was the keeper of his heart’s secrets.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began, his thumb tracing circles on her palm. “About us.”

Her eyes widened, and he knew she understood. The tapestry they’d woven—the threads of friendship, the hidden talents, the way Bella had brought them together—it all led to this moment.

“What about us?” Y/N asked, her voice a fragile thread.

Jonah leaned in, his lips brushing against hers. Her heartbeat echoed in the quiet night, a rhythm that matched his own. His fingers trailed from her palm to her cheek, the softness of her skin a revelation. He moved a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, his touch lingering.

“I want this,” he murmured, leaving the rest unspoken.

And so, he kissed her—a gentle press of lips that held the promise of more. Y/N responded, her lips parting, and he pulled her closer. Their breaths mingled, and the world blurred—the moon, the water, the weight of their secrets. He kissed her again, this time trailing down her jawline, tasting the saltiness of her skin. Her neck beckoned, and he pressed his lips there, feeling her pulse against his mouth.

It was a moment suspended in time, where hesitation melted into longing, and the universe conspired to bring two souls together. Jonah lost himself in the taste of Y/N—the sweetness, the warmth—as if he’d been waiting for this kiss since the beginning of time.

He pulled away, both breathless, eyes locked—the universe itself holding its breath. Jonah’s hand still lingered on Y/N’s cheek, and she wondered if he could feel her heartbeat echoing through her skin. Words weren’t necessary; they shared an unspoken understanding—their feelings laid bare in that stolen moment. Y/N’s mind raced: What did this mean? Would it change everything?

They sat side by side, fingers brushing, Bella stirring nearby as if sensing the shift. And then Jonah broke the silence, his voice a tremor: “Y/N, I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Her heart fluttered, and she whispered, “Me too.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jonah had reached a point where he couldn't keep his feelings to himself anymore. He was falling head over heels for Y/N, and the only way he could navigate this confusing and exhilarating time was by confiding in his closest friends. "I can't stop thinking about her," he admitted, his voice tinged with a mix of excitement and anxiety.

His friends listened intently, offering advice and support, trying to help him figure out the best way to express his feelings to Y/N without jeopardizing anything and sharing her secrets. “just be straight with her, tell her that you love her”, Matt says.

Meanwhile, Y/N and her best friend were having a heart-to-heart conversation of their own. They had always shared everything, so it was only natural that Y/N would open up about the strange fluttering in her chest whenever she thought about Jonah. But just as she began to articulate her emotions, her friend dropped a bombshell. "I have to tell you something aswell," she said, her eyes downcast. "I have a crush on someone too, his name is Jonah." The revelation hit Y/N like a ton of bricks. She felt a pang of guilt twist in her stomach, realizing that her relationship Jonah could hurt her friend.

The situation left Y/N feeling torn and conflicted. On one hand, her heart yearned for Jonah, and on the other, she couldn't bear the thought of causing pain to her best friend. She wrestled with her emotions, trying to find a way to navigate this delicate situation without damaging her most cherished relationships. The possibilities and topics of conversations with Jonah and her friend had opened up a Pandora's box of emotions, leaving them all at a crossroads where every choice seemed to carry significant consequences.

Y/N’s guilt weighed heavily on her heart after she found out that her friend harbored feelings for Jonah—a crush that had blossomed quietly, like a fragile flower. But Y/N’s own heart had betrayed her, pulling her even more toward Jonah in ways she couldn’t ignore.

Y/N had tried to avoid Jonah for days after this. She took different routes in the hallways, rescheduled her vet consults, and even adjusted the timing of her evening walks to avoid crossing paths with him. It was clear to anyone paying attention that she wss acting out of the ordinary, but Jonah wasn't just anyone. He noticed the subtle shifts in her behaviour and the absence of her usual warmth. Determined to understand what was going on, he made it his mission to find a way to be with her again. Jonah's persistence paid off one afternoon when he managed to catch Y/N alone in a quiet corner of the library. Gently but firmly, pulling her aside and holding her close as he showered her with kisses, each one filled with the affection and longing he had bottled up during their time apart.

The conflict tore at her—the loyalty to her friend versus the undeniable connection with Jonah. She avoided him, not out of indifference, but out of fear. Fear that her actions would wound her friend, unravel their bond, and leave her standing alone in the aftermath. Yet, as Jonah’s lips brushed hers in that quiet library corner, she wondered if love could ever be wrong when it felt so achingly right.

“you have been avoiding me”, he said, taking her hands in his.

Jonah looked down into Y/N's eyes and spoke with a sincerity that left no room for doubt. He assured her that she had done nothing wrong and that his feelings for her had only grown stronger. He reminded her of the countless ways she had brightened his life and made him a better person. Bit by bit, Jonah's words began to heal the wounds Y/N had inflicted upon herself. As they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, they both knew that their bond was unbreakable and that together, they could overcome any obstacle.

Jonah pulled away, finally mustering the courage to share his feelings. He looked deeply into her eyes, taking a moment to appreciate the sparkle he had come to adore.

"I love you," he said softly, his voice filled with warmth. Her eyes widened slightly, a mixture of surprise and joy dancing within them.

A tender smile spread across her face as the words sunk in. She leaned in closer, her heart brimming with emotion. The air between them seemed to hum with a newfound energy, a shared understanding that words alone could not convey. Their lips met in a series of gentle kisses, each one more passionate than the last. The world around them faded away, leaving just the two of them in their own private universe.

“I love you too”

I hope you all enjoyed this, any feedback would be appreciated, thankyou 🩷

@megalony @meetmyothersouls @amaretigris @jonahhauer-kingg

[invinciblerodent]

Okay I feel like my experience of DAI might be a bit.... I guess I could say unique? because my main Inquisitor is a human who is a devout Andrastian, AND pro-mage/pro-elf (it's a long story, he goes through some Character Development), but since last night's post, i've been mentally pacing up and down, thinking about how the "truth vs. lies" narrative throughline applies to Vivienne and her personal quest.

Because... well, hers is the only one (iirc) where you can choose to lie to her. Not tell her to keep up a lie (Blackwall), or lie because she's asking you to lie (Sera), or to conceal what she's discovered (Cassandra), but just straight up lie to her face when she's expecting the truth, and whether she's lying to you or not in general is not even the focal point at that juncture: she just comes to you requesting help, and you can either give it, or deny her.

And regardless of what you do, the facts, the events, don't change, which is what gets me. Nothing tangible happens if you decide to screw her over: whether you give her the heart of a snowy wyvern or just a regular gurgut, her formula will always fail, and Bastien dies. The only difference your lie makes is in her feelings about you, and in her knowing that you're not above stabbing her in the back.

