#token non-point

[sprout-battlecats]

smallear

[kattythingz]

Yet another hot take but. To all the Ishvalan Elric aus out there, or anyone using Arabic for Ishvalan. Please, for the love of god.

STOP romanizing the Arabic you use in dialogue!!

Just say they're speaking in Arabic (or Ishvalan in this case)!! 9/10 times the written Arabic is damn near illegible to me. AND I'M FLUENT IN READING AND WRITING!!! It's not even properly researched half the time, just taken straight from google translate, and I can fucking tell, every time.

PLEASE I understand wanting that inclusivity and diversity but just say they're speaking Ishvalan. I'm tired of getting headaches trying to read Ishvalan dialogue please.

[jackalopegirlteeth]

People: We love trans women! Trans women are beautiful!

A trans woman: Thank you! 😊

People: SHUT UP DEGENERATE OR I WILL ACCUSE YOU OF BEING A PEDO

[thatwitchrevan]

and okay again the irony of policing the specific terms used to talk about HAVING SPEECH DIFFICULTIES.

[dravidious]

You're more amazing than 3D models

I haven't made any 3D models in months, but I have made 3 Differentcolorsofcommoncards! Here's the greens

I renamed a few that I showed previously because I think I've figured out the flavor I want to go with. Still placeholder names obviously, but slightly more fitting placeholder names

[yenhan]

TF141 & International student neighbor

Previous - Next - Masterlist

a/n: f!reader

Synopsis: Choose your fighter, Aunt Wang VS military men.

The day had been long. We’re talking are-we-sure-it’s-not-weekend-tomorrow long. You'd spent most of it hopping between the university hall and the immigration office, trying to track down a document they’d somehow lost again. Three times in a row, how could a public institution lose a non-criminal record so many times? Did they feed their paperwork to a magical tiger pet kept under the desk? You were starting to suspect they stored things in a black hole powered by bureaucracy and spite. At some point, a clerk told you to come back “next week, maybe, if you’re lucky,” and you almost threw a chair at him. With violence. But you didn’t. Because you were superior and an adult and had exactly two tissues left in your bag; you weren’t about to waste one when it was barely 11 o’clock in the morning.

So, like any competent and mildly running-on-caffeine person, you went to Aunt Wang’s for food.

Oh, Aunt Wang was yelling. God may help her victim…

Her tiny shop, wedged between a butcher’s and a century-old pharmacy, survived on selling frozen dumplings, cheap snacks, and the occasional expired energy drink. In a nutshell, every broke student’s three Michelin stars restaurant. You’d long given up questioning how she got imported curry fish balls from Malaysia or why she always knew when you were low on laundry detergent. Aunt Wang knew everything. She also had opinions about everything. Especially when her prices were being questioned by two men who looked like they’d survived war zones but apparently couldn't survive the cost of instant noodles.

You were halfway through shoveling pre-cooked egg fried rice into your mouth when you heard the familiar ruckus. At first, you thought she was scolding the delivery guy again for mixing up her cartons of rice wine and white vinegar. That happened two days ago; the lad scurried off crying after bravely succumbing her ire for 6 minutes and 11 seconds. Yes, you timed it. Speaking of Lads™, half of your dream team was there.

“Eight pounds? For fungus?” John Price raised an eyebrow at a pack of Swiss brown mushrooms.

Wang shot back in rapid Mandarin. Something about inflation and people not appreciating the labor of small shop owners. Gaz was next to him, holding a suspiciously dented can of coconut milk like it might explode. “We just want to make curry, not buy the entire rainforest.”

Price grunted. “Back in Basra, we could get ten of these for a quid.”

Wang cut him off with a menacing 老外 and 吃不起不要吃. You coughed loudly to hide your chuckles, setting down your microwaveable rice bowl. Your oh-so-stealthy cover couldn’t possibly work when your neighbors had already memorized every detail of your laugh and smile like tattoos carved on their brains. You didn’t know that, though.

You turned your head from the wobbly plastic table you were squatting at, clutching your chopsticks like they were lifelines. There he stood, your favorite Captain Beard himself. And lovely, lovely Gaz, sleeves rolled up, trying not to choke on air. "Translation?" The younger man asked hopefully.

You sighed, stepping in. “She says if you can’t afford it, go cry to your government, not her. Also, that your beard makes you look like a fisherman whose Finding Nemo campaign failed.”

Price blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

Wang pointed at him, nodding. “老水手。”

“Old sailor,” you said promptly. “She’s not wrong.” Price looked vaguely betrayed at that quip.

You helped settle the argument with a few words and a reminder that Wang would accept payment in cash and only in exact change. When Price asked why, you whispered, “Last week someone paid her with a coin from 1986 that turned out to be a game token.”

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, handing over the coins.

You sat on the wooden stool near the register, tucking into your rice, warmth spreading from your mouth down to your frozen toes. Wang had even added a boiled egg, on the house. You must’ve looked extra pathetic today; that was basically a declaration of love from her. The men lingered by the exit, fiddling with their bags of groceries like they weren’t sure what to do next. It was awfully endearing. Gaz finally leaned over, looking at your bowl. “That any good?”

“Best three-minute meal in the UK,” you replied through a mouthful. “Better than those jellied eels you and Johnny persuaded me into trying. I may not have forgiven you yet for that stunt.”

Price walked past and placed a hand on your shoulder. You swore it wasn’t tears burning your eyes at his offer. “We’re making curry. You can come. Or don’t, it’s up to you, kid.”

Gaz added, “There’s beer, too. Not the good kind, y’know. Not poisoning-inducing, though.”

Your eyes prickled. You didn’t cry. You absolutely did not. You had the waterworks in full blast in front of Simon just last week; your dignity was still reeling from that. And the scolding the captain gave you afterwards because you should’ve just gone to them, they would make it better.

“Thanks,” you murmured. “I might join if I finish my reading.”

“Bring your books, Johnny likes reading aloud when he’s drunk. Calls it ‘dramatic education.’” The sergeant raised two fingers over his shoulder.

Lifting your head just enough to be heard, you called after them with a crooked grin. “Only if he agrees to put more effort into the Italian accent, he sounds like Super Mario on steroids. And tell Ghost he better not just stand in the corner judging us like some emotionally repressed Batman. He’s reading the villain lines, or I’m not coming.”

Price muttered something about "bloody spoiled brats." It was a start.

Woke up and felt like a confused cat meme. Anyway, I got plenty of random ideas for this, enjoy!

[xpulchritudinousx]

high school sweethearts

Katsuki never really got used to girls following him around, with the excitement of being in the same school as a beloved class heroes from the war getting to the heads of all the first years. In this case especially the girls. Like usual he runs to Iida to protect him, with the crowd dispersing like it did every time they realized they were coming off too strong. 

But this time one girl stayed, looking at the pair shyly before coming closer. Katsuki looked at you with furrowed brows, eyes widening when you held out an old looking pen to him. 

“I heard you really like All Might, I found this when I was clearing out my room and I… Well I thought you’d like it.” He stares down at your hands before taking it, simply nodding at you with a muttered out thanks before Iida ushered him off to class mentioning something about a token of love and proposals. You’d just stood there, watching them leave with wide eyes, blinking a bit as you processed the little interaction before smiling. Laughing quietly before turning to head to your own class, happy to have at least been able to give something to the blond.  Were you as forward as the girls in your class? No. Were you just as crazy and down bad? Absolutely.

He was cute and you wanted a shot obviously, but that doesn’t mean you were going to be open about it. The idea of just being outright rejected definitely was the only reason for that, but either way that confidence wasn’t you.

You were the one that wanted to be able to just casually drop your number to a guy smoothly, but the one time you tried to ended in rejection  so bad that it made you want to move countries.

Katsuki didn’t think much of the interaction, keeping the pen in his pencil pouch since he wasn’t exactly using pens at the moment. Having to erase his handwriting like crazy thanks to having to use his non-dominant hand for notes.

But the next thing he knew, he was caught up with you following him around and calling him by his first name.

He found you a little annoying if he was being honest, but not in the same way he found Mineta annoying. You didn’t make him want to toss you into a wall or anything, but he just felt this weird turning in his gut. So what? It didn’t matter, it wasn’t like you were going to be anywhere near him outside of school. He was wrong. It was a rainy day filled with annoyed grumbles and quiet cuss words from the blond as he tried to rush out of the train to his home. Covering his head with his books because he decided an umbrella was too much work to bring. 

He stepped out quickly, already turning to go home when he paused, turning his head back to see the obnoxiously colored cartoon characters on a clear umbrella, quickly recognising you before going over to see why you were huddled on the floor. 

He froze up, looking at you for a second when he sees you talking to a little duck as he quacked at you. “I know, and then she started acting like I was the crazy one?” The duck quacked like he understood you, which wouldn’t be weird if your quirk had nothing to do with animals. “Exactly! And then he-” 

“What are you doing?” Katsuki couldn’t stand there anymore, looking at you with his brows pinched together, his hair soaked against his forehead and his uniform sticking to his skin. “Oh!” You squeal a bit, falling right onto your butt, turning your head back to see him, wide eyes blinking up to meet his.

