#while some remnant cultures

[kkglinka]

Gotta be honest, the way Yang's romantic and sexual experience is described doesn't just sound like comphet, but specifically demisexual. Someone who's never really experienced of those impulses (but gotta act normal! But don't fuckin' touch me in an intimate manner (her hair). Why is that mean girl talking that way about my body??).

Who gradually does develop romantic and sexual desire out of proximity to an ideal match. Who cannot quickly and easily identify those feelings because they are brand new. (Holding hand? Funny feeling??) Just that they're intense and painful and that's confusing. Not I know I love you but...I think?

[rithmeres]

i don’t think i’ve rewatched atla since becoming a committed pacifist and i just finished what was probably my tenth rewatch and i have never loved aang more. i've seen it so many times but i still came away with a new appreciation for the way the end of the story was handled. aang is the only survivor of a genocide and he is clinging to the last remnants of his culture and religion, and everyone is telling him the only way to save the world is to kill the dictator whose regime is responsible for the genocide, but to do so would abandon the deeply held beliefs of his people. if aang goes against his beliefs and kills ozai, his people's way of life dies completely and sozin wins.

aang knows it would be wrong but he can't see another way out so he prays for an answer, and the universe hears him and the spirits send out the lion turtle, and the creator answers him. and here's the thing that i never put together before today: aang would not have been able to energybend ozai if he had given in and wanted to kill him. the lion turtle tells aang that only the incorruptible can bend another’s energy, or else they will become corrupted themselves. and i think that aang, because of his love for the fire nation as he had once known it, was never corrupted by personal hatred for the fire lord or the fire nation. he was able to expertly hold two conflicting beliefs in harmony better than any adult could, the belief that ozai is a horrible person and the world would be better off without him and that he's still a human being with a life that is sacred.

and i don't think it's a matter of selfishness like some people make it out to be. aang is not some immature little kid who doesn't want to kill because killing is for bad guys. he's an incredibly wise and spiritual person who was shaped by airbender beliefs and upholds airbender beliefs, and he can see beyond the scope of this war. the balance of the world depends on the existence of the four nations, and aang does not just represent the air nomads, he IS the air nomads. he's all that's left.

despite many people’s interpretation of the four past avatars’ advice, none of the past avatars outright tell him to kill ozai. they tell him to be decisive, to bring justice, to be proactive, to be sacrificial. but none of them tells him definitively to kill him. he doesn't disobey or ignore their advice, he follows their ancient wisdom while still staying true to his beliefs. yangchen actually comes the closest to outright telling him to kill ozai (even more than kiyoshi, surprisingly) but what she fails to account for is that aang is not just the avatar, he is the last airbender, and being the last airbender is far greater a burden than being the avatar. no matter what happens, once he dies, there will always be another avatar. but if he is not careful to preserve the airbender way of life, there will be no more airbenders. yangchen could sacrifice her air nomad way of life for the sake of her duty to the world because there were thousands of other air nomads to continue their traditions. aang has no such privilege.

and it's not that he doesn't want to kill, it's that he actually doesn't think he can do it -- both that he won't be able to emotionally bring himself to kili someone, and, prodigy that he is, he doesn't have the raw bending skill to overcome a comet-powered master firebender. and then it turns from 'i don't think i can do it' into ‘i can’t do it.’ and when the avatar state gives him enough power to actually do it, he changes the answer to ‘i won’t do it.’ he overcomes all the combined power of his past lives to say no, i have found another answer and i will remain incorruptible. to kill is to maintain the power struggle of the fire nation and to reject air nomad wisdom and without airbenders the world CANNOT be brought into balance.

the only thing ozai cares about is power, and that's what the entire fight with ozai is about, physically and ideologically, because ozai only sees power in terms of force, fear, threats, and violence. to ozai, aang (and his entire people) are weak and undeserving of life because they are largely pacifists, but he fails to see the magnificent power that the airbenders do hold, spiritual wisdom and mastery of the self and contentment and joy and harmony and a deep understanding of the world that a man like ozai could never obtain. to kill ozai would ratify ozai’s worldview that power as he defines it is the most important pursuit in the world and the only way to assert one's right to be in the world is to be cruel and violent like him. i think to ozai, becoming powerless might be worse than being dead. he wants power, or he wants death, and aang gives him neither. it upends everything he believed in. aang, the avatar, but more importantly, the last airbender, armed by his past lives' power and his people's love and the spirit world's blessing and the lion turtle's omniscience (and toph's mastery of true sight through neutral jing), ends the war 100 years to the day after the air nomad genocide, in the way that his people taught him, with power that goes beyond force and violence, with spiritual wisdom, with an incorruptible soul, with mercy -- mercy that is not weakness, mercy that brings justice.

[tanadrin]

Imagine that a century or two from now, the eastern half of the United States is conquered by the Canadian Empire, its intelligentsia deported, its land colonized by Canadian immigrants, and its remaining people mostly gradually absorbed into a Neo-Canadian identity. The West reorganizes, developing a new political and cultural center, and comes to regard itself as the "true" United States, with the remnant culture of the East (by now much changed by Canadian rule) as representing an unchanged tradition stretching back to the time of George Washington. The holdout western half is subsequently conquered by the Reformed Mexican Empire, and while most of the population remains in situ, its elite is taken to Mexico City. There, for three or four generations, they do their best to maintain their distinct American identity, focusing on the American "civil religion," the distinctive political ideals and cultural features that mark them out as Americans, and come up with a new way of interpreting their history that allows America to be a perennial idea, something not directly physically tied to the territory of the United States, which no longer exists. They compose a body of historical works based on Washington Irving's rather fabulistic approach to early American history, the half-remembered popular versions of the stories of Columbus and the Pilgrims, the First Thanksgiving, even the Revolutionary War. They don't have access to the original texts anymore--let's say this is all taking place in a post-Collapse North America where long-range travel and communication is difficult and a lot of history has been lost--but they do their best. They append to these books, or include in their text, of history a copy of the Constitution, big chunks of the United States Code, and Robert's Rules of Order.

Subsequently, the Empire of Gran Columbia invades, conquers southern and central Mexico, and its Emperor lets the captive Americans go home. They return north, mostly to California, find that the version of American history and civics that is remembered there isn't the same as the version they have (not that the Californian one is correct--the Mexican Empire has suppressed English-language education and high culture in its Aztlani provinces), and set about reforming and reorganizing the Western States (as they're now called) to be more in line with the forms they brought back from the exile. In the meantime, other bits of important literature start being kept in libraries next to copies of the received histories: some bits of early American literature, like Hawthorne, the Song of Hiawatha, some highly abridged Herman Melville, Thomas Paine--heck, even some John Locke, and quotes or fragments from Shakespeare. Some traditionalists now argue the capital of the United States has always been located in San Francisco, and that Washington, D.C. only because the capital later, under the influence of Eastern heretics.

In the following centuries, the Western States retain their independence for a time, but eventually become a secondary battleground for a lot of other empires--the Mexicans, the Canadians, the Pan-Pacific Federation, and so forth. American culture remains distinctive, insulted in part by its unique traditions, though now everybody speaks Future Spanish, and only learns English to read the old texts. In this period additional material, including later compositions, continues to accrete, forming a distinct body of sacred American scripture, although it does not exist in a single canonical form. Attempts to reconcile distinct sources, like more literal and historically-grounded accounts versus the simplified narratives of figures like Irving, produce hybrid texts that sometimes are full of internal conflicts.

Oh, and through all this, some institutions of American government like the Supreme Court still function, although their rulings only apply to Americans, and there isn't much in the way of a federal bureaucracy.

Finally the Great and Sublime Brazilian Potentate conquers most of the Americas, sets up an American client state that roughly coincides with the heartland of the old Western States (California, Oregon, most of Washington and Nevada), and allows the Americans to elect their own President (subject, of course, to Brazilian approval). During this period, an apocalyptic street preacher from Los Angeles claims to have inherited the authority and power of George Washington, and is executed by the Brazilians; his later followers point to the prophecies of Emperor Norton, and out-of-context bits of a Quebecois translation of Moby-Dick and some Mark Twain stories to say no, really, he was George Washington. Inexplicably, a version of this religion becomes the dominant faith of the Brazilian Empire before it collapses. But long before then the American state in California fails, crushed when it tries to revolt against Brazilian rule; the remnant Easterners likewise dwindle down to only a few hundred souls living in a village in Alexandria, Virginia. Centuries from now, as the descendants of the descendants of the Brazilians colonize Mars, they will point to the sacred Americanist scriptures, the Neo-Americanist narratives of their prophet's life, and the letters written by the early leaders of Neo-Americanism, and say, "all of this was written by the spirit of George Washington, and is free from contradictions." Meanwhile the remnant Americanists, who have been writing about Americanism and how it applies to their everyday lives in the centuries since, and whose commentary has formed around the copies of the last editions of the U.S. Supreme Court Reporter (SCOTUS managed to outlast the final American state by a hundred years or so) plus the thoughts of the remaining Americanist community in Mexico, continue to regard their traditions as the unbroken and unaltered practice of American culture, politics, and ideals as they existed since the Revolutionary War.

This is, as far as I can tell, approximately how the Bible was composed.

[haechansdoll]

bound to your love - lhc x reader

[ PS : I couldn't resist these prince haechan pictures everywhere ]

Pairing :  Prince! Husband! Haechan x f!Princess!reader.