Because if you do choose to accept her request (even though you can just turn it down, and nothing happens besides some approval loss), agree to help her, and then betray her, Vivienne knows. I don't think the game says when she finds out (be it while preparing the potion and she just forges on, hoping that it'll work anyway, or upon looking into it after it fails to see why it failed), but she tells you that much: that she is well aware of your deception, and she doesn't mince her words in voicing her contempt for you.

And man, Vivienne in general is just so fascinating to me.

I mean, she's simultaneously one of the most honest and caring companions, and also one of the ones with the clearest ulterior motives. She, like Bull, basically comes right out the gate and tells you the moment you meet her that she is in this for the power and the opportunity that you present, essentially admitting to you that you are little more than a stepping stone, and early on, her approval can swing wildly: maybe more than for any other companion. And what I keep noticing about that is that these swings are most affected by conversations, where you can lie, far more than your actions, which kind of leads me to believe that she either values your agreeing with her, or in other kinds of setups, you having the good sense to tell her what she wants to hear even if it's not true.

And like, I don't have the brain power at the moment to dissect her deep-seated fears and caution, how her general disapproval tends to boil down to risks and danger, and her whole Deal with why she, as a mage, is so opposed to mage freedom, I'd have to replay the game again to be able to articulate all my thoughts and feelings on that, but it just..... It generally fascinates me how her approval can be maxed out through pretty much conversation alone, while making all the "good" but risky choices that she disapproves of (mage alliance with full freedom, allied wardens, etc.), and before you'd even talk about Bastien's family with her.

And, if she sees an ally in you, man, she's so kind. If she likes you, she's one of the only people to ask you if you're alright after Haven, she offers advice and tries to help the best way she can, and she approves of helping the people of Haven, and of you "yes, and"-ing her, and not wallowing in empty platitudes but letting her have her space to mourn how she wants to, and I just......

Gaaah, I love Vivienne and I keep thinking about her. She makes a terrible fucking Divine, but I just... I'm just looking at her with stars in my eyes, ready to agree with whatever she says and then fuck off to do the exact opposite, knowing that I got a good grade in agreeing with her anyway.

[tyrantisterror]

Woah, that’s pretty heavy, dude. I’ve never seen anyone analyze the series that way, but now that you brought those themes up, they seem pretty damn obvious. Can you elaborate on this interpretation of the shorts and the series? As well as each version’s respective symbolism? How do you think the main cast gaining new colors at the end of the original, only to lose them for the new series factors in to this interpretation. What do Roy and Lesley represent?

Each of the original shorts puts the three main puppets in the role of students and has a different teacher force a "lesson" upon them.

In Creativity, the teacher keeps telling the students how great creativity is, while constantly shutting down their attempts to actually express their own thoughts and feelings, whether it be by questioning the purpose of her arbitrary rules for what they should do or by making artistic choices she doesn't approve of - "Green is not a creative color" isn't just a funny joke, but the whole point of the short and how education often fails when trying to teach art. Because schools put so much emphasis on "objective" evaluations of student progress, they often fail to truly teach inherently subjective subjects like art and creative writing - you can't let people express themselves freely if you have to force them to fit a super strict rubric. "Be creative, but only use the colors I allow you to, only do the activities I've assigned, only think the way I think" is inherently contradictory advice, and by the end of the short the students are so frustrated that they express their creativity in a way that gets them banned from doing it ever again - "let's all agree to never be creative again" is where the short ends.

In Time, the teacher tries to explain the concept of time in an inherently over-simplified and often borderline inaccurate and nonsensical way, to the increasing frustration of the students. The teacher specifically puts a big emphasis on 1. being punctual and 2. believing that the past was generically shitty but it's done so we don't have to worry about it, and the future will be great so don't worry about it. All of these "lessons" are designed to make the students think about time only in the sense of it being a rule they have to obey - a schedule to stick to. When the students actually ask insightful questions about time - "Is time even real? Does anyone know?" - the teacher gets angry and punishes them by forcing them to contemplate their own mortality, all to reinforce the idea that time is just an arbitrary set of rules they have to obey or else.

In Love, the yellow puppet is given lots of empty platitudes about how great love and compassion is and how he should value them, only to then have a bunch of arbitrary rules about how and when one should love heaped on him once he agrees that love is important, with the rules eventually saying his love should be to some nebulous authority figure - "Our king" in the cult imagery of the episode is very much a stand-in for authority in general. We're shown how education can make even the most wholesome-sounding of lessons twisted for a purpose of controlling and manipulating students, forcing them to believe in things that aren't real for the benefit of a select few.

I feel I don't need to explain the Computer episode to anyone who's been in a public school's computer class in the 90's/early 2000's, it kind of explains itself. But a huge problem in education to this day is the persistent belief that you can make students teach themselves by throwing shitty yet expensive "cutting edge" education programs at them - it's what 90% of school budget increases go into because it makes the politicians who buy them look like they care without actually putting any work into understanding what education really needs.

The nutrition episode makes fun of how goddamn mercurial nutrition education has been over the last few decades - one minute eggs are good for you, then you're having too much of them, then you need more of them again, it's fucking madness - and how ultimately all nutrition education does is give you so much anxiety about the foods you pick for yourself that you just buy whatever's advertised for you the flashiest, even if it's really bad for you (like canned meat from one of your few remaining friends).

In the final episode of the original shorts, the Red Guy, having escaped his teachers, finds himself in the dreary adult world, and despite everything actually pines for the simpler days of being a student. He decides to look into the nature of his education, and sees not only how shitty and half-baked a system it is, but also the true root of it: that it wasn't made for the benefit of students, but for the parents who made those kids and want them indoctrinated so they behave better. That's what Roy represents - the parent who doesn't really care about their child learning anything useful beyond "obey the people in charge."

As for the show being about the horrors of the mundane adult world, well, I think that's pretty obvious. One episode is literally about getting jobs. Another is about confronting your own eventual death. They're not subtle about it. And hell, it builds off the finale of the original shorts - Red Guy already transitioned from childhood to adulthood, it's only fitting his pals came with him.

[gffa]

Did they at least fix what was wrong with Jason? like did Bruce at least fix what he did to Jason? Like im coming to terms with the fact that Jason as a character is now just a prop to serve Bruce whether to make him look good for saving the streetkid from becoming a Evil Criminal, or to give shock value to readers, or to dispense platitudes about the importance of family and how wonderful Bruce.

and that he will never be allowed to be or do anything good unless is in the service of batman in someway, but at least i need to know that Bruce fixed what he did wrong, and that they didnt just forget about that like the other time Bruce was awful to Jason.

