#<-she featured enough to warrant a mention

[felixravinstills]

okay i’m going to send to separate asks because i might be weird-girling too close to the sun with this one & you might just have to delete it. BUT. close your eyes cannibal au (what happened to her father…no one knows…delicious beef stew though….)

Okay! This fic got so much longer than anticipated! 2.5k+ Close Your Eyes Cannibalism AU that might as well be original fiction (for the first chapter) with how OC centric it is! The second will (hopefully) be Persephone centric friendship, but I’ll work on other AU requests before I get to that for fairness!

Don’t worry, Lily! We can weirdgirl too close to the sun together! I will be out of town (probably still online but not as frequently) and I’m leaving y’all to ponder this!

Also to the others who requested something, don’t worry! I’ll get to it but it might take me a second!

[creatingblackcharacters]

No, That’s Not ‘How Color Works’. - Whitewashing

Whitewashing, as defined by Merriam-Webster:

"to alter (something) in a way that favors, features, or caters to white people: such as a) to portray (the past) in a way that increases the prominence, relevance, or impact of white people and minimizes or misrepresents that of nonwhite people and B) to alter (an original story) by casting a white performer in a role based on a nonwhite person or fictional character"

In fandom context, we know it to include:

Making someone’s skin lighter

Making someone’s hair a thinner texture

Changing someone’s nose to be thinner

Shrinking their lips

Changing the character in their entirety to be someone else

The Normalization of Whitewashing

Remember how I mentioned last lesson that despite the nature of poorly drawn Black characters, most audiences are not turned off enough to discourage the action in professional works? Similar idea with whitewashing. Not the same- unlike the Ambiguously Brown Character, which claims to have plausible deniability, overt whitewashing is usually enough to make fans speak up! But that’s the key word here- overt! It has to be “bad enough” to make enough people speak up, but as we’ve seen many a time, “bad enough” seems to have a much higher threshold for nonblack viewership (sometimes the limit doesn’t exist!)

Some visual examples

This is a link to my personal thread on a Netflix show I was watching- Worst Ex Ever. Now, while the show itself was quite enlightening, there was something I could not get over. I thought I was going crazy. And that was that no matter how dark the person of color would be in real life, the animated portions would draw this light pinkish-brown. Every. Single. Time. It's like they couldn't fathom scrolling down the color wheel. And this is a Netflix original! Netflix has plenty of money for someone to have caught this in creation. But... it was produced. And put out. And they're making more of it.

I asked all of the Dragon Age fans about the series, and uh… I didn’t know things were this bad, guys! Apparently this is a man of color, but it doesn't seem like the creators want you to know that 🤣. Jokes aside, as I’ve discussed before, the noticeable whitewashing- and that was one of many racist things I was told- was not enough to prevent sales... so why would they stop? I can only hope this new game, with all the updates, is enough to turn the tide. But the series has gone on for a while now, that if they’d chosen to do ye same olde… there clearly would not be a lack of financial support to prevent it.

Colorism as a Tool

Even when actors of color are cast, colorism often plays a role in normalizing whitewashing to audiences, even to Black audiences! People think “oh well at least they’re Black!” as if that is the only important part. It is not.

While Aaron Pierre, the actor cast for John Stewart of Green Lantern fame, is a GORGEOUS, STUNNING man, he is not the dark-skinned man that John Stewart is supposed to be and should not have been cast! To me, this is overt colorism, but clearly for many people this is not “enough” to warrant concern or even prevent the casting itself- including the studio behind the movie! Black fans have plead for years for the character of Storm to be played by a dark-skinned, preferably African, woman, and it has never happened.

It naturally happens in fan spaces as well, which is another indicator that colorism as a tool for whitewashing is quite effective for audiences. If I see one more Zendaya fan cast for Kida from Atlantis, I will scream. It’s been happening for years, and I don’t think any of the people who just want to see her and Tom on screen either understand or care that Kida is a dark-skinned character. Zendaya doesn’t look anything like Kida- it doesn’t matter if she’s Black too! Just because someone is Black does not mean they can play every single Black character! I’ve even seen people fancast Emilia Clarke of Game of Thrones fame, to which… I don’t have the words. I can’t fathom what would cause these decisions other than racism.

The Common Excuses

I must be honest. I don’t really feel like re-iterating how certain things are not okay and how to fix them, because I’ve already discussed these things in massive detail. So I’m just going to direct the excuses I regularly hear to my lessons, where you can read up on them.

“Their hair/eyes are like that because they’re biracial so-”

Relevant Lessons: 2.1, 2.2, 2.3, 8, 9, 10

There is nothing wrong with having biracial characters with a range of features. I am not saying that! Because yeah, genetics do happen!

But I mentioned this in my last lesson, and I will re-emphasize here, that using biracial identity as a way to whitewash is a sinister form of racism. The intention here- the real intention- is the issue here! The idea that somehow this character can only look the way you want them to look by "diluting" their Blackness… I don’t know how you can explain yourselves out of that one.

You don’t get to use us as an excuse for diversity while still trying to maintain your preference for Eurocentric beauty standards. Black biracial people don’t always look light skinned, thin-haired and ambiguous, and even the ones that do don’t deserve to be treated as your fetish for pretend antiracism. If you just want to draw a white person with a tan, do that. But don’t change a character’s entire look just so you can work in some whiteness. If you want to claim that canon Black character’s mother was white, then I guess they inherited some of her personality because their features should not change.

“It’s my style/It’s the color-”

Relevant Lessons: 3, 4, 10

I hate all excuses for whitewashing, but I’ve grown to despise, hate, abhor and loathe this one the most as I’ve become an artist. I wish there were stronger words to describe just how much I hate the “style” and “color” excuse.

Are style and use of color oft intertwined? Absolutely. I’m not saying they aren’t. But out of everything, there are two things I want artists to understand:

1. Style does not cancel out racism! No style forces you to choose ashy greys and to change peoples’ features. That’s you! If you look at something, and it looks offensive, you change the style. You grow as an artist!

2. “Everyone who is brown will look ashy so I just-” if you recognize that your Black characters look strange in comparison to your nonblack characters, then it’s time to try something else! I don’t understand this sudden need for “realism” when it comes to color and lighting, but not when it comes to hair, for example. No one cares about realism when giving every and all Black characters wavy tresses they probably wouldn’t have, but suddenly milquetoast watercolor attempts at brown and off-putting lighting is “how it works”. That’s not fair.

The color picker is an available tool! I use it often!

Dead giveaway of purposeful whitewashing: if someone gets the outfit color palette right via color picking, but the skin color is multiple shades lighter. That means they were looking at that character and chose not to proceed.

Dead giveaway of purposeful whitewashing: if the white characters in the show are completely correct in their palettes. Again, that means they cared enough to look at everyone else… and not the Black characters.

If you use the color picker and the color picked is… disrespectful, you do not have to use that! You can simply choose a better color that is still similar to the brown that ought to be depicted!

“It’s the lighting-”

Relevant Lessons: 4, 5

If your white characters do not shine like snow in the sunlight because of your lighting, then your lighting does not make your Black characters suddenly light tan.

If your Black characters look bad in your lighting of choice- for example, putting a very dark-skinned character in electric white lighting can be ghastly- try changing the intensity or the color of the lighting. DON’T change your character’s skin color!

I'm going to show you some pictures of South Sudanese model Nyakim Gatwech. Pay attention to the choices of light, color, and makeup.

Look how BEAUTIFUL she is! Look at the choices of intensity and color of light, and how they make her look different in each image.

Now look at this image in comparison:

In this image, whoever did her makeup and took this picture did not take into consideration her skin tone. She's also under this really intense lighting. This is an example of "increasing the lighting does NOT make an image "better"". She didn't need to have lighter skin or "more lighting" to look good. She needed BETTER lighting, lighting that worked with HER.

To see this as an example in drawn art, @dsm7 makes an excellent argument for proper lighting and color, why it is an issue to use it as an excuse, and how to solve that problem.

‼️DISCLAIMER FOR NEXT EXAMPLE‼️

Okay. I am about to show y’all a fan-created example from my personal experience. It is a TEACHING EXPERIENCE ONLY. I am not including the artist’s name in this image. It happened a couple years ago, and it’s over- they’ve chosen to be who they are despite me kindly confronting them about it. The only reason I’m including it at all is because I feel like it would be remiss to have such a clear-cut, multi-level example, and not teach with it. That said, no, I am not telling anyone to act out towards them. Again, that is not what I’m telling you to do. The last thing I need is a literal lynch mob of angry nonblack viewership for trying to teach you all, and y’all sitting there watching it happen to me. Every example of whitewashing is not going to be so obvious, but I hope you learn how to spot the examples in the art you see and share.

I'm obviously a Hades fan, particularly of Patroclus- despite my disdain for the lack of effort in his canon character design. So I've seen a lot of things. That said:

“Well it’s just MY design of them-”

Relevant Lessons: ALL

The sepia coloring did not do this. The lighting did not do this. The design is the exact same as the Hades version, even down to the shape of the hair curling in the back. The only thing that is different… is the man himself.

Y'all. Y'all! You CANNOT take a pre-existing Black character and say “oh well this is my design of them” …and the design is of a whole white person. Because if the rest of the fit is the same, and the only thing that changed is the Blackness… Racism. If you’re going to “make up your own design”, then do that!

“Blackwashing”

Speaking of: I’m sure someone edgy out there thinks they’re so smart as they retort to the screen: “but if that’s not okay, then why is Blackwashing okay?” To which I say- shut up. 😐

The “definition” by fandom: making a nonblack character Black, usually an anime character, but characters in general.

Funny enough, the actual definition in the dictionary (or closest to) is “to defame”, in contrast with whitewash (as in whitewashing history). Maybe racist fans ARE using it correctly when they say you’re blackwashing their characters, when they mean you’re making them “less likable because they’re Black now”. 🤔

Anyway: Blackwashing is not real for the same reason reverse racism is not real.

Me painting these characters brown is not going to take away from the fact that there are far more of you in media than there is of me. Me saying that I ‘headcanon a character as Black with 4C hair’ is not going to make the studio go “oh! Well they must be Black with 4C hair now!” Me saying “oh I think I’d like this character better if they were Black” as a beta tester (less overtly, obviously, because I’m not racist!) will never make a studio change that character. Black viewers have minimal value in comparison to the power of the white viewer’s dollar. I could draw white characters Black every single day of every single game media… and they would still produce majority white characters. There has not been centuries- if not millennia, when we consider Jesus Christ himself, even- of purposeful “Blackwashing” with the intent of removing the original ethnicity- and thus importance- of white people. No one has ever been allowed to forget when someone is white. No one has ever been allowed to forget or not acknowledge white people.

How it could be "solved"

Personally, I love Black edits and I welcome them here. I find them creative and fun. But if you really, REALLY didn’t want us to make those edits, then naturally, we need more Black characters in all of our media!

I wouldn’t have to make edits if I saw more of me to begin with in the things I like to watch- but when we have those characters, racists act an ass about them. We’re not allowed to even be present! I’ve seen too many gamer bros mocking the existence of Yasuke in Assassin’s Creed, and he was a real ass man. But if we made a game about African peoples in African societies, how many of the gamer bros would actually play those games? Do you think there’d be as much support, when we hear so much about Black characters that are treated so abhorrently? How many games do we have where people would love their faves just as much if they were Black? I even learned that Solas was apparently supposed to be a man of color. IMAGINE how many people would not have liked that man, with the same exact plot and characterization.