 “Katsuki?” The blond’s eye twitched  a bit at you calling him his first name.

“I told you to stop calling me- Why do I bother at this point?” He sighs, turning away from you and bringing a hand to his face, never in his life has a single person made his brain want to melt away so bad. 

“Do you wanna talk to my Mr.Duck with me?” The question threw him off a bit, turning his head back to look at you before letting out a sigh and nodding. 

Crouching down next to you to look down at the duck as you covered the both of you with your umbrella. “Duck-duck, this is my friend from school. His name’s Katsuki.” 

The little duck just quacked, looking Katsuki over before butting his head into the blond’s cast. “He hurt himself being a really cool hero, you should’ve seen it… But I don’t think you were born yet.”

 Katsuki just looked completely flabbergasted at the way the duck silently communicated with you. Happily chit chatting as if you both spoke the same language. 

“You know he doesn’t understand you, right?” 

“No he does, I talk to animals.” “So you’re like an animal whisperer?”

 “No, I just can speak every language, I thought it only applied to people when I was little, but I talked to animals a lot as a kid.” 

“Why the hell were you talking to animals?” 

“I saw it in the movies?”

Katsuki just fell silent at that, looking at you like you were crazy before shaking his head with a sigh. 

“Whatever, I need to head home.” “I’ll walk you.” You offer with a smile, holding your umbrella to make sure the both of you stayed dry.

 Katsuki just looked at you for a second, furrowing his eyebrows. “Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? I’m the hero and you’re… No offense, but really weak.” 

His words just made you roll your eyes, grabbing him by the hand forcefully as you waved goodbye to the duck. “Oh boohoo, come on, rely on me a little.” With that the both of you walked together, with him telling you where to go to head to his house, not fighting the idea of being helped. 

When his mom ran out the house quickly giving him a hug, he felt absolutely humiliated. Cheeks bright red as he stood there and let her do so, looking at him as she pulled back and rested her hands on his shoulders. 

“I was so worried, you took longer than usual to head back and-” He interrupted her rambling, looking at her awkwardly as he raised his hand up, looking her in the eyes with all the reassurance he could muster. “Mom… I’m okay.” He simply said, moving away from the two of you and heading inside quietly.

 His mom turns to you, thankfulness written all over her expression, moving to bow her head before smiling at you. “Thank you for bringing my son home, he hates the rain.” Before she can invite you inside, you’re waving goodbye to her. 

 A bright grin on your lips as you head off, quickly turning your head to a bird that was chirping, getting completely distracted and pointing a finger at it. 

“That’s not appropriate to say, birds are supposed to have better manners!” You’d think she’d be weirded out, but she just smiled, watching you leave before heading back inside. Dinner for Katsuki was torture, having to sit with his mom as she grinned at him with that look on her face that couldn’t be good. “She seems like a good girl to marry when you graduate.” Did he hear that right? This kind of language was not welcome in his home, oh no, no, no. He was obviously flustered, but he wasn’t going to say that, getting angry with a moutful of food in his mouth. “Huh?! What the hell are you bringing that up for-”

But he was interrupted with a loud shriek from his mom before she smacked the back of his head.  “Keep your heart rate down you idiot!” 

Katsuki’s mouth shuts right away, groaning tiredly as he turns to look away from his mom. “I’m not going to think about that kind of stuff for a while…”

The tone of their conversation shifted after that, with his dad settling his chopsticks down, looking over to his mom who just looked back. Shutting her eyes before sighing, turning her attention back to their son, trying to keep her voice lower.

 “I know you think you can just wait around, but times are different now Katsuki. Women don’t wait.” 

Wow… Getting told by your mom to lock in stings more than it should. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll think about it.” He was seventeen turning eighteen, he didn’t need to think about romance right now… 

Right? He was going to die alone.

 Things were not getting any better with you and by that he means that you keep convincing him to do things he really didn’t think he wanted to do. First it was you calling him Katsuki, then it was you rushing over to him during lunch to tell him all the first year gossip. Which he listened to more than he should’ve, especially when you were pretty much just airing out other people’s dirty laundry you’d overheard. But then it just kept getting more intense.

You convinced him to let you sign his cast, people questioned it and the answer was that maybe you were kinda sorta cute. But that couldn’t be true, because that would mean that his mom had a point and he really didn’t want to prove her right.

He really thought things were going to calm down, especially since he wasn’t responding to your attempts to get his attention. Except he also wasn’t outright rejecting them either. But that lack or rejection started shifting into caving in. When it was valentines day he only accepted yours, letting you walk with him to class or help him write his homework during lunch if his hand started cramping up from only being able to use it while the other healed. When his friends cheered for him during his little physical therapy exercises he didn’t think much about it. That’s what friends do, he learned that already. But then you ran up to him the day after people started talking about his recovery, lifting your hand up with an eager expression on your face. “Katsuki! Katsuki! Give me a high five right now!”

He just looked at you with a puzzled expression written on his face before lifting his hand up and doing as asked. Eyes shooting wide open when you grip his hand and yank him closer to look it over with a loud gasp.

“Oh my God! Wait, your scars are so cool. Do you think I could get scars that looked like that too if I just got into a fight with my neighbors dog? Actually, no she’s scary. I don’t think I could take her.” And there it was, the dumb questions that made his wonder if you had any social awareness. You smiled up at him after that, squeezing his hand carefully as you look him in the eyes. “I’m so happy you’re all better.” Okay, he couldn’t lie to himself anymore, you were really sweet and pretty. Sure all the girls in his class were too, he’d never call any of them ugly and they were way too nice for him to even deal with sometimes.  But you were different, you were obnoxious and unpredictable, you made sure to imprint yourself into his brain in a way that he thought he’d find annoying. But you had him waiting for you. He just found you so annoyingly likeable, even if he knew you were a mess… He saw the inside of your backpack and one time you let him into your house when your parents weren’t home. He saw enough to know how unorganized you were. But he realized that didn’t matter to him how different you both were. The both of you walked to lunch after that, Katsuki not mentioning how you didn’t let go of his hand. Following behind you as he listens to you gushing about the snack cakes you ended up snagging when you were at the gas station.

You forced him to try one with you as you gossiped to him about how one girl in your class was in a secret relationship and got caught during class time trying to sneak out of the school.

Then came the sports festival the next year, where he was active in participating, you were in your second year at that point.  With your class having volunteered to work a food stand for the students and attendees. Katsuki was going to go to the stand anyway, since you were there, but that didn’t stop him from complaining when his friends dragged him along to it. Kicking the dirt as he walked alongside the group, eyes to the ground with his hands shoved in his pockets. “I don’t see the point in going to get snacks made by some wannabe marketing class.” “Hey, calm down now, we’re only going to visit your girlfriend.” The statement made his eye twitch, looking pissed off as he turned his head to Denki. “Don’t call her that, are you stupid?!” Everyone just rolled their eyes, used to the routine at this point, with Izuku being the one to just drag him a little closer before he chickened out and ran away like a little kid. “We’re trying to help you, just don’t waste your chance before we graduate.” Having Izuku of all people tell him that felt borderline offensive, with him shooting him a half-hearted glare before looking over to the stand. Feeling a wave of that familiar irritation as he watched you work in a little crepe assembly line, frosting the crepe before passing it over to your classmate. Taking one and shoving it in your mouth to eat, refusing to drop it, even when one of your classmates shakes you aggressively. Nearly foaming at the mouth before you collapse, everyone panicking and running around the stand to wake you up. Someone smacking your classmate who even did it, but then you just stand back up and eat the crepe. Leaving people flabbergasted, but letting you have this one if you were that determined. Katsuki and his friends just stared at the scene with Kirishima furrowing his eyebrows in concern as he looked over to him. They had no idea why he liked you, like at all. Sure you were cute, but you also cussed out squirrels and got into a fight over the last bag of pretzels in the vending machine. Sero had to pipe up and try and sway his friend away from the disaster they just walked into. “Do you have a thing for dumb girls? Because if you do, I actually have a cousin-” “No, I don’t like dumb girls, you moron! She’s just…” “Unique?” Denki interjects, trying to finish the statement for him. “No, she’s just annoying.” That just left everyone even more confused, watching him walk over to the stand without them, silently arguing over who should convince him to try talking to someone in his IQ range. But there you were, stopping what you were doing with a loud gasp as you rush over to the front to talk to him. “Katsuki!” He bit back a grin hearing his name from you, nodding in your direction as he looked you over, wearing a green apron over your school uniform. “You coming to dinner today? My mom wanted me to ask, since she’s making chicken katsu.” Without noticing he started smiling a little, watching you as you lit up as you spoke, just excited to talk to him. “Yeah, are you kidding? Your moms cooking is so good, should I bring something? I could make cookies or get some fruit-” That earned an eye roll from him, sighing a bit before looking back up to you. “Are you gonna make me come with you to the convenience store again?” “Yep.” Yeah, his friends couldn’t reverse the effect you had on him at this point they’d lost him.

