#ABOUT A(NOTHER) WHITE CHARACTER

[witherfide]

ugh Im so sick of them. (ive dug myself into a pit so deep analyzing their mind that we are starting to blend into one) ((they. are not ..REAL ))

[marvisions]

God. I can't believe this. The way twitter oomf mitha feels about akihiro is how I feel about Loki now. FUCK. I forgot half the reason my reading list is so long is that I kept adding his issues into it. Mackenzi Lee always knows how to make me emo over loser bisexuals with abusive families UGHHH

[grlsbstshot]

NEON LIGHTS

Pairing (Original Characters): Jameson Lucas (Aaron Pierre) x Imani St. Cirie (Megan thee Stallion) Story Synopsis: 

R&B singer/songwriter, Jameson Lucas, is well known as a charming playboy. The latest in his line of ‘loved em and left em’ behavior? Imani St. Cirie, an emotive singer/songwriter herself. A common sense pulls them in opposite directions – friendships are tested, old flames resurface, and new opportunities threaten to tear them apart for good. In this industry, dreams can make or break you – but what happens when love becomes the gamble of a lifetime?

Chapter Synopsis: Jameson deals with being denied access to his heart's desire and flashes back to the start of their romance while Imani wrestles with her feelings present day. Warnings: Smut (18+), toxic relationship, possessiveness, profanity, usage of the n-word (if you're white and read it, you owe us $20), manual stimulation (fingering, okay?), dick size mention, dirty talk -- if we missed anything, let us know! Word Count: 5.3k Divider Template: @cafekitsune Notes: The following characters are original creations. Their voice claims are Usher / Lucky Daye (Jameson) & Summer Walker / SZA (Imani). We have no affiliation to any of those artists.

There will be alternating POVs between our leads.

CHAPTER II: Someone to Love

he was blocked. jameson watched his repeated texts and calls go unanswered. the texts said delivered but never read. this was when he was supposed to decide if he was going to stick around for another round of bullshit with her. flashes of the night before came to mind...and he knew the answer was 'yes'. she was ignoring the fuck out of him but he knew imani loved him. she may be able to live without him...but she loved him. maybe that would be enough. "yo, are you listening to me?"

jameson blinked at his best friend, giving the man a blank stare. ellington dupree had been his friend and writing partner for damn near a decade. their connection was instant. where jameson was blessed with a wealthy and well-known mother, ellington had gotten it out the mud. he was a man that knew music inside out all his life. he had a work ethic that jameson envied. it was why he only produced music with ej -- they balanced each other out. where he allowed muse to take over, ej controlled the music. he didn't let it control him. even now, they were supposed to be working on a track from his new album but jameson couldn't seem to find his focus. all he did was wait for imani to call him back.

"yeah, i heard you." "then what i say?"

he gave ellington a glare before rising from his spot on the couch. "something about the horns." ellington tsked, kicking back in his chair before shaking his head. "i said that shit ten minutes ago, nigga. we on a whole nother track. what's up with you?"

jameson didn't answer -- instead he redirected his attention to his phone, texting imani again as he exited his friend's home studio. he heard ej calling his name but descended the stairs anyway.

he watched as another text went through and the message popped up delivered. jameson rolled his eyes, tossing his phone onto the couch as he stared at the ceiling with his hands on his hips. this girl was going drive him crazy.

"are you insane?" "i'm not in the mood right now, e." "yeah, no shit. but you need to get in the mood for something other than imani. YOU wanted to release this album at the top of the year. YOU said you were ready so they've already started promoting the shit."

he lifted his head to deny that he was stressing over imani but the realization hit him hard. "how the fuck you know i was texting mani?" jameson watched as ej rolled his eyes and made himself comfortable on the couch. "how the fuck wouldn't i know? you always get tense and weird over her. it's been a while since she had you fucked up like this though. what happened?"

jameson sighed, closing his eyes to avoid the look on his friend's face when he confessed the truth. he sat down opposite ej and leaned back onto the cushions.