Something I’ve noticed recently: apparently "Blackwashing" is not a thing when White fans “allow” it. Take this recent trend with Miku. International Miku was beloved! But if you draw any other character as Black on any other day, there will be people that are horrid about it. Ask any artist, Black artists and Black cosplayers especially, who’s ever done it what their comments are like. I’ve read entire missives akin to white supremacist drivel on how it’s somehow morally wrong to make characters Black. Meanwhile no amount of “hey maybe you shouldn’t do this” prevented the movie Gods of Egypt from being created, with a cast full of British White people.

Solutions to Avoiding Whitewashing!

1) Using References!!

Do I think you should know what Black people look like? Yes. We’re humans. It’s 2024. Everyone knows what we look like when it’s time to hate and discriminate against us, so you know what we look like when it’s time to love and depict us. If you’re on Tumblr, you have access to the Internet. ESPECIALLY if you’re in the U.S., as Black people are the source of damn near every piece of online pop culture. If you can find my dialect to make my jokes, you can find pictures of me.

Would I rather you use a reference every single time so that you can only strengthen your depiction of my people? ABSOLUTELY.

Anyone on the Internet telling you not to use a reference or that you shouldn’t need a reference? Unfollow them. You don’t need that negativity in your life. Why would you deprive yourself of a tool to create? The greatest portrait painters in history had to look at their subjects! You are not getting paid nearly as much to do this as Hans Holbein, and he had to stare at Henry VIII correct else lose his head- you can pull up multiple references. I’d far rather be judged for using hella references than be judged for being a racist!

Part of the issue is people draw what they’re used to, what they’re comfortable with (thus last lesson). But if what you’re used to is not what someone will look like… That’s not okay. Their features are not the issue, your skills are the issue. Learn! Practice! There is no rush. No one is rushing you to be perfect at drawing Black characters, and no one is rushing you to post them. You can just practice! If you’re not a professional, you can take as long as you need to draw! If you need to draw that piece of hair over and over until you feel like you have down the shape, you do that! If you need to use a tool that would draw the hair for you, you get that tool!

If you want to post, you can say you are practicing! If you make clear you are practicing, then be willing to accept that people may have feedback. I’d far rather deal with someone saying they’re unconfident and practicing, than someone posting a whitewashed caricature and closing their ears because “well at least I’m trying!”

2) Empathize! Care about actual Black people when you create a Black character!

Imagine, if you will, in the Twilight Zone: you went to an artist, and you asked for a white character (I typed in “regular looking white dude” on google). There’s hardly ever any white characters, you’re so super excited about this one! You paid good money, because you’ve seen just how amazing this artist creates! They’re so good at drawing characters of color! But no matter how many times you ask, they send you back an image of… Assad Zaman.

That man might be fine as hell! Gorgeous! Beautifully done! Chef’s kiss. Stunning! But… He’s not white. That’s not what you asked or paid for. You can’t even fathom how they mixed this up, they don’t even look alike! And when you confront them, they gaslight you, they call YOU the issue for not understanding how you can’t tell that this is a white man! They would never get this wrong! They have white friends, you’re the racist! But you’re not stupid, and you have functioning eyes- you can SEE what this drawing looks like! And… It’s not you.

It’s dehumanizing. It’s being told that there’s a “better way” to look like you, and that’s by… Not looking like you. You, as you exist, are what’s incorrect. Your identity is incorrect, not their drawing. It’s better to have thinner hair instead of an afro or locs, it’s better to have lighter skin, it’s better to have a straighter, thinner nose over a round one, and smaller lips.

And what makes it worse is knowing that people who don’t look like you? Probably won’t care. They won’t be willing to see- not unable, but unwilling- that playing with this caricature is harmful, that they’re propagating harm by not acknowledging it. They’re letting you know that your humanity means less to them than the clout received with a whitewashed or half-assed Black character, and that people will applaud them for that ‘attempt at inclusion’. And people will applaud! They will be entertained by the mere performance! And that hurts.

I’m going to say this, and it’s awkward and I try not to say it directly on here, but… Having Black friends and/or being around actual, real life Black people would help. I can tell from some of the questions I receive that Black characters and their traits- especially things like our hair and our cultures- are being treated as… alien concepts. But even if, for whatever reason, you legitimately don’t know any Black people, you do not need to know us individually to care about our humanity as a whole! Even if you do not know we’re there, we are, and we could possibly see your work!

By acknowledging Blackness and making room to understand what it means- and that includes how we can look- you are doing the bare minimum of acknowledging our personhood. If you cannot do even that, you don’t need to be drawing us.

Conclusion

Here’s the thing: if you want to draw a white man with tanned skin, do that. Just do it! You do NOT have to erase me to have more of you! There is not a single fandom where the majority of the white fans ever said “gee, not another white guy!” It simply doesn’t happen. God knows we wish it did sometimes. You will always have an audience for white characters. There’s no danger to any of you of “being erased”.

(Without putting on my political hat, I will say that a lot of white people who consider themselves to be far from white supremacist will express beliefs in line with great replacement theory if you push them hard enough. It is unfortunately not as uncommon an idea as you might think. I would do some self-evaluation.)

People are going to notice that you only ever draw white people, but… To be frank, that has never stopped anybody from being successful. Again, Jen Zee, at Supergiant with the terrible dark-skinned characters… Still has a job. at Supergiant. A professional studio. Dragon Age. Multiple games of consistent whitewashing and racist writing. Still going. If racism prevented creation and popularity, I wouldn’t have to have this blog. Alas, that is the society we currently live in.

But if you ACTUALLY want to depict Black characters, if you ACTUALLY want to do right and be respectful- not because you want the clout, but because it’s the right damn thing to do- then you need to commit! This means drawing them as they are meant to be! Accept that you’ll likely lose some fan base, who was there (whether they were aware of it or not) for the white and lighter skinned characters. Accept that this means that trying to appeal to those people by whitewashing characters is 1) wrong, 2) racist, which is 3) something you chose to do when you could simply have just… Drawn more white people.

I’ll say it again: antiracism is hard. It’s hard doing the right thing in a society that rewards racism so easily. It’s really hard knowing that people will stop supporting you or caring as much about your work when you start including Black characters as actively as you do white ones, especially if you start talking about the importance of it. But in my honest opinion, I’d far rather be someone that cared about others, with genuine fans, than someone that was racist for the fleeting internet clout of strangers. And that may be less ‘hopeful’ than I normally am in these lessons, but… People make choices. And people who have been informed- as you are now- are aware of the choices they are making. It’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers- let’s choose better actions.

[obliviouscxnt]

Control Azriel x Reader

a/n: I'm so lost, i don't know what I'm doing. Still learning how to use tumblr but in the meantime, welcome to the first fic i feel like posting.

synopsis: feyre's growing curiosity about you sparks some personal questions.

Warnings: mentioned SA, fluff, hints of sexual activities

pt.2 | pt.3

One of the first friends Feyre made in the Night Court was you. You reminded her of the twin wraiths in a way. Never saying much, if anything at all. Maybe that was one of the reasons she liked you so much. 

You didn’t need to talk to enjoy each other’s presence. Feyre had as much fun sitting in silence with you as she did on a night out with Mor. 

But as time passed, as Feyre became a constant in the Night Court, she had grown curious. She wanted to know more about you like she did the others. 

So she started asking you questions, and to her surprise, you would answer her. Your answers weren’t clipped, or vague. You never sounded annoyed with her, you were completely open and honest with her. 

“How long have you known everyone?” Feyre had asked while you gently played with her hair, her scalp tingling at your touch. 

You thought about it for a moment. “Over two hundred years now.” 

She tilts her head, so apart from her you were the newest member of the inner circle. “How did you meet?” She asks, shivering as the tingles travel down her spine.

You start braiding a few small strands from the front of her face as you speak. “My kind are far different from other Fae.” Feyre practically perks up at the words. She knew you weren’t high fae but she never bothered saying anything about it, she barely even noticed it most of the time not nearly enough to warrant a discussion. “They hail from no court, and bow to no lord, not even the Mother is with their thoughts.”

Feyre tried to imagine what that would be like, how they would act, what traditions they’d carry. She thought of your features, the ones that stood out among other high fae. Your ears didn’t point, your nails were like claws, and your teeth bore long sharp canines on both the top and bottom of your mouth, but the features that stood out the most were the ones you kept hidden. 

Feyre saw them once, your wings. The first time she met you. Like they were just there for a formal introduction. They were big, beautiful, and intricate. They looked like moth wings, and fluttered like them too. Opening and closing slowly when you were lax.

Immediately when Feyre saw them, she felt like painting again, she could barely keep her eyes off them, barely keep herself from reaching out a hand to touch them. Maybe that was the reason for their absence in the next visit; all that remained of the glorious appendages was precise ink that lined the whole of your back, a tattoo of folded wings. 

From the way they folded, they almost formed a natural cape. She wondered how far your tattoo ran, the extravagant fabrics of the dresses you wore only showed so much. 

She pictured a whole colony of people that looked like you and immediately felt like painting again.

“It’s why nobody can do anything about their backward ways, they listen to nobody but themselves. Believe no one but themselves.” All preconceived thoughts of your people turn sour with your words. 

“The things they’ve done, they still do…” You release a shaky breath as you finish the small braids and set them aside.

Feyre turns to look at you when your delicate hands part with her hair. She finds you sorting through a box of hair ornaments, but your eyes are clouded. Not even the most glorious of diamonds could shine through that fog. “You don’t have to...“ 

You blink out of your daze and wave her off as you pull out a few gem-encrusted pins and show them to her. Waiting for her to give you a nod of approval before pulling out a stunning bejeweled silver comb and repeating the same process. Your collection was truly marvelous. 

“When I was saved, it was my first Flowering Night.” You spoke the words with barely concealed bitterness. “A night where all mature unpaired females are sent into the woods for any participating males to hunt down and take as they please.” 

You tuck back the small braids with the sparkling pins. Feyre listened as you continued, she wanted to say something but what would she say?

“No one could run very far from our community, the woods of the Middle hold no mercy. It was either hide and hope you make it till dawn without being spotted by a male. Or die to the other horrid creatures that live in those woods.” 

Feyre’s heart ached for you, her sorrow a tangible thing able to be smelt in the air. And you squeezed her shoulder, you comforted her. Her sorrow only increased. You never deserved any of it.

“I chose the latter.” You carefully place the comb into her hair, finding it in yourself to smile at the final product. You still fiddle with a few strands until you feel pleased. “A close encounter with death led to the discovery of my gift,” 

Dreamwalker, Rhys had called you.  An ability so rare even Helion’s exquisite library had very little information on it. 

Feyre loosely understood that you could enter another person's dream. Could manipulate it as you wish, to serenity or to a blood-curdling nightmare. But what made you so powerful, what made you such a valuable asset to the Night Court was your ability to bring dreams to life. All manner of dreams. 

However, your ability was sparsely used for court matters, and only necessary people knew of it. You were their trump card. Something nobody would see coming. 

Feyre would never forget the time you had a nightmare, sending half the court in preparation for battle. She’d also never forget the way Azriel had fought off the nightmare incarnate to get to you. How he charged forward without an ounce of hesitation. While Rhys had stood protectively in front of Feyre, and Cassian’s siphons flared from beside her, providing a shield around them.

Feyre had realized then that Azriel would go to hell and back for you. 

Feyre turns to face you, to look you in your enchanting eyes now that you are finished playing with her hair. “I was barely a woman, I didn’t know the first thing about defending myself. I didn’t know what this gift was.” She watched you raise a hand, small stars forming and trailing your fingers, blinking and shimmering as you played with them. “What good is a gift this powerful if you don’t know what to do with it? It’s as good as a broken blade.” 

Feyre’s breath leaves her body when you pull down the shoulder of your elegant emerald gown, revealing a long jagged scar running diagonally across your chest. The skin puffed up from how deep the gash was. “I would’ve died if it weren’t for Azriel.” 