The trip to the convenience store was eventful, with you seeing some keychains you’d been searching for and quickly snatching them up. Shoving them in the basket he carried as you skipped around the shop ahead of him, looking over the fruit stands before looking back to him. “Would your mom like apples? Oranges? She always has some cut up whenever I’m over, so I’m guessing she’d like em.” Katsuki let out a little sigh, looking over the fruit before pointing to the apples. “They look fresher, get the ones at the back, they’ll probably be the least bruised.” Of course his analysis on fruit made you beam brightly at him, turning to grab a couple of them and bagging them. “You’re so smart!” He just knew how to grocery shop… But the fact that you seemed to always have something nice to say about him warmed his heart, with him giving you a little smile as he held out the basket for you to put the fruit in it. Racking his brain for something nice to say that wouldn’t make him sound too mushy. He needed to play it cool, right? “You’re okay.” Shit. He still had no idea how to just be nice without overthinking it. But of course, you’re you and that was taken as the most well thought complement you’ve gotten. “Thanks! I think you’re pretty okay, too.” With that you head over to the cashier letting him put everything on the conveyor belt as you checked out. Beaming at the sweet lady at the register before taking your items in plastic bags, letting him take as you both walk side by side to his home. When you guys made it  his home, you take the bag back from him, letting him greet his mom before setting the bags down and taking your shoes off. Hugging the woman with a grin, before moving to lift the bag full of apples to her, offering to cut them up for her and her family. Of course you expected the usual gushing, but this time was different. Soft hands gripping yours as she looks you dead in the eyes. “Please marry my son.” Now you did not see that coming. “Uh…” Katsuki was absolutely humiliated, dropping his bag and shouting. “What the hell?!” “Shut up! I need to make sure you don’t die alone, somehow!” With that you were left watching the two fight like siblings, completely flabbergasted, since you were used to the calmness of their home. Hyperventilating a bit as you watched until his dad snapped you out of it, resting a hand on your shoulder with a smile of reassurance before guiding you to the kitchen. “They’re just play-fighting, don’t worry.” That was how the brown haired man you’d only really seen in passing became a known figure to you. With him helping you cut the apples in the kitchen for the other two to snack on, taking a plate for yourselves to share as he told you to come sit with him at the couches. Setting the plate at the center of the coffee table while his son and wife worked on dinner together. The two of you sat in silence for a bit, with him smiling politely, pushing the plate to you and watching you take a slice to eat. “Do your parents fight a lot?” The question knocked the air out of your lungs, turning your head away from him as you slump into the couch, sniffing awkwardly before rubbing your nose. “Yeah… I get really sick of it, sometimes.” Masuru just looks at you sympathetically, furrowing his brows before moving to leave the room. You think for a second he’s going to tell the other two and that you were just going to have to leave. Except he didn’t. He comes back with printer paper and a pair of pencils, handing one to you before starting to draw on it. “Lots of things make a family, but one I’ve always thought was important was structure. Why don’t we try to draw your idea of structure?” That was how you ended up drawing with the man, sitting on your knees in front of the coffee table. Looking over to the structure you’d made together, writing out things that made you feel secure before looking over to the man.  It was like opening a childhood memory you’d never had, feeling your heart warm when he drew a little smiley face next to your name.

Dinner was nice that day, with you feeling more connected to the family than you’d expected to be connected to anyone. Thinking the routine was going to end when he graduated and that he only kept this up since his parents liked you enough.

But no, you’d accidentally become a part of it all, falling into this silent routine with Katsuki of passing dishes as you set the table. Putting bowls of rice in front of every seat, smiling when the side dishes were set down before setting plates to the center.

You’d started to look forward to chores, helping with the dishes after dinner and going up to Katsuki’s room for a bit to hangout before heading home.

Today was a little different, with Katsuki now having recently graduated and you having your summer break. He asked you to watch a movie with him after the day had gone by and you’d both stepped into his room. Letting you borrow some clothes to sit on his bed. Watching whatever you both agreed on playing on his laptop as you both leaned against his bed, sitting on the floor shoulder to shoulder.

The both of you complaining about school to each other before your eyes shoot wide open, grinning before turning away from him and crawling over to your backpack to dig through it. Lifting up two keychains to show off to him, two little clay cat charms, one was white and the other was orange, with one having its eyes shut and the other looking furious. You’d always liked him, but you had no clue if he understood that or not. So you wanted to take the chance, because you genuinely thought you might love him at this point.

“I got something I wanted you to have one. The orange kitty reminds me of you.”

He blinks a bit at you, processing your words before taking the charm without a word, looking it over before attaching it to his laptop case.

“Thanks.”

He mutters out, pausing for a second before looking at the cat again.

“Wait are these those dumbass keychains couples have to match?”

You pause at that, thinking you might just jump out his window and run at this point, forcing yourself to be confident and nodding.

“Yeah.”

The lack of hesitation had him freeze up, looking at you before looking back to the keychain, his gaze falling to the ground in embarrassment.

“Does that mean… You want to be a couple?”

Honestly, this was a lot better of a reaction than you thought you’d get, nodding to his words again before crawling over to him, looking him dead in the eyes with determination.

“I want you, Katsuki. I want to be the only girl you bring here to see your parents and have dinner as a family with. I wanna watch you become a hero, even if it’s from the sidelines, I want you to be mine… No one else's, just mine.”

Now you expected a lot of things, but not for him to nearly steam red in the face at your words.

How did this girl he barely noticed become so ingrained into his life? That sweet shy girl who handed him a pen based off of his favorite hero became this person he couldn't spend a day without.

But how could he not love you? You were the most loud person he knew, his strange sweet girl. The only person who could get away with kissing him than running away like a little kid.

Katsuki’s friends had always been flabbergasted that he’d been the one with the most normal love life out of all of them. Having essentially had a highschool sweetheart who ended up moving in with him two years into his hero career. Getting married when you’d graduated college, even if the planning during your final year was chaos. The final nail in the head was when Denki had asked where Katsuki was during their usual patrol meetups. Kirishima just gave him a look. “Dude, he’s on paternity leave. Didn’t you know?”

[cercandodiscrivere]

Stat vindicta potens | emperor geta x reader.

word count | 2.4k

warnings | 18+, NSFW, concubines, demeaning terms, dark themes (dubious consent, violence, blood, mentions of war), porn with too much plot, unbeta'd.

synopsis | When the twin Emperors had entered the room—filled with musicians and dancers and food you had dared not touch—you had stood as rigid as stone. It had been the same visceral feeling as when you had first seen the Romans approach your home: a deep, clawing desire not to be seen.

Except now, you had to be seen. You were part of the spectacle.

gifs by @batty4steddie

Stat vindicta potens, et adhuc crudelibus ausis respondet poena.

[Vengeance stands powerful, and still punishment answers to cruel deeds]

There had been no pain.

No.

There had been pain—so much that it constricted your lungs and scratched your throat—but not enough time to feel it.

Once, your father had praised the gods for his wealth, a fortune earned through the trade of fine goods; he had adorned you with corals and pearls, a living testament to his success.

Still adorned with the rich jewels he bought, you had walked into Rome wearing a stola stained with his blood.

You had thought an Emperor would choose his gifts himself—or rather, you had never thought about it at all, not until it was you who had been chosen.

It was a strange way to begin a new life: not through the predictable choices of your father, but through the whims of strangers in a far-off land. Your brothers, dead in battle, had been of no use to you as their wealth crumbled and the last of their possessions were taken. General Acacius had claimed what little was left—and he had gifted you to the Emperors. 

A token of friendship. 

A spoil of war.

Tuis nec parcitur umbris.

[Your shadows are not spared.]

Another servant had dressed you in a woolen tunic and had styled your hair.

You would have to learn how to do it yourself in time, she had warned, but first they had  to gauge your worth — after all, there would be no point in teaching anything to a gift that had no use.

"What should I do?" you had asked her. 

"Serve wine”. 

Dread had filled your loins as soon as you had set your eyes upon the imperial palatium. Shining in the sun, the marble stairs had welcomed you—not like the arms of a mother, but like the open doors of an adorned crypt.

It was then that you had come to understand another truth: General Acacius had been nothing more than a weapon wielded by others. When a sword cuts through your flesh, it’s not the blade you fear, but the pair of hands that guide it.

"How?" you had asked again, but she refused to answer.

Non impune feres: seris venit aspera pœnis retributio. 

[You will not bear it unpunished: a harsh retribution for your crimes will come in time.]

When the twin Emperors had entered the room—filled with musicians and dancers and food you had dared not touch—you had stood as rigid as stone. It had been the same visceral feeling as when you had first seen the Romans approach your home: a deep, clawing desire not to be seen.

Except now, you had to be seen. You were part of the spectacle.

You had served wine before—to your father, your brothers and their guests. You had poured before the same kind of deep red wine: but the hands that had to do it now had changed, and the weight of the eyes on you had pressed harder. 

You had approached your captors carefully, your gaze lowered in deference—but unseen, as they had sat on their adorned thrones, draped in robes of golds and reds, without sparing you a glance.

At the time, you had not known how to tell them apart; both could have been either Geta or Caracalla, as their names had meant nothing to the terror they equally inspired.

