dont-mind-if-i-slytherin

[dont-mind-if-i-slytherin]

say what you will about heartstopper but this is the most accurate queer moment in television

[dont-mind-if-i-slytherin]

I agreed to watch Agatha All Along with my fiancé. Worst decision ever as I'm currently stuck waiting for when she's free meanwhile the spoilers are all happening and this show has taken up all of my waking thought.

[dont-mind-if-i-slytherin]

hey i have a fucking bone to pick with sapphic fandoms

like, i get it okay. i've been on tumblr since 2011, i was in the trenches during the bury your gays nightmare, i grew up on buffy, i watched the 100, i've been through the furious and devastating queerbaits, and i've watched helplessly as the boom of proper progress with sapphic rep has burned and disappeared with the faults of the industry as it is rn and the resurgence of bury your gays in the form of tv cancellations

i even did a fucking guest lecture for a film & tv university course a couple years ago on all of this

we joke about the fact that queer (specifically sapphic) fans flock to any show with the barest hint of rep in it because we're so starved for it, and we talk about the fact that if nothing else, that proves that there's a market and an audience and it usually creates a huge wave of viewership and attention for the show

but i need to fucking point out: acting as though a show exists for the sole purpose of the sapphic relationship you've started watching it for is fucking detrimental to how you'll perceive the show, how it'll get talked about in fandom spaces and then beyond that (bc the line between fandom spaces and wider online discussion of media is a lot thinner than it was ten years ago) and isn't actually going to do any good for sapphic rep! like, at all! because guess what! unless you're watching a show where the entire storyline revolves around romance, this couple you're watching for ISN'T going to be the centre of the story! it's a part of it! and there's such a weird fucking entitled toxicity to how fans act around brilliant storytelling and worldbuilding and writing and characters throwing tantrums about not getting more screentime for the relationship they like because they don't actually care about any other part of the story. and the thing about people who watch something solely for a ship rather than the wider story it exists in, is that a lot of the time, you'll fundamentally misinterpret the characters and their dynamic because you're not taking any of the wider context of the world and story into account at all.

and yes, of course i'm talking about agatha all along in the immediacy. because we knew a long, long time ago that billy maximoff was gonna be an integral part of this story, long before we knew anything about what the vibe of this show was gonna be, long before anyone even had the tiniest whisper of rio's existence. the same way wandavision was monica rambeau's origin story even though the show was wanda's, we suspected that agatha all along would be billy's/wiccan's origin story even if the show focused on agatha. and you know fucking what. that's good fucking storytelling. this show is smart, it's funny, it's curious, it's campy, it's queer, and it's ensemble. that's always been the point. agatha and rio were a delightfully unexpected part of it that added such delicious tension and phenomenal sapphic rep, but you know what else! the point of that dynamic is to flesh out agatha's character! this show isn't about agatha and rio! it's about agatha and billy, who they are, how their pasts and their magic are connected, their traumas and their power and how the road shapes their futures! rio is a part of exploring agatha's past, and it's phenomenal, but i am so fucking bewildered by the ridiculousness of people's reactions to billy now having a bigger part in the story and there being less focus on agatha and rio. you do know that you write scenes and characters and stories in a way that makes sense right? that because of the nature of this show, even if we don't get more than a handful agatha and rio scenes for the rest of the episodes, they're both still sapphic characters, this is still wonderful sapphic rep, and this show is still very, very queer?

like, it's obviously not fair that we have to beg for scraps to have queer shows to watch. but that doesn't mean that any of us get to do such a fucking disservice to the people who make amazing shows and fight to put sapphic rep in them within the contexts of the stories they're telling by whining that it's not enough. what we're getting with agatha all along, what kathryn han and aubrey plaza and jac schaeffer have said with such grace and nuance and intrigue and depth about agatha and rio's relationship, is so fucking rare! and it's nestled within a story that's got so much other intricate storytelling that makes agatha and rio richer characters when you actually pay some fucking attention and care about who they are outside of their sexual tension!

and i'm saying this because this is an issue i see with So many other shows, where the worth of a show gets boiled down to fandoms wanting content of their ship and nothing else and then poisoning the conversation and reception around what else it is that show is doing with its story. idk get some fucking media literacy, grow up and respect artists and creatives.