The high fae’s eyebrows raise ever so slightly. 

“He heard me screaming. And he came for me.” You pull the shoulder back up and smile. Actually, smile. Feyre had never known someone like you, someone able to flip such a horrid memory around. Someone so able to pick out the good amongst the bad. “It wasn’t until a century later that I finally accepted his invitation to the Night Court and met everyone else.”

Feyre found herself grabbing your hand and squeezing. So grateful you had accepted his invitation. 

You squeeze back. 

“You’re so strong.” Feyre says, furrowing her brows when you laugh like she had told a joke. 

“It wasn’t strength that led me here, Feyre.” You tell her. Once again she wanted to paint you, but she felt like she wouldn’t be able to do you justice. “It was fate.”

A knock sounds at the door. 

“Come in.” Feyre calls and you both look to the opening door. Two incredibly attractive Illyrian men stand at the doorway. 

Rhys smiles at the sight of you two, eyes raking over the hairstyle you’d given Feyre. “You look lovely, Feyre darling.” Her face heats as you smile in triumph. 

“Say goodnight.” Comes Azriel’s voice in that tone he only used on you. 

You obey his command without a second thought, giving Feyre a light hug and giving Rhys a small bow before scurrying toward Azriel’s waiting arm. 

You fall into step with him as his hand lands on your lower back. But before the two of you could disappear you tug on his shirt, prompting him to stop only long enough for you to turn back toward Feyre and say a final goodnight. “Dream well Feyre!” Then he continued leading you away to your shared chambers. 

The mated pair watch you two travel away. Rhys with a look of content for you and his brother. Feyre with a new curiosity. 

She couldn’t help but be curious about the dynamic you and Azriel had. The way that dynamic bled into the interactions you had with your friends. How you always asked for permission before doing something and always jumped up whenever anyone asked you to do something. Rhys seemed to catch on to that curiosity. 

He decided to save you the embarrassment of Feyre asking you herself. He had enough of an understanding of you to know when something would make you uncomfortable, no matter how much you said otherwise. 

You’d always answer any questions asked of you openly and honestly, whether you wanted to or not. It was one of the reasons many were at first against your visits with Feyre, himself included. The newly turned fae was far too oblivious to your situation to recognize when she was taking advantage of your obedience. But you assured Rhysand repeatedly that Feyre never bothered you with her questions. That you enjoyed her presence just as much as she, hopefully, enjoyed yours. 

Much to everyone’s delight, Feyre regarded you with gentleness and awe from the very start. It was the effect you had on people. It was the reason Azriel didn’t put up a fight about leaving your visits unsupervised.

“[name] was raised by cruel people, they taught her that in a relationship the male's word is law. Her people think a female is expected to give up any and all control to her male. It’s one of the few things she never was able to condition herself out of, Azriel helps her by providing that control she needs.” 

Feyre thinks about that, face heating at the images it created. She wondered what that would be like, to surrender herself completely. “So if he told her to jump off the nearest bridge…?” 

“She’d do it, with zero hesitation.” 

Rhys smirks, knowing glint in his eyes as his gaze runs over the blush that coated her face. 

“But he’d never ask something like that of her. He knows her inside out, knows when something is too much or not enough.” He steps closer to her, delighting in the way her breathing picks up. “If I didn’t know any better I’d think your interest in this topic was more than innocent curiosity.” 

“Well, do you?” Feyre asks, making his eyes narrow. “Know any better?” 

Rhys’s gaze becomes dark. “Nope.” 

****

“Did you enjoy your time with Feyre?” You sigh at his voice, the comfort it brings you. You find yourself leaning into him, and he allows it. 

“It was nice.” You say truly. It felt like it was easier to breathe now that Feyre had more of an understanding. “She asked about how we met.” 

The hand on your back pulls you closer to him as if he were remembering that day. Remembering what you looked like as that hideous creature held you down, slicing into you. The way you flinched away from him after he’d slayed the creature. The sheer dress that you wore, If it could even be called that. He could still picture everything so vividly. 

How you eventually submitted to him, and how that made him sick. How he carried you out of the Middle and into the lands of the Night Court, never taking you into the cities. How for the next century after that he would visit you at the little private cabin only he and his brothers knew about, how he took care of you, and how he grew to love you. How you grew to love him in return.

He shoves those thoughts into the back of his mind as he opens the door to your shared chambers, walking you inside before shutting the door behind you. 

His hands move to your shoulders while he guides you to sit on the edge of the large bed, big enough to fit at least three winged beings. Hands brushing down your body as he kneels before you, settling on your ankle. He brings your foot up and rests it on his thigh before slowly unraveling the straps of your heel. Once finished he continued with the right heel, his touch nothing but confident from years and years of practice. 

A hand pats your thigh, letting you know he’s finished. Your eyes trail him as he heads toward the bathroom, you’d be happy to just look at him for the rest of your immortal life. 

You help Azriel, though he had no problem doing it for you, by taking off your jewelry one by one, setting each extravagant piece on the nightstand. By the time you're done Azriel’s waiting for you next to a full bath.

“Come.” He beckons from beside the large clawfoot tub. Hand outstretched and waiting for you. 

You saunter toward him, sighing as you let your brain just rest. Let him do everything for you. 

His hands are strong, and gentle, and secure all in one as they guide you out of your gown, his clothes following not long after. You sigh as he brings you into the tub. Positioning you so you sat between his legs, back to his front. 

Your eyelids slowly fall shut, coaxed by his soothing touch. Feeling nothing but content when he pushed your head back to lay on his shoulder, a gentle kiss pressed against your temple.

You were soon in a state of barely there, just teetering on the side of sleep but awake enough to move when he told you to. 

“Lean forward.”

His hands rub up and down your back, cleaning and massaging the skin there. You shudder in pleasure and he hums soothingly. Like cooing at a pet. You straighten up a bit when he taps the marked skin a few times, moving forward just enough for your wings to slowly peel away from your back. What was once ink on your skin, now real moving wings. 

“Spread.” And you do so, wings unfolding and stretching out completely. 

You shiver as his hands brush against them, making them twitch both away and toward him. As if they couldn’t decide whether the feeling it brought you was too much or not enough.

As always Azriel handled them with utmost care, humming when small noises of pleasure escaped you. When he was finished he tapped your shoulder to let you know, but you were too tired to summon the magic needed to conceal them.

Though, not tired enough to remember it was his turn. 

Slowly with lethargic movements, you turn to face him. Wings folding up again, forming a natural cape on your back. “Can I-“ You begin but catch yourself before you can finish. His narrowed eyes crinkled into a smile. Happy he no longer had to remind you of such a simple fact. 

Don’t ask to touch what is yours.

So instead you reach for the soap in his hands and begin to wash him. Taking satisfaction in the way his wound-up muscles, tense from hours of work, relaxed under your touch. The way his hands rested on your hips, squeezing every now and then appreciatively. The hums that left his mouth, no longer with the intent to soothe you but to let you know how pleased you made him. 

Your touches became increasingly distracted, sleep slowly leaving your system as your mind filled with nothing but him. 

He smirks, a mix of amusement and attraction. Allowing his own touches to become less innocent. His hands move to wrap around your wrists, dragging your hands down, down, and down his body. Soap long ago discarded. 

“Touch me.” He commands. 

And nothing could keep you from satisfying him. 

next→

[stellar-skyy]

♡ - LOST & FOUND - Platonic Arlecchino & reader

i. SUMMARY: Hell hath no fury like a parent whose child has been taken from them. ii. CWS & NOTES: description of blood and injury (mildly graphic but not gory), violence, mentions of kidnapping, swearing (like once), implied murder. PLATONIC arlecchino & gn!reader. house of the hearth!reader. angst & slight hurt/comfort. 2.5k words. iv. A/N: i am... so normal about parental arlecchino... so normal... i hope you enjoy because i loved writing this!! i have a little written for an epilogue featuring the lyntwins + freminet reuniting, so stay tuned for that ♡

It had been fifty-eight hours, and twenty-seven minutes since [Name] had vanished.

Freminet sat curled up in a velvet armchair that dwarfed his small frame, with Pers on his lap and his brother and sister flanking each side. They had both refused Father’s offer of a seat, which showed the severity of the situation more than words ever could.

No one ever refused Father. Even she had raised an eyebrow at their sudden rebellion.

“Lyney, Lynette. Defiance will not make [Name] come home faster. Take a seat.” Father sipped her tea, poised as ever. Even with that impassive mask, Freminet still noticed the tension in her shoulders.

He always noticed.

“There’s no need,” Lyney said shortly, adding on a respectful “Father.” as an afterthought.

“What my brother means—” Lynette cut in smoothly. “—Is that we do not want to draw this conversation out any longer than necessary. We only came to get permission to postpone our current assignment and search for [Name]. I’m sure you can see the circumstances are dire enough to warrant such action.”

“I’m afraid I do not, Lynette.” Father placed her cup down and folded her hands over her lap. “They are a very skilled agent, and this mission was hardly out of their ability. No need to compromise your current—and very important, I might add—mission, for trivial matters.”

“It isn’t trivial, it’s our sibling!” Lyney burst out, causing Freminet to flinch. He reached out a hand blindly to settle on Freminet’s shoulder, squeezing it quickly in both a comfort and apology for startling him.

“I would be mindful of your place within this household, Lyney.” Father said mildly, the warning clear. “I have given you a direct order, and you will follow it. Do not stray from your assigned mission. [Name] will be fine.” She paused for a beat. “You are dismissed.”

“That’s it?” Lyney hissed. “So, you’re going to just leave them to die?”

It sounded like less of a question and more of an accusation. Freminet winced, feeling Lynette stiffen beside him as well as they waited for the consequences of Lyney’s bluntness.

Arlecchino rose from her seat, the tension in the air thick enough to choke all three of the siblings.

“I never said that. [Name] will be home in due time.” Her gaze shifted from the left to the right side of the armchair. “Lynette, you will have tea with me later, won’t you?” Father asked, causing the girl to freeze.

She bit her lip, answering carefully. “I may. Maybe if [Name] returns, we can all have tea together.”

“A good plan,” Father agreed, ignoring the quiet angry undertone of her words. “When I see them, I shall invite them.”

“It had better be soon; it’s getting late.” Lynette countered. Freminet’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. Lynette was always better at matching Father’s games. Freminet crumbled under the weight of her gaze, and Lyney wasn’t any better at handling the pressure without his emotions causing him to crack and splinter.

“Lynette, Freminet. Let’s go.” Lyney said sharply.

Throughout the entire exchange, Lyney’s hand had not moved from where it was planted firmly on Freminet’s shoulder, as if he was refusing to let another of his siblings out of his grasp. Freminet might have remarked that Lynette was handling her worry better, but he noticed how her tail kept curling around his leg when they walked into Father’s office. Neither of the three was willing to part with the others for even a second; not when one of their own had gone missing by doing just that.

As he drew back his hand and moved away, Freminet caught his arm.  

“Just… a moment, please. Wait outside, I’ll join you soon.” Freminet murmured, letting go. Lyney pursed his lips.

“Be quick.”

The twins vanished through the doorway, leaving Freminet alone with his Father.

“Freminet dear. You’re hesitating.” Father raised an eyebrow. “Are you waiting for something? Do you want me to give Pers a kiss on the head before I leave?”

Freminet flushed at the memories of holding the toy up to Father when he was young, insisting the penguin deserved a proper goodbye too. “Ahem. I’m not a child anymore… Father.”

“No? Then why are you still here?”

He swallowed awkwardly, forcing himself to look her in the eyes. He met her stare

“I know you’re just as worried as I am.” He said bluntly.

Father’s expression was almost impossible to read, but Freminet managed to catch a hint of surprise at his words. “I see. How did you come to that conclusion?”