Description : After the birth of your daughter, you feel insecure about your body; however, Haechan shows you that you have nothing to worry about.

Warnings: most softest sex ever yet explicit, mentions of pregnancy, lactaction kink, lactation, married sex.

Your baby girl, born just five months ago, has already become the most precious treasure to both Haechan and you. You both cherish every moment, watching her grow every day with love-filled eyes. Haechan's devotion goes beyond his protective nature; he is fully committed to you and your child. Together, you navigate the routines, supporting each other through sleepless nights and tender moments. In Haechan's presence, you find solace and reassurance. And beyond the palace, your little one's presence is known and cherished.

From the corridors of the palace to the other end of Seoul, the fame of this tiny baby travels in whispers.

The king has a child, an heir.

And it is you who lit the fuse for the next generation of Lee’s-Kingdom by giving your Kingdom a daughter. A new generation will grow with her, nurturing and strengthening this resilient culture and warrior society.

As you traverse the grand halls and corridors of the palace, every person you encounter bows in awe; their eyes are drawn to the remnants of your once-swollen belly. The physical changes your body has undergone since giving birth are cherished and celebrated in our culture. This culture honors a postpartum body; since it is highly valued in this culture to maintain the bloodline and create clans, ideas like pregnancy and postpartum are embraced by the heart.

Haechan wholeheartedly agrees with this sentiment. As far as the duties of the throne permit, he has always been by your side during your pregnancy, watching your belly grow and providing relief when needed. His strong, gloved hands have supported your back, gently massaging away the discomfort caused by the weight of your growing child. On some nights of need and desire, when you feel needy, soaked, and burning with desire to be filled up, he has been there to bring you to the exquisite climax you crave. Each night, as you drifted off to sleep, he watched over you with a profound sense of gratitude, placing tender kisses on your shoulder.

Just as your pregnancy didn't change the way he felt about you, neither did the birth; it didn't even affect Haechan to wipe the blood from your thighs when you were in labor bed or your saggy belly and leaking breasts, which he feels when he holds you in his arms in the bed you share every night. He remains unfazed by your crying fits, brought on by fluctuating hormones, or the strands of hair that come to his hand while he caresses your hair gently. To him, every part of you is a testament to your incredible strength and resilience.

Whenever he takes you in his strong arms, he tells you that what you have achieved is incredible and that your body should be treated accordingly. His fingertips trace your skin, conveying the awe he feels for you. And while you’re picking out every bit of your new body, Haechan is falling even more in love.

And he doesn't let it remain in words; you can tell he really means it when he gives you sugary ice chips to quell your inner fire when you feel weary after giving birth or when he gently rubs soothing cream on your sore breasts from breastfeeding. He knows that all these changes in your body are because you have raised and nurtured his baby for nine months and finally brought her into the world in good health. He knows that every battle leaves its mark. And for you, it was the journey of pregnancy and birth.

While you struggle to adjust to your new body, Haechan adores and reverse it, seeing your beauty in a whole new light. Your body's transformation has only amplified his love and respect for you.

However, amidst his deep admiration, Haechan finds himself yearning for you. He can see how challenging and exhausting the postpartum period is for you, but he can’t help but imagine holding you in his arms. His desire to intimately explore every inch of your delicate body and to lose himself in the depths of your passion fills his thoughts. With longing and intoxicating passion, he longs to be able to hold his wife, his princess, to touch every part of your body, and to bury his lips in the nook between your neck and shoulder.

The thing he misses the most is having you with a burning and tantalizing desire and hearing you moan his name helplessly as he slowly sinks into you. He wants to see the burning lust in your eyes as your souls become one.

But above all, Haechan seeks a sign from you—a word, a lustful kiss, or even a fleeting innocent blink—to know that you are ready and that the fire within you burns just as fiercely. He understands the time required for you to recover, both physically and emotionally, and he has never pressed you to hurry the process.

After five long months, you finally receive permission from your doctor to use tampons and engage in sexual activities. However, you can’t shake off the feeling of reluctance that has settled within you. You don’t want Haechan to witness the state of your body after all you’ve been through.

But one fateful evening, as you find yourself wrapped in Haechan’s embrace, a shift occurs within you.

On that night, after a refreshing bath, you slip into one of your black nursing nightgowns and absorbent underwear and lie down next to your husband on smooth satin sheets. He is in bed before you, waiting. After concluding his duties in the throne room, he makes his way back to this cherished space, where his heart resides. Both to take care of his little baby and to support his wife.

As weariness envelopes you like a soothing mist, you become aware of Haechan's gaze wandering appreciatively across your body. When you feel the warm blood rushing through your veins to your cheeks, a whirlpool of emotions envelops you. Your heart, heavy with worry, clenches tightly in your chest at the thought of him seeing your exhausted body.

"Are you checking me out?" You ask smoothly. "Of course I am, doll" He grins and turns over on his side in bed to look at you. As you move to get closer to him, Haechan stretches his hands towards you, like an unspoken invitation that you can't resist. You crawl up between his legs, laying close as he pulls you to his chest, feeling the heat of his body radiating through every inch of your being. 

He rubs your back tenderly, and you notice he’s half hard underneath you. As your heart beats wildly, you feel an intense fire stirring deep within you. The mere presence of Haechan evokes a pull that you struggle to resist. Though you sometimes shy away from his advances, the allure of his touch proves irresistible, drawing you closer to his side.

He’s been thinking about your body; you were perfect before, and you’re perfect now after these changes. He purrs, "I’ve missed you," against your neck.

And you know that. You’ve missed him too. The touch of your husband, your Chan, has been a balm to your starved soul. As he holds you close to his chest, your head spins with a mixture of relief and desire. A smile graces your lips, and in a moment of unspoken longing, you lean up to capture his lips in a passionate kiss. You smile, bringing a hand up to brush over his cheekbone. "I’ve missed you too," You whisper back to him. 

Haechan’s hands are careful to help you move your hips as you begin to sit up, straddling his waist. Your arms encircle Haechan's neck,The months of longing and desire buried deep within rise to the surface at this moment. Seated on his sturdy thighs, you surrender to the raw intensity, allowing the connection between you to ignite into a passionate flame.

As you take the lead, his thumb tenderly caresses your plushed lips. Haechan struggles to hold back, the unfamiliarity heightened by the long absence of physical touch. Yet he exercises care, understanding the importance of gentleness, allowing you to dictate the rhythm. And you acknowledge his earnest efforts, deeply grateful for his unwavering commitment.

Your master, husband, Haechan, and most importantly, the daddy of your little baby girl, are all standing in front of you in all of his glory. Your heart swells with love, ignited by a wave of burning desire. 

You give a few slow rocks of your hips against his muscular thighs, and Haechan cocks up an eyebrow. "Are you sure, princess?" He asks quietly. "I-If I - I’ll ask you to stop if- you know - Haechan," You mumble innocently. 

It has been a long time since you felt him deep inside you. The tiniest shred of the dazzling feeling that would push you over the edge is elusive and distant. And the uncertainty of it lingers as your body recovers and continues to do so.

But you still feel it's worth a try, tenderly and lovingly connecting your lips with your husband's. And he kisses you back, matching your pace. Ignoring the wild beating of your heart, you surrender to the enchantment of the moment. Haechan's kiss deepens as his familiar taste finds a place in your mouth. You moan softly into his mouth, and as desire slowly takes over your control, the primal instinct embedded in your core starts to show itself.

To be loved, touched, and fucked; to have your soul filled with him 

His name falls from your slick lips as you try to catch your breath from his exploitative and long kiss. His gentle exhales brush delicately against your face. Leaning your forehead against Haechan's, you giggle and whisper, "We must be quiet,with our little one asleep in the crib." He grins, rubbing his nose against yours. "I'll try my best, princess," he murmurs. 

It’s a new sensation, grinding your hips against him. His firm hands grip your flesh, guiding you with a gentle touch. Dark and intense passion flares in their eyes, locking onto yours with a piercing gaze. His hands glide slowly from your hips to the hem of your silk nightgown. His eyes scan your face as if requesting permission, and you nod slightly. He carefully takes off your nightgown and throws it somewhere in the room. And there you are, sitting in your husband's lap semi-naked, with the stretch marks of pregnancy just beginning to heal on your belly, taut breasts full of milk that has doubled in size, and a soul that loves two people unconditionally—this is you.

Haechan’s sole and his dearest wife.

He kisses your chin as his gloved hands roam over your body, exploring every inch of you over and over again. The warmth of his hands tickles a string somewhere in you as you close your eyes to sink into the moment. "pretty" he whispers, his voice filled with longing, tilting his head as your lips delicately graze his neck. It's a sensation you haven't indulged in for what feels like an eternity. The passage of time blurs, and you struggle to recall exactly how long it has been since you last shared such an intimate moment. A soft sigh escapes your lips as you revel in the tender connection between you both. 

In response to his touch, your body tingles with anticipation as his hands caress and gently squeeze your backside. The sensation sends shivers down your spine, igniting a dormant fire within you. You can't help but gasp softly, the compliment he whispers reaching the depths of your soul.

He mumbles, his voice heavy with desire, as his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your underwear.He guides your hips against him, moving with deliberate slowness as his desire intensifies. Beneath you, he grows harder, his breathing heavy and hard. And he embraces you, and he lays you down gently beneath him, your bare back meeting soft sheets. "This okay?" He asks quietly. 

