I gotta be honest I'm surprised it's never mentioned that perhaps one reason (cis) men became the dominant gender thousands of years ago in most societies is because approximately 25% of (cis) women are in horrible crippling pain at any given time. like idk I'm no sociologist or ancient historian but I feel like the fact that an entire half of the population is basically sick 1/4th of the time (or even more with PMS- before I was on birth control I was ill or in pain in some way for 2 weeks out of every month) might've played a part in the other half of the population having a bit of an advantage.
(in case this breaches containment I want to say right now that trans people are epic and not all women have periods and not all people who menstruate are women 👍 💙💖🤍💖💙)
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Was meant to be self-sacrifice and somehow turned into Shenanigans instead: welcome the yj core 4 being three badly-raised teenage guys and one "normal" teenage girl who Does Not Deserve This Level Of Mortification (also, there's a vampire)
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"Okay," Tim says, and then again, a bit more breathlessly, "okay. We can do this. It's fine. It's fine? No-one's injured, and without blood their tracking won't be-"
"Shit," Cassie says. Tim's attention immediately snaps to her, which is not what she wants but also entirely what she expects.
"What?" he asks. "Did you get hurt? Are you okay?"
"No," she says, humiliation making her cheeks burn, and Tim gets even more concerned.
"No what?" he asks, and then, too fast for her to get an answer in, "No to you being okay? No to having an injury? Cassie-"
Oh god this is the worst, she thinks, because this is the punchline to the world's most misogynistic joke - an alien, a too-old baby, a socially awkward teen therapist, and a girl with- "I'm on my period," she says, and hates how squirmy embarrassment feels in her stomach.
Kon stares at her, looking vaguely panicked. Bart at least just cocks his head, but Tim can't even look at her, and he's turning pink under his mask-
"How- much blood?" Tim asks, sounding as awkwardly as she feels, and Cassie hisses.
"I don't measure it! I dunno, Robin, enough for a freaking blood-sniffing vampire to track-"
"Just turn it off?" Bart says, and Cassie makes an offended noise in the back of her throat.
"Wait, she can do that?" Kon asks, now looking even more panicked.
"No!" Tim and Cassie say in unison.
"I wish," Cassie adds, and this time it's Bart's turn to reel back.
"So you just bleed?" he asks, aghast.
Cassie's tone probably matches his when she asks, "Imp, has no-one had the talk with you yet? Is there no sex ed in the future?"
"Shots not," Tim says, and Cassie immediately repeats the phrase, desperately.
"What!" Kon says, "No, no, no, no, I am not- I can't! You want me to teach him? I don't even know if human sex ed is different from Kryptonian sex ed!"
"Not like Superman gave you many pointers on either," Tim mutters, because he takes every chance he can get to snub Clark, and Cassie steps on his foot.
"Nobody has to tell me about anything," Bart says crossly, "I'll just go to the library and teach myself-"
"Vampire!" says Tim, grabbing Bart's bicep before he can flash from the room. "Oh my god do not go out there right now."
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the cicadas are singing somewhere outside and your heart is in your throat and he's looking you in the eyes with something resembling trust and you don't know if you deserve it.
your vision's gone all kaleidoscopic and dizzying, the crowd dissolving into fractures of light and cacophony.
and still, he's handing you the gun. you feel an oil slick settle under your skin, feel it sizzle and spit in the incandescent heat of a stage turned colosseum, turned hallowed, wretched ground wherever the light finds purchase.
you're a demon and he's an angel and neither one of you has ever known the shape of sickness, never felt it settle in the wing-span-bird-hollows of your bones. but you know it now; know the way it slithers, acrid and vicious, carving into the gore of your esophagus. you know it now like an old friend; like the swoop of pale eyelashes against skin; like the slope of his throat, and the way his voice rises at the end as he speaks prophecy into being:
aim for my mouth. his mouth—his soft/slanting/beautiful mouth, so far away from your own. fear strings itself between the rungs of your ribcage, burrows deep into aorta and vessel and gore.