It wasn’t denial, nor was it defensiveness. That was a good sign. Freminet continued, “There is a pinch between your eyebrows that you keep trying to smooth over. You’re gripping your teacup much tighter than usual. Your shoulders are tense. And you were far too quick to dismiss the twins’ concerns. You of all people would know that the situation is severe enough to allow a brief pause to their investigation, but you were swift in making sure they were kept as far away from the situation as possible.”

Arlecchino stared back at Freminet silently. She always had that unsettling way of watching him, as if she was picking apart the cogs and wheels spinning in his mind to know exactly what he was thinking.

“Observant as always, Freminet.” Freminet stood up straighter, pink touching his cheeks. “So, tell me this: what am I to do next?”

“You’re… going to find them yourself?” He asked slowly.

“That is correct. I will be.” Father agreed, and something inside him swelled. If only Lyney was still in the room, he would have collapsed with relief. “And what will you be doing?”

“Helping.” Freminet said without a thought.

“Incorrect. You are going to return to your room, go to sleep, and not say a word to your siblings.”

“But—”

“No. You are not involved here.” Arlecchino turned her back on him, looking out the window with her arms folded behind her.

“Father—”

“Do not forget that if you or your sibling’s interference costs me my mission, [Name]’s blood will be on your hands.”

Freminet recoiled sharply, as if she had struck him across the face. Arlecchino refused to lay a hand on any of them, but her words were more than enough to wound them.

“I—”

“I’m not looking for an argument, Freminet.”

Freminet shut his mouth with a click, lowering his head. He forced back the wave of emotions sweeping across him, sinking them so far into the depths of his mind that not even a champion diver like himself would be able to reach them.

“I am looking for an answer.” Father raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Father.” He said quietly.

“Good child,” She murmured, laying a gentle hand on the top of his head. “You are dismissed.”

-----

Arlecchino made her move at the stroke of sundown.

It was disgustingly easy to track them down, and the sheer incompetence only fuelled her rage until it burned brighter than the flames that curled beneath her skin. The assailants were sloppy, leaving plenty of traces for her to find, as if they were waiting for her to find them.

One of her agents had returned with a slip of paper that evening—a ransom note, crudely explaining that they had captured a House of the Hearth agent, and demanding a hefty sum in exchange for their safe return. She had chuckled at that last part. They would be lucky for her to leave them with their lives after what they have done, let alone a reward.

Their hideout was located in a quiet cave near the ocean, with an entrance half-hidden behind a curtain of vines. It was a quaint spot, a cosy place to sit back and watch the sun set over the water. She was sure the view behind her was breathtaking, but she made no move to take a glance for herself.

The vines made way for a long, narrow tunnel, ending with a wooden door. Arlecchino quietly turned the handle, scoffing under her breath when it turned without a key being inserted, and slipped through without making a single sound.

Six were scattered around the dingy room; one woman, five men. Seeming to be aged between their mid-twenties at the youngest, and early-forties at the oldest.

“Have we got a response yet?” The woman muttered impatiently, tapping her foot against the floor.

“How should I know?” One of the men grunted. “We left the note. Eventually it’s gotta make it’s way to the boss herself, and we’ll get the reward.”

“Just gotta be patient,” Another murmured. “Gotta be patient.”

Slightly past them was a wooden cage, secured with a metal lock.

They were in a heap on the floor of the cage, breathing weakly—Arlecchino quietly thanked the Tsaritsa that they were breathing at all—and looked to be passed out.

The fire inside her sang, and she could hardly breathe under the heat of it all.

“How long is this woman gonna take?” The woman rolled her eyes. “I’m tired of waiting.”

Arlecchino chuckled, causing all of the six to jump. “Oh, then allow me to assure you that you won’t have to wait much longer at all.”

Instantly they were on their feet, grabbing whatever weapon was closest. Their expressions ranged from outright fear, to an egregious amount of confidence for how weak they were in comparison to her.

“Knave,” the closest man grinned crookedly. “How kind of you to join us. I’m assuming you’re here for—” he jerked his head towards the figure still unmoving. “—that one?”

“‘That one’?” Arlecchino repeated slowly, drawing her scythe to her side. “I am here for my child.”

Two of the men—the ones closest to the cage—looked at each other nervously. Arlecchino smiled. It was a pity the rest of the group didn’t share the sense to fear her, but they would learn soon enough.

“Well you see, we’ll be happy to hand them over—” the man’s grin widened. “For a price, of course.”

“A price, you say?” She mused. “How about this. You step aside, I retrieve my child, and offer you a quick death. I would say that is more than fair, considering what you have cost me.”

The smile dropped off the man’s face. “That ain’t an option, lady.”

“Then I think you misunderstand.” She took a step towards him, then another, eyes glinting dangerously in the low light. “I wasn’t asking.”

“Boss—” one of the men tried to say.

“Shut it.” the first man hissed, bringing his shovel up in a defensive position. It was almost laughable, how he thought that would protect him.

“You made four mistakes tonight,” Arlecchino said smoothly. The tip of her scythe brushed the floor, sending a loud scraping sound across the walls. All of the people inside the room winced at the sound, but Arlecchino was unfazed as she continued prowling towards them.

“One… you failed to cover your tracks, making it remarkably easy to track you down.” In one swift motion, she lunged. The group barely had time to blink, before her scythe sliced across the chest of the closest one.

There was silence, before the man made a low gasp, bright crimson blood spilling down his shirt. He collapsed forward onto the ground with a thud, and the room erupted into chaos. A scream tore from the throat of the woman, and she dropped to her knees at his side, desperately clutching his shoulders. Arlecchino aimed a quick strike at her back, and she fell against the man heavily.

“Two, you left the door unlocked.” A pair charged towards her, hammers and shovels swinging. She knocked the weapons from their hands with one hit, and knocked them down with a second.

“Three—” One snuck up from behind, quickly tossing a string of rope over her head and around her neck, pulling harshly to cut off her breathing. An elbow in his ribs winded him enough to loosen his grip, and a knock to the head with the hilt of her scythe sent him to the floor. “You brought far too few people to last in a fight against me.”

The final man stumbled backwards until he hit the wall, shrinking against the bricks. Arlecchino walked with slow steps, stalking towards him like an animal cornering their pray. He shielded his face with his hands, in a desperate attempt to protect himself. Once she was about a foot away, she stopped, leaning in close.

“And four.” Arlecchino grasped the man by the throat, digging her nails into his skin hard enough to draw blood. “You hurt my fucking child.”

She tossed his body to the side, watching him hit the wall with a thud and collapse to the ground like a ragdoll.

“Pathetic.” She scoffed under her breath, stepping over his limp body. Her anger wasn’t nearly quelled—an inferno is not easily cooled, after all—but seeing them all lying lifelessly across the floor of their own base at least brought some vindication. She turned her back to the man, looking over at her child.

They were curled up in the cage like a trapped animal, rattling breaths ringing through the bars. Arlecchino gritted her teeth at the sight, making sure to step on the nearest captor’s fingers as she walked over. She swung her scythe against the lock, shattering it into bits of metal.

Her hands were gentle in reaching into the cage, hooking a hand under their knees and cradling their back with the other. They made a pained cry, and Arlecchino hurried to pull them out. She held them close to her chest, letting their cheek rest where her heartbeat pounded against her chest. Her face didn’t falter from that stony expression, but inside she was burning with fury.

“My child,” She murmured, more to herself than the shivering form in her arms. There was something dangerous in her tone, a note of warning to the assailants still conscious enough to hear her voice. She kissed their forehead, a tender gesture out of place among the bloodshed. “Didn’t I promise you that while you’re with me, no one can hurt you?”

“F-Father…?” A broken whisper slipped through their lips, followed by a sob, first sinking Arlecchino’s heart then shattering it into two.

“Shh… it’s okay. It’s okay, darling, I’m here.” She crooned, carrying them out of the room and through the tunnel. All throughout the journey through the tunnel and back onto the beach, she didn’t stop murmuring comforts and pressing kisses to their head in the most maternal way she’d ever remembered acting.

“I’m sorry, Father…” they mumbled, cheek pressed against her chest.

“Darling…” Arlecchino hummed, even as the smouldering ashes in her chest began to spark and flicker. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

The night was cold, but her child was a warm weight in her arms. She revelled in the warmth, a gentle reminder that they were still alive.

“We’ll be home soon,” Arlecchino promised, even though they were barely conscious enough to hear her. “Soon.”

reblogs are appreciated ♡

[strawberries-and-summer-days]

READY FOR LAUNCH? ‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅

| percy jackson x popstar au

| au masterlist ☽

warnings: swearing and one mention of drinking wine

a/n: the dead returns 😌 WE WILL NOT TALK ABOUT HOW LONG THIS TOOK ME TO GET AROUND TO OKAY? LETS ALL COLLECTIVELY IGNORE IT. KAY GREAT WONDERFUL anyways enjoy! also gasp too parts in one night? woah

you were bribed.

lia and riley had to beg, stacey was pestering you for days. you were firm on no until you were bribed with lia's mom's famous cookies. and anyone who's ever had one would know that her cookies are to die for.

so now you're sitting next to the asshole in question, both staring at your managers. "another good reason to go along with this is, a publicity boost-" stacey says continuing on with the list she had prepared to convince you both.

"i don't need publicity," you and percy say at the same time. lauren and stacey both hide smiles and continue on.

you're about too seconds away from leaving but stacey's warning look has you sighing and staying in the seat. percy groans as the two managers start to ramble on about a soft or hard launch. neither sound appealing.

"why did i agree to this shit again?"

☾. ⋅

"you post the launch this afternoon okay?" stacey says looking up from her paperwork to you.

you sigh, "fine whatever." a cough erupts from the the other side of the room and you look up to percy curled up on the furtherest chair from you as if your being physically repulses him.

after the photos you took this morning and yesterday it seems warranted. i mean you had to hold hands. gross.

"you know you too will have to be more friendly with each other in public right?" lauren asks from her spot next to percy.

"i can be friendly."

"ok let me re-phrase that," lauren pauses. "you're going to have to act... couple-y."

"... i can still do that."

you scoff at percy's words. "yeah right, you looked like you were about to throw up when we were taking photos earlier."

percy glares. his eyes scanning your face while he clenches his jaw in thought. "fine," he huffs standing up and walking towards you.

you panic slightly. whats he doing? whats going on? you look to stacey for an answer but her eyes are trained firmly on percy seemingly asking the same question.

he stops when he reaches your chair and drops down to a crouch so you're at eye level. "um.. what are you doing?" you ask.

he leans forward slightly so you're only inches apart. his eyes travel across your face as if memorising every feature, they stray to your lips - and falter there - before they return to your eyes. trying to diffuse some of the tension you tilt your head down avoiding eye contact. but a finger on your chin guiding your eyes back to his, has your head tilting back up. "eyes on me sunshine."

you're pretty sure you just gasped. maybe. a little bit.

"what are you doing?" you ask again, your voice barely a whisper.

a smirk overtakes he face and he speak loud enough for stacey and lauren to hear. "proving i can act like your boyfriend in public." he drops your chin as if it burnt him to touch you and walks away to his chair.

your face is on fire. "yeah, uh." you clear your throat. "that'll do i guess."

☾. ⋅

percyjackson

liked by underovergrover, clarisse.la.rue, the.annabethchase, lia.mandel, rileywest, yn's.team, and 1, 849,426 others

percyjackson so.....

view all comments

user1 Y/N'S TEAM LIKED THIS!!! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!!!

user2 percy/n confirmed??

user6 PLS PLS PLS PLS

user3 i think i died a little omg

user4 omg a soft launch???

underovergrover congrats man

percyjackson thanks 😉

user5 someone become an fbi agent and tell me if thats y/n rn.

user6 PLEASE

user7 who is sheeeee???