[dont-mind-if-i-slytherin]

One of my genuine favorite parts about agatha all along is the realization that Agatha's very real and legitimate powers come from simply annoying the shit out of people until they try to murder her

[dont-mind-if-i-slytherin]

[dont-mind-if-i-slytherin]

❄️ An End To Misunderstandings ❄️

So, back in June I made my very first comic and I loved doing it so much I decided to do another one, this time with "proper" lineart and coloring!

This is obviously inspired by the little bit in the trailer where Blitz is protecting Stolas against Andrealphus - I literally cannot get it out of my mind. I also thought it would be ~funny~ if in Blitz's head, his coming back and saving Stolas, all knight in shining armor, was the biggest romantic declaration he could ever do and Stolas, being Stolas, especially after Full Moon, just...doesn't pick up on that. He's swooning over it of course, but he doesn't realize what it means and it leads to yet another fabulous misunderstanding. Potentially the last please, they've been through enough 🥲👍

[dont-mind-if-i-slytherin]

i can only begin to imagine the absolute sacrilege that is this bitches ao3 history.

[dont-mind-if-i-slytherin]

Writer's Prompt Friday ✏️

🍰🎂🧁 Who knew a bakery could be so full of drama? 🕵️‍♀️ Join me in unraveling the mystery of the missing buttercream in my latest short story, "The great baking heist"

The soft morning light filtered through the bakery windows, highlighting the shelves soon to be filled with delicious pastries. Oliver Baker, a kind-hearted man in his late thirties, unlocked the front door to his bakery, his assistant Milo coming in behind him.

"Morning, Ethan," Oliver greeted, his voice slightly sleepy. "We have the Petersons wedding cake to finish today.” He said. “Can you do the morning rush bakes? And I'll get cracking on that?”

Milo grinned and nodded. “You got it Boss.” The morning rush bakes consisted of fresh pastries, and we're very popular among The many offices that were 4 streets away. Most were prepped the night before, ready to be baked when they arrived at 5.30 in the morning.

Oliver entered the kitchen, heading over to the sink to begin his usual routine when he noticed something very unusual.

“Uh…. Mate? did you leave the fridge open when you locked up last night?” Oliver asked as he spotted the door wide open, the light not even on after the continuous door being open.

“No, I closed it. I triple check after I left it open my first shift and the custard went weird.” Milo said, heading over. He scanned the shelves. “Might need to throw some of this away. It feels a little warm.” He said checking the temperature.

“See if we can salvage the buttercream for the wedding cake at least we’re already behind…..” his eyes widened.

“Where's the buttercream?”

“I don't…. I saw it right here last night. I saw you put it in there.” Milo shook his head.

“I'll look for it, you focus on the pastries, we open in an hour.” Oliver instructed. It was hopeless anyway, if the buttercream had not been in the fridge, no way would it be ready for a cake today. It would be way to runny. It was more annoyance than anything. Where had it gone?

30 minutes later, he had turned the entire kitchen upside down, and had yet to find the bowl of buttercream, he had checked the cupboards, the mixer…everywhere.

“Boss, I know it's annoying, but you're going to have to cut your losses, we're opening soon, and you know how mad the morning rush is….”

“I found it! Well…. The bowl.” Oliver exclaimed from behind the bin, lifting up the bowl now empty of buttercream. “Why is it all the way back here? and where is it?” He asked, glancing at the back door beside the bin. “You don't think anyone could have gotten in last night?”

“And take buttercream?” Milo sounded sceptical. “Why would they do that?”

“I don't…. Wait, this is labeled the peterson wedding.” He said, pointing to the label. “Oh that…. That bitch!” He headed out to the front of the bakery, looking through the window at the shiny new la patisserie that had opened 6 months ago. “Miss Landley said that she had gone there first for a cake tasting, and she picked us. She must be annoyed about us getting a high end client.” The Petersons were very wealthy, and the wedding had over a 400 guests. Oliver had cried when his bakery was chosen, and had not so subtly bragged about it when he had seen the woman who owned la patisserie.

“Are you serious? You think Madame Dubois snuck into the bakery in the middle of the night? And stole your buttercream and left the bowl behind the bins?”

“Why not? She's evil. Plus, the word Sabotage is French.” Oliver muttered, glaring at the offending bakery.