but shoot past my ear. and he says it as though you've ever held a weapon with any trace of volition; as though you wouldn't rather face destruction than watch him come to ruin, than let his blood be on your hands (centuries spool out before you, and you're standing in a darkened theatre with a make-believe king and a thane and a ghost. and you can see the woman stained with blood no longer there. you watch the way she tears at her own flesh, scrubs it raw as though she might be made holy once more. the space between your shoulder blades ache).
you don't think you could hurt him even if you tried. but the stage lights are so sickly and you're choking back bile and he's a million miles away from you. there's something cracking apart in your chest.
the night is heady—the cicadas still sing outside.
and you're trembling. you're so close to calling it all off, to pulling him into the wings and out into the amnesia of a heavy night. exit stage right, and all that. but then,
trust me.
and there it is. it crashes into you with a devastating, inevitable certainty. you'd do anything he wished. you'd rend the sky apart with your teeth. you'd reach into your chest and hand him your all-too-human heart, if only he'd ask.
so you hold your breath. you aim. and you pray.
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So tempted to do my own tma sonas. One for me, one for my friend who has only learned about tma through PowerPoints and osmosis.
The idea for mine, right? Vast avatar, dark aligned tho, who had a bad experience with the buried and said fuck that. I’m gonna get as far away from that as possible. So she does balloon rides. At night. For fun. And whimsy. As typical. And you go so high that everything sorta just turns into a void around you. And you are stuck there. For hours. The thing that took you up there is just staring off into space and smiling lovingly at the sky…and that’s normal until it’s not. Until the shadows creep in and the floor doesn’t look like floor anymore. And the balloon looks the same as everything else around you.
Until, inevitably, you stop. And the balloon suddenly pops. And then you are crashing down into the void. And everything looks exactly the same. And if it weren’t for the wind streaming past you wouldn’t be able to tell up from down.
And then you’re suddenly on the ground. It’s morning. And the attendant from before is staring down at you with these huge, black pupils, and a smile. And says you passed out. That it’s normal. That it happens a lot.
And you believe them because of course that is what happened. It was just the nightmarish haze caused from the oxygen growing thinner. You were just…tired. And the dark was so appealing. Looking oh so infinite.
Yea. When I’m less busy I’m gonna design her. I love her as an idea a lot.
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what are the norms for sex and relationships in the regular (not-hell) world that mc comes from? obviously there's lewis and clement's whole arrangement and the beechcroft's daughter had much the same with other servants, but how common is that more casual attitude about sex? we have the opportunity to decide our own mc's attitudes about sex and sexual relationships, but i wonder what society's attitudes at large are around that topic (mainly so i can know how my mc's own attitudes fit into social acceptability)
oh, this is an interesting question... one i'm not sure that i'm entirely qualified to give a full answer to haha. one of the tricky things is that for a society (fictional or not) to function, there can never just be One culture. so there will almost always be a variety of attitudes out there.
a good example of this is, like. Victorian England. people like to rag on the victorians for being repressed all the time, but part of the reason victorian england managed to keep itself limping along under such tight restraints for so long is because nearby there was the much less restrictive later romance period in continental europe, and the ever-different mediterranean cultures just to the south, and all of those cultures intermingled, so that people who didn't fit particularly well into one or the other could try to find a better space.
you could, potentially, if you wanted to i guess, write a story where literally everyone behaves like a victorian-era londoner, but that 1) wouldn't be reflective of how societies work in general and 2) isn't even reflective of the actual victorian era itself. so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
i guess in general i could say that i don't like to write societies that are too strict or sex-negative (and i absolutely cannot Stand abstinence doctrine lmfao). there's definitely - especially when it comes to noble families like the Beechcrofts - a kind of expectation of keeping certain activities behind-closed-doors, rather than fully visible to the public, but that's more about a sense of honour and decorum associated with the family name than prevailing attitudes towards (or against) sex.
however, certain of the gods take a more unfavourable view on things (and many gods are quite unreasonable) so there's definitely a possibility for a wide variety of attitudes to be present... obviously the Beechcrofts are not a particularly religious family, so I guess you could say maybe that the manor house represents a microcosm of the more secular sides of society (of which there are many).
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