I'm not really aware of them even specifically addressing it outside of maybe The Man Who Stopped Laughing, but like. That's kind of the things comics does, all comics I've read will do this at some point or another. They do over the top ridiculous nonsense and those plot threads often get dropped, I don't think we're meant to take them seriously, just like I don't think we're meant to look at Jason and think of him as the guy who shot an 11 year old child straight through the chest and probably right through his spine, and not forgive him for it. Comics are bonkers and I don't think they're meant to be taken with the seriousness we would of these actions in the real world--otherwise, almost ALL of these people have done things that they could never fix, you know? I don't know where your lines in the sand are, I don't know what you're looking to get out of comics, whether you're here for the canon or you're here for the fandom--and none of that is said with any shade, there's a whole wide variety of reasons to be a fan of something. I can't really give advice here because it's something you have to figure out what you want from comics and what you think they're meant to be might be totally different from what I think they're meant to be. And I'm struggling to word all of this, because I can feel how frustrated you are, how I've been there and felt heartsore about the place my faves occupy in canon, like I was and am a Pietro Maximoff fan in the comics, I have intimately known the pain of a character only being an extension of other characters, being written horribly by those who don't care about him, and desperately holding onto that one run where he was written brilliantly even though it was from 20-30 years ago. Versus that that's just the way comics often are, our faves just are not A-list characters, that comics are on a tiered hierarchy and we have to make our peace with that. Not all of the characters we like are the same ones the company likes or the writers like and that sucks. Whether that means walking away from comics (like I did after Marvel threw the X-Men under the bus for the Avengers in AvX, like I've stopped reading Quicksilver comics because my heart couldn't take it anymore) or just reading comics and then turning to fandom to realize the potential that canon never intended, whatever you need to do to make your peace with how comics operate, that's all any of us can do. I don't know if you're just in need of venting or if this is truly a breaking point for you, but it probably is true to some degree that Jason's always going to be written as an extension of Bruce's character, because Bruce Wayne Sells So Many Comics, of course DC is going to make everyone an extension of him, to some degree or another. (Honestly, right now, I think the only Bat escaping that is Dick and even he is still extremely tied to his relationship with Bruce.) Until those characters sell as many comics as Bruce does, I don't see that changing. All we can do is find the moments of something worth having fun with in the meantime, because comics are not a coherent medium, they are messy and tons of stuff is never addressed on-screen because every writer is coming in with their own agenda and it's pure chaos, and in my experience we just have to find joy in the whirlwind of it all.

[couldntbedamned]

Pairing: Stephen Strange/Reader

Warnings/AO3 Tags: Domestic Fluff, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Hurt/Comfort, Chronic Illness, Reader has a chronic illness, Doctor Stephen, Caretaking, Kamar-Taj (Marvel), Probable Misuse of the Mirror Dimension, Don’t Try This At Home, There are probably Medical Inaccuracies, But it’s about the fluff and comfort, Medicine, Healthy Relationships

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: You’re sick and thanks to a weakened immune system, having a hard time resting and fighting it off. It’s absolutely miserable but lucky for you, Stephen is more than willing to step into the role of caretaker and help you feel better.

Author’s Note: I’m back with another super self-indulgent fic featuring Stephen and a Chronically Ill Reader.

Because when sick and feeling miserable, why not hope for a strong, caring, also kind-of-an-asshole magic doctor to take care of you?

The knock at your door shouldn’t have surprised you.

Of course, Wong would have mentioned your absence to Stephen. Not just because he was your friend and cared about you, but because you were also one of the sorcerers who’d studied under him at Kamar-Taj, and he felt a lovely sort of protectiveness for you. Plus, Wong played dirty; if you were feeling resistant to his advice, he would send in Stephen who could easily sway the odds in the librarian’s favor. It was underhanded, annoying, and you absolutely respected it.

You tried to stand up so you could answer the door, but your overwrought throat had other ideas. A coughing fit started, one so bad you couldn’t even wince through it as your body tried to cough up whatever crud your weakened immune system was generating in its pitiful fight against the “upper respiratory infection” (re: common cold) the urgent care doctor had diagnosed you with. You couldn’t even call for him to come in, instead hastily grabbing your glass of water and sucking it down in an attempt to soothe the raw ache in your throat. Times like this had you almost wanting to take the risk of your immune system attacking you again if it meant a day and night without painful, hacking coughing spells.

He must have gotten tired of waiting because the sound of a portal opening echoed in your living room.

“You didn’t have to stop by,” you croaked out. “Stephen, I’m so gross right now.”

“You certainly look gross,” he agreed. He knew you well enough to know that any attempts to say you looked beautiful would be met with disdain. You hated platitudes - you heard too many of them all too often. They were well-meaning, yes, but annoying.

So, you weren’t even mad at him for agreeing with you. You’d showered, obviously, but your eyes were watery from the pain and your hair was a mess. You were wearing your oldest pajama pants with a well-used handkerchief stuffed in the pocket and a loose, ratty long-sleeved shirt. You looked - and felt - absolutely disgusting.

“I’m not worried about that,” he said. “Because you sound even worse."

You watched as the Sorcerer Supreme and Master of the Mystic Arts melted away and was replaced with Stephen Strange, MD. It was always a fascinating shift to observe. Your Stephen was a healer before he was anything else.

“How long as this been going on?”

You held up five fingers.

“Five days, okay.” He pulled out a pen light and a tongue depressor. There had to be something up with those pockets of his, there just had to be! “Stick out your tongue and say ‘ah’.”

Rolling your eyes, you did as he asked.

“Oh, that’s no fun at all. It’s all kinds of inflamed.” His fingers were gentle as they felt around your neck. He produced a stethoscope. You needed to learn that pocket-expansion spell.

Without prompting you breathed deeply and let him listen to your lungs. Then you breathed normally as he moved the diaphragm to your chest.

“Your lungs actually sound good.”

He checked your ears. “And your ears are draining properly, thank goodness. Have you been to see anyone?”

You nodded. “Urgent care,” you managed.

“Can you do me a favor and please stop talking if you don’t absolutely have to, Darling?” he asked. “There’s no need to make it worse and I know it hurts to speak right now.” He looked around and seized on a notebook and pen. “Here. Write down what you need to say. Do you have the discharge papers from the doctor on-call?”

You scribbled down Kitchen table, and wondered if this was your sign to seriously look into ASL classes.

He left and returned with the papers, reading and muttering to himself. “Benzonatate capsules… those are fucking useless. And… ‘gargle warm salt water and take ibuprofen for pain and fever as needed.’ Are they incompetent there?” He demanded of no one in particular once he was finished. “Did they even bother to read your medical history? When someone with your condition, on the mediction you take, gets sick, treatment has to be aggressive. Your body can’t fight it off on it’s own, otherwise, and you’ll just get worse.” He shook his head. “Do they want you to end up in the hospital with pneumonia?”