You nod, relaxing back against the pillows as he sheds the comfy panties you’ve grown so accustomed to living in. He sits back to take a look at you; however, all you can see is his throbbing and angry length, soaked with pre-cum visible through his pants.

"Haechan, please," you say, your voice tinged with vulnerability. "Don't stare," Embarrassment washes over you as you expose a body you're still learning to embrace, a body that hasn't yet become a source of comfort for you.

"I can’t help princess" he whispers as he leans down, leaving a trail of tender kisses from your collarbone down to your tummy. The sensation sends shivers down your spine, and warmth spreads throughout your body. With each kiss, his love becomes palpable, and your heart swells with affection. "You can’t even imagine how beautiful you look right now." His words resonate deeply within you, embracing your insecurities and soothing your doubts. 

He takes off his gloves to feel your warm and delicate skin. You whimper as his powerful and bare hands gently cup your breasts, even before rolling them firmly and kneading them in his hold. His hands discover your sore and full breasts, and the sweet warmth radiating from his touch penetrates your skin. His hands and fingers' warmth leave an ethereal mark of adoration on your skin. He tightly grasps your breasts as the warm milk drips from your skin onto his hands. Seeing you full and nourished like this drives him crazy; it reminds him to whom you belong, whose child you gave birth to.   

Then he begins meanderingly kissing your chin and neck, nibbling and licking tender flesh as he does so. Before he even places his mouth on your tits, the feelings cause you to whine and wriggle.

And when his warm and slick lips find one of your nipples, you cry out; the bittersweet aching of your breasts and pleasure become too much to handle. He teases you in a smooth rhythm; however, you jolt with a burst of pleasure suddenly when he sucks your nipple, filling his mouth with your milk. His name falls from your mouth in broken syllables.

''My doll,'' he says against your tender skin, ''You taste so sweet''.  

He has done it to you before, and he knows that it drives you fucking crazy. The spark of pleasure ignites inside you as his wicked tongue teases your nipple in his mouth.

''Ohfuck, Haechan, no-" you gasp, "Please-''' 

''That’s it, sweet girl. Surrender to it,'' he says as he works on you. He devours you with a hunger that you’ve never seen before. This man, your beloved, loves you more than anything in this damned universe, and when it comes to your sweet body, he loses control; the desire takes the lead. He mumbles sweet words to your skin as he explores you; he just can’t get enough of you. 

Slowly, he traces down from your breasts to your tummy, where he gives smooth kisses. "You are too pretty” he says as he keeps leaving kisses on your tummy. "You grew our little warrior here. I can hardly believe it sometimes." He raises his head to look into your eyes and continues, "I am so proud of you". 

As emotions overwhelm you, your heart brimming with affection, you can't hold back the words any longer.

"I love you," you whisper softly, your voice filled with sincerity. His gaze meets yours, a reflection of the love and desire shared between you. He replies, "I love you more than any word can say" as he finds his way from your tummy to your cunt. 

His hands dance smoothly on your thighs, then his hands move to your knees to press you open. He mumbles as he pushes your legs apart. His eyes scan over all of you with gratitude and lust.

"Oh, look at you," he whispers. ''Look how beautiful you are." 

And he dips his head into between your legs, your cunt. He gives kisses over you, not even caring if there is any blood left. He wants you to enjoy this. To be loosened up and ready for him. To take your time. As his mouth lingers on your cunt, his firm hands caress your plushed thighs, enjoying your tender skin.

Your fingers find his silky-smooth curls, holding him steady where he lingers, when the desire that has been buried somewhere in you for months is finally beginning to show itself. And when he finally locks his warm mouth on your clit, you moan out loud.

''Fuckingstars—fuck, Haechan!'' a broken sentence frees from your mouth as you arch your back uncontrollably. 

From the moment Haechan's touch ignited a fiery passion within you, every sensation became an electric current coursing through your veins. As his tongue skillfully strokes your sensitive clit, you see the damned stars with every lick he gives you. And you can’t think of the rest of your retort when his long fingers find their way to your entrance. He pushes his fingers carefully into your cunt, working the digit slowly until he feels that sweet gush around him.

You bite your lip helplessly to stop the wrecked moans rising from your throat. Haechan's eyes find yours to give courage. ''No, my flower," he says as he picks up the pace of his merciless fingers, making you whimper more. ''Don't hold it back; I want to hear you''. His words boil the blood in your veins and make your head whirl. And you let it go; his name arouses from your throat and spills from your lips helplessly. 

You can't believe how fast your body lights up to Haechan; he made you shiver and squirm in no time, and you could only sing his name like a hymn.

He listens intently, his senses attuned to the subtle gasps escaping your lips, evidence of the pleasure coursing through your body. As he watches your trembling thighs, he is captivated by the beauty of your helplessness. He pulls himself away, his gaze locked with yours, radiating desire and anticipation.

He slowly crawls back to hold himself above you. His brown eyes, filled with love, meet yours in an intimate gaze. A gentle hand caresses your cheek as he tenderly presses a kiss to your forehead, expressing his gratitude and endless love. "Do you want your hips propped up?" He asks quietly, not even giving you a chance to respond before he’s propping a pillow under them.

You bite your lip as your heart beats wildly in your chest; everything feels so much more intense. A wave of wetness pooling between your legs, awakening parts of your body that have been dormant for what feels like an eternity. Your clit throbs with a mixture of pleasure and delicious pain, the culmination of a deeply primal longing. Haechan understands how to love and seduce you, unlocking the secret desires and pleasure points that lay hidden within. With each caress and kiss, he unravels your inhibitions, setting free a torrent of passion that had been dormant for far too long.

He positions himself between your legs and frees his thick length from his pants. You grin shyly at his glorious sight as his hand finds your waist to hold you. His other hand guides the head of his cock through your soaking folds. "Tell me to stop if you need me to," he whispers. "If it gets too much,". You nod and close your eyes since the throbbing between your legs becomes too much. Rocking a few times to gather more of your slick along his searing cock, and a keening, frantic, sound frees from your lips as he finally starts to push in. Your eyes begin to water as he finally sinks into you, filling you.

"Pretty?'' he asks, ''Are you okay? Does it hurt? We can stop." He whispers anxiously, scanning your face. You shake your head. "I’m fine, Haechan," you breathe. "Just...keep going." And he continues slowly. You jolt with a mixture of pain and pleasure every thrust he gives, your hands brushing over his sturdy shoulders and pulling him close. He takes his time with you, giving you gentle thrusts to get you used to his cock. He wants you to enjoy this because he knows your soul needs this arousal after five tough months. You feel so full of him when he thrusts into you so fucking slowly. 

His hips move with tantalizing slowness, teetering on the edge of locking up. Each push inward is accompanied by a strained moan that caresses your ear; his hot breath tickles your neck. The initial burn of the stretch gradually evolves into an intense and passionate fire. And you can feel your orgasm gathering somewhere inside you; you don't know where, but it flashes with every stroke Haechan gives you. His languid pace becomes unbearable; you yearn for his rapid, fulfilling thrusts, craving the culmination as your breaths intertwine.

"Harder," you say between your muffled moans. 

Your words lower his guard, and the suppressed instinct within him takes over. "Oh,Darling" he whimpers as he holds you tighter. And that's the permission he needs to thrust into you harder. 

Reminding you how much he fucking adores you. How beautiful you are. How much he appreciates you. For being his sweet beloved wife, the other half of his existence, the perfect mother to his baby girl, and the sun around whom his entire universe revolves.

And he picks up his pace, starts to fuck you hard. His hips slam into yours, and it feels as if the head of his thick cock is touching up against something very significant inside you.

As his thrusts get harder and deeper, you whisper incoherent words since you can't function anymore. You yearn to be touched, to be filled, as your orgasm starts to crawl in your walls. But your brain, numb with pleasure, doesn't let you speak out the words; all you can do is moan your husband's name helplessly and breathlessly.

 ''Haechan- '' you sob, half-broken, half-dragged through. ''Haechan, touc- fuck!'' 

He gets the hint, and one of his hands goes from your sweaty waist to the throbbing little nerve bundle; gently, he rubs it as you writhe under him, crushing under the overwhelming pleasure.

 ''I adore you,'' he whispers into your neck as he thrusts you deeper, working you open around him. ''I adore you, my pretty girl,'' ''My gorgeous wife.'' Every word that comes out of his pretty mouth burns through you, and he throws you over the goddamn edge. 

Finally, you cum on his cock; the flashing lights begin to dance in your vision, and your walls clench around him, pulsing and hot; it feels as if you shattered and melted all at once. Haechan keeps reciting your name in broken gasps and rocking hard into you as your peak just continues rising somewhere you can’t even fathom. You’re digging your fingernails into his sturdy shoulders, gasping as you hold him close. And he’s driving himself closer and closer and closer to the same peak you’re falling from. Your veins surge with a white-hot heat, tingling from head to toe, as if countless needles gently pierce your skin, leaving you numb.

His hips stutter several more hard thrusts into your cunt, and then he reaches the climax that he has been chasing as well. He moans your name in broken syllables as he pulls himself from your cunt to release his seed onto your pretty thighs. His hips jolt and his shoulders rock hard as he releases himself on you.

As he tries to catch his breath after his devastating climax, he apologizes. "I’m sorry, doll" he mutters amongst his breaths. "You haven’t started your birth control yet." 