☾. ⋅

yn.official

liked by underovergrover, lia.mandel, rileywest, pjackson.team, maisiehpeters, gracieabrams, the.annabethchase and 2, 748, 925 others

yn.official surprise!

view all comments

user1 HOLY SHIT!!!! THIS BASICALLY CONFIRMS IT

user2 SOFTLAUNCH SOFTLAUNCH SOFTLAUNCH!!!

user3 you cannot tell me that them posting a soft the same day one after each other means they're not together. i wont believe it.

lia.mandel ahhh congrats babes <333

yn.official 😘

user4 the teams like their posts??? percy/n is real!!!!

user5 IKK they couldn't have made it more obvious.

user6 ...i mean they could've hard launched?

user7 anyone else notice how their captions kinda line up? "so....." and "surprise!"

user8 delusion is strong with us today

rileywest happy for you !! 🤍

liked by yn.official

☾. ⋅

you look up from the thousands of comments on the post and over to the sleeping lumps on your couch. lia and riley decided to stay the night for moral support. we'll their idea of moral support is breaking out a bottle of wine and watching movies. they didn't even make it through the first one before they zoned out and fell asleep.

you sigh and glance down at the countless comments and likes on your post. the idea was to soft launch to get more suspense or 'attention' as lauren and stacey like to say.

it seemed simple enough except for actually getting the photos taken. that was a nightmare.

the next step is another post or two and then an outing. together. and then from there who knows.

let the games begin...

TAGLIST‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅ [if you're name is white it means i couldn't tag you]

@lauptimist, @itzmeme, @mariaaaaaahhhh, @paankhaleyaar, @maybxlle,

@lara20aral, @cxp1d, @user-3113s-blog, @pleasingregulus,

@avihashearts4lix, @inlovewithmorales, @brokecollegebitch, @user-3113s-blog, @officiallyalbino

@gloryhaddock, @kozumesphone, @moonlightwonderlan, @starxshining, @taintedrosee

@lovelyygirl8, @cleothefrogo, @sungjinwoomybeloved, @hearts4li,

[dracoxmalereader]

Go Home Early

Draco x Male Reader

Context: Draco works in the muggle world at a restaurant because [insert valid reason here] and reader is his muggle coworker that he has a crush on.

Summary: Draco walks into the kitchen only to find his favorite coworker sick as a dog on the clock.

Word Count: 913

“It’s fine, really-” 

“It’s not!” Your supervisor snaps, pressing the back of her hand to your forehead. “We may as well use you as a stovetop with the fever you’re running.”

That’s the scene Draco pushes through the door into. He slows as he approaches the scene, eyes flickering between you and her. You roll your eyes and muffle a sneeze into the tissue you’d just blown your nose with. 

“What’s gone wrong now?” He asks.

Your supervisor clicks her tongue. “Y/N decided it was a wonderful idea to come in sick.”

“It wasn’t that bad when I left.” You reason. Draco steps closer to the two of you as you talk. “I can still sweep floors at least.”

“Walking here in the cold wasn’t going to help! And we can’t have you rubbing your germs all over the broom.”

You scoff and scrunch your tissue into a ball before throwing it across the narrow aisle of the kitchen into an open trash can. Your legs swing, the backs of your shoes tapping idly against the cabinets of the metal counter you’re sat on. 

She prods at your puffy face, pushing it to either side a few times to get a better look at how swollen you are in the cheekbones. You reach for another tissue when she finally lets go with a sigh. 

Draco lingers awkwardly, watching. His brows furrow. Aren’t colds more dangerous for muggles?

“Seems like a lost cause if you’ll be sinking our entire tissue budget,” Your supervisor insists. “You’re better off just going home.”

The defiant whine you let out is half-gone and nasally, finishing hoarse before you’re breaking into coughs. “But what about Daniel, he’ll be-” 

“Go home.” At the mention of your shared manager, she cuts you off with a firm hand on your shoulder. “I’ll take care of it.”

You roll your eyes again but mutter a thanks under your breath regardless. Your eyes scrunch and you jerk through another sneeze. The white of the tissue draws contrast to the red hues rubbed raw into your nose. It’d be adorable if you didn’t have snot running down your upper lip.

“Right,” She steps back from you, turning to Draco. “Drive him home. He’ll just get even sicker if he walks.”

Draco makes a noise of panicked protest, one that falls on uncaring ears as she walks away and out of the kitchen entirely. He turns to look you in the eye.

“You don’t look all that sick.” Draco steps closer to you. He smooths his hands over your hair to hold it back and tilts your head to see your condition for himself; he lets it fall back into place once he’s thoroughly assessed and presses his palms into your skin.

You feel your cheeks heat up a little under the contact. You’re lucky it passes as another unfortunate symptom of your cold. His face cinches in further, concern etching into his features. 

“Suppose you are a little warm, though.”

“It’s nothing serious.” You assure him. His fingers are almost scalding on yours when you reach up to push them away with your free hand. “More importantly, nothing serious enough to warrant an in-house physical.”

His eyes flicker up and down your drained face, fingers itching at his empty pockets instinctively for a wand that isn’t there. If he were back home he’d have fixed this for you by now. 

Worry flares in his chest when you break into more coughing and blow your nose another time, shuddering through a series of full-body sneezes.

You hoarsely complain about the soreness in the skin, and Draco doesn't know if he wants to tell you to shut up for the sake of protecting your strained vocal chords or break the statute of secrecy so you won't have anything to complain about at all.

He swallows around an anxious lump in his throat, trying to remind himself that you aren’t nearly as fragile as his family would have made you out to be. He slings an arm around your shoulder and hoists you to your feet. Can't be that much worse than a curse of the bogies, right?

“Let’s get you home before you collapse.” He insists.

“I won’t collapse.” You chuckle under your breath, wet and snotty. “So dramatic, the both of you.”

“Would you rather I leave you to walk in the cold? I could use a second break.”

You huff in response, muttering a whatever.

You pat down your pockets to make sure everything is still there, stepping out of Draco’s loose hold. Even as your stuffy nose curls on a sneer, you begrudgingly head towards the exit. He lets out a huff of his own but can't fight the fondness that flurries up through his veins.

He follows you out the door with as even an expression as he can manage. When you're both settled in your seats and buckled in, he looks over to see you wiping your nose on your sleeve, a throaty groan of discomfort filling the small space.

As he goes through the motions of starting his car up and wondering what on earth do muggles fix their colds with, he decides it can’t hurt to stop by a store on the way. 

And if he doesn’t know what to get and buys you one of every cough syrup they offer? Well, he at least hopes you’ll keep your mouth shut and not embarrass him at work over it.

An ode to me getting over the plague (a cold) after a century in perilous toil. (like a week with a runny nose)

Yes you have a manager named Daniel. Yes I envisioned him as Daniel Radcliffe. Don't ask me how that works because I don't know. Imagine Draco just hates the guy's guts because he looks like Potter.

This is inspired by a random thought I got while I was overcoming my treacherous and life-threatening ailment:

Draco Malfoy would NOT know how to handle a muggle bf with a cold. That sheltered wizard rich kid would probably think you're about to pass away if he breathes on you too hard because he has no idea colds aren't a big deal for puny weak little muggles even without pepperup potion and counter-curses.

I thought that sign off was cute ^^ I feel so scholarly.

Good Yard,

Woof

Tags: @dyinginpeace @gayaristocrat @siuspider @melancoliaque @esperfraud @joongbin @midwestemosblog @we2222 @ashton-laufeyson @starr-writes @mqzze @itsfitzroyy @pinkb4t @daybreakmistakes @ronaldweasleyhowdareyou @freshfroggy @sadzaslicer

[kuijoon]

Sampo used to be a self-annihilator before becoming a masked fool

Note: this is a crack theory(?) (not even a theory tbh as I don’t really think it’s true and more so a different view on him)

First of all, this started with the similarities between Acheron and Sampo. Dark hair with white parts, dead snake imagery, diamond shaped pupils, leaving purple slashes in the air with their weapon, both nihility, etc. Obviously, this isn’t enough to warrant speculating about Sampo being connected to Acheron/the self-annihilators, so let me elaborate:

White hair: As we know, Acheron has a streak of white hair and completely white hair when she is in her alternative form. Self-annihilators are mentioned to “lose their color” as time goes on, which I think the white hair symbolizes. Sampo also has white hair, however it only is at the end of his hair (=he was losing his color back when he was a self-annihilator but after escaping the nihility and becoming a masked fool, it stopped- I’ll explain this idea more later on)

Snake imagery: As I think every Sampo fan is aware, he has skeletal snake imagery all over his design and it was even confirmed to be intended by hyv in the notes discussing Sampo’s beta design. Acheron possesses some of it too, albeit much less prominent: the spine thing on her back, similar belt decoration to Sampo’s, long spine painted (like that of a snake) on her sleeve, diamond eyes that could kind of resemble that of a snake (just like Sampo btw) and a spine in the background of her splash art. She even has a shoulder guard like Sampo, although it doesn’t directly resemble a snake and more so a vague bone structure (then again Sampo’s snake design elements are exclusively from snake bones). Other than Acheron, we have another known self-annihilator that features snake imagery; the one from the SU occurrence “Kindling of the Self-Annihilator”. Here, they are described as someone who’s a serpent below their waist, with dark green scales that give off a metallic glint- may be a coincidence, but for the sake of this theory I will choose to believe it’s intentional.

Besides Acheron’s and Sampo’s similarities, there are also a few more reasons to support this:

Aha saving a self-annihilator: In the Swarm disaster, Lepismat Part VI, Aha pays a self-annihilator a visit and they are described to have a “heartfelt smile on their face”, as if being rescued from the nihility’s pull due to Aha. Now, my theory would be that the same happened to Sampo- he was slowly fading away (his hair started to turn white), but then Aha showed up for whatever reason and Sampo was able to get out of IX’s shadow, becoming part of the masked fools instead when he realized the joy of life- turning from nihilism to absurdism, as the two concepts are closely intertwined anyway (hair stopped turning white).

Sampo’s in-game path is nihility: Now, if what I said before was true and Sampo stopped following the nihility, why would his in-game path being nihility support this? Well, I think don’t think that he has to completely turn away from nihility- as I already said the nihility and elation are closely connected in the belief that nothing matters, so still having sharing some beliefs would make sense to me.

Anyway that’s it for now (probably forgot something but wtv)

[nathaslosthershit]

[3] Who is Birdie Hughes?

Mat Barzal x Hughes!sister

Part of the Birdie Hughes AU

Here is the link for the Masterlist 

Summary: Why Birdie is out of the limelight and the 3 times the Hughes brothers talked about their big sister

The three Hughes brothers becoming huge hockey stars and seemingly getting those talents from their parents, was a story told over and over. 3 out of 3 Hughes boys ending up in the NHL at the same time truly showed the talent this family possessed. But there was a fourth child, the oldest and only daughter of the family, that wasn’t so much in the limelight. This was on purpose, Birdie never wanted too much attention on herself, and she thought that with three famous superstar hockey brothers, she wasn't interesting enough to warrant attention. It was shortly after Jack was drafted, and the family began to gain much more popularity, that they were all asked to be interviewed, when she sat them all down to talk.

“I don’t want to be interviewed.” She stated, firm but not unkind. “I don’t think I could handle that.”

“Well, Birdie, we will have someone there to help you out and talk you through it ahead of time.” Her dad said.

“I know that, and I know if I said anything stupid or whatever they wouldn’t include it. I just think I don’t need to add my input. They don’t want to hear what I have to say.”

“Sweetie, they asked you to do it because they want to know. They want to hear what you have to say as the oldest.” Her mom reasoned.