He was preaching to the choir. You’d heard this rant before from your care team, your support group, and others. But coming from him? It warmed your heart every time. He never made you feel helpless or unable to take care of yourself, but he had no problem stepping up to advocate for you.

You held up a finger and wrote out, They are a good clinic. I did my research before I walked in.

He nodded reluctantly. You continued to write.

You know why they’re so reluctant to just prescribe more aggressive treatments on a first visit. It sucks, but it can’t be helped. I can’t afford a DSB label in my records.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but wisely refrained. You two had been over this a few different times and ultimately he understood that the final say was, in fact, yours.

“I know,” he said. “I don’t like it, but I do understand.” He’d worked in a lot of emergency care as a medical student, intern, and resident, as well as in MetroGeneral’s walk-in clinic when he wasn’t in a high enough position to finagle his way out of it. He knew the realities of it as well as anyone.

He studied you, no doubt taking in your watery eyes, unhealthy pallor, and all-around miserable body language. Then you gave a loud, hacking, desperate-to-be-productive cough and he cringed. “May I please treat you?” he asked. “It breaks the three-percent of my heart that isn’t a black, iced-over exuse for an organ to see you like this.”

You nodded with an amused snort that thankfully didn’t devolve into another fit. Please! I can’t take another night without sleep.

“I know,” he soothed. “I’ll help you. Give me about thirty minutes and I’ll be back.”

Where else would I go?

He smirked. “Behave.”

While he was gone you moved the many empty cups (all water you’d sucked down like it was elixir) to the kitchen and started loading the dishwasher. You chucked the icky handkerchief in with the laundry to be washed in the hottest water possible and grabbed a fresh one from your bedroom dresser. It was dainty and feminine but you found yourself missing your father’s all-purpose paisley ones and wished you could pilfer one from his dresser drawer. (You’d even return it. Or, you’d do your best to remember to return it. History was not in your favor in that regard.)

Feeling better about the state of your residence, if not your current health, you sat on your sofa and sipped some water. You kept your breathing calm and level as best you could, not wanting to provoke another painful coughing session. Knowing you’d probably be on your way to feeling better than you felt in close to a week, you finally let your body relax.

Stephen wouldn’t be able to magically fix you, you knew, but he would help you get more comfortable and to a point where you could actually rest and start to recover. Most importantly, however, he always asked for your permission before doing so. That alone meant more to you than you could adequately express.

His instinct was always to heal; it was in the core of his being. But he never pushed or browbeat you into accepting, even when you could tell that he really really wanted to. His respect for your autonomy was one of the greatest gifts he could give you.

He stepped through another portal soon enough and he carried an insulated grocery bag and wore a leather messenger bag with a flat bottom. He set the grocery bag on the kitchen counter and brought the messenger bag with him.

Stephen?

He made a gesture and the Mirror Dimension shattered into being around you.

“Now,” he said with a pleased-at-his-own-cleverness smile. “As we’re in the Mirror Dimension, no can legally prove that I’m essentially committing a felony.”

He withdrew a tinted bottle with the screw cap you preferred. “This is an antibiotic. Take one pill once a day, preferably in the morning after breakfast. Speaking of breakfast, you’ll do well to avoid dairy for a couple of hours before and after taking this.”

Got it.

“And finish the entire bottle,” he added.

You saluted before writing Were these gained by legal means?

Stephen affected a dignified look. "Kamar-Taj is not beholden to Earthly legalities and our residents come from all walks of life. If they feel the need to use skills and knowledge previously learned for the betterment of our home, who am I to judge?"

Only slightly sketchy, then.

“I wouldn’t being you something that was neither safe nor effective, I promise. I would never harm a patient, especially one as precious to me as you.”

I know.

He withdrew a bottle from the bag, this one smaller but heavier. It wore the dosage cap like a little hat.

“The good cough syrup. This, you take right before bed. Once you take it, you need to lay down, because it’s strong.” His expression was serious, as it always was when it came to medicine. “I mean it, Darling. No cooking, no lifting heavy items, and definitely no going out and driving after you take a dose. The bottle is spelled to only administer the prescribed dosage in the provided cup, so there’s no risk of pouring too much or taking it before it’s needed again.”

What’s in it?

“An antihistamine and a very low concentration of codeine. I know you’d rather avoid narcotics and I want to agree, but Sweetheart, you need to be able to sleep right now. Your body can’t sustain this.”

Reluctantly, you nodded. Just because you needed to take it, didn’t mean you had to like it.

He pulled out a larger bottle of liquid with another dosing cup. “This isn’t quite the good stuff but it’s suitable for day use and is non-habit forming.” He set it next to the other bottles. “It’s also spelled to only pour the prescribed dosage.”

You smiled, happy at the compromise.

“And last but certainly not least, what is quite literally an ancient Kamar-Taj remedy: throat lozenges crafted by a team of Masters from herbs and honey harvested from our greenhouses and hives. I asked for their recommendation and they insisted I bring you,” he studied the bag. “Very Extraordinary Berry.”

Your eyes were watery again, but it wasn’t from pain.

Thank you so much.

“I love that you value your independence and I know that you’re used to being the care taker in most cases. But it really is my pleasure to help,” he said. “You know I’m not good with words but you’re always telling me I show you much I love you, so hopefully this counts as one of those times.”

You nodded. It's absolutely one of those times.

Stephen stood and checked his watch - a cheap novelty watch that featured Spider-Man and was better suited for a pre-teen. You’d gotten it for him as cheeky little April Fool’s joke but he swore up and down that he loved it and wore it every day.

“It’s close to nine. Why don’t you have a juice bar, take some of the good stuff, and go to bed? I’ll put the groceries away and take care of everything else.”

Bed - with proper sleep! - sounded wonderful.

Okay.

“I brought strawberry and lemon flavors, since you apparently have the palette of my elderly neighbor Estelle.”

Don’t be a hater just because you’re a wuss when it comes to the nirvana that is lemon flavor.

“And I’ll make you Estelle’s recipe for chicken soup.” He pulled out two notecards. “Exactly the way she made it because I’d rather face Dormammu than her ghost haunting me for messing up her pride and joy.”

Oh that sounds good! The instant stuff just doesn’t cut it.

You enjoyed the frozen juice bar more than you’d enjoyed anything since you’d gotten sick. Then you took your dose of “the good stuff” under Stephen’s watchful - but not patronizing - eye. He pushed some water on you and helped you to bed. He even refilled your humidifier and tucked you in.

“Sleep well, Darling. I’ll be here in the morning, okay?”

You nodded. “Love you,” you mouthed.