--

Months later, the feeling of embracing your husband, the closeness that comes from your soul becoming one, makes you dizzy; you realize how much you miss that feeling. To fall apart in your husband's arms, to hold him between your bloody knuckles. Satiation and exhaustion wash over you like waves of contentment. Before you surrender to the sweet embrace of sleep, you feel Haechan's warm hands on your thighs. With the last crumbs of his strength, he gently wipes away the remnants of him with a wet towel on your thighs. Then he delicately slides one of the sleep shirts over your head and tucks you under the satin sheets. He lays down his body next to yours, his arm pulling you closer to his own body, softly murmuring your name as you succumb to sleep.

[turbulentscrawl]

HELLOOO could we get ithaqua with a modern Reader too? :33

MWehehe

-Honestly, not the brightest idea for a modern S/O to try and get with his one. Modern social culture is very deep in the anti-toxicity (to the point that we circle back into it without realizing sometimes) and Ithaqua exhibits a lot of red-flag buzzwords. He’s the kind of person reddit would constantly tell you to divorce haha.

-He would be a bit torn over you, though. On one hand, you clearly lived emersed in “society” as a whole, which is what he was generally the most at odds with in life. (In a modern setting, Ithaqua would be an off-grid homesteader. He’s probably against having wifi at his home, even.) On the other hand…you’re a bit of an outcast in the survivor manor. He’s a little crazy, but not BLIND. He can see how people are nervous about you in the beginning, shun you and your magic box.

-He’s got no fucking clue what the magic box is either, but Ithaqua does not believe in magic, religion, or the paranormal. The people who dictate those things called his mother a witch, and himself a demon, and he knows in his heart that they were just two people living life in a way others didn’t like. Superstition is what got him dumped in the snow as a babe, so even if he’s confused as hell by your technology, he’s smart and reasonable enough to know it’s due to a lack of education on his part and not you being some otherworldly, incomprehensible thing.

-He’s likely drawn to you a bit from the above treatment you suffer. Maybe the others are more than willing to use you as bait, hesitant to rescue you, or fail to even explain to you how decoding works. Ithaqua will notice these things even in the middle of a hunt. He thinks you’re pitiful—until you’re not, and that makes you interesting. Ithaqua finds the remnants of whatever your modern-ness makes up your skills. Your phone tucked into a grassy corner, playing a recording of someone shuffling through a chest, maybe, and he picks it up curiously. And then, well, he has to return it to you. Unfortunately for you, he’s one of the faster hunters and this only delays him for a few seconds.

-Ithaqua starts to, frankly, bully you in matches. He’s less vicious with the damage done, and instead of chairing you off the bat, he takes a liking to carrying you around while he hunts your teammates. It doesn’t matter that you struggle free or self-heal sometimes, he can catch you again easily enough. He talks to you while he zips around after everyone, his usual giggles and sighs replaced with questions and commentary for you. You reach a point one day where you self-heal, but don’t bother running…and Ithaqua just grins like a shark and pats you on the head.

-Eventually he notices the others warming up to you better…and it makes him bitter. “They’re all hypocrites,” he tells you in a dark corner of the basement. “I treated you like everyone else from the start, didn’t I?” That’s his argument to endear himself to you. To coil you further around his (admittedly gentle, all things considered) finger. Yes, he hit you, hunted you, but that’s his job. The POINT, he says, is that he likes you and it’s not FAKE because he’s always seen you as an equal to the others. (To the survivors, not to himself, because the manor roles say you’re clearly not.)

-The POINT is that you shouldn’t fully trust the rest of them—they’ll turn on you again if they get spooked—but him? Ithaqua doesn’t get spooked. He gets…possessive. He likes you. He’ll be here, if you need him. And even if you don’t. He’ll take care of your troubles for you, sweet pet.

[sunderwight]

had a thought of what if Airplane had leaned a little more into the self-insert idea for Luo Binghe when he was still at the early stages of writing, with an end result that Luo Binghe actually Looks Like That because he basically looks like Airplane but with long flowing hair and a more idealized figure

SQQ going "why the fuck did you make his face so pretty???" and Airplane bullshitting about plausibility while trying really hard not to blush. twisting his fingers and scuffing his toe like jeez bro he's not that good-looking...

which of course sets SQQ off because how DARE!?! not 'that' good-looking?!?! just look at him! he's xianxia Helen of Troy with a face that launched a thousand harems! like okay sure with looks like that it does make sense that half the female population was willing to timeshare a marriage with him, but it's also totally unfair to SQQ, who has no recourse against those looks either! and who could? that is the most beautiful face ever!

Airplane's getting flustered. tries valiantly to make the case that objectively speaking Luo Binghe isn't that good-looking, it's just that SQQ is biased, but boy does that not go over well. SQQ has hitched the tattered remnants of his self-perception as a straight man onto the idea that Luo Binghe is just so devastatingly attractive anyone would want to hop into bed with him, and he is not letting go of it, so Airplane is just gonna get wrecked with inadvertent compliments

bonus if the Shang Qinghua look is actually the result of several illusions because when Airplane first transmigrated in, he got the same face too, and foresaw potential problems if the half-demon protagonist turned up looking like him. so he used illusions. he doesn't actually look all that different, in fact! the illusions just make it so that when people see him, they get a strong impression that he's unremarkable, so they don't really register what his face actually looks like and their brains fill in the assumption that he must just be kinda plain

oooh ooh double bonus if the system inserted a behind-the-scenes explanation for it too, which is that Shang Qinghua is actually unwittingly related to Su Xiyan!

and the whole thing comes to light post-epilogue when Shang Qinghua's illusions get stripped away by some monster-of-the-week, while everyone except Mobei Jun has a freak out about why do you look just like Luo Binghe?! (Mobei Jun isn't freaking out because he already figured out how to see past the illusions and just assumed everyone else wasn't mentioning it for some human cultural reason or something) and then Yue Qingyuan calmly explains that Luo Binghe's mom is Shang Qinghua's matrilineal cousin. Shang Qinghua's mother and Luo Binghe's human grandmother were half-sisters.

what? how does Yue Qingyuan know? you think that Cang Qiong doesn't check up on the candidates for the peak lord positions before handing off power, doesn't make sure there are no conflicts of interest or divided loyalties to other sects? what sorts of things do people imagine Qiong Ding's diplomats do? (I don't know either but, for the purpose of this scenario at least some of it is tracking down this stuff -- YQY handled most of it personally for his generation's ascension because he didn't want anyone else digging into his and Xiao Jiu's pasts) anyways, the connection could have been troublesome for its ties to Huan Hua Palace, but by the time it came to light Su Xiyan was deceased and there was no evidence that Shang Qinghua had ever even met her. so it wasn't deemed significant enough to matter, was just made note of and then mostly forgotten

so Shang Qinghua is like "oh THAT is why you kept bringing her up to me back then?!" because at the time he'd just been fully in "haha how would I know anything about the impending plot and the tragedies I am both partly responsible for and powerless to prevent haha that's so funny shixiong I KNOW NOTHING" mode, which luckily at the time was easily read as him just not wanting a dead cousin he never met to tank his chances of securing a promotion

SQQ is floored. he is having issues about this. Shang Qinghua is related to Binghe? Shang Qinghua looks exactly like him?! wait. Binghe has human family? still alive? like grandparents and stuff out there, who might want to meet him...?

Luo Binghe decides to step in at that point because he does not want to meet any more relatives! no more surprise relatives! no!

luckily this distracts Shen Qingqiu from thinking about all of the things he's said to Airplane about Binghe's looks for long enough for Shang Qinghua to flee the scene

[socialjusticeinamerica]

They don’t even know of a time when life was better in America. Actually Gen X was the first generation in America not to do better than their parents. The same being true for the last few years of the Boomer generation. Y also is struggling.

The lady Boomers and X’ers remember what it was like before Reagan took over and busted unions in 1980. Wages dropped, factory owners took their shops to the Deep South where unions had long since been busted or never allowed to set up in the first place. Then the oligarchs outsourced their work and shuttered factories nationwide.

Before Reagan one parent working 40 hrs a week at a union job could afford a mortgage, a new car, medical insurance, and college for their 2.5 kids. That also applied to “minorities” or marginalized people who benefitted from union protections and negotiated standard pay scales.

With Reagan a home went from two years salary to 10+ years salary. Tuition did the same. Cars that cost a month’s salary soared to a year’s salary. Wages have remained stagnant for about 40 years. The wealthy paid high taxes and we had everything. Now the remnants of the middle class pay the bulk of taxes while multimillionaires and billionaires pay little or even nothing. Credit card interest soared to over 20% in some cases while Republikkkans passed laws making it easier for those card companies to sue you whilst making it nearly impossible for you to sue them. Mentally disabled people were literally dumped into the streets causing widespread homeless which is criminalized in affluent areas and red states. Guns and drugs flooded the streets. Bigoted white nationalists became radicalized when Reagan granted Australian Rupert Murdoch citizenship so he could open Fox News and then shut down the Fairness Doctrine so propaganda could be spread under the guise of news.

All the societal problems we suffer today began with the birth of the modern RepubliKKKan party led by their racist Dotard Ronald Reagan in 1980. The GOP became an organized crime syndicate and the government became a tool for the rich. The middle class shrunk from a sizeable percentage of the population to a handful of areas in the north and along the west coast. Many foolish people believe themselves to be in the middle class but in fact they are just perpetual debtors.