The first you poured wine to had ignored the cup, his attention fixed on the man seated to his left. Once, you might have sneered at the lack of a compliment - now, the gift of being nothing to him had washed over you like fresh air (but still stung like a silent mockery). To the man, it had been as though the wine had fallen into his goblet by the gods’ will alone.

Then, you had moved on to his brother — and instead his gaze had lingered, sharp and unwavering. 

"Is there a trick to it?" he had mused, his voice low, almost to himself. You had frozen in place, as still as the statues scattered around the room. For a moment, you had almost believed the Emperor had just asked you how to pour wine — and your gaze had flicked upward, an instinctive mistake. 

His face had surprised you: it was not an imposing man who owned you, not a fierce general or a quiet sage — but a rabid dog, sick and weak in his silks. His eyes, red-rimmed and glazed with white, remained unseeing.

"How does one keep something" he had murmured, "when it feels as if it may slip away at any moment?".

But yet again, it had not been you he had been asking. Was it treason to leave an emperor’s question unanswered, when he posed it to the air?

And then, through the suffocating fear, a streak of something darker had twisted in your chest—rage, hot and sudden. You had had men and women alike ingratiating themselves to you, hoping for nought but a smile: and now an ill animal, with his teeth stained in gold and spit and blood, could bite your neck and move on without a thought.

You had measured your words, then. "As the poet says, fortune is like the winds: fickle, but a friend to those who know how to steer."

And if he had truly understood the meaning of your words—that you did not think him a steerer, not a good one—you could have signed your death with feigned servitude. 

But the Emperor (Caracalla, as you would learn later) had just blinked and chuckled. Shrill and sharp, it had not been a laugh born of humor, but something else: as if he had found mirth in you speaking at all, not a thought spared to the words you had used.

He had then drunk from his goblet as if nothing had happened—and yet, seated next to him, his brother had heard and not laughed. 

Emperor Geta’s gaze had lingered on you: no amusement in his eyes, no warmth.

Fatis pendebis, ficta modestia. 

[You will hang by fate, with feigned modesty.]

You once thought an Emperor would choose his gifts himself—and that’s what Geta did with you.

No hope for burning passions, no overwhelming closeness: this time someone thought it fit to have you learn about your role, because a concubine must please more than a servant.

“You’re less talkative than before”.

Emperor Geta lounges on his lectus, cushions surrounding him. In the soft light filtering through the curtains, his ginger curls seem molten gold—a physical extension of his crown, a birthright to power.

Your started your private encounter like you had started the first: not draped in a rough wooden tunic, but still pouring wine into his cup.

You spent more than one night wondering what had caught his attention, and how he must have heard your exchange with his brother: and whether it was the words he understood, or the venom laced in them, the result still has you in his bedchambers.

“I don’t want to spill a drop” you lie.

He observes you pouring his wine as if it were a religious rite. You try not to care: you pour and pour —and by the time the cup is full, you have emptied your head of all the thoughts and the dread that filled you.

“You won’t” he says. It’s endearing, almost like a compliment, but not quite. “Drink with me.”

He’s not asking.

Drinking in front of him (taking a quick gulp that barely registers the taste) feels as much a part of the ritual as the wine he offers: a play to show you what he can give you, should you continue to play his game.

"How does it taste?”. Geta's voice is as soft as a caress: it’s unsettling, how sweet he is choosing to be. 

You stare down at the large goblet you just filled with thick, red liquid: wine, herbs, and honey—the kind you would have enjoyed in another life. "It's great."

"Only the best for us" he says—and you know, by instinct alone, that us means him and his brother. The remark almost makes you raise your goblet in a toast, but you fear it might come across as mocking. All the rage that Caracalla ignited in you, Geta suppresses with dread.

He watches you as you pass the goblet back, because he is always watching.

Your eyes, your chest, your hands. You know you barely look like your old self now—before purple silks and face paints and ornati crines. A shiver escapes you: if you had thought of his brother as a rabid dog, you don’t know how to describe the quiet madness behind Geta’s gaze.

A predatory smile twists his lips, the kind that reveals his teeth and narrows his eyes with a hint of delight. You try not to let any old rage show on your face, knowing he would easily pick it up—but every pass of his eyes screams satisfaction.

His head cocks to the side as he regards you. “Your lips are stained" he observes instead.

When he rises from the lectus, his movements are deliberate. Even in the privacy of his own rooms, servants dismissed and gone, he still carries himself as if an audience is present—so much so, you wonder what kind of untold he feels the need to hide in the presence of a concubine.

Emperor Geta pauses before you, and you let him taste the flavor of the wine off your lips. His kiss is almost too sweet—and his command comes next.

“Undress me”. 

Someone must have started the task, for he wears only a linen tunic; a servant must have helped him with that, while others lit the incense that now thickens the air in the room. It's an oily smell, suffocating—mixing poorly with whatever herbs had been added to the rich wine.

“As you wish, domine”. The term makes his eyes roll toward the drapes above your heads.

You know some concubines call Caracalla Carus as an endearing term. A bold young man had boasted to you how he called him regina once —going into detail about how much the Emperor liked it, though few had believed him.

You dare not try the same with his twin.

After the tunic falls to the ground with a soft thud, you let Geta guide you to sit on his bed. You let him undo the braids in your hair and take your own tunic off your shoulders; the multitude of bracelets and anklets he had his servants put on you stay on.

He does not turn you to face him when lays you down on the bed, as your own nails dig into your palms and his head bows low into your hair. 

You don't say no. You could not say no if you wanted to.

So when your knees are firm on the mattress, and you feel his weight behind you, you take the small liberty of parting your own legs. If he appreciates the gesture, he does not say: with a palm he pushes on your back until your bare chest is touching the linens, his hand sliding slowly back to your hips.

It is not the first time you’ve lain with a man — a stain on your pudicitia that your father would have abhorred, and one that Geta does not even question.

Your sigh is one of relief when you feel him push into you, because this is what you have been waiting for since you had been brought to his bedchambers: not the his little scene with the wine, not his feigned sweetness, not his long stares.

“I suppose that’s all what you wanted” he grunts, his lips caressing your collarbone. His hips trusts into you so hard that the anklets on your legs clash against each other, creating a soft  and clinking sound. 

Tink-tink-tink. You don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. 

The soft kisses he peppers behind your neck are nothing like the way he thrusts into you. As he moves you grip the pillows, the linens, your own arms—whatever you can find to steady yourself.

"This is what you wanted" he continues, his deep breaths coming out fast. “When he gifted you to us”.

Faster, he's going faster. The meaning of his words is not lost on you: that he may have taken your hatred for lust, your insult for a praise. That if Caracalla had shown the same interest he would have left you to him —because you were equally one’s and the other’s. 

But Caracalla hadn’t cared for a servant and her poets; and his twin was not one to let a good gift go to waste.

Your thighs squeeze around him —and even if you command yourself not to say a word, it’s like the small yes escapes on its own. Let him believe whatever he wants; let him give you thought and purpose, as long as he keeps moving. 

He growls his approval — and then he throws himself to the pillows that had been your anchor up until that moment, and pulls you on top of him. 

At this angle and lighting, he looks divine.

Everything about him turns to gold under the sunlight: it serves to remind you of what he is, and what his people allow him to do. You loathe how much you admire the view as you sink down onto him, cataloging all the ways the muscles in his face shift when he is lost in pleasure.

“You were such a good gift to us”. 

Your skin crawls at the praise and you push up on his chest, bringing your hips down quicker and quicker ad quicker. 

The lingering presence of Caracalla in the rooms — even if only through the us Geta keeps referring to—ignites you, and you are furious once again. The heat of it washes over your naked skin, waking you up from your subservient slumber. 

You feel Geta twitch within you as you slam into his hips one final time, his fingers sinking deep into your hips. You cherish that feeling: it’s sobering, for it means tomorrow you will still be alive—not as a servant but something more, the future the three Fates have woven for you clearer and clearer. 

As he comes and grunts, your thoughts wander. 

Geta on his knees, his throat slit. Blood gushing from him, as dark as the wine he had you taste.

Geta scared: you over him, not as an object of pleasure, but as the extension of Nemesis herself.

Geta powerless.

Geta defeated.

Geta enslaved—and it’s with that last thought, with that image, that you come.

Quis dabit exitio tantos, scelerate, triumphos?

[Who will give such triumphs for your destruction, wicked one?]

[princessfroslass]

The way I am obssesed with Angel's relationship with the girls- and no, I don't mean it on a token gay guy on the gals group™ but rather how he seems to have this- older brother ish sense to him when he is with them.

He is the one that mocks Vaggie even on her lowest point but he was also the one to rush to her side when Charlie and Alastor left- no to mention he was the one leading the other guys to prepare the hotel later on.

He is the one the keep Nifty safe- even though he is extremely weirded out by her antics, and even didn't react with aggression when she was a bout to stab him (that shit wouldn't had flied with any character I tell you lmao) also LOOK HOW CUTE THEY ARE-

He is the one that protected Charlie from HIS abuser, shielding him from his world from day one- and overall just making sure she stayed safe, and away from Val.