"we fucked." "bullshit." "it's true." "WHEN?!" "last week." "i thought she was dating...what's that nigga name? the football nigga!" "they broke up two months ago." "how the fuck you know that?" jameson gave ej a look and avoided the obvious answer. "oh, you are insane." "it was random. we didn't plan that shit." "she probably didn't." "and what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" "fuck it sound like?"

his eyes opened as he frowned at ej. if anyone had seen how bad it could get between he and imani, it was ej. "i didn't go over there to have sex, man. i just...i wanted to see her. i've missed her all this time. i just couldn't take that shit anymore."

a flash of sympathy crossed his best friend's face but it disappeared within a moment. "don't do this, jamie. don't. you can't walk down this road with imani again."

ej was probably right, jameson knew that. but he also knew that he wasn't walking away from her again. he glanced over at the phone that he abandoned, willing it to ring or beep or something. anything to let him know she gave a shit. "can't help it." he murmured to his best friend. "i want her."

this was the biggest night of his life...and he found that he didn't care. his gaze was stuck on a woman who had walked past him. none of this shit really mattered anymore. he wanted to know her. he had a tony award. he had two grammys already. he was nominated for another three that night but as he leaned over in his seat to watch her saunter down the rest of the aisle, jameson found himself smiling for entirely different reasons.

"i want her." he said bluntly. only ej acknowledged him. he said 'huh?' but his gaze followed her the same way jameson's had. 'ohhhh' was all he uttered, giving a laugh.

she had her back to them so he had no idea who the hell she was but he had the urge to. four awards from his own and he wasn't watching the stage. he wasn't talking to his collaborators or friends to the right of him. he was watching her. a couple of people rose to let her into her seat and jameson found himself doing the same. he stood to his feet, adjusting his tux's jacket as he made his way towards her.

ej called his name but he didn't respond. this was more important. he got to the aisle and dropped to his haunches, learning forward to catch her eye. he recognized her then. imani. there were people next to her who peered over at him in confusion but jameson's smile was only for her. 

"excuse me." he said softly, bracing his hands against the seat next to him. she looked at him, eyebrow quirked at his audacity to interrupt her conversation. "hi. i just...i'm sorry. i just wanted to come tell you something you already know. you're the most beautiful woman i've ever seen in my life."

if she recognized him or was impressed by his attention, it didn't show on her face. jameson watched her give a little laugh and haughtily respond. "thank you." she said. "how many other women have you used that on tonight?"

"none." he replied honestly. "i saw you and next thing i know, i'm over here practically on my knees to talk to you." jameson ignored the woman next to imani clearing her throat. it was a public conversation but he carried it on as if they were the only two in the room. free from a relationship that had lost it's fire, jameson hadn't been looking for anybody. he wanted to invest in his career again and after two hit albums -- it was time for something new. money, cars, clothes, and women had been his life since he was eighteen and old enough to spread the thighs of any and every woman in hollywood. he'd been over it. but this was important. getting this girl felt like it'd be life changing.

he leaned forward, offering the woman his hand. "i'm jameson." he surprised himself by giving his full name. often, he introduced himself as james. nobody actually in his life called him jameson but his mother. he had the urge to hear his name from her lips. "i know who you are, ms. imani st. cirie. future best new artist winner." her eyes lit up at the fact that he had recognized her. she hadn't topped the charts yet but he knew it was a matter of time. her music was raw. real. she touched people and he knew her time was coming.

when she took his hand, he brushed his thumb against the back of her fingertips. the people they had their hands stretched across didn't matter. hell, he had forgotten other people could hear them when she responded. "nice to meet you jameson." she said. "you can call me ms. st. cirie. your face looks so familiar. i just can't put my finger on it."

jameson laughed out loud -- loud enough that people on the aisle in front of them turned to identify the sound. he'd been famous from birth. paparazzi shots of him hanging off his mother's hip had been tagged in people magazine. pictures of them at the park. his high school yearbook had been blasted across myspace and twitter. and when he started making music himself? well, he became a teen heartthrob at 19. he didn't believe her but he liked that she didn't fall over him. "that's strange." he replied with a shrug, slowly grinning at her. "but since you can't remember, maybe this is your chance to get to know me...personally. i'll be honest, ms. st. cirie -- i'm dying to get to know you."

her gaze roamed his face but her lips curved into a smile. "and why should i do that?"

"i heard i'm a good time." "and this is where the line of women come in, yes?" "we're not talking about other women. we're talking about you and me, ms. st. cirie."

imani gave her friend a look and the friend automatically rose, shifting down a seat. her gaze came back to him and she nodded her head, wordlessly giving him approval to sit next to her. jameson rose from his position at the end of the aisle, ignoring the ache in his calves and thighs. he'd been squatting for so long but hadn't noticed it. all he saw was the fact that he was making strides towards what he wanted.