If you’re young your first reaction might be to blame the Boomers because that’s incorrectly become a marketed belief. The Boomer generation fought against the GOP and its wars, racism, pollution, big oil, corporate welfare, and black hole military industrial complex. They were the hippies and political activists that marched on Washington and other places. They booted the racist Dixiecrats (southern conservative racist Dems) from the Democratic Party while shifting educated liberals left. Sadly the GOP under Nixon and his colleagues welcomed the racists and conservative nut jobs. Don’t fight a generational war when you should be fighting a class/culture/political war.

The younger generation needs to educate itself about the political parties and how life was better just a few decades back and begin to vote. Vote, then organize in the workplace through unions and in the streets to attract more young voters and to counter protest the Republikkkan right-wing oligarch take-over of America. Complaining and taking refuge in the internet won’t turn things around. Become politically active, become stoke, bring back lower tuition, affordable health care, labor unions, workers rights, voters rights, etc.

[vyl3tpwny]

Music Genres

When I was kid, you would have probably heard me say something like “I don’t believe in genre labels”. To a degree, there is still something about that sentiment that I agree with; I don’t think you can really put music and styles of music in neat little boxes. But otherwise, I was pretty much wrong about everything else.

Let’s go over that.

pictured: Mala, one of the godfathers of roots Dubstep

—

To be blunt, “genre” isn’t just about approximating what a song sounds like. If you say “I love pop music”, that honestly doesn’t mean much. The more specific you get, the more you will approach something someone can imagine like “I like experimental progressive noise pop music”. Ok, I can start to imagine things that likely approach what you're talking about, but even then it will usually not help someone fully understand what something truly is. In categorizing and approximating music styles, genres only go so far. So what makes them important then?

Well, not to say that approximating a style when describing an artist to someone is a bad thing or that doing so isn’t meant to be valued, but it’s hardly the only reason these labels exist. Importantly, “genre” helps establish culture, history, and a musical identity. So when you're trying to tell someone you're listening to a "progressive rock” project, you’re not just imagining odd time-signatures and complex riffs, you’re also meant to understand and consider that whatever is being described as to you has some sort of relevance or importance with regards to the history behind progressive rock; the culture of college bands in the UK, the sound that the punk movement revolted against, the progression of musical storytelling in rock music since the late 60’s and early 70’s, stuff like that. There’s a distinct culture and history you can pinpoint and understand when you describe something as being progressive rock and you can’t just go around calling any complex electric guitar oriented music "progressive rock" unless it has those specific ties as well as understanding and iteration of the roots.

pictured: Genesis, because progressive rock mention

—

Genre labels help to clarify what kind of culture and histories a music project is being associated itself with and where a lot of its inspiration comes from. This is much more compelling reason for underlining the importance of genre labels and why they should be used correctly.

So, there is something I need to get off my chest then. There are a lot of misuses of genre labels all over the place, especially online. And I’m not talking about saying something is “Alternative Rock” when it’s clearly some kind of “Folk Rock” record instead. What I’m talking about is something like “Dubstep”.

Even as recent as a few years ago, I started personally reclaiming the term “Dubstep” as a genre label to describe any bass-adjacent music. At the time I did this, I thought it was cool, because the term Dubstep had been dubbed (pun intended) to be cringeworthy lexicon to some people. And while I feel that’s a noble reason to reclaim something like that, because some weirdos think it's cringe, in this case I actually think it’s wrong.

The term “Brostep” has been used to describe any non-roots bass-oriented music that originates from the proper roots Dubstep. It’s a term I didn’t like FOREVER, especially because the phrase was derived as a generalization of the kind of people who tend to listen to it. However, I actually think that Brostep is a title that people should be more comfortable and confident with labeling things as.

The original Dubstep came as a result of Jamaican immigrants bringing Dub music to the UK, which then fused with the remnants of 2-Step Garage which was prominent in the 90’s just years prior. Timbah.On.Toast made a great video called All My Homies Hate Skrillex and it is a really good breakdown of what separates roots Dubstep from the Americanized Brostep, which came after it. I think everyone knows by now that I have a deep, deep love for EDM based Broste and I am the biggest Skrillex fangirl alive. So being both a Brostep and Skrillex superfan, please understand that I think the video is one of the most important things you can watch as an EDM enjoyer.

Conflating the term Dubstep with things that aren’t actually Dubstep is honestly a slap in the face to all of the pioneers of Dub and Dubstep, which famously were both pretty much ENTIRELY invented by black people. I think it’s fair to say that incorrectly labeling music in this way has racist implications. It dishonours and twists the legacy of the music. You can find og Dubstep to listen to on the RYM Ultimate Box Set > Dubstep page. Check some of that out, then listen to some 2010, 2011 Skrillex and see how different things really went.

It confused me at first when I was a teenager, I didn't understand why so many people hated Skrillex back in the day. I came to realize so much of the hate wasn’t even really with regards music itself, but the total lack of understanding or care for the roots of the genre, which all of his work was founded upon and he then subsequently bastardized without caring at all. It was pure disrespect, it was practically cultural erasure and so many people will now only know of Dubstep as “that Skrillex transformer screech music”. Yeah. It actually fucking sucks.

But there is a LONG history of black music being erased from history and being undermined, whether entirely intentional or due to systemic unawareness.

I saw a post the other day talking about how it sucks that so much music is just lumped into being “video game music” when so much of this stuff has deep roots and cultural significance. The first example pointed how a lot of acid jazz music is just described as “Persona music” by the layperson now. Meanwhile, Acid Jazz as a genre is a huge development on things like roots jazz, disco, funk, and hip hop music. You know. All genres that were invented by black people. Fascinating, right?

Jungle music was also mentioned. And this one is very particular for me. Jungle music, when not being generalized as "PS1 Music", is often just called drum & bass or breakcore (also please Google the difference between breakbeat and breakcore, thanks) which are all fundamentally misunderstanding what Jungle music even is. Much of Jungle music, AS MANY THINGS DO, finds VERY prominent roots in Reggae, Dub, and sound system culture in Jamaica as well as countless other prominently black communities in the UK.

But it doesn’t stop there.

If you’re unfamiliar, there is a genre called “IDM”, otherwise known as Intelligent Dance Music. When I was a kid, and I first heard that word, I immediately was like “that is the most pretentious, stupid thing I’ve ever heard”. Eventually as I grew up, I just stopped thinking about that and started referring to more music as IDM. This style of music is generally characterized with “complexity” and being “not much danceable”. While I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the music that is called IDM, I do think there’s everything wrong with the term IDM, intelligent dance music.

When asked how he feels about being labeled as an IDM artist, Aphex Twin responded:

"I just think it's really funny to have terms like that. It's [basically] saying 'this is intelligent and everything else is STUPID.' It's really nasty to everyone else's music."

pictured: Aphex Twin, the funnyman himself

—

I think most people would agree with this sentiment. It’s so strange to call one kind of music “intelligent”, out of the hundreds of thousands of genres out there. But let’s bring this back to Jungle music. The reality is that IDM started to become a term around the same time that Jungle music became prominent, in the 90's. Both styles of music are complex, introspective, skittery, and chaotic (but refined and often disciplined) genres. Except, of these two, Jungle music was the one pioneered primarily by black artists. IDM was a sort in competition with Jungle. To therefore call IDM “intelligent” in comparison to Jungle music ... well. I don’t feel like I really have to explain why that’s fucked up.

A lot of people have proposed different names for IDM. A quick look on reddit yields things like “Experimental Electronic” and “Brain Dance” (which was coined by Aphex Twin's label). Me personally, the term “Electro-Prog” comes to mind. Sounds cool.

Similar conversations are presently being had about the term “Riddim”. This brings us back to the dubstep side of this discussion again. Riddim, as an EDM genre, is an offshoot of Brostep music that focuses a lot on repetition over the downbeat, maintaining an insanely distorted sound design, a lot more than the average Brostep song. However, the term “riddim” originates — yet again — from the Jamaican Patois for “rhythm”. And Riddim as a musical style in Jamaica is actually more associated with things like dancehall and reggae, rather than the commercialized "Riddim" that is several hundred times removed from its own roots.

Last year, musician INFEKT proposed that what most EDM listeners call “riddim” should be referred to instead as “Trench” in an article on their website. This proposed name is derived from Getter’s use of the term on his 2014 record “Trenchlords Vol. 1”. I don’t personally know how much I resonate with the term, but whatever the consensus is, I don’t think we should be conflating a westernized, commercialized, and EDM-centric genre like this to Jamaican roots music. Over and over again, it seems that black music is constantly overwritten by developments like this, so I think more care needs to be taken in not allowing that to happen.

As a side note, a lot of people online seem very keen on appropriating Jamaican Patois quite often? There are so many examples of this. When the term “Bomboclaat” started making the rounds on Twitter a few years ago, so many white people were quick to either talk wildly about the term and trend or otherwise start saying it as well. There was a fucking article that sought to answer “The Bomboclaat >> Meme << Meaning Explained”, like they’re not dissecting an element of Jamaican slang lol. Then there was a period of time where people were constantly saying things like “On Jah?” as a stand-in for “On God?” even though this, again, is Jamaican Patois. And even now, you have tons and tons of non-black people going everywhere being like “what is blud waffling about?”, the phrase “blud” ONCE AGAIN also being Jamaican in origin.

I shouldn’t even have to explain what makes these kinds of appropriations weird and messed up. But black people lose jobs and are denied basic things in life over their hair styles, their expressions and slang, and so many other things that a white person can just appropriate and face zero consequences whatsoever for.