“I love you, too.”

He left and shut the door behind him. For the first time in days, you were able to sleep peacefully.

Smut Hub Summer Camp Bingo @sagechanoafterdark: Choose Your Trope: Hurt/Comfort

[spidersays]

On Politeness vs Helpfulness

Two stories for you.

January 2018, my little town in rural Wisconsin was experiencing a cold snap. It was not record levels, but it was still very much cold enough to kill if you were unprepared. I was working ten to twelve hour shifts in a factory four towns away for 11 dollars an hour. When I woke at five AM for my shift, I discovered that my car wouldn’t start. The battery was flat dead - a common occurrence when temperatures dropped so suddenly. I couldn’t afford to miss a shift - on top of likely being fired for even a single sick day, I genuinely wouldn’t be able to afford rent.

I called my brother who lived two towns away, mostly to seek advice. He started swearing at me, hung up the phone, and was on his way. An hour of yelling and swearing and insults later, my car was running, and I was on my way to work. It was unpleasant - my brother and I didn’t have the best relationship - but he still *risked his life* in order to make sure I could make rent.

October 2022. I was in Oakland, California for Second Sky, a music festival. A few weeks earlier I had injured my knee at work. I was mostly healed, but I had brought my crutch to the show out of an abundance of caution. I had just gotten into the festival with @swarmingbats and I was given a task - get some drinks while she got into the merch line.

Second Sky was an experience, with landmarks made by the prop masters that created the Hogwarts theme park. There were giant trees, ancient temples, little secrets to discover and explore while getting blasted by EDM - it was a magical place to be. However - it did not make it obvious where you could go to get food or drinks. So I did what any reasonable person would do - I scoped out a couple who didn’t look too busy who also had drinks in their hands and asked for directions.

The couple managed to be very polite while *also* managing to impart zero information to me. I remember the woman looking at me like I was stupid for not immediately knowing where to get drinks. Fair enough - they owe me nothing, and they were *polite* while treating me like an idiot.

I managed to find the beer tent - they were literally right behind the couple. I got my wife the collectible cups they were selling, mission accomplished.

While I was giving my wife her drink, my crutch placed precariously under my arm, the *very same couple* walks *between* me and @swarmingbats and somehow managed to *kick* my crutch to the ground. It was obviously an accident. One of the couple turned around, horrified at what she’d done.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were a *cripple*”

Platitudes were exchanged, an easing of tension - but it was on my wife to actually pick my crutch from the ground.

I am a big fan of politeness, but if it gives someone the excuse to avoid being *helpful* in any way, I know which of these two interactions I’d choose, every day.

[kosher-martian]

Help with Chavurah

My local Jewish community is older, very very Reform (like 1920s Reform; services with little or no Hebrew), and increasingly insular. Conversion students and younger congregants are getting turned off by the decisions of our leadership team. We youngsters feel like we are unwelcome and unwanted. Decisions which impact the entire congregation are being made - some in direct violation of our bylaws - with little or no consultation by the congregation.

Our wonderful rabbi, embattled since they started the job, is out. I hope they find a congregation that can appreciate their talents. Services just aren't the same. Our Rabbi brought a spiritual richness into our lives that the older congregants just aren't interested in. We've gone back to services entirely in English, homilies with empty platitudes, and a spiritual hollowness that is driving down already record-low attendance.

One of the conversion students put it best: "It feels like they know the congregation is in bad shape and instead of trusting the younger generations to fix it, they've decided to take it with them to the grave."

I've tried and failed to get anyone in leadership to listen. I've explained time and time again that their decisions are pushing young people away. They keep saying I'll understand their decisions "when I'm older". Time is not on anyone's side. I doubt there will even be a synagogue in my town in 10 years. Despite having a local population of close to 1000 Jews, we have no one attending under 20 years old, only four people under 35 years old (myself included), and maybe two or three folks younger than 60 years old. The remainder of the congregation (and everyone in positions of leadership) is rapidly approaching their 70s and 80s.

I've talked to our conversion students and several youngsters regardless of whether they attend or don't. The feedback has been pretty consistent: There's a desire for something more "traditional", more "authentic", and "more Jewish" than what the synagogue offers. No one's asking for Orthodox services, they just want more Hebrew. They want to discuss Torah and Judaism on a deeper level. They'd like to discuss Jewish history and philosophy. In short, they actually want to learn.

I feel a responsibility for the folks who want something more. They have spiritual needs that aren't being met. Me and a few other congregants are looking to start a study group or something to fill the spiritual void. It's clear that our synagogue is not ours any longer (if it ever was to begin with). I've never done anything like this before and I'm not sure where to start. There's a bit of learned helplessness among those of us looking for change, so for now I'm planning to do a lot of the heavy lifting myself. Has anyone gone through something similar? Are there resources available out there for situations like these? I'm looking for learning materials / educational resources. A repository of good parsha discussions around which I can build lesson plans? Some sort of Idiot's Guide to Building a Jewish Community from Scratch ?? Any recommendations for books, magazines, podcasts… anything you've got! I have some books, documentaries, and YouTube channels for Jewish history. I'm more concerned about my shortcomings in philosophy and Torah interpretation.

Anything recommendations, tips, tricks, and/or advice to help get our chavurah off the ground is greatly appreciated.

Thank you!

[adragonsfriend]

Do or Do Not, There is No Try

I have seen, I think, the full gamut of misinterpretations of this phrase, so, I'm going to take a crack at breaking down its meaning, and also look a little at its impact on Luke, because someone once tried to tell me that Sidious couldn't've conquered the galaxy without Yoda, and I'm here to say that that's *so funny*, because actually Luke couldn't've saved Anakin without Yoda's teachings.

Let's look at another, simpler example first, to establish my method of analysis. Pretty much, it's about context. Lets take the sentence,

"Hey, don't cry, don't cry."

Let's ask some key questions:

Who would might be saying this and who might they be saying this to? An adult or older child might say this to a young child.

When might this be said? When the child is distressed, and either crying or potentially about to start crying.

What might the older person's intention be in this scenario? Comforting the child.

What is the cultural context? Crying can be caused by a wide variety of intense emotions, but (in modern western culture at least) it is most strongly associated with sadness or pain, negative emotions. There are sometimes negative attitudes about crying being a sign of weakness, but that's not a uniformly held idea, and young children generally get a pass on this.

We can debate about whether saying "Hey, don't cry, don't cry," is the best way to comfort someone who is crying and whether it does or doesn't reenforce negative ideas about crying, but phrased the way I've phrased it, and said in a generally comforting tone and accompanied by other comforting actions, it doesn't literally mean, "I command you to stop crying immediately."