And then there is Cherrie- his ride or die he trusts above anyone else. She is the one he rants to about his horrible day at the studio (which is bad enough to make her RUN to the Hotel after 5 months btw, so who knows what the hell was on those textes) tho I am inclined she is the older sibling at the relationship. I dunno she just has that vibe. She protects him alot more than he does her (that is not to say he doesn't protect her- he literally pushed her away from Pen's invention at the Pilot) and I like that, is a little change or dynamic with his other relationships.

I normally don't like to call a platonic relationship "sibling coded" unless is VERY explicitly implied that is the case, but honestly- with Angel I am willing to do an exception, because of this:

Is not far fetched to think Angel might had projected Molly onto his female friends- SPECIALLY Charlie, who was often draw with her on older sketches. Their dad was abusive, their relationship with their brother non-existent (this actually intrigues me alot because I can see Niss having beef with Angel but the fuck did Molly do?) and the mom isn't mentioned yet, so I am willing to think all they had was each other- flash forward to now, with Angel separated from his beloved sister, trapped onto an soul contract with his abusive ex, and meeting a bunch of girls that had reediming qualities- my guy had issues ok let him be.

[mieczyhale]

if you actually cared about palestinians, if you actually wanted to help people in gaza, you would donate to accredited organizations that are actually making a difference

throwing your money at every gofundme you get sent is performative, it's ignorant, it's a real 'head empty' move. something a child with no internet knowledge or common sense would do.

and to continue to defend doing that just shows that you don't actually care about helping people in gaza. you just don't want to be wrong. you don't want to admit that maybe you've been wasting your own money and the money of those who follow you and follow the links you share

you can't vet gofundme's. 'reverse image search' isn't actually vetting. and you can't trust every person on tumblr who says 'trust me!'

i can't believe any of this actually has to be pointed out in the first place, let alone driven home repeatedly because y'all refuse to even CONSIDER you JUST MIGHT be wrong. that you just might have fallen for propaganda and lies designed to hit your desire to do right, do good, and help (falling for those things btw is common. it's easy. you're not bad for getting caught up in it, but i am judging you if you refuse to consider that might be where you are.) (this actually applies to gofundme scams AND whatever heinous antisemitic alternate universe you're living in due to the non-facts you eat for every meal)

i'm not a zionist

i can't be. i'm not jewish. (the jews i've interacted with do not seem to be as against the label 'zionist' being used by non-jewish folks as initially thought. so while i'm still not jewish, "zionist" is not an incorrect label actually. okay. update over. good talk.)

i am pro-peace, pro-two state solution, pro jewish self determination, pro palestine's continued existence, anti-ANYONE dying, and beyond fucking tired of y'all's bullshit

stop being fucking stupid

stop throwing your money in the trash

stop acting like your hate isn't hate

stop acting like you're on some fucking high horse and you have all the facts despite actually knowing absolutely fucking nothing because you refuse to listen to a single real non-token jew. you're antisemitic. i don't care that you don't think you are. you are. so many of you just are. and you don't get to decide you're not. just like a racist doesn't get to decide they aren't racist. if people in a group are calling you something there just might be a fucking reason for it, kathy

re-learn your internet safety, turn your brain back on, hop off the hate bandwagon, educate yourself beyond surface level shit the internet presents you with, make informed decisions based on facts, do things that will ACTUALLY help people in gaza.

be fucking better. do fucking better.

[is-the-thing-actually-jewish]

is Jewish Voice for Peace actually Jewish? I've heard a couple different things about that but no sources

@gryphistheantlerqueen also asked:

Whooo boy. So this has been sitting in the inbox for a few months, I wrote up a draft, and then it just sat... until this past week, when some new JVP BS hit the fan and gave me the kick to finish it.

Sooooo...

Verdict: Not Actually Jewish

(updated verdict after finding out about the “self-managed conversion” and “teacup mikvah”) Jewish, technically, and that "technically" is doing a lot of heavy lifting, and is actively debatable without access to a detailed breakdown of JVP’s actual membership rolls. 

In general summation, JVP is a far-left radical antizionist group that is headed by a few visibly antizionist Jews and whose membership rolls are either a strong minority or outright majority of non-Jews, based on variable statistics that they've released. Although they claim that the “majority of their members and staff are Jewish”, this seems to be both statistically unlikely and actively suspicious due to their noted tendency to instruct even non-Jewish members to speak #AsAJew on social media, and their instructions to do “self-managed conversions”.  However, due to their title, they are very popular with people who want a Jewish Stamp Of Approval for demonizing Israelis and Zionist Jews as a result. In effect, they are Jewish in the same way that people like Candace Owens and Hershel Walker are Black—as self-tokenizing minorities who throw the rest of their ethnic group under the bus in exchange for power and political access.

And despite the claims that they are “inspired by Jewish values and traditions” (as put on their website) and “oppose anti-Jewish hatred,” JVP routinely engages in antisemitic rhetoric, up to and including blood libel and antisemitic conspiracy theories, and acts as a shield against non-Jews who also engage in antisemitic rhetoric so long as the non-Jews in question remember to shout "For Palestine!" first. This is not an exaggeration. 

The primary example of their in-house antisemitic rhetoric is their "Deadly Exchange" program, where they explicitly and conspiratorially blame Israel as being responsible for American police brutality and militarization. However, for all of their fearmongering and blame-casting on the subject—as if American cops needed outside help in brutalizing minorities or gaining military-grade handmedowns from the Pentagon, both of which are explicit claims of the "Deadly Exchange" program—they have a hard time actually identifying specific deaths associated with the international training seminars they're holding up as responsible.

One of the the closest they've come to a specific allegation is claiming that "former St. Louis County police chief Timothy Fitch trained with the Israeli military three years before Michael Brown’s killing and the Ferguson uprising." (Note: this was in a video that appears to have since been made private.) But Darren Wilson worked for the Ferguson PD, not the St. Louis PD, and Fitch retired months before the killing. So he was in a completely different police department, and this is the closest JVP comes to pointing to specific deaths or acts of brutality that they blame on Israel. Everything else is literal fearmongering--up to and including the classic conspiratorial tropes of "secretive Jewish governmental influence".

JVP has also happily supported the words of white supremacists like Richard Spencer, taking his “You could say that I’m a white Zionist in the sense that I care about my people," statement at face value, using it as the basis for entire articles where they compared Zionism to White Supremacy as a deliberate misrepresentation of the ideology that is common on the extreme political Left (you can compare that treatment again with how Candace Owens treats the word "Woke" on the Right). Even when the Charlottesville "Unite the Right" march happened, JVP wasted no time in comparing Zionism with the very ideology fueling the people chanting "Jews Will Not Replace Us," saying that Zionism is "Jewish racial supremacy" and calling for a universal condemnation of the ideology as a form of White Supremacy... which was the exact sort of message that many of those same White Supremacists would have happily agreed with.  So JVP is essentially siding with literal White Supremacists,  even as they claim that "Jews are not the primary victims of White Supremacy."

JVP also engages in Holocaust revisionism, such as with this lovely quote from Cecilie Surasky, the deputy director of JVP, “I believe it is critical to situate the genocide of Jews in a broader context, and not as an exceptional, metaphysically unique event. Some 6 million Jews died, but another 5 million people were also targeted for annihilation.”

(another quote, from an article by Surasky, which compares Netanyahu to Hitler.)

This is just straight revisionism of the entire Holocaust and the unique fixation the Nazis had on the Jews. Literally, even when they were losing, they were diverting resources from the war just to kill more Jews. Quote Hitler himself, "Jews must be prevented from intruding themselves among all the other nations as elements of internal disruption, under the mask of honest world-citizens, and thus gaining power over these nations." The very basis of the Nazi ideology paints Jews as an existential threat to the human race's peace and security—a far cry from JVP's claim that the Jewish suffering in the Holocaust wasn't unique or exceptional.

Additionally, JVP ignores or re-envisions Mizrachi Jewish history. They call the very term Mizrachi “Zionist rhetoric,” and refer to Mizrachi “immigrants,” (“Deadly Exchange,” pg. 16-17), and claim “the Israeli government facilitated a mass immigration of Mizrahim” (“Our Approach to Zionism”) as though those weren’t the direct result of the mass expulsion of and violence against Jews in MENA countries. These weren’t immigrants, these were refugees. 

And as for the question of “Are they Jewish?”, well...

Statistically, they are not representative of the Jewish population as a whole, 90% of whom identify as some degree of Zionist in the sense of “Supporting Jewish self-determination.”  One does not need to be Jewish to join JVP, as they proudly state on their website. Their membership rolls are also extremely obfuscated, and the fact that they encourage their followers, whether Jewish or not, to post and speak “as Jews” on social media makes it even more difficult to figure out what percentage of their membership is actually Jewish.  Furthermore, they have instructions for their members to engage in “self-conversions” that are not acceptable to Jewish law or tradition, and misuse/appropriate other sacred Jewish traditions to the point that “blasphemy” is an accurate description, with their instructions on the mikvah (a sacred bath) being outright offensive.  

(note that one has to be completely nude and bare of any adornment or makeup to use the mikvah, which is a pure pool of collected rainwater to be immersed in, for context on the above... misuse.  Trying to claim this as being “in line with sacred Jewish tradition” is like trying to claim to be Catholic while also saying that the Pope is the Antichrist and that using beer and a doughnut for the Eucharist is acceptable. For more information on mikveh, see: The Jewish Virtual Library, Aish, myjewishlearning, or Chabad.