That aside, aside. Understanding and labeling genres correctly is such a big part of music history and highlighting and preserving cultures worldwide. When efforts are made to undermine the meaning of a genre label or otherwise use it incorrectly, so much damage is done to the communities and people groups that innovate and pioneer this art to begin with.

For these reasons, I will gladly use the term Brostep. I will happily call things Electro-Prog. And when you talk about genres like Jungle and Dubstep, say it with your whole chest. Be proud of the human race, show respect and love for the people who have forged the greatest parts of music with their bare hands. We will always stand on the shoulders of giants as musicians, so instead of pretending you yourself are the giant, build monuments and maintain the history of these people. You as an artist are nothing without them.

pictured: Augustus Pablo, one of the most important innovators of Dub. Without him, and without many of his contemporaries, I would reckon that half or more of all modern music would simply not exist.

CONTENT WARNING FOR THIS FINAL SECTION, THERE ARE LIKE LOTS OF STRANGE SLURS AND RACIST VIBES.

—

One last thing I wanna mention, this is slightly tangential but I think it's relevant to this conversation. It's always weird how lots of websites categorize things like this:

From Big Fish Audio... "G**sy*? "World/Ethnic Loops & Samples"? What the fuck are you talking about. Seems like racism to me.

On Loopmasters they have a "World" section. Any Americanized genre gets its own category, but the entire continents of Africa and Asia as well as the country of India and region of the Middle East (which are part of Asia, hope this helps btw) and lastly South America are stuffed into the nebulous "World Label". Seems like racism to me. Are you telling me you weirdos can't figure out a better way to represent these things?

But then Psy Trance gets its whole entire own category? Aren't there only like five people who listen to Psy Trance? /hj . But like come on.

Shoutout to WA Productions for categorizing a universe of suspiciously mostly black music as """Urban"""". And this company is a dime a dozen, hundreds of corpos do this shit.

East fucking West, what is this dude. There is a racism happening, I just know it. Please give me a count of how many poc are on payroll at your company, I am so curious.

And while we're at it, East West, what is this. Tell me. Fucking tell me.

Thanks for reading.

[scribefindegil]

Obsessed with the POV choice in Imperial Radch as well, both because Leckie does some really wild stuff with how expansive the strict first-person is able to become due to the worldbuilding and who her narrator is, and because it's SO entangled with the central thematic concepts of identity. In the first book flashbacks when the narrator is still a warship, "I" can encompass so many things, and sometimes explicitly refers to different facets in the narration--is "I" Justice of Toren, or One Esk, or a specific segment, or Breq narrating from twenty years in the future? "I" isn't simple, isn't unified, and while this is most literal and obvious with Breq/One Esk/Justice of Toren and Anaander Mianaai's split factions it's true constantly throughout the work at every level of scope. Individual characters struggle with internal conflicts and hit their breaking points--what is it that makes someone decide they have to disobey orders and make a stand or they won't be themself anymore? How do you know who you are if you've been forcibly changed (Tisarwat) or if the world you knew has moved on and become unrecognizable (Seivarden)? How does a character on a colonized world navigate the split identity that comes from the pressure to assimilate to the dominant culture? And then there's the Radch writ large, all the Radchaai so deeply invested in the idea that there is only one true concept of Radchaai society, of civilization, but of course there isn't! It changes based on location and over time, and Breq muses that the Radchaai empire would be largely unrecognizable to the isolated sphere of the Radch itself. In these books, even if you aren't the last remnant of a destroyed spaceship and its legion of bodies, "I" is such a complicated concept and the narrative never lets you forget it.

[15-lizards]

Hi! I absolutely love your thoughts on Planetosi fashion and the culture aspects and changes in fashion over the time periods. It’s such an aspect of world building that I don’t think gets much focus in media and it gives a look into so much of a richer world that we didn’t see as much in the show (in my opinion).

I know you mentioned a bit about the Daynes style of dress, but do you have any more HCs on Dorne? I know you mentioned the the amount of layers would change according to the region because of the heat.

Yes I love thinking ab dornish fashion!!

Starting from the north, near the Dornish marches and by the Red Mountains, where those with the most Andal blood live, we have a little bit of a mix between influences. Either because they live so close to the edge of the kingdom, or because Andal traditions trickled down. Clothing is thicker bc it is a (slight) bit colder for where stony dornishmen live. Textiles are also a combo of thicker fabrics they get from the stormlands/reach and traditional airy fabrics from Dorne.

Moving to the actual deserts of Dorne, this is where you see full coverage clothing. Usually this consists of a singular long and loose shift, with added robes for added protection. If you pass a sandy dornishman in the desert, you will hardly ever see their face. Clothing is almost solely made up of cotton and linen (they’re the most breathable fabrics) and there is always going to be a turban or hat of some kind while they ride or herd or work

And “Salty” dornish fashion (so around the coastlines) still has strong remnants of their Rhoynar ancestors. Both in patterns/accessories and the fabrics they use. They can afford to have both light and heavy fabrics since they live near the water and weather will cool during winter, unlike the rest of Dorne. Their patterns and textiles still reflect the intricate artistry of the old Rhoynar cultures, and has striking similarities to the free cities, mostly Myr

The Martells themselves :D very much drippy. Despite the fact that Dorne is a notoriously brutal climate, their clothes reflect the fact that they are not only wealthy enough to survive but also have extravagance. I’m obsessed with the idea of gilded and embellished clothing for the Martells, especially for ceremonial/traditional clothing to show off power (the left pic is Doran and Oberyn at an important Sunspear ball is it not) ALSO I like to think that princesses of Dorne will wear their bride price on their clothing as a sort of “I’m expensive” type thing, embellishing their dresses with silver coins and charms that equal the cost of their bride price

BONUS sand snake fits: I think the girlies like to match, especially when they need to go intimidate someone. Still fairly practical most of the time for riding around and fighting but still indicative of their royal blood despite their bastard status. Other times I think they fully dress practically and essentially like a commoner (when they need to stay hidden for ~espionage~ reasons) and it’s just easier to move around in whenever they’re in rough terrain. Probably favored by resident butch Obara

[thesummerestsolstice]

I would love to see more about the orc librarian of Rivendell. How did he come to choose that life? How and why did Elrond let him in? Perhaps you could put it on AO3.

Thanks for the ask!

I do want to write a proper fic with Garthaglir eventually but I've got a few WIPs going already so it'll probably be a while. For now, I'll try to answer some of your questions here:

(Content warning: this post discusses the creation of orcs, and their indoctrination and subjugation under Sauron, as well as non-graphic violence)

My headcanon is that while the first orcs were elves kidnapped by Morgoth, the later generations of orcs basically became their own species (subspecies? arguably they're still kind of elves). They're born in Angband/Mordor, undergo pretty brutal training and indoctrination from an early age, and generally don't interact with the outside world unless they're on a raid.

The only interaction orcs have with men, elves, etc are violent. They only ever see peope when they're at war, so they aren't really exposed to life outside of the constant struggle of war. They have a very warped view of the world. And because there's a language barrier, there's no way for them to speak with anyone else. Even the language they use is designed to isolate them; Black Speech was created by Sauron, not the orcs, and doesn't really allow for free expression– it's not built for that. There are a few stories and some carried over words from the original elvish orcs, but it's more myth than reality for most of them.

It's a long story, but Garthaglir ended up getting separated from his party sometime in the early Third Age, and hiding out in some elvish ruins to avoid sunlight (and the human warriors they were running from). He ended up spending weeks there, every night he'd go exploring; finding old paintings, books, toys. The remnants of a people who weren't forced into a life of war. Eventually, he realized that there was more to Middle-Earth than fighting, and that he didn't want to go back to fighting for Sauron. He ended up wandering, unsure of what else he could do with his life. And, well, doorways to Rivendell have a habit of showing up when they're needed.

As for Elrond– that's a long story. He was taught Black Speech as a survival tactic at a young age, but has also used it to communicate with orcs. There was also a kidnapping incident with some surprisingly nice orcs. You know. Normal means of cultural exchange given Elrond's life. So he was much more open to letting orcs who wanted to to escape Sauron and live a better life into Rivendell. Since Garthaglir wasn't the first orc to live there, many of the other residents were also pretty used to the idea by that point.

Bonus: Garthaglir found Mittens when she was a small kitten. She showed up outside the library one day when it was pouring rain, trying to get out of the storm. Garthaglir let her in and dried her off. They've been inseparable ever since.

[oneshortdamnfuse]

The complete refusal by many Europeans to listen to and understand how ethnic identity “works” in America will always get to me, because why am I having a long winded argument with someone who refuses to recognize “Irish Catholic” as an identity in America because it doesn’t include “American” tacked on after it. “Why don’t you add American onto it?” - because it’s redundant when you’re obviously in America talking about an ethnic diaspora you belong to.

For context, it’s on a video response where an American Irish Catholic family makes a light hearted joke about Irish Catholic identity in America but some snarky person from Ireland stitched the video with an “Are ye now?” when the family said “We’re Irish Catholic.” The original video contains jokes that an Irish Catholic in America would understand to be about their diaspora community. While it may contain some stereotypes, none of them are particularly harmful (e.g. no references to drinking and fighting).