"you don't feel this thing between us?" he asked her curiously. somehow, he had sat without losing contact with her for longer than a few seconds. he switched the positioning, holding her hand in his right. she tsked, yanking her hand from his grasp and shook her head. "i don't feel anything. i just think you're funny."

jameson leaned towards her, keeping his voice low enough so that it would take others effort to eavesdrop on their conversation. "i could tell you shit you already know. that you're the most beautiful woman i've ever seen. that i want you so bad i don't really know what to do with myself. would that help? i want you. and from the way you look at me, i think you want me too. so what are we going to do about it?"

"that was a good line, jameson." "i'm not giving you lines. i'm trying to get you where you need to be." "need to be?" "definitely." "you so fucking cocky." "i got reason to be. ms. st. cirie...will you go out with me?" "you don't give up, do you?" "no. not easily."

he could tell that she liked that. despite giving him a hell of a lot of attitude, her fingers fidgeted nervously on her lap. she either liked him or didn't know how to say no. jameson reached for her hand again, gently stilling her fingertips. she didn't seem alarmed or afraid then. she relaxed before meeting his gaze.

"no pressure. i think you're beautiful. i admire your mind. your music. your talent. give me one chance to show you that." determined to not miss out on the good thing sitting right next to him, jameson did his best to show her he was serious...but he took a risk and lowered his head, pressing a kiss to her thumb -- the first contact between them that wasn't totally innocent.

his gaze flickered up to hers and he knew he had her. she went soft, leaning in as if she were going to let him kiss her -- but she remembered where they were. "And the Grammy for Best R&B Performance goes to...U Don't Have to Call! James Lucas!"

jameson didn't move from his seat. he didn't take his eyes off her. imani looked between him and the stage, expecting him to go up but he didn't. this was more important. eventually, ej got up. his best friend gave the speech that jameson likely would have given but he didn't hear the words. imani leaned closer so he could near her, whispering "okay. one date." against his ear.

jameson smiled, turning his head to offer imani a kiss. not even twenty minutes after meeting and he was going for it. he had always been an ambitious man. just as he hoped, she took him up on the offer. she leaned in and their lips met. it was brief but served as the spark that ignited their obsession with each other.

it took two whole weeks for their schedules to line up. photoshoots, interviews, and a sudden trip to new york had kept him from what he really wanted. anticipation had been a bitch but they filled the time in between with texts and phone calls. he had discovered that imani was both smart and funny. she could make him burst out laughing over the smallest thing. she seemed to be a good person and that appealed to him. he seemed to really be into this girl. so much so that he browsed her instagram, constantly looking for things she liked. what flowers she enjoyed. people she liked having conversation with. knowing little things about her had spiraled into wanting to know everything about her. he was down so bad that ej had been disgusted when he walked into studio in the middle of the night and caught him giggling on the phone with her like a teenager.

finally, they got to see each other again. standing alone in the vastness of the getty museum, he and imani kept their fingertips intertwined. the only sounds were the soft echo of their footsteps on polished floors. The museum had been closed for the night, but the director had made an exception just for them — a private tour. No crowds, no distractions. Just the two of them and all the art they'd agreed to pretend they were paying attention to. jameson's kept straying to her. everything about her was mesmerizing. the way her hair fell into her eyes, the cute little way she'd snuggled into him when he hugged her when he met her outside. the sweet way she swung their hands as they walked. he was gone over this girl and didn't know what to do about it.

“so,” she said, breaking the silence with a teasing tone, “you go to museums all the time or is this just to impress me?”

he glanced around, his eyes glinting with amusement. “it's all for you. you got me stalking your instagram to see what you like. i saw you went to several museums around the world so..." he shrugged, looking at her to see she was surprised at what he'd said. “but what do you like?” she asked him. jameson laughed. "you." he answered easily enough.

she fell silent again as they continued on. the views of los angeles almost as magnificent as the art. they entered a gallery that seemed to be a study in light and shadow, with large, dramatic sculptures. he was comfortable even in the silence with her. felt like they were the only people in the world, the art surrounding them like a secret they were sharing, just the two of them.

“i think i like you too.” imani said softly. her tone didn't hold the same teasing as before. she was serious. jameson dipped his head to get a good look at her and stopped walking to face her. "why do you sound so sad when you say that?"

"because i don't know if i can trust you." imani said softly. jameson couldn't promise to be the picture of fidelity. he'd cheated once before in a relationship but that didn't seem to be the best thing to say to a woman you wanted to be with. "you can trust how i feel about you. i swear -- i have never felt like this in my life. you got me kicking my feet and twirling my hair and shit, girl. i got it bad." she gave him a short laugh, shaking her head, but he was pleased to see her smile again. "you gave me a chance for a date now give me a chance to show you that i want to be your man."