It means, "I see that you're sad/hurting. I wish that you weren't experiencing those negative emotions that are causing you to cry, because I care about you and how you feel. You're going to be okay and this is a situation that we can handle."

(If anyone has, like, specific trauma around this phrase, please note I'm not saying you're not valid for having whatever feelings you have about it, I'm looking at it in the situation described above where intentions are all around pretty positive)

See? Context.

Now let's look at our phrase,

Do or do not, there is no try.

First, a list of common misinterpretations, some of which (I believe) come from people trying really hard to make sense of this phrase but coming at it from the wrong lens, some of which take it very literally, and some of which are cop outs:

it's not just advice about how to use the Force

it's not saying that effort doesn't exist, or that trying really hard is stupid

it's not saying that putting in your best effort is worthless if you don't succeed

it's definitely not saying to only do things you already know you can succeed at

it's not a meaningless platitude, and it's not totally open to any interpretation you'd like

So, context questions:

Who is saying this? Yoda, a life-long teacher of the Force, of lightsaber dueling, and of philosophy. Also a life-long leader, humanitarian, and warrior. He is also a Jedi.

Who is Yoda saying this to? Luke, his student, who aspires to face defeat a terrible evil--the empire--and generally help people where ever he goes. He intends do so by becoming a Jedi.

What is Luke doing when Yoda says this? He is talking about how he really needs his X-wing to not sink into the swamp so he can get off the planet, at the same time as he's saying, "But I don't really know if I can do anything about that so I'm gonna half-try and then give up," and, "My X-wing is very important but I can't have it but I need it so I'm not going to seek out any other solutions to my problem either." In this moment, Luke is whining, and not facing up to his problems (he got it from his dad).

What is Yoda doing when he says this? He's lifting Luke's X-wing out of the swamp with the Force, thereby solving Luke's most obvious outward problem--his dependence on his ship for transport. He's a teacher showing his student the capabilities of the Force, addressing another of Luke's outward problems--his lack of knowledge of the Force. He's also, because this is how both movies and teaching work, addressing Luke's main inward problem: his lack of perseverance and conviction. In this moment, Yoda is helping, and teaching.

So it's a phrase that, along with Yoda's demonstration, is meant to teach Luke something about conviction and effort. Well, we probably already knew most of that, so let's ask some more questions:

Is there a larger context of this phrase? Yes, this phrase is being said in a movie, and so Luke isn't it's only intended audience, and Yoda isn't the only one saying it. The other audience is us, the literal audience, and the writer is George Lucas. All the cues in the movie tell us the audience that Yoda saying this is an important moment we should be paying attention to.

What are his opinions of/intentions for Yoda and the Jedi? Extremely positive. He does not say they are perfect--the conclusion of RotJ says that Yoda and Obi-Wan were wrong about something--but he does say that Jedi are people striving very actively to help others and to be their best selves. These are characters through whom a lot of his beliefs about what goodness is and how people should live are being transmitted. So as this idea of Yoda's is not the one challenged by the conclusion of RotJ, we can assume it is meant to be interpreted positively.

What were George Lucas' cultural inspirations for Jedi culture that relate to this phrase? A combination of christianity, buddhism, and his own unique ideas. To oversimplify: Christianity gives us the light vs. dark, true evil and true good both exist and we should strive for goodness part, buddism gives us the mastery of self, non-attachment, and meditation parts. I am not an expert in any religion, and definitely not in buddhism--I was at least raised christian--but even I know enough to know I'm about to make some sweeping generalizations, so grain of salt, if you please. But disclaimers aside, I believe his phrase, and the way it is phrased, are and indication it is being inspired more by the buddhism side of things. The way christian texts, specifically the Bible, are written typically goes "here is a story/parable about some people doing something, and here is how big G god and/or Jesus reacted to that." There are plenty of metaphors sprinkled in, but they are mainly there to clarify points for readers. Buddhist texts on the other hand (and lots of other easter belief systems as well, like daoism, hinduism, etc. It's an important note that these belief systems don't necessarily conform to the western idea of what a religion is, and often their original languages don't even have a word which is equivalent in meaning to "religion") use metaphor and poetic language in often deliberately contradictory ways, to both express and make the reader/listener (lots of these "texts" were (and still are) oral traditions before they were written down) think about things which are considered impossible to fully express in words and which defy description in other ways as well. The ongoing, unresolved struggle to reconcile contradictory descriptions is the point. Importantly, this doesn't mean those texts can be interpreted however a reader would like. There may be more than one right interpretations, but there can also be wrong, or lacking, interpretations.

Our phrase has a positive/useful message (you can debate whether you agree with that message later, if you'd like), it can't just be about the Force since a very non-Force having audience it meant to gain something from hearing it, and it's not meant to be taken entirely literally.

From here, it's me taking the context and running.

Do or do not, there is no try.

Yoda is making a statement about being decisive, about commitment, and about the unexpected power that can be found when you really put all your effort towards a goal.

Yoda is giving a lesson much more important than 'How to lift things 101,' and much more relevant than how to use the Force.

He's telling Luke to stop whining and make a decision about what it is that he really wants to do, and telling him that when he does know that that is, he needs to put all his effort behind that goal.

Star Wars is telling all of us to stop whining. To decide what we believe in and to act on it.

(If there are any Doctor Who fans who've made it this far, there is a really similar theme across Doctor Who, especially for the 12th Doctor--my personal favorite. Yoda and the Doctor would make wonderful chaos friends.)

And guess what? Luke takes this advice to heart. He decides he's going to redeem his father and he puts aside all doubt, all hesitation, everyone--Yoda, Obi-Wan, Leia, all of rebel leadership--who would tell him it's impractical or foolish or not worth his time.

Do or do not?

Luke is going to do this.

He's not going to say, "Eh I'd really like it if my father redeemed himself, but I don't know if I can do it or if I should try or how I should go about trying."

He makes the decision that he's committed to that path and then stakes his life on succeeding.

He may be going against Yoda's specific opinion on Vader, but he's absolutely doing so in accordance with the commitment which Yoda helped to teach him.

[ikeromantic]

Can I request a hurt/comfort Mitsuhide fic? I can provide a scenario if needed.

Thanks

A little sweetness and a little angst with Mitsuhide and his little mouse. Approx. 1200 words of hurting and comfort. TW for implied depression

Mitsuhide found her in a narrow alley. His little mouse, her cheeks tear stained. Sorrow darkened her gaze as she looked up at him. 

“Go away.” Her voice was thick and low. She wiped a hand across her face, smearing dirt into the tracks of the tears. 

He stopped where he stood, rooted to the spot. “Little one -”

“Go! I don’t want - want-” Her voice cracked and she struggled not to cry, her breath coming in gasps.