You cannot tell me that Europeans with their “superior” education systems can’t figure out that an American saying they’re Irish Catholic means something different from a person in Ireland saying the same thing. You cannot confess to me that you need that clarification on a video where people with “American” accents are talking about their ethnic identity. Furthermore, insisting that people identify as Irish American in the context of their original video is absurd given that “Irish Catholic” is it’s own unique cultural identity here.

There are churches and schools that are largely Irish Catholic here. There are neighborhoods that are traditionally Irish Catholic here. There are accents and dialects that are largely based around Irish Catholic immigrant communities here. There are ways of dress. There are foods and festivals. Naming rituals. Family structures. Religious practices. Folklore. There are remnants of our culture here from when our ancestors left their homelands that eventually grew into their own unique ethnic identity - the Irish Catholic identity in America.

I’m just using Irish Catholic as an example because this video sparked the discussion, but this goes for any ethnic identity here. We’ve been shaped by our ancestors, good and bad. We all deal with a certain level of disconnection and alienation because of choices made before we were born. Enforcing the “American” label onto ethnic groups specifically when it’s not necessary to comprehend that they’re distinct from “modern day” cultures in Europe serves no great purpose other than promoting “White American” identity.

I said it before and I’ll say it again - it’s good that White Americans remain connected or even reconnect with their cultural roots, because “White American” as an identity was made possible by white supremacy. There’s nothing wrong with diaspora in American referring to themselves by the name of their ethnic group. You can be critical about how people appropriate or bastardize ethnic identities, but Irish Catholic and ethnic identities like it are unique in America and there’s no reason to refer to ourselves by names imposed on us.

When Americans talk about their ethnic identities, that’s not the time to be snarky with a “well actually you’re not from x, y, z.” Just let Americans talk about their own experiences. Maybe learn why diaspora communities behave similarly and differently from you. Correct practices that you think are perhaps misinformed, stereotypical, or problematic,* but realize that not all cultural practices have to be scrutinized for authenticity outside of their cultural context in America.

*e.g. You can correct someone claiming they have “Viking” ancestry to defend wearing ahistorical dress that appropriates from indigenous communities, but yelling at Americans for modifying their ethnic cuisines to suit where they live because it’s not “authentic” enough to you is rude. There’s a difference between appropriation and adaptation. Being from a country doesn’t give you the right to define diaspora communities and impose your definitions on them.

[asmallermorehonestsoul]

Religion in RWBY

While we now have a bit more information on the Brother Gods and their origins, I am still interested in the other religions in RWBY  as worldbuilding.

The White Fang Throne Room was based off medieval cathedrals, and both rooms have the image of this hooded Faunus.

and Fairytales of Remnant also has the God of Animals, although whether they are still worshipped is in question.

This circular design is also seen in the Beacon Vault and the church-like building from the Ruby Vol. 4 short.

There is also a statue of a woman outside said building.

For real life religion, the writing on the wall in Burning the Candle is from Grímnismál, one of the poems from the Poetic Edda about Norse mythology.

Arslan has the Endless Knot on her sash, which is a Buddhist symbol.

Argus, Atlas, Kali, Mercury, Marcus, Neptune, and Sun are all names that come from mythology, plus they have Norse weekday names like Thursday.

Qrow and Ruby have cross accessories in some of their outfits.

In the Shining Beacon Part 1, Yang and Ruby both use singular “god” as an exclamation, while the ship captain in Of Runaways and Stowaways uses “gods” plural. Ironwood used “Brothers” in Pomp and Circumstance.

I’m not really going anywhere with this, I just wanted to write this out and think it’s an interesting but minor bit of cultural worldbuilding.

[askfordoodles]

Just some scattered thoughts on Excessa

I was looking at this again and it just occurred to me that "Voracian" is written in the circular typeface and "Excessan" is written in the star typeface, while the word "unification" is written in a combination of both, suggesting that when these two peoples/cultures united, they combined their respective alphabets to write the Nimish language - and thus Voracian letters are used as uppercase letters and the Excessan alphabet is used as lowercase letters.

Also, I'm assuming the Voracians (likely with Tylo as their leader) rebelled/fought against TITAN's initial conquest of the planet, and were thus erased/forgotten, hence the remnants of their statues we see in the lower slums ... They were clearly important once.

But the Excessans for whatever reason are still around, so perhaps they didn't fight back - or even welcomed TITAN due to what he was offering, and thus they survived the take-over.

Erios mentions that they frequently have to sign a bunch of papers in exchange for various gifts/benefits, so it's possible when TITAN approached Excessa he offered the royal family/prismonarch gifts in exchange for political power/co-operation - which, in their gluttony, they accepted. The Voracians saw this as a betrayal, the Excessans selling their freedom in exchange for gratification.

I'm basing this assumption on Tylo's attitude toward Erios' hoarding and excess as a kind of spiritual failure (despite her own species' name meaning being based on another word for gluttony or great appetite), and her very strong motivation to "free all her children from the chokehold of TITAN". (we don't yet know who she considers her children, as we haven't seen signs of any living Voracians yet, but maybe she's aware of some that still exist under horrible conditions, hidden away from view)

Erios also mentioned that nobody likes the prismonarch, so it's possible the common folk still remember what happened and there is still a cultural bitterness about how their leader basically handed over the rights to their planet so Erios could protect their own life of luxury and symbolic status under TITAN's rule.

I'm sure we'll find out more hints soon, I might be completely wrong, but that's my current read on the situation, based on the drip feed of hints so far.

[bestworstcase]

Out of curiosity (and some confusion), how do you think Faunus came about? Unless I'm misremembering (in which case this would be pretty awkward) Faunus didn't exist in the First Wave of Humanity, and given that the two creation myths we're presented with (not even by an actual Faunus) disagree on almost every point I'd be surprised if there was an actual answer-

you’re remembering correctly that the faunus are unique to remnant. also tonight has been one of my periodic episodes of being unhinged about this so here is some Background Reading.

of the two faunus creation myths one is explicitly a very old faunus oral tradition and the other reads to me very strongly as a syncretism with the (human) brother-cult, in that the earlier conceit of freely chosen, joyful transformation and liberation by a wild but benevolent trickster god is retained but presented within an explicit framework of divine judgment and moral imperative to be peaceful and harmonious or else bring about self-annihilation through conflict. which is exactly the sort of cultural evolution that you’d expect to get from refracting ‘the shallow sea’ through the eschatological prism of ‘the two brothers’ and the doctrine of the brother-cult generally.

(for a real historical exemplar of this sort of shift occurring, see the cultural remapping of ambiguous deities in many pre-christian polytheistic traditions onto the christian idea of The Devil; this is fairly ubiquitous but the most generally accessible case is the popular conception of hades as an evil god and hades as hell, whereas in actual practice hades was the god who ruled over hades, which was where everyone went when they died and encompassed a variety of different areas raging from very nice to okay to unpleasant.)

see also: ozpin’s commentaries on ‘judgment,’ which gestures at exactly this phenomenon. “faunus always cast their god as a wise and noble figure, while human stories portray the same god as a trickster, not to be trusted.” he identifies both tales as faunus in origin (& certainly the characterization of the god of animals in ‘judgment’ is more ‘wise and noble’ than ‘trickster,’ although i think ozpin is also showing his own biases here because the god depicted in ‘the shallow sea’ is a trickster who is also very wise, honest, and fair. so ‘wise and noble’ vs ‘untrustworthy trickster’ is something of a false dichotomy, but also one that maps perfectly onto the gods of light and darkness as depicted in brother-cult doctrine.

<- the way rwby Handles religion is really excellent

anyway. i have a theory.

it’s lightly implied that grimm and faunus came first, humans second. (per WOR: there has never been a time in human history without grimm, and faunus have been around as long as humans “if not a little longer,” and there was a historical period when faunus were more numerous than humans.)

which is incongruous with the faunus’ own creation myths, both of which hinge on humans choosing to be transformed into something new by divine power.

salem squares that circle. salem was the last human of the old world, all that remained of humanity, and by extension she was also the first person of remnant. if faunus came to be before humans were revived, and salem embraced the faunus as her own people as discussed in the background reading post, it’s perfectly cogent for the faunus to be older than this humanity whilst understanding themselves as a people who came from humans, because for the very oldest one of them that was true.

which explains the myth, more than the factual history, but i do think it probably gets at the factual history too, because…

mechanically speaking.

what did salem do when she jumped into the pool of grimm? she combined the waters of life (pure creation) with the waters of grimm (pure destruction) into a new kind of being (herself, a grimm-person) in the same pattern as before (herself, a human-person with free will and a dualistic nature).

that’s, uh, how the brothers created humankind. and the jabberwalker. and the cat by combining their magic (dark’s fire, light’s smoke) into new kinds of beings modeled after themselves.

what did salem hope to achieve by rebelling against the brothers? she wanted humanity to “claim the powers of their creators and perfect their own design.”

and she failed but also succeeded in the end because she Did That—in the very literal sense. salem Remade Herself in the pool of grimm; jinn’s framing of the story through ozpin’s point of view elides salem’s agency at every step and implies an uncomplicatedly suicidal motive for jumping into the pool of grimm, but—i mean–

—the blacksmith has been right under our noses this whole time because she’s the form that salem gives to the idea of remnant’s souls. the lore put forward in v9 recontextualizes and clarifies a lot of what happens in the lost fable, not just in terms of the interpersonal history with the brothers but also the reason certain things unfold as they do and (most importantly) where the missing pieces might be.