There's also no altar.

The irony of asking people not to appropriate while doing this is astonishing.)

It’s also telling that they straight up say they are “claiming” the practice as their own.

Furthermore, JVP has hosted panels on “antisemitism” in the past... headed by people who are not only not Jewish, but who have been credibly accused of antisemitism in the past.  

JVP has also endorsed The Mapping Project Boston, which was a Boycott, Divest, and Sanction (BDS) subsidiary, listing every “Zionist” organization in Boston, Mass. This included Jewish schools, elder homes, community centers, disability centers, and more; all of them painted with scary and misleading “links” to non-Jewish organizations to insinuate Jewish control of the state and city governments, invoking age-old antisemitic tropes of a conspiracy of Jews as they did so:

(first image is the Mapping Project, the second is a 1938 Nazi political cartoon)

The Mapping Project also, and this is my personal favorite, accused Harvard University of doing “racist science” for engaging in archeological and genetic studies of Jews and Jewish history.  Tellingly, BDS actually disavowed The Mapping Project (albeit for bad optics, not for the rank antisemitism they were promoting)... but JVP has not, even though the Mapping Project’s entry for the ADL reads as follows:

Masquerading as a “civil rights” group, the ADL is a counterinsurgency and espionage organization whose mission is to protect the mutual interests of the US and Israeli governments, and to eliminate solidarity among oppressed peoples, especially concerning Palestine. The ADL spies on and criminalizes activists (using its connections to governments, police, schools, and corporations) while undermining their work by pushing its own state-sanctioned, pro-“Israel” agenda. And while the ADL claims to represent Jews and to fight “antisemitism” on their behalf, the organization has supported anti-Jewish state violence and sanitized Nazis. The ADL cannot be reformed: it must be dismantled and whatever resources it has should go towards repairing the many harms it has done. (Emphasis added.)

Of course, JVP has also engaged in similar conspiracy-toned antisemitic dogwhistles, such as this fun bit from their first Deadly Exchange video:

So clearly (to me at least), they have no problems with The Mapping Project’s tone and presentation.  

And this isn’t even going into JVP’s routine promotion of blood libel, their egregious double standards, their approving of pogroms, their active support for Hamas terrorists and demonization of Hamas’ victims, their attempted revisionism of Jewish history, their abject rejection of Jewish culture, and their other actions that show not just bias, but outright hatred for 90% of the world’s Jews.  

As one commentator put it, JVP as an organization is very much like Autism Speaks is to Autistic people--a thinly disguised hate group that views the people they’re supposedly speaking for as the problem, and themselves as promoting the Solution.  To this moderator, they’re the equivalent of the Association of German National Jews, who were also known as the Jews for Hitler; they wanted to abandon Judaism and embrace Naziism... and they got sent to the gas chambers anyway.  

Mod Joseph

Sources:

www.adl.org/resources/backgrounder/jewish-voice-peace

www.jewishvoiceforpeace.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/Mikveh-Guide-for-Jewish-Voice-for-Peace-Outlined.pdf

(and also just... a general experience/exposure to them on social media, where even the most progressive actions taken by Israel, such as the recent ruling regarding queer Palestinians being able to claim sanctuary in Israel, being labeled as “pinkwashing”)

[cripplecharacters]

What exactly defines a token character as a bad representation choice and not as a "background character" who happens to be disabled? And can a disabled character be the only disabled character but still good representation?

I know having relevant disabled characters is important, but when, besides the cast members who influence the plot, you have one of those scenes where a one-off character needs to be there, like when the autistic protagonist needs a ride in the middle of the road and a little person stops to help, or when the wheelchair user main character wants to talk to the magic council about a certain situation and the attendant is a blind person with a cane who checks the information of a braille book, is it safe from tokenism?

Hey!

For this post I will use "representation" to imply good/decent representation, not just the act of XYZ minority technically appearing on the page.

There's definitely a lot to discuss when it comes to tokenism, and there are a lot of different criteria that you can use to define what exactly it is.

So I'm gonna start with the main definition of what would differentiate a "token" from an unimportant character (=one that doesn't influence the actual plot) who just happens to be disabled: how you go about the fact that they are in your book(/comic/etc.).

If you put in the description of your work that it's "disability rep!" because there's this one guy in a wheelchair in one scene, that's tokenism: using a minority to simply boost/promote something as "diverse". That's the most annoying occurrence of it, there's so much media that people recommend as "XYZ rep" and when you look into it, the "rep" is a side character that shows up in two episodes and has like a line of dialogue. Sad!

To use one of your examples, tokenism would be if you claimed that your work has "dwarfism representation" in it because of that one guy who helps the main character in one scene. It's... just not that. That doesn't mean it's bad; if every single background character who wasn't a cisHet white abled Christian man (etc.) was supposed to be deep and thought-provoking then no one would be writing them, because that's not what a background character is supposed to be.

But - you could commit a tokenism with a character even if they are just a background extra who shows up once. Tokenism often goes with the fact that the token character could be swapped out for a non-minority one and nothing would change, since the key here is that the author doesn't really care: it's all just to say "hey, I got XYZ in my book!". So if you were to write a background character that you explicitly mention has disability X, but then they do something that a person with that disability wouldn't be able to do - that's probably a token (if not, it's still a badly made character). It's there to "represent" a group, but it doesn't make sense and there is no point so to speak because the author just doesn't care.

In that way, many disabled characters are just tokens - because the writer is writing an abled character, but keeps calling them disabled. When's the last time anyone has seen a character with albinism who was blind or low vision? What's up with all those deaf characters who read lips and speak orally so well that you literally forget they are even supposed to be deaf? Why is that "tragically unable to walk" character... walking for the entire duration of the book? They're just tokens done with no care nor research, it's all diversity points and quirky aesthetics. Everyone wants to be "inclusive", no one wants to actually have a disabled character who experiences disability.

Another thing with background characters is what role they serve. Most of them are fine - cashier has a skin condition, guy ordering a drink uses a speech generating device, mom of an annoying kid doesn't have a leg, cool. But sometimes it's worth to just ask "why am I making this specific character, whose disability has no impact on the story, disabled?". That is to say that if you need a prodigy piano player and your idea is to make them totally blind who always wears sunglasses, or to make the generic murderer have a big burn scar on half of their face, you're repeating a stereotype. "Role" also encompasses what happens to them. Does the one disabled guy just... die, and that's all? That's a token.

Those are the main things I'd avoid when it comes to background characters. Don't claim that they are what they aren't or represent what they don't, and if you want a disabled character - even just an extra - then either commit or just don't do it, and keep in mind where you're putting them in the first place.

Can a disabled character be the only disabled character but still good representation?

They sure can, but they just aren't, usually at least. The problem with single character representation is that it puts a big burden on this one character: to represent a whole community. That's a lot. I've found myself in this exact spot before: small cast, one character is disabled, and I try to make the whole thing better and more authentic... every single time the result was adding more disabled characters, even if their roles were smaller. It's about the potential contrast.

There are choices that you can do when you have multiple characters of X minority that you should probably avoid if there's just one of them. If I see a work that has three blind characters and one of them wears sunglasses, my reaction will be "oh, cool, they have photophobia like me". If there's one blind character, and they wear sunglasses, my assumption will be that that's what just the writer thinks all blind people wear.

(Even though, that singular character could 100% also be photophobic. My assumption here is based on my experience, because that's how it usually goes.)

In that case you can find yourself in a place where you either need to subvert a bunch of stereotypes (some of which are based in fact!) or address it in one way or another in your work. That character could say "oh, I wear sunglasses indoors because even artificial light really hurts my eyes", but in order to do that, you need to be aware that this is a writing trope in the first place. Not to mention, if you do it too much, it starts reading as some sort of disability PSA. There's a fine line to everything, and the fewer characters of a particular minority you have, the harder it is to navigate it in a way that feels natural to actually read.

Sometimes the occurrence of just a single disabled character also raises some questions. Where's everybody else at? There are some exceptions to that (e.g. stories with a very limited character count) but generally speaking, everyone knows someone who's disabled in one way or another, especially if they're disabled themself. Books tend to make disabled people seem as a rare phenomenon, but that's really not the case.

Sometimes it borders on nonsensical worldbuilding - all those disabled characters who only get their mobility aids/meds because they Know A Guy (or are that guy)... I always ask myself, "what about all those people who don't know this one specific guy? what about everyone who lived before and after this one specific guy?", and I don't think the authors ever consider that. Unless the world population count is in triple digits at most, your character won't be the only disabled person. Writing in a way that subconsciously implies that they are is to me just another form of tokenism, because they're not only the only disabled character in the story, they're also presumably the only one in that universe overall.

This is just a lot of paragraphs to say that you probably aren't ever fully safe from tokenism unless there are multiple disabled characters who have at least somewhat important roles in the story - and even then, they can still be badly written, just in different ways.