“Come on dude, you are part of the family, it would be weird if everyone but you were interviewed.” Jack argued. They didn’t understand, which wasn’t their fault. Birdie didn’t know how to articulate how she was feeling. She loved her family, she loved hockey, and she loved how her brothers were talented and had bright features ahead of them. What she didn’t love was the guilt she had always felt for quitting. She was good and she enjoyed playing, but she simply wasn’t competitive enough. She didn’t feel the need to practice day in and day out, she never stressed about whether her team was going to win because she simply enjoyed playing. After a particularly bad season had ended in high school, her coach had sat her down and berated her. Accusing her of not caring enough, of letting down her team. She vowed then and there that the only times she would be playing was for fun. She didn’t want big arenas full of fans and the best hockey equipment money could buy. She wanted the public rink and to play with her family for fun during the weekend and days they had off. 

When Birdie had finally told her family she was done, they were confused. After a bit of pushback they finally decided that if she wasn’t going to be happy, then there was no reason to make her continue. She missed it, of course, and she felt terrible for quitting, but over time she felt less and less guilty. 

She didn’t want to talk about that though, she didn’t want to explain. She also didn’t want to feel like she was less then because she chose a different life than what her brothers did.

“You can mention me, I don’t want to totally not exist from your lives publicly. I just don’t want to be interviewed right now.” She said firmly. 

Silence filled the room, till they all began to nod.

“Also, just call me Birdie. I don’t need my name out there so some crazy fan can dox me or something.” This she passed off as a joke, but they all knew she was serious at the same time. 

Ever since then, the public has known little about the mysterious first Hughes child. Comments here and there from the boys or their parents about their sister and daughter, but not much more. A childhood photo here and there, but since Luke’s draft day, there hasn’t been much of her, unless it was a hockey game she went to support her brothers at. 

Over time though, this began to change.

It started with Jack.

Out of everyone, Jack hated interviews the most. He knows it has become somewhat of a joke and over the years he just couldn’t bring himself to care about hiding his annoyance. Luckily, Jack was only doing a small sit down to talk about his family. Nothing about a game he had played where they would ask if he was sad they lost or some shit.

“Now your whole family is very close it seems. How have they impacted your career and helped you grow?”

“Uh yeah, obviously we are close and they all mean the world to me,” what the fuck is he supposed to say? “Growing up with three siblings has honestly really shaped me as a person. I owe so much to my brothers and sister. Beyond hockey even. Having three people you are sort of forced to love and grow with has been a blessing, even if they are annoying. Birdie, my sister, has had the most impact I think. She has always been kind of a, um, mentor, I guess- I don’t really know how to say it. She helped me become a better person, I don’t even want to know who I would be if I didn’t have her to somewhat keep me in check growing up. She lives not too far from me, compared to the rest of my family, so when I moved to New Jersey she helped along the way. She also did so much to help me when I was younger. Driving me to practice, driving my friends to practice too. Also school, she is the smartest person in the world, I swear. Always gave me shit for tests I would do bad on, but would always offer to help me study. And I gave her every single essay to proofread, which led to more bullying from her, but I never got too bad of a grade after she put her input in.” He was actually smiling and laughing, which is not common for Jack during an interview.

“She must be your favorite huh?” The interviewer said laughing.

“Oh she is everyone’s favorite. Although we all know Luke is her favorite. That's only because he is the youngest. She calls him ‘her baby’, which she has said since she was 6 and he was an infant.”

Luke

“So, Luke, a lot of talk from Jack about your sister. Something about you being her favorite?” The interviewer asked.

“Oh, of course I'm her favorite. Not even a question. She loves to tell me how I will always be her baby brother, despite how old I get, which is kind of annoying.” he laughs.

“Most people would find it endearing.”

“Yeah until she visits you in college and starts yapping about how you are ‘her baby’ to all your new friends. They all thought it was hilarious and I had to put up with them calling me ‘baby Hughes’ for like a month.” 

Quinn

“Tough game today, Quinn.” The reporter said, not really a question but he still waited for the captain’s response.

“Yeah. I have family here today so the loss is a little more upsetting.” He said somberly. He really hated interviews sometimes.

“Your brothers were here?”

“No, uh my sister. She surprised me last night. Didn’t know she was coming till then. She works in New York so I don’t get to see her as much as my brothers do. Something that I am jealous about.”

“Ah yes, the first Hughes child. You two being the oldest- are you guys close?”

What a weird question. But honestly, Quinn would rather talk about his sister than the game.

“Of course. It was just us for a little bit and I was more of her younger brother then, but once the other two came along we became each other’s confidant. I love it when she visits, and she is a better guest than my brothers so,” he laughs.

“You said she works in New York. Is she also involved in hockey like her siblings? Seems like a family trend so I wouldn’t be surprised.” The reporter said. 

This pissed Quinn off and he knew he had to be careful with how he answered this. Being so close, he was the first person she told when she was thinking about quitting hockey. He knew why she felt awful and he hated it. He also knew that this question would upset her, so he had to do something to make his answer one that wouldn’t hurt her even more.

“No, she actually works at a museum. She is easily the smartest out of all of us.”

“Ah so sort of a ‘black sheep of the family’, right?”

“Not whatsoever. We all love her, and since I was young she has been like the coolest person to me. It's honestly hard to explain what she does because it is much more sophisticated than me playing hockey or you asking stupid questions for a living.” Honestly, he would have dragged the interviewer more, but was soon let go because they could tell he began to have an attitude that wasn’t very good for a captain. 

“Fucking idiot” Quinn muttered after he left.

“What's wrong?” Birdie, who had waited outside for him to be done, had asked.

“Nothing, just- you are smart and talented, and everyone is so proud of you for what you do. Don’t forget that, okay?”

“Quinn, what happened?” 

“The interviewer was just stupid. I had said you were here and they asked if you were involved with hockey. When I said no they were rude about it. Then I got mad. Fuck them though. Your museum shit is much cooler.” “Cooler than being a professional hockey player that makes millions of dollars? I don’t know about that, Quinn.” She teased. She was used to it. It was worse when people who actually knew her had added their two cents in, but some random interviewer wasn’t going to upset her. She wouldn’t let it. “But thank you. I am not upset, I promise.”

“Love you, B.”

“Love you too, Q.”

[henrysglock]

[Lumax voice] Turn Around, Look At What You See! In Their Face...

(If you couldn't already tell: I have finally lost all my marbles.)

I'm sure this has occurred to other people by now, but if El's memories leading up to the 4.07 monologue are ripped directly from Brenner's (<- slayful Nat post, required viewing), and she runs in to see One killing Two...then doesn't it stand to reason that that is what Brenner saw when he ran into the Rainbow Room in 1979?

Now before anyone hops in to correct me: There's definitely a version of things where Brenner finds El alone in the rainbow room after the massacre. That's not in question. We all know that happened at some point.

(Regardless of the manner of death...no broken bones or gouged eyes...okay!)

However, as I'm sure we're all aware...these guys are different guys.

(This detail has been beaten into the ground but always bears repeating)

So, what is in question is what close-up Brenner saw when he ran into the Rainbow Room.

Those duplicate memories appear to belong to close-up Brenner:

i.e. not the Brenner who runs in and sees El at the start of 4.08. (This isn't to say that that Brenner doesn't have those memories or similar ones, but he's not the Brenner whose memories are being featured. Begone, thot.)

So, arguably, if El has close-up Brenner's memories...then she should be running in and seeing what he saw, no?

So what did he see? Someone just slightly shorter than him, who walked close enough to warrant a tight shot.

That POV (as has been discussed ad nauseam by many) is far too tall to be any version of El:

But it is about the right height for someone a few inches shorter than Brenner...something like:

So, tl;dr: I want to play a clip for you.

I love choreography and camera work. That's art right there.

However, that video doesn't include the subtitling that accompanies the visuals that link El finding One to Brenner finding El:

Now, it's difficult to compare anything after this point (though not impossible, can't keep a south Wisconsin boy down. I will be using them for comparisons later)...because of course that's when weird, random blood starts appearing:

Hence, the clock is visibly frozen after that point:

This smacks, to me, of the same kind of shit that happened with 004 when the kids were bullying El—Scenes that never actually happened in the real past being spliced into a tape that cuts off and then picks back up like no time had passed/nothing had been spliced in. It makes more sense if you read the post I linked, since the video in that post makes my point clearly.

< TANGENTIALLY RELATED >

The anime nerd in me is tempted to liken this whole deal ^ to JJBA/DIO's time-stopping stand "The World" in...that's right...Stardust Crusaders, wherein DIO pause time for everyone but himself, which I'm certain others have done as well.

Tbqh...I'm still here:

Specifically a reference to The World/DIO vs Star Platium/Jotaro, both of which are time-stopping stands...(Much to think about irt Jotaro/Star Platinum developing time-stopping powers later on in terms of El, sure, but also in terms of "Everything was hard for [One]...He walked in here, and it was like something had changed. He told me he had figured it out.").

[Distant screaming as I'm forcefully prevented from going on a "Stardust Spider-Stardust Crusaders-Dio Brando-Joestar Family-Dio's Bone-Green Baby-Green, Green Grass of Home" tangent in this post...and don't get me started on DIO's regen healing/vampirism from the ancient stone mask...don't get me started on King Crimson and Golden Experience Requiem either...]

Not to mention the DIO reference with One linking this scene to (you guessed it) Edward Munson:

Edward Creel proven once again, but this time it's via goddamn JJBA and Brenner fuckery. (And yes, yes, I know about DIO the band. This ain't about her. Things can have multiple meanings. It was a Choice to associate Henward with DIO and Eddie with DIO. I rest my case.)

< ANYWAY, TANGENTS ASIDE >

As I said earlier, close-up Brenner is shot at a distance baby El could never have achieved. She passes out on the far side of the room, entirely too far away to have been anywhere near close enough for a close-up of Brenner's face, height aside.

However, ignoring the blood fuckery and disappearing gate cracks:

Some-One else has enough energy left to walk towards the doors. All the way over, in fact. So while those close-up shots are 100% out of range for post-gate baby El, they're very much in-range for 3:46 PM One.

Tl;dr: It's entirely possible, if not likely (based on the choreography and camera-work in these scenes) that close-up/angry Brenner was addressing One rather than baby El.

[samkerrworshipper]

i dare you to drop the spoiler

welllll i’ll give y’all this 🙈

here’s a little sneak peek to my next fic……. sam kerr x reader

slight warning for mention of smut

———————————————————————

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

It’s the agitated and slightly angry voice of your girlfriend as she closes the front door behind her that captures your attention, you don’t remove your eyes from their focus on the tv, you knew better than to make eye contact.

“You were running late for dinner, what was I supposed to do?”

You could hear Sam stamping her shoes off, you knew she’d finally managed to toe them off when the sound of her padded feet stomping down the entrance hallway broke the noise barrier.

“Does that seriously warrant you sending me videos when I sent you a text saying I was being kept later for some media?”

No. Was the right answer, and if you weren’t in a bit of a bratty mood you would have said so, but Sam had been training everyday of the week recently, she came home tired, hungry and grumpy most nights. Not that you really minded, but it had been a week since you’d gone past the point of gentle morning kisses, and you were getting sick of it. No matter what you tried, she resisted. You tried to sneak into her morning showers, just for her to tell you that she couldn’t be late. You tried to straddle her when you were watching tv at night, just for her to tell you that she was feeling tired. You understood, it was understandable, but you also had needs, needs that your girlfriend needed to fucking take care of.

“You promised me dinner, if I get a little bit bored whilst you're running late then you can’t really blame me, there’s leftovers in the fridge.”