the god of light’s understanding of balance is wrong. death as permanent unconscious stasis is not the natural order of things, it’s an arbitrary rule the brothers made up, and they themselves are beings from a place where death is a moment of rest and healing before rebirth as yourself again. they made humans in their image. balance is something that happens when things are given the time to figure themselves out.

what happens to the nature of life and death on remnant when the brothers remove themselves from the artificial system they created? it’s not balanced. it’s like a ball perched juuust at the upper rim of a ramp after you pull your hand away: it might not start rolling right away, but if you leave it long enough then something will eventually give it a nudge, whether the wind or the vibrations of a truck passing by or tiny imperceptible movements of the earth, and then that potential energy will be released.

the “death is when you stop and don’t change, forever” system was a ball sitting on a ramp in a room with someone who both really wanted to get the ball rolling and had absolutely nothing better to do than figure out how to give it that nudge. for millions of years.

yeah? here’s salem telling ozma “our souls transcend death.” that’s a surprise tool that will help us later.

the natural order of things, in remnant as in the ever after, is change. changing, it rests. ascension is just how it is in the ever after, meaning it’s in balance, meaning it’s the rhythm the ever after kind of settled into over time. the ball is on flat ground down there, jabber and all.

but the ever after didn’t begin the way the brothers’ world did—it wasn’t created ex nihilo with a specific prescription for how life/death were going to work, it was cultivated into a garden from wilderness. (ascension is the cycle of the harvest: when you have finished, when you are ready, the tree calls you back—you’re reaped—and then the seeds of you are sown and you begin again. this is a life/death system that developed through gardening!)

so it’s silly to imagine remnant’s balance will necessarily look exactly like the ever after’s balance. different beginnings, different variables, different environment. neither the ball nor the ramp are identical, so why in the world would the outcome be the same?

here’s pyrrha chanting that it is in passing we achieve immortality, through this we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all, infinite in distance and unbound by death, i release your soul. that is also a surprise tool that will help us later.

but we can look at the ever after to get an idea of what the “lowest energy state” for the rolling-ball of a life/death system is, practically speaking, because—like i said—ascension is a cosmic repetition of how the ever after was made. the garden is populated by living fruits and blossoms of the tree who are reaped and sown in a continual cycle. the proverbial level ground is a pattern that wears in some grooves for the changing to follow. rivers, to change up the analogy a bit, don’t go flooding around everywhere all the time; the water flows through its channels, generally.

so, what patterns has remnant got, potentially?

death either takes a really, really long time (because it was dammed up for so long, the reservoirs is deep) or happens really fast, in a flood (what happens when a dam breaks?)

dying once makes you infinite (salem drowned in the fountain of creation, and became immortal)

dying twice unbinds you (salem drowned again in the pool of grimm, and remade herself into something new)

the “really fast” way of dying can maybe bind you to someone else, changing both of you in ways you may not like (ozma’s soul is continually recombined with another and he is changed against his will)

penny ambrosius bootleg ascension (i hope ambrosius enjoys his probable eventual new role as the chthonic god of remnant’s very complicated afterlife. he cannot possibly do worse than the guy who built the dam.)

however ozma’s curse gets resolved is likely to complete or alter the existing pattern(s)

gestures at the maidens. that’s a “really fast” way of dying that follows both the ozma pattern (the maidens cleave to new hosts) and the unbinding salem pattern (maidens choose themselves and also do not compromise the free will of the host or corrupt or take over the host’s conscious mind or identity)—maidens are twice-dead because they were cut out from ozma’s soul (<- spiritual death) and their cycle began with the deaths of the first four women who were given this magic.

gestures at whatever the hell is going on with silver-eyed psychopomps and the white liminal space between life and death. ruby’s eyes make her a conduit of some kind for that passage through the void; she hears pyrrha’s and penny’s cries for help (and pyrrha’s last words) after they die, and in the ever after she is haunted by penny’s sword. and the light motivated by her desperation to save people she cares about appears to be the white light that fills the void where life and death both part and come together again.

if death is a reservoir behind a dam and it happens either quite fast or very slow, what—or who—are the floodgates? [checks notes] the biological children of the “really fast” pattern-maker absent the interference pattern of salem. obviously.

notably, ozma’s influence as a pattern-maker is constrained to specific things with a direct spiritual or biological connection to himself, which tracks because his reincarnation sitch is relatively new. (likewise, i expect the penny ambrosius bootleg ascension deal will not have far-reaching effects any time soon; there are much older, deeper patterns at work here.)

salem, on the other hand, is two fucking hundred million years old. probably. on account of plate tectonics. which means that she has a much greater gravitational pull, so to speak, and is most likely to be that pattern that life/death on remnant ‘wants’ to fall into. the ball rolls down; water will flow into the deepest available channel.

so she died and became infinite and then died again in a manner she hoped would “take [infinite life]” away from her (TAKE AWAY FROM AN INFINITE QUANTITY AND AN INFINITE QUANTITY REMAINS. WAS SHE SUICIDAL OR DOING MATH.) and so remade herself.

salem wandered the face of the planet alone, awaiting a death that would never come. then she jumped into the pool of grimm. then ???. then the god of light pulled ozma out of stasis and told him “mankind is no more, but in time they’ll come back” and also he’ll kill everyone again if ozma doesn’t make them obey teach them to live in harmony with each other and stop demanding things from the gods :). THEN ozma comes back and there are human civilizations everywhere and all the faunus he encounters are in cages.

remember how the faunus are older than humankind? tha-at would be our “???” gap between salem crawling out of the grimm pool and light digging up ozma. probably.

you’ve got grimm. there have, as it’s said in ‘the shallow sea,’ always been grimm. they survived the moonfall.

you’ve got faunus. they were created when salem remade herself—the infinite life taken away from her brought them to life, in her image, just as original humans were brought to life by the brothers’ power in the brothers’ image (and of course the power salem has now was the brothers’ power and is now hers). this is maybe not what she was expecting to happen but she’s not alone anymore and, unlike humans of old, the faunus can coexist peacefully with the grimm with salem to mediate.

you’ve got the god of light taking a peek to see if perhaps salem is ready to grovel in repentance yet and going HEY WHAT THE FUCK THAT’S NOT ALLOWED…

…and hastily attempting to get the situation back under control by arranging for the “right” creations (he and his brother’s) to crowd out the ones salem defied him by making (WHEN WILL SHE LEARN HER LESSON!) and for good measure sending her beloved to punish her (SURELY THIS WILL MAKE HER SEE THE ERROR OF HER WAYS. BECAUSE SHE’S DEFINITELY THE ONE WHO’S WRONG.) because he is the god of the sunk cost fallacy first and foremost.

of course, the mere fact of allowing mankind to rise again achieves nothing but completing the “very slow” pattern—humans were dead for a long time and now they’re alive again. whoops! this is what happens when you meddle with forces you don’t understand.

anyway i think probably everyone on remnant reincarnates very slowly, not the way ozma does and also not the way ascension happens. i think when you die in remnant a part of you stays behind—infinite—to wander the face of the planet until it finds a way to guide the rest of you back home, in whatever form that takes. (BUT AS A BABY PROBABLY.) ’cause that’s the salem pattern.

points at the autumn leaf dancing around pyrrha’s memorial statue that guides jaune to see her so he can meet her mother and say goodbye. That’s Actually Pyrrha For Real. maybe. probably. a sliver of her soul left behind to find her way. i think faunus have the same cycle but it’s a bit smoother for them because they were never stuck in the old artificial death-as-stasis system and also this is why faunus genetics are so FUCKING weird, it’s because if you’ve got cat ears the first time you have cat traits forever even if in one of your lives your parents are, like, a crab faunus and a tortoise faunus. possibly children of interracial couples are more likely to be new, hence the more genetically logical outcome of usually inheriting the faunus parent’s animal.

but yeah i think the faunus like popped into existence as a consequence of salem grimming herself. that was my working theory prior to volume nine on the basis of mechanically how humans were created but in light of the v9 lore it’s quite literally the most thematically coherent explanation.

[spockvarietyhour]

Mass extinction is just the starting point for Fallout, which was developed for TV by Westworld creators (and husband and wife) Jonathan Nolan and Lisa Joy. After the incendiary mushroom clouds, the story flashes forward 219 years. How did humanity fair over those blighted two centuries? Lucy, one of the lead characters (played by Yellowjackets star Ella Purnell), has no clue. She has lived her entire life inside a subterranean vault, where every need and want has been satisfied while generations and generations await the day when it is safe to surface. When a crisis forces Lucy to venture above on a rescue mission, she finds that the planet above remains a hellscape crawling with giant insects, voracious mutant animal “abominations,” and a human population of sunbaked miscreants who make the manners, morals, and hygiene of the gunslinging Old West look like Downton Abbey. “The games are about the culture of division and haves and have-nots that, unfortunately, have only gotten more and more acute in this country and around the world over the last decades,” Nolan tells Vanity Fair for this exclusive first look. Lucy is nice, but Lucy is naive. In the Fallout universe, the human beings fortunate enough to ride out the apocalypse in underground communities only had that option available to them because they had money. Forcing doe-eyed Lucy out into this sadistic, Darwinian remnant of civilization opens the door for Fallout to engage in some social satire as well as action and adventure. Like HBO’s hit The Last of Us, which was also adapted from a blockbuster video game, the end of the world offers a rich opportunity to comment on the real one.