Sorry for the long post but I hope this helps,

mod Sasza

[jewreallythinkthat]

One of the reasons I think there has been such a breakdown between the "progressive" left and the Jewish community is actually something that I've watched before fostered in left wing spaces for well over a decade and that is looking for offence.

When someone says something antisemitic, that does not mean they are an antisemite. I remember when the BLM marches took place, people rightly pointed out that there is a lot of unconscious bias against PoC and that being called out for eating something you didn't realise was problematic does not mean you are actually racist, just that you need to think a bit more when talking about a subject which in many cases, doesn't affect you as such. The same principle should apply to antisemitism.

If I say someone has said something antisemitic, their first reaction (on the left wing - because the right will proudly nod that yes, it was antisemitic) is often "you're calling me an antisemite and trying to silence me, Zionist". This is not true. What I am saying is that you are saying something that is discriminatory, invoked blood libel, accused Jews of ruling the world etc etc. I fully believe most people do not realise they are doing this. The point of dog whistles is that you are not supposed to recognise them, that's how they propagate. Anti-jewish racism is one of the oldest forms of hatred and it stretches back multiple millennia so it makes sense that it's literally inside the common vernacular. That doesn't mean everyone using it is an antisemite.

Instead of immidiately jumping to the defensive, I wish people would take a moment to ask, in good faith, "why would a Jewish person find this antisemitic?" Take the opportunity to learn, to better themself. Do not assume every Jew is trying to silence you - assuming the worst every time of Jewish people is a type of antisemitism so please try and put yourself in their shoes and maybe even ask them to explain so you can do better in the future.

Just a general overview, here's a couple of ones to look out for (a non exhaustive list).

1. Replace the word "Zionist" in what has Ben said with "Jew". If it sounds like something leeched out of Nazi Germanh or the Soviet Union, it's probably going to be antisemitism.

2. Saying you don't think any country should exist but focusing exclusively on the destruction of Israel. The only thing that makes Israel unique is that it's a Jewish majority country. So why is that the only county you actively want to get rid of?

2.1 Holding Israel to a higher standard than any other country is antisemitic as laid out above in point 2.

3. Assuming the worst of Jews and Israel every time is antisemitism. It's no different to assuming Black people are always out to get you or all Muslims are terrorists. If it's racist to do this to one minority group, it is racist to do it to any.

4. Tokenizing extremists in a community (Ben Gvir and the West Bank settlers on the right wing in Israel, the Neturi Karta by the progressive left when discussing I/P) is racist. If you only listen to Jews who prove your point, you are actively excluding the majority of a community so you can beat them down, this is racist.

I don't like calling people antisemitic because most people are not actually that, what they are is uneducated on antisemetism because the majority of that education is not being done by Jews - let alone Jews who represent the majority of the community.

But if you refuse to talk to Jews in good faith when they try to explain why what you have said is antisemitic, you are running the risk of moving from "ignorant user of antisemetic language" to "antisemite" (also a note, ignorant not meaning stupid but rather that you do not know something).

[notaplaceofhonour]

Are you really putting me on blast for a public comment to begin with?

Are you claiming that Judaism isn’t a religion? It most certainly is even if ethnically based historically. I know it’s matrilineal, but anyone can convert even if they’re not evangelical. Though there are ethnic differences even between Jews that are Ashkenazi, Sephardic, Mizrahi or Ethiopian.

Semitic people or Semites is a term for an ethnic, cultural or racial group associated with people of the Middle East, including Arabs, Jews, Akkadians, and Phoenicians. Gaza wasn’t even part of Judea, Ancient Israel or Samaria. It was the land of the Philistines.

If you believe in the text of the Torah, which coincides with the text in the Koran, then Arabs and Jews are related by Abraham. His sons just had different Mothers.

You have to understand that people’s words are being twisted right now. There are a lot of people that oppose the war, but do not oppose Jewish people. Bernie Sanders, the best candidate for president the US has had in decades in my opinion, opposes the war and that doesn’t mean he supports Hamas.

My point is not really about your opinion specifically. It’s about the right wing that is painting people with a broad brush as a way to deprive legal residents of due process. It’s a slippery slope that will be applied to anyone and he’s ignoring the Supreme Court. We’re entering really dark times. The Trump administration is using Antisemitism as an excuse to deport students and defund higher education. They’re using Jews as a scapegoat and the ADL is really not doing anything about it.

Yeah, retro, you really publicly post a racist screed as laughably & confidently shitty as that on one of my posts about antisemitism, and you really might get a response that publicly refutes it with all the respect it deserves.

“Semitic” Peoples & Antisemitism

Literally nobody that isn’t possessed by the ghost of an SS officer is using “Semitic” like that. It appears vestigially in “antisemitism” and is used in Linguistics to refer to Semitic Languages (there are Semitic-speakers; there are not Semitic peoples)—that’s it.

You pull up in a Jew’s comment section, insisting on this Nazi-ass 19-20th Century Scientific Racist racial classification of “Semites”, all in order to play mental gymnastic word games to claim the real victims of [word that means anti-Jewish bigotry] are a group of non-Jews at the hands of Jews… and you just might be put on blast for it.

And this isn’t even new; the way you’re using it was already starting to fall out of favor among anyone who wasn’t a proud self-described antisemite even before the Nazis came to power. It’s been understood as racist BS for more than century. Even Gil Anidjar, a pro-BDS professor at Columbia who shares a lot of your other views, understands this terminology is racist pseudoscience, writing in his book about the rise and fall of the word’s usage that “the opposing term was Aryan”.

That’s the racial framework you’re using. The “Aryan” one.

And who did these self-identified Antisemites target with their antisemitism? Did Wilhelm Marr’s Antisimeten-Liga that popularized the term allege an Arab conspiracy or a Jewish one? Did Hitler’s antisemitism lead him to kill 6 Million Arabs, or 6 Million Jews? Are there countless Arab organizations dedicated to fighting Antisemitism as such, or has that been left to Jews?

Arabs have their own word for bigotry against them. Stop trying to appropriate ours, especially when the people you’re claiming are the perpetrators are Jews. It’s dishonest, it’s cruel, it’s just gross.

Token “Good Jews”

Same with you goy-splaining about how Jews aren’t a monolith to act like all of what you said isn’t incredibly antisemitic. We know we’re not a monolith (possibly even more so than most other groups); our entire culture is built around structures of debate. But your inciting gish-gallop of talking points about “apartheid”, “open air prisons”, and terrorists being “freedom fighters” is one that would rightly make all but the most fringe token Jews, totally disconnected from Jewish community, balk.

In another message you sent, which I’m not going to respond to, you mention JVP, and OH MY G-D is it clear that this is where you’re getting your information about Jews. They’re an EXTREMELY fucking fringe group that harass and incite violence against other Jews, and they’re rightly understood by most Jews as a hate group akin to Autism Speaks. Like I said, they’re EXTREMELY fringe in the Jewish community. They have like 20,000-30,000 members, most of whom aren’t even Jewish, and all of their positions are miles outside of the already expansive & diverse tradition of discourse within Judaism.

Between them and Bernie Sanders, you can tokenize the “Good Jews” (you assume) agree with you all you want, that doesn’t make the rest of what you’re saying anything but grotesquely antisemitic.

And it does stand out that the “Good Jew” you name here is one whose speech on Passover—the Let My People Go holy day—completely omitted any mention of the hostages to position Palestinians as the sole victims of the conflict. It so clear that what it takes to qualify as a “Good Jew” is not just caring about groups in addition to Jews, but abandoning our own entirely. We have to assimilate and cut away pieces of our identity and so many in our community to fit into your framework.

Both sides are using Jews as a political football, and you’re just as much an example of this as Republicans. Just as Trump can take his false concern about Jews and shove it up his ass, so can you.

Am Yisrael

The Jewish people predates the concept of religion as a separate idea. “Faith” has very little to do with Jewish observance. There are obviously elements of Judaism that are religious, but that distinct categorization is external and does not describe Jewish collective identity.

Above I said “Jews have to assimilate and cut away pieces of our identity to fit into your framework”. That’s what Judaism-as-a-faith is. I put the comment about that in the tags rather than the body of the post because it’s a much less well-known by non-Jews, but that isn’t how the Jewish people have traditionally understood ourselves.

As Dara Horn puts it:

“Jews aren't a religion. There's millions of Jews who are secular Jews. Have you ever met a secular Mormon? There's an answer to who Jews are, and it's quite simple. We don't have to sit here and be like, ‘oh, are Jews a race or religion or nationality?’

Jews are a type of social group that was common in the ancient Near East, very uncommon in the West today; it's a joinable tribal group with a shared history, homeland and culture.

What I just said is a paragraph in English and in Hebrew it's one word that's two letters long: Am.”

This is the “Am” in “Am Yisrael” (the People/Nation of Israel), the endonym of the Jewish people.

It’s just… very clear from everything you’ve said that you haven’t spent any meaningful time around Jews or anyone who is even reasonably knowledgeable about us on anything past a surface level, and that doesn’t seem likely to change, because you keep spouting so many confidentiality wrong opinions about what we are/should be, while using fucking Nazi terminology to reverse the meaning of antisemitism on us, and not even taking a second to listen to us about us. You think you know who we are better than us. You don’t.