In situations like these there were generally two ways Sam reacted, prolonged gratification or instant gratification. She would either ignore you, until you were begging for her attention and then when you were begging for her she’d punish you, or she’d deal with you know. It typically was dependent on a few different factors, mood, hunger level, horniness level and annoyance level.

“Come here.”

Sam’s voice was flat, not a real indicator of her mood. You hesitated for a few seconds before getting up, keeping your eyes focused on the floor and not Sam.

She was standing at the kitchen counter, her keys and phone laid out miscellaneously on the quartz bench.

You tiptoed closer to her, keeping a safe enough distance but close enough that you were within arms reach if she took a step forward.

“Look at me, pet.”

That was new, not unwanted but new, pet names were a norm but the one ‘pet’ was completely new.

“Y/n eyes on me.”

The use of your full name was enough to pull your eyes from Sam’s socks, slowly trailing up her Chelsea sweatpants and matching long sleeve top, raking up her body until you met her eyes. They were set, slightly darkened, her jaw was locked but there wasn’t any obvious anger in her facial features.

“I told you I was going to miss dinner, at 12 o’clock when Chelsea told me I was going to have to stay late for Media, it wasn’t my fault. Can you remind me what the rule is about you touching yourself and orgasming without my permission?”

[hanasnx]

Kinktober: House of Amateurs - S1E6

MINORS DNI 18+

SUMMARY: october 6th | behind the scenes | the daring interviewer, zena daren, isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty and advertise krayt house’s first full-length pornographic series. the new frontier of breaking through this industry’s stigma is a challenge she’s up to face. joined by any member of the cast that’ll lend their mouth to the microphone, zena wants to know the answers to questions the people are too afraid to ask. WC: 0.5k | CHARACTERS: anakin skywalker, zena daren (oc) WARNINGS: no reader | adult film au | spoilers: episode 2 | mentioned: sexual content, adult film industry

KRAYT HOUSE M.LIST | NAVI | INBOX | @KRAYTHOUSE

“So, this is your first shot at a series, right?” Zena makes conversation, beginning with something light as she coolly crosses one leg over another in her pencil skirt.

Anakin, who sits across from her in casual attire, gently signals a single nod of his head with a long blink. It’s not the first time she’s encountered the legendary Anakin Skywalker, but his body language never ceases to surprise her. From way he acts on camera, and his well-endowed features, his posture here is remarkably flaccid.

She flips the pen in her hand, gripping the edge of her clipboard as she adjusts in her seat, engaging with him. “What made you take the job?”

He flashes a downturn of his lips, scratching the side of his nose. “Money. Needed a job.”

Zena raises her brows, his crude sense of humor— if it is humor— landing on her enough to curl the corners of her mouth. “This series is practically built around you, I’d imagine the kind of person to warrant that attention would be well-off, don’t you?”

“If that’s what you think.” he shrugs.

“You wanna know what I think?” Zena goads.

His expression shifts mild encouragement, gesturing with his hand to go on.

Zena pushes up her glasses by pinching the frames, eyeing him down through her brows. “You care more than you let on. Your platform is built, Mr. Skywalker, but your co-stars are relatively new to the scene. You’re using this and your name to give them publicity.”

He takes his time in moistening his lips, leaning back in his chair to hook the crook of his elbow over the back of it. Those famous, storming eyes bore into hers, yet neither she nor he wavers. He repeats himself, “If that’s what you think.”

Clearly, it’s a dead-end. He’s not one to crack, and she’s not sure which is the fake. His porn-star persona, or the uncaring personality who sits before her now. She chews the corner of his mouth, and moves on. She’ll get him to open up in other ways. “You know me, I have to be candid.” she warns as she relaxes into her seat.

“I prefer it.”

“This last week of episodes, which was your favorite to film?”

“I liked the girls in the shower.” he replies, his nonchalance towards subject matter most would find distasteful is appreciated. He won’t beat around the bush. His intense gaze holds her as he relays those words, and she sees why his co-stars often describe him as “intoxicating.” There’s a sensuality she can’t describe to his features, and his eyes draw her in. “I like when the attention’s on me.” Does he really?

“There was a lot of passion during foodplay.”

“Are you talking about how I ate cake from her mouth?” The way he says it betrays the fact he’s not ashamed, but he’s heard enough about that detail.

A smile tugs its way onto Zena’s features. “That’s the one.”

“What can I say?” he sighs, crossing his arms. Thick tendons folded together in a most pleasing manner. He’s got a beautiful body, and he seems proud of it. “The scene runs away with me sometimes.”

[olderthannetfic]

While we're on the topic of Mainstream Publishing Discourse...

There's a lot of discussion about how a lot of sci-fi/fantasy written by women and especially WOC that is not YA gets miscategorized as YA on Goodreads and other sites like that. And sure, sometimes it's unfair and just misogynistic/racist. Like, no one should be calling NK Jemisin's writing "YA."

But sometimes you get writers who will make that argument about where you're like.... okay, the reason people keep thinking you're YA is because of actual features of your writing that are similar to YA. Like if R.F. Kuang (she's the one I feel like gets complained about the most lately and I recently read Poppy War and Babel and agree with the complaints) wants to stop being seen as YA, she could maybe learn to have enough faith in her readers to not feel like she has to mention the moral of the story - that is already obvious from every other feature of the story - explicitly spelled out like 50x. She also seems to assume that her reader will disagree with her unless she does that, which is a strange thing to conclude about "colonialism bad" which I don't think anyone who is picking up Babel and reading the description on it is going to go in thinking the opposite of! And that is what makes it feel like YA: because so much YA is designed as intros to "serious issues" for teens that writers assume don't pick up on that stuff without explicitly being told (which I think is a bit insulting to teens, but whatever, it is the genre convention and it is why by 15 I was already reading books for grown-ups in both my free time and my classes). You don't NEED to do that and if you didn't, way fewer people would think your books are YA!

Or like Erin Morgenstern, you'll be seen as YA less if you were able to construct a coherent plot and characterization and didn't instead seem to be going entirely on aesthetics and vibes. Or like Casey McQuiston, whose books absolutely do read like YA books that just have more explicit, fanficcy sex scenes in it. You cannot be shocked people think of Red White and Royal Blue that way when it has such a YA-tastic romance premise that there have been multiple actual YA books since that were blatant rip-offs of it.

I also saw a post about how a lot of these books seem to be set in things like "magical boarding school" or focus on teen protagonists and like, yeah, I feel like in general if your books keep focusing on teenagers in a very similar to way books written FOR teenagers, you can't be shocked that people keep thinking they're YA. Of course there are books about teens that are for adults, but they are usually approached in a very different way with different plots.

Anyway, I do wish people would stop assuming that books that are clearly not YA "are YA" because they are sci-fi/fantasy written by women, because it just makes it that much harder to talk about the ones that really do feel like YA in ways where the authors should probably take that criticism to heart a little bit more. Someone like Kuang clearly does want to be writing for a more adult-litfic-style audience, and should probably listen to the people telling her that her books are too didactic in a way that feels insulting to people who aren't BookTok YA readers.

I tried to bring that up to my book club though when we read Poppy War and one person wouldn't stop shouting me down about how it's "just sexism and racism." And I had to keep shouting back, dude, yeah, I know that's what the discourse is. I know that's why writers like this can brush that off. I'm saying though that in this case, I think some of it's warranted based on how *the book is actually written*

--

[stonebutchery]

i think we need to have a conversation about dysphoria and triggers again as a trans community (particularly the younger-than-25 crowd) because i think it's actually a little worrying how many trans people say they're triggered by the mere mention of trans pregnancy, by masculine features, by breasts or by flat chests, by certain body types, and other unchangeable parts of the varied trans existence. whatever you do online for yourself and for your own peace of mind is your business. but you can't be telling trans people you're triggered by their 'non passing' features or bodily choices because they make you personally uncomfortable. you need to deal with that, privately, on your own.

as someone who worked for a while with an advocacy program for rape survivors, something that came up, even with trans clients, was "i'm triggered by men and masculine features" or, also troublesome, "i'm triggered by men of a specific race." this is something we infrequently (but frequently enough to warrant writing up an entire protocol on referrals to specific in-network therapists) had to discuss with clients because, as an advocacy program that advocated for everyone who came to us for help, i can't ban 'men' from the waiting room. it would be a violation of their rights if we were to accommodate someone's desire for comfort, a desire that comes from the fact that they are 'triggered by men'. we could move someone who is 'triggered by men' to another room if another room were available but, ultimately, it's going to be beneficial for that person to deal with their trigger. because it's just not acceptable when a client comes into the office and accuses a trans woman in the waiting room of being a predator because "[she] looks like a man, i'm triggered by men, i was assaulted by a man," nor is it acceptable when a transmasculine client says he wants the cis man in the lobby to leave because he's triggered by the presence of a cis man, also as the survivor of violence by a cis male perpetrator (both of these examples coming from my experiences as an advocate). both of those people these clients pointed a finger at were fellow sexual violence survivors seeking resources, only to be accused of being perpetrators for sitting in a waiting room to seek those resources, made to feel humiliated by other survivors in a space that's supposed to be fucking safe for them.

whether they've carried a fetus to term or gotten an abortion, i've also known several pregnant trans people. in the christofascist west, pregnant people have historically been banished to the confines of their homes. there's a reason why the united states and other western countries have (sometimes tenuous-at-best) laws prohibiting the discrimination against workers who are pregnant or become pregnant. trans pregnancy is already incredibly stigmatized and censored. outside of, like, online kink-related or fetish-related content pertaining to impregnation or pregnancy where people are well within their right to curate what they see and engage with, i find it especially disappointing when all mention of pregnancy, sometimes specifically singled-out trans pregnancy, is requested to be censored, and to once again banish the mere acknowledgement of the existence of pregnant people, especially pregnant trans people and trans parents who have biological children, to the out-of-sight, out-of-mind nowhere-land. like they don’t exist and don’t deserve recognition or acknowledgement.

and yes, i am actually very well aware that there are countries with bans in places which carry criminal penalties for abortion. i happen to live in one. the fact that there are trans people who want to be parents and who want to have biological kids is just as important to me as all of the trans people who deserve safe and legal abortions whenever they want, for any reason. censoring and silencing trans people for talking about being pregnant, in any context, and requesting censorship of trans pregnancy, including the acknowledgement and de-stigmatization of trans pregnancy and trans abortion-seeking... because it makes some trans people dysphoric...? i'm sorry but you're kind of getting in your own way. and if you end up making it random pregnant trans peoples’ problem, you are then doing harm. this is one of those cases where censoring the object of your trigger is not going to end up being conducive to healing and growth. and it risks substantially harming others.

"my body, my choice" is not just empty words in a slogan. someone else’s autonomous bodily decisions do not concern you. at all. other people are not fucking responsible for your dysphoria or the reactions you are having to their body; their bodily autonomy, their autonomous bodily choices, literally just existing. i think you should challenge yourself to dig deep and ask how and why someone else's completely benign existence triggers you.

i am not responsible for my existence ‘causing you dysphoria’. that is your problem. you deal with that.

you may get triggered but how you choose to respond and react is something to work on because your reactions can be harmful.

[drdtfuitgumies]

season 2 summary: june 2024

this summary is mainly for my personal documentation (i like documenting stuff), but i thought i'd post this in the blog too just in case anyone else was interested!

STATISTICS

i absolutely did not expect xander and j tying for first place, both appearing five times for june 2024. i should've seen this coming since i tried to even out the character distribution whenever possible; hence second and third places also being ties. very, very large ties.

arei was in jail for most of the month, but she still manages to appear twice regardless. good for her!