It physically hurt him not to touch her, to offer what comfort he could. He looked aside, letting his eyes travel along the plain length of the wall. “When you disappeared from camp, I didn’t expect to find you wandering in town.” He kept his voice conversational, his tone light.

She took a sharp breath, then the tears came back anew. Choked, muffled sounds as she buried her face in her sleeve.

Mitsuhide edged a little closer, still not looking at her. “I thought you might have gone to visit the river. The villagers say it is beautiful at sunset.”

More sniffling and ragged breath. 

“I can’t imagine what brought you here, though. My little mouse.” A little closer now. If he reached out an arm, Mitsuhide thought, he might brush the edge of her kimono.

“I-I wanted to be alone . . .” She tried to stop her tears again, wiping furiously at her face, her breath coming in short, panting gasps. “I - I thought - I thought if I could just . . .  I don’t know. Cry it out here. Then I could - s-smile for you.” She covered her face with her hands. “It’s so s-stupid! I d-don’t even know why I feel so - so -”

He nodded, understanding coming all at once. It was no wonder, then, that she didn’t want his presence. Despite all they went through together, there were still parts of her heart that she kept well hidden, as if to admit to them would somehow cheapen the life they now shared. This sadness she held, an exhaustion that haunted her sometimes, was one of those things. “You don’t have to always smile for me, little one.” 

The chatelaine hugged herself tightly. “I didn’t want you to - to see me like this.” She took a deep, trembling breath. 

Mitsuhide’s chest tightened to see her like this. Her pain was his own, her sorrow hurt his heart. Though she’d rejected him once already, he held his arms open to her. “Little mouse.”

This time she didn’t refuse his comfort. She fell against him and buried her face against his chest. 

He held her, stroking her back as she quietly cried. Mitsuhide did not offer her useless platitudes. No advice to cheer up, no comparisons to how much worse others might have it, no vague reassurance that everything would be alright. The only thing he could offer was himself, and he wanted her to know that she had him - whatever she needed, as long as she needed. His love would not waver nor fade.

“I - I know I don’t have anything to cry about,” she mumbled after a bit. She nestled against his shoulder, peering up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “It’s stupid. I’m stupid.”

Mitsuhide gently brushed her hair away from her face, studying her expression. “You are anything but, my little mouse. I find you clever, intelligent, and kind.”

She scowled, chewing at her lower lip. “You don’t have to say nice things about me. I know I’m not very . . . useful. I don’t know how to do things. I’m weak. Uneducated. I’m not even pretty. N-not compared to real princesses.” She crossed her arms. 

He smiled and gently poked her forehead. “Is it alright if I like you, even when you don’t like yourself? Because I know you like me, despite what I think about myself.”

“What? But . . . you’re - you - it’s different! You’re THE Mitsuhide Akechi. A warlord. Literally a legend. I’m nothing. I wouldn’t even get an honorable mention.” 

“And you are THE woman Mitsuhide Akechi loves above all else. Who cares what people remember of us 500 years from now?” He tilted his head. 

The chatelaine gave a slight shrug. “I - I don’t know. I don’t have the energy to argue with you. You’ll win anyway. You always do.” 

This despair that took her sometimes frightened him. He saw in her gaze an emptiness that spoke of endings. Of loss and hopelessness. Mitsuhide did not know how to bring that spark back. Only that each time she fell into this morass, he feared she would not come back to him from it. It was a sickness of the heart and he did not know how to heal it.

She pushed away from him, though he did not let her go. “You should get back to camp. You have important things to do. And look -” The chatelaine gave him a ghastly smile so patently false that it hurt him. “I’m not crying now see? All better.”

He traced a line across her cheek with a fingertip. “I would rather see your tears than this false cheer. Didn’t we promise to be honest with each other?”

Her lip trembled. 

“I love you, little one. I love you through your sadness and your tears as much as through your smiles. There is nothing more important to me than you. So unless you tell me honestly that you do not want me, I am going nowhere without you.” 

The chatelaine crumbled. Her smile fell away as if it had never been. She collapsed into him again, not crying this time, only clinging to him like a drowning man to a life line. 

Mitsuhide pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Tell me, next time. Tell me when you don’t feel pretty and I will kiss you until you feel as beautiful as you are to me. Tell me when you feel useless and I will sing your praises until you believe in them too -”

“Don’t,” she sighed. “I don’t deserve that from you.”

He wanted to tell her that it was he that didn’t deserve her. With his bloodstained hands and his hardened heart. The death and suffering he caused in service to his ideals, the things he knew he would do if needed . . . a man such as he never should have found a love as precious as hers. But his throat closed over the words and a tear escaped his fluttering lashes to spill down his cheek. 

Her eyes widened. “I - I didn’t mean to make you cry too!” She wiped the tear from his face and the ones that followed it. A sad little half smile turned up the corners of her lips. “Maybe we do deserve each other. One hot mess to another.”

“I could never deserve you, little one. But I will never let you go. Not even to your own sorrows. Please. Don’t ask me to.”

She pulled his face closer to hers and brushed a kiss as gentle and sweet as spring across his lips. “I promise.”

“Good.” Mitsuhide kissed her once, twice, the warmth of her lips a reassurance. 

They did not return to camp that night, but found a room at the inn beside the alleyway. A quiet place to hold each other, reminding one another that love was not a thing deserved or earned, but a gift freely given.

[pumpkinhrat]

     It is with no small amount of shame that Jon pulls up the ‘How to Flirt with a Guy over Text’ article by ‘Wikihow’ on his laptop. It’s as his grandmother always said, though: if you’re going to do it, you had better do it right.

     Martin had texted him back yesterday, right in the middle of him taking a statement. Despite how absorbed Jon can get in them, it had been very difficult to finish the statement with the notification flashing in his periphery. He finally opened it and had received a little flip and flutter in his chest for his efforts. Silly. The phrase ‘cat-dad’ had tripped him up a little but after no small amount of googling Jon had come to the conclusion that Martin is most certainly flirting with him. Now for the response.

     Jon isn’t an idiot. He knows he’s not the most personable guy around. Hell, the whole reason Sasha and Tim had cooked up this scheme was because they’d seen him try and fail miserably at social interactions on multiple occasions. He’s always too blunt or dry or just too plain strange to hold any sort of meaningful conversation with new people. He’s half convinced the only reason Sasha, Martin, and Tim are his friends now is because they’d been forced to break down walls by virtue of their job. It’s unsurprising that things are as grim for him romantically as they are platonically.