And this backpedaling to “oh I wasn’t talking about you” is bullshit. If you weren’t responding to the post why comment on it in the first place? Make your own damn post instead of making it my fucking problem. You saw a post talking about Zionism & decided to vomit up more of exactly the lies about Zionism I was refuting, and you just continue to double down on it.

I’m not responding to your other message. I don’t send anons. I’m not interested in wasting my time going back and forth debating your racist stochastic garbage full of the same 10 flimsy talking points. If you want to do better, start by shutting up and listening instead of telling us who we are or should be.

[thekoalapastriesbakery]

ROUTINE

hybrid!formula one x male!reader

request: requesting about hybrid!drivers (dog!mick and bunny!charles, + any others you want to add) and their post-race routines?!

summary: your boyfriend has a very specific post-race routine.

warnings: mentions of ferrari's interesting strategies (charles), mild angst to comfort (lance), very very mild implication of logan's mistreatment (logan), non-hybrid friendly scheduling (oscar)

contains: charles leclerc, lance stroll, logan sargeant, mick schumacher, + oscar piastri

word count: 1,065

bunny!charles leclerc:

charles was quite a clingy boyfriend, but his post-race routines were fairly simple. he doesn't need material things or even for you to do all that much. he does all of his team duties first. he may be a clingy bunny, but he lives and breathes ferrari and will never ever ever do anything to disappoint them.

once he's finished in the media pen, doing his team debrief, and congratulating or commiserating with each and every single one of his mechanics and engineers, he'll meet you in his driver's room. you should be sitting on the little sofa, with a nice soft blanket or a nice cold drink (with a straw—his bunny teeth are very sensitive) depending on the weather. he'll come over and flop down on your lap. charles makes the cutest squeaky-humming noise whenever you hug him.

he'll want you to massage his ears (they get quite sore being pressed flat to his skull during races) while he tells you absolutely everything. some details are more "important", like his view of incidents and penalties during the race. sometimes he'll rant about his team's strategies, and you were the only one who would ever hear him say a negative thing about the scuderia. sometimes he'd just ramble for a solid 30 minutes about things he noticed around the track, like a pretty flower. you're often the last couple to leave the paddock.

cat!lance stroll:

he hates doing media, so he'll rush through interviews to get back to you. lance is at the point cats get to where they're so tired and frustrated that they're more than ready to draw blood. if anyone tries to drag him into an argument post-race they will regret it. for most people, it's common sense not to mess with a cat hybrid when they're tired. unfortunately many people in the world of formula one are somewhat lacking in common sense.

by the time he gets to you, lance is often overstimulated and angry and has maybe even used his claws. it doesn't help his reputation, but he can't help it and you can't blame him. not when you've seen how insistently people ignored his boundaries. he'll let out a sort of angry, screaming meow of frustration when you start cuddling him. don't be deterred—it's just a vocalisation. he knows you respect his space when he needs it, but he still puts up token resistance so you know he's letting you do this. he'll melt into your touch soon enough.

unlike some other drivers, he will not want to talk. he's so overstimulated that even hearing you talk will grate on his nerves. just scratch behind his ears and maybe play fight with him a little to help him get out the excess energy. eventually he'll get reallyyyyy blinky. that's how you know he's ready to go home and take one of his beloved naps with you.

lynx!logan sargeant:

big ears, big heart—logan's the cuddliest feline in the paddock. most lynx hybrids were very very heat intolerant, but since he grew up in florida, he's got a little bit of extra immunity. no matter where in the world you are, logan will want cuddles all the time.

he loves you so much and he absolutely does not fit the solitary stereotype of his species. honestly, if he could be within arm's reach of you 24/7, 365, he'd basically just be a happy purring kitten. forget formula one, logan would just as happily spend all day as your personal heater and lap cat. post-race, he'd quite like to just curl up on your lap and either tell you all about his race or listen to you talk about just about anything.

after a little debrief in his driver's room, you'll go back to the hotel/apartment and have a proper cuddle, with the fan cranked up. sometimes he's perfectly happy to just lie with you in silence. if he's had a bad race or bad weekend, though, he'll prefer to watch a sitcom or something else lighthearted. you may or may not manage to turn the tv off before you both fall asleep

dog!mick schumacher:

he's generally pretty high-energy after a race. in stark comparison to the others, he gets adrenaline rushes that extend for a couple hours beyond the actual race ends. he does interviews, team debriefs, gets head pats from all his mechanics and also several other drivers, meets about two dozen extra fans, and does several cute lil tiktoks with his team before he even gets back to you.

even after all of that, he's still got leftover energy. item number one will always be running around with him and (ideally) playing fetch to tire him out. it'll probably take hours, a lot of zoomies, and a full weekend debrief for him to finally settle down. he shouldn't, but mick will feel guilty for being so much work for you (he's not) and will insist on making and bringing you your comfort beverage and snacks. he's a sucker for a good rom-com while snuggling in bed after a race. belly rubs are mandatory.

koala!oscar piastri:

the cuddliest cuddler to ever cuddle, and the clingiest boyfriend to ever cling. the second he's out of the car oscar is basically climbing into your arms no matter what. he doesn't care whether you're bigger or smaller than him—you will have to give him at least a piggyback.

poor baby's so sleepy. he's usually borderline nocturnal afterall! and on race weekends he has to be out and functioning all day and he barely even gets any naps. if you're bigger than or roughly the same size as oscar, you should be prepared for him to just hook his arms around your neck and whine until you pick him up. if you're smaller, expect him to be dragging you with him to media and almost falling asleep with you on his lap during the team debrief.

once he finally gets to retreat to his driver's room with you, oscar will munch on a few special koala hybrid snacks with eucalyptus before promptly falling asleep on you. his whole post-race recovery routine is based around getting a few solid hours of sleep. in an ideal situation, with his head on your chest so he can listen to your heartbeat as he dreams.

©thekoalapastriesbakery :: please do not copy or rewrite my work on any platform !!

author's note: i love hybrid!drivers so much (special thanks to @babybearnation for helping me come up with lynx!logan. amazing idea ty)

comments + reblogs appreciated!

taglist: @raizelchrysanderoctavius @crispysoup318 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @ncrsbrg @spoonfulofmilo @justaf1girl @widow-cevans

[grimeerie]

If Enigma of Fear comes this month,i am praying for this game to be absolulety marketed fucking EVERYWHERE online,cause not only Ordem is such a amazing project that deserves so much recognition,but being a fully brazilian/latino-made TTRPG,the idea of this series becoming worldwide-known means so much personally as a brazilian artist.

I've mentioned this on a post before,but the experience of growing up as a latine being constantly fed white american-centric pop culture,be it comics,TV series,movies,art in general,to such a extreme point it made me develop such high insecurity in my country's art and culture as a whole,is so deeply harmful that even after leaving that toxic mindset,that insecurity still lingers on.

And it's why Ordem as a project is just so beautiful as an rpg to me,like the campaign main setting? All brazilian cities! The characters? Brazilians from different parts of the country all speaking in the accent and slang of their state or city! The players? Brazilians! The promotional art,the music,the boards,the tokens? ALL BRAZILIAN MADE. Like this project in so unashamedly Brazil and that makes me love every bit of bit.

Even though the gringo side of the Ordem fandom may still be somewhat small,the ammount of love i've seen you all have for this project is so big; all of the fanart,fics,headcanons,every single form of appreciation has just been so good. Know that regardless of what you may think about the quality of your contribution to this fandom know that to me and so many other brazilian,your love for this series means a lot to us. The hype for Enigma of Fear has been wonderful to see,and DESERVED CAUSE THE GOD THE GAME LOOKS FANTASTICAL AND DUMATIVA PUT THEIR WHOLE DUMATUSSY FOR 4 YEARS INTO THAT GAME AND THEY DESERVE THE RESPECT FOR IT-

BUT ALSO i want to shoutout the QSMP fandom as well,cause y'all are insane fr,seeing people love the same CCs i've watched and loved since my childhood,the fandom interacting with us Brazilian ??? Learning about our culture???? LEARNING TO SPEAK PORTUGUESE???

Sorry for the ramble but like- the whole learning portuguese part still makes me so happily feral cause as someone who grew up on Internet fandom spaces,having to learn english on my own to be able to interact with others,especially english being the main language in most internet spaces,THE FACT THE INVERSE IS HAPPENING LIKE WHAT?? Serioulsly,the dedication man! That is awesome!!

Legitimately i don't think there's enough words to describe the appreciation i have for yall,so basically: thank you all,so much,for giving us so much love this past year,and i hope if Ordem does become big enough out there,that more brazilian art to come gains as much love as this one,we are such a diverse country with so much to offer,and im am so glad to be born to such a colorful and crazy country <3

In general i hope this will be an encouragment for all to support non-white american centric art in general,there's so much art from other countries to love and appreciate,that desperately need it.

So basically: Watch Ordem Paranormal,and play Enigma of Fear when it comes out. It's RPG,it's story,characters,worldbuilding are fantastic,its horror,found family,comedy and deliciously SOUL-CRUSHING angst. Trust me,you won't regret it.

É ORDO REALITAS CARALHO!