“And I'm pretty sure she's from Birmingham mate. She slips up with the accent sometimes.” Milo pointed out. Oliver paid him no mind, glowering with his arms crossed.

“I know she did it. I know it.” He muttered. “I will prove it.”

“Look, if it was her…”

“Oh it was.” Oliver interjected.

“Fine. Then her plan has worked, you are distracted, and now even further behind because you've just spent the first 45 minutes of the day preoccupied instead of doing what you need to do. So put the sign over, get in the kitchen and make some more.” Milo encouraged. Oliver sighed.

“I guess you're right, a bigger payback would be to smash this cake out of the park. That will show her.” He agreed, turning the closed sign to open, and rushing back to the kitchen. The wedding cake was no where near finished, and the date off collection was looming.

“Oh that looks good.” Milo noted 6 hours later. Oliver had to take a couple of shortcuts to make up time, however the cake was almost complete, there was a few more sugar flowers and decorations to adorn the cake, but it was frosted and ready to go.

“It does. I can't wait to shove this right in Madam Dubios face.” Oliver smirked. “Oh, and the bride. She's going to love it.” He added.

“You know how much she loves instagram too, you are going to be famous.” Milo grinned. “I think this deserves a celebration. Pub?”

“Oh. No.” Oliver shook his head. “I'm staying right here. I'm not giving madam Dubois another chance of subterfuge. I'm sitting right here and not moving until this cake is safely out of this bakery.

Milo looked at him sceptically. “Uh…. Sure. If you say so.” He said. “If you need anything just give me a call.”

Oliver nodded, not taking his eyes off the cake. The sun soon set, leaving him in the darkness, his eyes began to droop….

Before he jolted awake. He wondered what had awoken him, a loud clatter coming from the cake. He rushed forward, a rolling pin in hand to apprehend The culprit.

Oh.

It wasn't madam dubois at all.

There, happily eating the sugar flowers, was a large, ginger cat. Oliver blinked, eyes darting to the window propped open behind the sink.

He coughed loudly to startle the creature. The cat looked up, seeing the man.

Then continued to eat.

[dont-mind-if-i-slytherin]

It's Fanfic Writer Appreciation Day! So go on, appreciate the fuck out of those who generously share their ideas and talents with us. Today and every day after.

[dont-mind-if-i-slytherin]

The writing process!

[dont-mind-if-i-slytherin]

[dont-mind-if-i-slytherin]

Excerpt from current WIP - Harmony of Hearts.

Synopsis -

Bound by a shared love of music, Lacey and Blaine discover an unlikely connection. A talented dancer silenced by deafness and a spirited woman navigating life without sight, their paths intertwine in a world of melody and touch. As they explore the depths of their shared passion, they uncover a love story that transcends the limitations of their senses.

Lacey got into the building without a problem with her dads instructions. Once inside though, she was lost, the building was a labyrinth of echoes. Lacey moved slowly, her hand tracing the cool, smooth surface of the wall. Each step was a tentative exploration, a mapping of an unseen world. The air was thick with the scent of cleaning products and stale air.

Suddenly, she collided with something solid. A startled gasp escaped her lips as she stumbled backward. The wall disappeared from her grasp.

"Watch where you're going!" Lacey snapped, her voice sharp. She steadied herself against the wall, irritation flaring. It was like everyone was conspiring to make her life a living hell. A moment later, she realised the sharpness of her tone and took a deep breath. "Sorry," she mumbled, her voice softer, but the edge still there.

Silence stretched between them, a heavy, suffocating thing. Lacey’s heart pounded in her ears, a drumbeat of frustration. She opened her mouth to speak again, to demand an apology, but no words came out. They were just standing there, two strangers in a silent standoff.

A surge of anger bubbled up inside her. "You could at least pretend to care," she spat out, “Rude.” The words hung in the air, heavy with accusation.

A sharp intake of breath, and then a voice, clear and authoritative. "Lacey Miller?"

“Asshole,” Lacey mutters, finding the voice and walking towards it. “Present.”

“Ah. Hello Lacey. My name is Anya.” There was a beat, and Lacey guessed she had held her hand out to be shook, after an awkward moment she continued. “I’m the dance instructor here. I have made some sheet music in braille for you. Just in case you aren’t familiar with the pieces. Most of them are classical.”