PERSONAL FAVORITES (in chronological order)

1) J and Nico at autism heaven (real-life Pokemon Center)

what else do you expect out of Me, who learnt literacy from replaying Pokemon Soul Silver and Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Explorers of Sky over and over? i assure, for the ten other people that read this, that i will put everyone to autism heaven eventually. (also, "autism heaven" is referencing a tiktok. it's a good phrase)

2) Charles in comical amounts of swimwear

i just think he looks very silly. it is warranted, but still very silly. i wonder if the drdt cast could get out of a beach episode without any casualties... also, when this first came in the inbox, i was so tempted to break schedule and do it immediately. there will be some more prompts that scratch the itch in my braincell

3) Ace is finally tall (with the assistance of Levi)

he's finally tall! the one time he looks actually happy...!! i also mention this one here because i'd like to acknowledge a funny little thing i've been doing; making nico's slippers emote. you'll be seeing it more often when nico themselves pop up more often!

THE POWER OF HINDSIGHT

sometimes i think of adding punchlines in the situations, or fix errors after i've put them in the queue, but forget to actually. do them.

i probably could've blended whit into strawberry milkshake and proudly shouldered the blame, but i just didn't consider the possibility then

ace was missing his front hairstrands while he was eating mint (see other ace posts to compare). i actually never realized this until i finally got around to making this post

when i started this blog, i really, reallyyyyy wanted the 39th post (featuring world-class icon Hatsune Miku) to be a vocaloid mv redraw / reference, but i realized pretty quickly i wouldn't be able to take it seriously. at least i drew miku gumy!

mai's debut was supposed to be something like... her watching despair time prologue episode 1 (possibly on monotv's screen or sitting next to monotv). haunting the narrative or something.

OTHER REMARKS

i didn't mention levi being relatively difficult to draw so i will for this month's summary. i keep thinking that "it's kinda like xander but also not really", which continues to become my downfall. xander is still one of the easier ones to draw too... ack

me putting arei in jail actually made me forget how to draw her for a hot second

the singular miro canvas i use for every single fuit gumy in this blog has gotten large enough that it occasionally lags when my internet isn't being stellar. i'll show it in the next summary since it'll become even larger by then!

when do you guys think arei will finish stealing at least one thing from everyone else. your answers may or may not influence me

once again, thank you so much for your support! every comment you make amuses me. :>

[atonalginger]

WIP Wednesday

@therealgchu reminded me it was Wednesday and Wednesdays are for WIPs!

I've got a little bit of writing and some strategic edits of a picture I finished yesterday. Strategic crops to be precise...like this one:

oh hey! That's the Frontier's hab. Wonder what's going on in there that warrants cropping...Guess we'll see under the cut? any way I've also got a snippet of writing from Lyssa Shrike's story as she clears the lab on Kreet with Constellation!Del there for the assist. It's a touch longer so I'm going to toss it under the read more to save space and as a bonus there will be three crops of the Delyssa art I made last night that features activities later in the story...

--

Delgado took the flashlight from his mouth, switched it off, and dropped it into the box. He pulled an analgesic poultice from the mess of supplies and set about smearing it onto the holes and burns from bullet grazes, “almost done. Wasn’t so bad, was it? Chica dura.”

“You didn’t need to do all that.” She looked back into the lab at the quick carnage. Most of it, once again, hers. For a moment she thought about checking IDs or pulling off helmets to see if she knew any of them but shoved the thought from her mind. The memory of the carnage would be enough punishment.

“What did I say?” he asked. His voice was softer now, closer, his warm breath on her ear. She could feel him bandaging her arm, her bicep still mostly numb from the dual trauma packs, which she was grateful for.

“I don’t play well with others,” she closed her eyes and hung her head.

“Clearly,” he chuckled, “but you’re smart, you can learn.”

She barked a laugh, “oh, fuck you.”

“Maybe in the Fleet everyone is ready to shiv one another over some Chunks but Constellation isn’t like that. We look out for one another.” She could hear him digging around in one of his suit pockets, “taking care of your arm now means less risk of infection later. Those pelotudos mentioned reinforcements, who knows how many more we need to fight through.”

“So you numbed my upper arm,” she finally turned and look at him, surprised to see how close he was as he patched up the tear in her suit, “which means my ability to fight went down.”

“You don’t need to do everything on your own,” he glanced over, his amber eyes twinkling in the overhead lights. He flashed his cocky smile and winked at her, “you’re in good hands.”

“And what will I owe you?”

He tossed the empty tube over his shoulder and sat back on his heels, looking uneasy, “this isn’t tit for tat. You don’t owe me anything. We’re a team right now, we’re working together.”

“You keep saying that,” she looked back at the carnage again.

“Because I mean it,” he sighed and set about closing his medkit and stuffing it back into his suit pocket. He stood tall, stretching his back and letting out a slight groan, “you fight like a fury, you know?”

“So I’ve been told. What of it?”

He held out a hand to help her stand. She stared at it, debating on slapping it away but deciding to restrain herself and accept the assistance. Play nice, Jamie, She thought. Don’t bite the hand that heals. After she was up Delgado lingered in the touch, pulling her in closer than necessary, his eyes once again flicking to her lips before slowly trailing back up. Pretty shy for such a big talker.

“That fury carry over to…” he leaned closer, his voice a husky whisper that caused another flutter in her stomach, “more fun activities?”

Lyssa rolled her eyes and looked away, throwing up another aggressive wall to hide her desire for the smooth talker as she tried to shove him back, “you want to fuck in a blood soaked lab? Here I thought I was the savage of the two.”

Delgado took a step back to steady himself, quickly recovering and reaching out to catch her waist with his hands, “didn’t say that.” He pulled her body against his and leaned in close enough to brush his nose against hers, “but I can see you’re interested.”

“That so?” Lyssa growled. She placed a hand on his chest and pushed back, regaining the upper hand, “and you probably think your ham-fisted flirts all afternoon did something?”

He let his head fall back as he laughed, “ouch! You wound me.”

“I wasn’t named Shrike for shits and giggles,” she leaned closer, her nose brushing his neck, “foolish to play with an animal you don’t know.”

He laughed again, showing no signs of moving. She bit his exposed neck, sucking on the skin for a moment as he let out a surprised moan. When she released and pulled back he caught her lips in a hungry kiss, one hand on the back of her head and the other still gripping the waist of her suit. Lyssa ran her fingers into his hair, the flutters spreading through her body as the two fought to devour the other where they stood.

[quickdeaths]

@more-than-a-princess

With the person she was intending to meet running late, Shinobu sat upon the bench at the train station, waiting. Too often did loitering in a public place seem to others as an invitation to approach her with confessions or date requests, so looking occupied was a (mostly ineffective) attempt to stave off such behavior. In this instance, they held their phone in their hands, trying to determine what sort of message might be appropriate for the situation at hand. For now, at least, she recognized the importance of composing the message in full before ever typing, rather than subject the recipient to the endless triple dots should she happen to be looking.

[Yaguchi]: Miss Nevermind, I wanted to express my appreciation for the chocolates you sent me the other day. They were both thoughtful and delicious. [Yaguchi]: I regret that I couldn't see you on the day in question, but as you may have heard, there was a certain unpleasant incident that kept me rather occupied well into the evening. [Yaguchi]: I'd hoped to see you and convey my appreciation in person later, but it seems it's been quite the busy week for both of us. [Yaguchi]: Ideally, I'll be able to meet with you and Anzu later tonight, but in the event that it's impossible for me to do so, I wanted to speak with you before the distance between then and now became too great, and I appeared ungrateful. [Yaguchi]: In any event, I wish you and Anzu a pleasant evening.

The message was regrettably long, but there wasn't much Shinobu could do about it. There were enough things that warranted mentioning that it simply required a series of messages. Still, even after saying that much, Shinobu wondered if there was yet more to say. "Shinobu-san!" The introspective moment was broken by the sound of a familiar voice. It seemed there would be no time for further messaging, with Shinobu looking up from her phone to see the person she was meeting disembarking from the train. "I hope you weren't waiting for me long. Are you ready to go?"

"Girls' night!" Anzu declared with a small laugh, walking behind her new friend with a cheery, carefree expression. "I'm glad we could do this, Sonia-san. It's gonna be so much fun!" With the majority of her friend group being 'old people who worked at the theater' and 'Shinobu-chan exactly,' it wasn't like there were many people who would come with her to a host club, or really anywhere she liked to go. She really enjoyed the nightlife, and while there was a limit to the kind of messy fun she could get into when accompanied by Sonia, whose reputation was important enough to be worth protecting, it was still nice to have a friend around.

As they approached the club, Anzu pointed out the sign, a large, fancy, silver banner over the entrance that read SHOOTING STARS in English, with NAGAREBOSHI in smaller kanji between the two words. A moderately classy display beside the door featured the establishment's social media accounts, testimonials from local entertainment figures (including, perhaps, a certain Kohaku Goto XII herself) and headshots of the most popular hosts. It was the photographs in particular that most drew Anzu's attention.

"That's one of our classmates in 77-B," she explained, pointing to the only woman among the hosts, a handsome girl with short blue hair and a classy vest over a short-sleeved button-up shirt. "Rui-kun! She's the Ultimate Host." How exactly an underage girl had won that title two years ago, Anzu wasn't sure, and wasn't going to question. In a lot of cases, HPA students were just that exceptional, to the point where normal rules didn't seem to apply to them. Or maybe it was the case that rather than the 'talent' that everyone talked so much about, the core of being a Hope's Peak Academy student was more about 'going so far as to accept no obstacles in the way of one's dreams.' Or not. Anzu wasn't smart enough to think about those kinds of questions.

"She and Shinobu-chan don't really get along, but she's not a bad person," Anzu explained, taking one last look towards the display before leading her friend into the club. Shinobu didn't get along with most people, so Anzu didn't necessarily think of it as a disqualifying factor. The club's interior was cleaner and more presentable than many others of its kind, not that Sonia might have much to compare it to. Rather than the neon pinks or sultry reds of a lot of clubs, Shooting Stars kept a comfortably mellow blue aesthetic, paired with classy blacks and clean whites. Comfortable plush booths surrounded small, round tables that nearly sparkled, the ceilings dotted with perhaps too many chandeliers. A presently-unused stage sat in the back of club, and at this early hour, only a few seats were filled with women in dresses or businesswear, some looking like they may have come straight from the office. The working men, similarly, presented a fairly unified image - nice clothes, trendy haircuts, far more jewelry than most men.

Standing at the front of house was an older man by the standards of the district, likely around 30, with glasses, a dark suit, white gloves, dark hair pulled back into a short ponytail. "Welcome, treasured guests, to Shooting Stars," he said with a smile and a polite nod, first to Sonia, then to Anzu. "Anzu-san, it's been too long. Thank you for thinking of us, and bringing a friend." Anzu nodded, beaming. "Hey, Monsieur. I have an appointment tonight, with Rui-kun." At that, the man's smile faltered only a bit. "Ah... I'm afraid your prince is in another castle." That the actress showed no reaction to the reference seemed to dampen his spirits. "Er... Rui-san is, unfortunately, out tonight." He leaned in, speaking more quietly. "Her younger siblings are ill, and she seemed concerned about them. I sent her home, rather than have her worry all night."

Anzu frowned. "Oh... Well, I guess that's a good reason." The man straightened back up. "I'm sorry for you and your friend to have come all this way, but if you'd like to stay, I'm happy to offer you a small discount?" He motioned towards one of the nicer-looking open booths. "If the two of you would like to take a seat, I'll join you in a moment to figure out what we can do for you instead." Disappointed though she was at Rui not being there, Anzu nodded. "Alright. Thanks, Monsieur." Leading Sonia towards the offered booth, she sighed. "Sorry, Sonia-san. I wanted you to meet Rui-kun, but I guess she's not here tonight. Did you think any of the guys on the display were especially hotsexy?"