"my man? you moving kind of fast, ain't you?" "hell yeah. i'm trying to lock you down before a billionaire prince pull up on you out of nowhere." "you can't compete with a billionaire?" "absolutely not. i can't buy you a private island." "then what good are you?" "i can sing. i'm good looking. i give good dick. which reason work for you?"

"boy, bye!" imani pulled away, laughing abruptly as she waved him off. jameson followed closely, not wanting her to go too far from him. "where you going?" he asked her, holding on to her hand. imani snorted, pointing at the art across the room. "over there because you playing!" jameson's laughter echoed through the space and joined hers as she tried to shake him off. "nahhhh. come play with me over here."

her smile deepened, a challenge flickering in her eyes. "i'll play with you later." jameson stepped closer to her, pulling her close. "i'ma hold you to that." even in heels, she stood a few inches shorter than he was. he couldn't get over how fucking beautiful she was. pretty ass dark brown eyes. pretty ass nose that lead down to full, gorgeous lips. he couldn't even think about her body. he liked everything about this girl and acting like he didn't wasn't possible.

his hand moved to the small of her back, fingertips splayed as he kept her body against his. "you hungry?" imani nodded her head, her hands braced against his shoulders. jameson moved them side to side, swaying even though there was no music playing. "i got you. let me take care of you."

they ate dinner in the museum, specially made by a private chef --totally surrounded by art. jameson was pleased to see that she was excited. he was just as giddy. imani sat on his lap as they traded stories about work, their inspirations, and what they each wanted out of a relationship. they found they had several things in common -- big things and little things. family relationships, foods, even their favorite Disney movie. it was all the same. jameson wasn't the type to believe in love at first sight but he really did start to wonder if god put this woman in his life for a reason.

they left holding hands. he let her slide into his benz, intent on driving her home to complete an evening of being the perfect gentleman. the drive to her malibu home was filled with jokes, conversation, and singing along to songs on the radio. the tension between them remained but it was joined by comfort. they were truly starting to understand each other.

by the time they arrived to her place, he had made up his mind. he was going to give it all he had. he liked imani st. cirie -- and hopefully, she liked him too.

the warmth of the car enveloped them as jameson slid to a stop in front of her home. the chemistry between them made saying goodbye difficult. he didn't want to say goodnight to her. jameson turned the car off, attempting to gather his thoughts. he didn't want the last thing he said to her to be stupid. when he turned to say something -- he found imani was already staring.

it was like they moved at the same time. he unbuckled his seatbelt and before he could say a word, she had done the same. the world outside faded away as he damn near crowded her in the passenger seat. he could feel her heart race, each beat echoing in his head. he leaned in, their lips meeting briefly, before he heard her panting.

the kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if they were both savoring the sweetness of their new attraction. But soon, it deepened—hunger replaced hesitation. their lips moved in a rhythm that felt both familiar and foreign, pulling them deeper into each other's orbit.

imani moaned as his tongue found hers and jameson couldn't believe how good it sounded. he placed his hand against her thigh, grasping tightly as if he could pull her any closer. the middle console kept them further apart than he wanted them to be. when her hand came down and pulled his fingers higher up her thigh, jameson didn't hesitate.

her hands framed his face, thumb gently brushing his cheek as they kissed. his hand moved further up her thigh, brushing against the silk fabric of her dress. when the pad of his thumb brushed against her panties, she gasped.

it felt like an eternity before she caught her breath and gave him a quick moan. with expertise, jameson swept her underwear aside and pressed his thumb between her folds. she was already wet and made it easy for him to wedge his finger into her. imani's lips parted in surprise when he pressed against her. jameson took the opportunity to bite her lower lip -- brushing his tongue against it as her thighs tightened around his hand.

"i can't make you moan like that again if you don't keep your legs open. let me in." he whispered when he released her lip, pleased when imani immediately opened her legs for him. she reached down and pulled her dress higher, hips rising from the seat as she did so. he caught a flash of the thongs she wore as she pressed her ass to his leather seats.

they were both breathless, not taking the time to go inside her house or even move to the back seat. imani reached for him again, pulling his head across the space and kissing him deeply as jameson's hand went right back between her legs. she whimpered and moaned as he played with her clit -- teasing them both by thumbing and then circling the sensitive spot. by the time she was whining against his mouth, his dick was hard.

to his surprise, imani reached across the seat and placed her hand in his lap. the surprise spurred his fingers forward. his index and middle finger were soaking in her wetness as his thumb tapped her clit. imani's head fell back as he hissed, breaking the kiss to shake his head. "let me focus on you."