Lacey rolled her eyes. “I played for 15 years. I got it. Just direct me towards a piano and I’ll play what you want.”

“Of course.” Ayna said sounding surprised. Guess no one told her this blind chick was not a ball of sunshine. “Do you want me to lead you?”

“Just give me a direction. I’ll work it out.”

“About 10 foot to your right.” Lacey nodded, walking until she felt the piano in front of her, and sitting down.

Her hands hovered over the keys, hesitant. The piano was a familiar friend, a silent confidant. But it was also a ghost of her past, a reminder of a life before the darkness. Two years. Two endless years without the solace of music.

She took a deep breath, her fingers trembling slightly. The first note was hesitant, a tentative exploration. The sound filled the room, rich and full, a stark contrast to the silence that had enveloped her. With each note, a memory surfaced, a bittersweet echo of a time when music was her everything. But the music was different now. It was raw, filled with a raw emotion she couldn't quite name. It was anger, frustration, and a deep-seated longing for something she couldn't quite define. It didn’t take long, the memory of her muscles working against the keys firing up as she did her warm up, finishing with ease and sitting back and crossing her arms coldly. She refused to be drawn in. She refused to enjoy this punishment.

“Right Class. We are working on our individual pieces today. So step forward, and say your piece of music, so Lacey can play it. The showcase is in 2 months. We have a lot of practise to do. Magda. You first.”

“Chopin's Nocturne in E-flat major, Op. 9, No. 2.”

Lacey snorted, so predictable. Basic. She nodded, beginning to play. Lacey’s fingers danced across the keys, transforming the familiar notes into a haunting melody. But even as her fingers found their rhythm, her mind wandered. Chopin was like an old friend, comfortable and predictable. It was beautiful, yes, but it lacked a certain... edge. Something to ignite the soul.

“Now, Robyn.”

Lacey sighed, out of the 10 songs, she had played, they were all…. Normal. Sure, all beautiful pieces, but there wasn’t anything that stood out. Music was meant to speak to you, and nothing yet had spoken to her.

“Lastly, Blaine. Oh yes dear. Of course. Blaine’s song is Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 2.” Lacey tilted her head, wondering why this Blaine couldn’t speak for himself, but also the choice. Blaine's choice was a bold one. Rachmaninoff's Second Concerto was a behemoth of a piece, demanding both technical brilliance and emotional depth. Lacey's fingers itched to dive into the complexity of it. She smiled for the first time, and straightened her back, she was now comfortable at the piano, almost as if the last two years didn’t happen.

Her fingers found the opening chords of Rachmaninoff's Second Concerto, a tentative exploration into the vast, uncharted territory of the piece. It was a daunting task, but also an exhilarating challenge. As her hands began to dance across the keys, she closed her eyes, imagining the music as a visual landscape.

She imagined what Blaine would dance like, she had no idea what he looked like, but she could almost picture the long graceful shadow of him, moving with the rhythm of the music. They twisted and turned, creating intricate patterns that unfolded before her mind's eye. The music was a symphony of light and darkness, a battle between chaos and order.

The music consumed her, pulling her deeper and deeper into its world. Her fingers flew across the keys, each note a brushstroke on an invisible canvas. The shadows in her mind grew bolder, more defined. They danced with a wild abandon, a reckless freedom that mirrored the music's intensity.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins. This was it. This was the music she had been searching for. The music that spoke to her soul. Her fingers found a new level of dexterity, each note a declaration of her musical prowess. The piano was an extension of herself, her voice given form.

As the piece reached its climax, Lacey felt a sense of euphoria, a liberation she hadn't experienced in years. The music was a tempest, a whirlwind of emotion that swept her away. When the final chords faded, there was a moment of silence, broken only by the rapid pounding of her heart, and the clear vision she had plunged her into darkness once more.

[dont-mind-if-i-slytherin]

[dont-mind-if-i-slytherin]

Blitzo understands the penguins because all his time with Stolas has made him fluent in the language of bird

Change👏my👏mind👏

[dont-mind-if-i-slytherin]

Writer's Prompt Friday! ✍️

Let's ignite your imagination! Share a piece inspired by the word "Beach." It can be a poem, short story, or even a character sketch. Let's see what mysterious tales unfold.

Tag your piece #WritersPromptFriday and let's inspire each other!