     So, with that happy thought in mind, Jon clicks open the link. A bright white and green screen stares back at him. The blurb at the top reads “Text messaging is a great way to flirt with your guy. Flirt texting can be done with someone you are just getting to know, a guy you are developing a relationship with, or a long-term partner to add some fun to your relationship. You can also use texting to stay in touch, build interest, and connect with a guy prior to making the next move.” The last bit actually sounds like what Jon’s looking for and the tight feeling in his chest loosens a bit as he begins to scroll. Then he gets to the actual advice section.

     It’s dreadful. The entire article is littered with useless little platitudes and suggestions like “Play Up Your Fun Side!” and “Don’t Be Afraid To Tease”  and, most worryingly, “Maybe Wait To Send That Sexy Pic”. It’s exactly all the sorts of things Jon hates about first meeting someone who’s interested in him; the posturing, the desperation, the clearly produced and polished personality. He doesn’t want to send Martin a “flirty compliment” when he doesn’t even know what the man’s face looks like. And even if he did, Jon’s sure that any compliment he’d try to come up with would sound like a thinly veiled insult.

     It’s hopeless. He knew he shouldn’t trust the internet but what other options does he have? When he’d given up and debased himself to open the wikihow article, all he’d had written in reply to Martin’s text was “Yes, I do like cats.” Which, while true and, in Jon’s opinion, a perfectly serviceable response, he can hear Georgie’s disappointed sigh in his ear now. Jon echoes it as he closes out of the tab and shuts down his computer. He’ll just have to come up with a response himself. Simple.

     Fifteen minutes later, the same five words glow up at Jon from the Tinder chat box. It feels as though they’re mocking him, goading him to send the blasted text already. Everything else he’d come up with was equally if not more dreadful and Georgie wasn’t returning his texts.

     Jon takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes. He checks the time. 2:13am. Not too terrible, then. If he just sends this now he can finish up his notes on the Kominsky statement and still have a little over three hours of sleep before he has to get up for work. He looks longingly at the file on his coffee table and turns back to his phone. If this Martin is truly going to be interested in Jon as a partner of some sort, he’ll have to be accepting of Jon's way of communicating, he reasons. There’s no point trying to spruce himself up, really.

     Jon sends the text and turns off his phone.

AAAAA Dear Anon, you're back! Thank you so so much for writing more, (and i'm sorry it took me this long to respond, i've been trying to survive uni).

This is 4th part of Anon's Dating App Jmart fic. Check the tag or the pinned post to see the previous parts! This chapter is based on this part of my au.

UPDATE: You can read the whole story by JJanuaryRain on AO3! Go give them lots of love -> "all's fair in love & tinder"

[mikufigure]

i intended to write this as a comment on this https://archiveofourown.org/works/42448821/chapters/110444814?view_adult=true fan fiction (nsfw), but comments are disabled. i’m a fairly private person in regards to erotic content, i don’t like sharing what i enjoy outside of very limited circumstances, but i feel i need to set that aside for a moment in order to praise this. this is one of my favorite fanworks of all time.

let’s set some background so i can formulate my thoughts and also give a proper info. i rarely read fan fiction, only occasionally indulging whenever visual art can’t scratch the itch of enjoying media. guilty gear is a franchise that i, excuse my wording, feel guilty for enjoying due to my lack of participation in the actual fighting game side of it. i’ve been about actively into it for ten months, but i first started looking into it because of bridget’s depiction in strive, as she was transgender, and openly accepted as such by her franchise.

putting the rest under the readmore since this got long

after listening to her theme song a few times i ended up hearing other songs as they came on autoplay, and loved them. passively listened to just the music for a few months before plunging into what the series actually was. i am not good at fighting games. i’ve tried a few, played a few rounds against friends, but ultimately did not stick with them for very long. the way i enjoyed guilty gear was by listening to music, learning about the story, and enjoying fanworks.

as much as i like to pretend that i don’t, i do have an anxiety disorder, and the general culture of media led me to developing the mindset of becoming a ‘poser’ for not actually playing the games. there was a reputation of fans that got into the series because of bridget never playing the game and being looked down on because of that, and i did not want to fall in that crowd. with this factors, i was reserved in my emotional investment for quite some time.

what ended up drawing me out of this shell was meeting people who enjoyed the series, and seeing them enjoying it without hesitation. there was no breakthrough moment of “oh wow! i can just enjoy things without worrying about opinions!”, but rather a gradual build up of confidence in seeing the happiness of others.

do you wanna know the fun part of this? the people i’ve met got into it for various reason, still play the game, and enjoy the franchise as much as me. the only other uniting feature between us is that we’ve all been transgender. guilty gear has cultivated a safe community for transgender people solely through their addition of characters like bridget and testament. don’t think i’ve forgotten about testament, i’ve just only been addressing bridget due to her widespread impact.

i think i’m ready to actually talk about that fanfiction i linked forever ago. go read it if you haven’t, or at least read between the first and second line break. the part that got me wanting to write all of this was two specific paragraphs:

She doesn’t know what to tell this gothic nonbinary transfemme to keep them safe. Maybe spit out some stupid platitudes. Shit advice like, don’t ever write poetry. Don’t ever write song lyrics. Don’t ever write your heart and your trauma and your hope into trans erotic fanfiction; don't do it, it's not worth it.

this first one made my heart ache. it made me realize why comments were disabled, why the work was posted anonymously. i had already decided i needed to write something in response to it by then, as a sort of “tribute” to whoever might have written this.

And in response, I-No brushes her guitar’s strings, enough to summon her magic. Transformative magic, the kind that you’d archive online in the hopes that another trans reader would find resonance between the lines.

i’ve found such an intense resonance with this. it’s hard to convey with words the emotion that this makes me feel. i’m grateful to have found this fan fiction, to have found this community, for a game like guilty gear to exist which could foster a community for transgender people. i’m grateful for transgender erotica and expression as a love letter to the source material and for personal indulgence. i don’t think i can make a much more compelling closer than that, just simple adoration for transgenderism and love.

[greenreticule]

Y'know that bit of advice: you gotta work on yourself before you go looking for a relationship?

It just hit me that multiple people told me the exact opposite: I had to get INTO a relationship to complete myself or I had to STAY in a relationship until I figured shit out.

And this wasn't like distant advice of someone just spouting off a platitude.

These were people close to me, people who saw me struggling with the relationship I was in (or just left). A best friend. Close family.

My partner was not hurting me. He was a good man. The struggle, the damage came from trying to break myself to fit a romance. And because it was the romance and not the partner, I was still supposed to try.

I still was supposed to prioritize a romantic relationship over my wellbeing, because:

romance was critical to my wellbeing

I was being a bad girlfriend and needed to try harder

this was how God was helping me grow

It's infuriating, to be told that LEAVING a relationship that was hurting me as a failure on my part. Because romance was supposed to be that ultimate good