mani didn't pull her hand away. instead, she grasped his dick -- squeezing gently as her hips rocked onto his fingers. they slid in and out effortlessly. jameson twisted and delved deeply, pulling a variety of noises from the back of imani's throat. "she talkin' to me, mani." he prompted her. she groaned, riding his hand as quickly as she could. "you hear her? i bet i can make her talk some more."

the squelching and squishing echoed through the car. his palm and other fingers were soaked as the wetness ran down his hand. imani nodded her head, breath catching in her throat as he twisted his fingers and looked for that spot -- that one spot that he knew would have her screeching within the confines of his car. when he found it, she froze -- her whole body slumping back against the seat. "yes! y-yeah. just like that." she cried. jameson followed her, watching her face as he picked up the pace. he spread her juices across her clit with his thumb. when she shut her legs around his hand again, he used his free hand to grasp her thigh. "don't run from it. let me have it."

there he was, leaning over the center console, doing his best to make her cum less than an hour after their first date had ended. he kissed her lips gently, moaning with her as she shuddered. "i--i'm--cum" she whispered, words escaping her as she struggled to give him just three. "i know, baby. i feel it. let go. i got you."

jameson nodded, licking his tongue against her quivering lips. she opened her mouth for more and he sucked her tongue into his mouth, kissing her deeply as imani came around his fingers. she squeezed him tightly but he didn't stop. those two fingers kept thrusting, thumb kept flicking at her clit until she squirmed out of his grasp. her hand moving from his lap to grasp at his wrist. he was hard as fuck, eight and a half inches practically throbbing in his boxer briefs as he tried not to nut on himself.

he forced himself to slow down then -- pleased when she whimpered and asked for more kisses. jameson supplied them happily, stroking her insides with his fingers to calm her down. when she was sated and humming happily against his mouth, he pulled his hand back. they watched each other for a moment -- imani blinked at him as he licked his fingers clean.

jameson's gaze swept down her body as if he wanted to remember her just like that -- legs open, panties pushed aside, pussy wet and satisfied from his efforts. once his hand was 'clean', jameson reached over again and righted her clothing. imani still hadn't said a word. even when he opened his door to get out of the car. when he opened her door, he offered her his hand -- the same one he'd used to get her off.

imani took it and exited the car. she didn't seem to be in a daze anymore. "this was...a wonderful date." she told him softly. "i wonder what you'll come up with next time." before jameson could say a word, she pressed her hand to his chest and lifted her head to give him a kiss. he accepted it happily, greedily even. they stood like that for a moment, kissing on the sidewalk. his arms wrapped around her waist, fingertips finding their way to that delicious ass. jameson squeezed briefly and imani broke the kiss. "call me." she told him with a smirk before walking away.

he didn't know if she smirked because she could feel how hard his dick was when she kissed him or if she knew that he was going to call her as soon as he got in the car. either way -- he was pretty sure that this girl was going to be the death of him.

her best friend sat across the room, sketching designs for her portfolio. if she wasn't so distracted, she would have noticed imani scrolling through her texts. she had unblocked jameson and found a flurry of text messages.

how are you? i miss you. can we talk? baby, i think we need sit down and talk this shit out. i love you, imani. i'm not fighting it anymore. please call me

how is it that he made her want to forgive him? it was like when they were talking or when he was in front of her -- she forgot the horrible shit he had done. she forgot the affair, she forgot the way he confessed. she forgot the way he only seemed to give his all when he felt like she was moving on from him. she hated the way he infiltrated her mind when she was with someone new. it seemed like she was doomed to keep falling for jameson -- and the thought scared her.

"just do it. you know you want to."

imani's gaze shot up from the phone to see genie peering over at her from her drawing table. despite being gorgeous enough to be a model, genie adesanya preferred to design the clothes. her curls were pinned to the top of her head and the glasses she wore were circular -- making her eyes appear even larger and more adorable.

she was southern by birth but her father was a lakers legend. a jersey-hanging-in-the-rafters-at-staples-center kind of legend. everybody loved genie. even jameson. she and he had practically been raised together when his mother and her father spent a few years dating but ultimately decided to remain friends. as close as they were, once imani stepped onto the scene -- she and genie became best friends. she took her side over jameson's. always. despite being total opposites persona wise, nobody understood imani better than genie did.

"he's blocked so i do not want to do anything." imani retorted, wrinkling her nose at her friend. she didn't bother to deny that they weren't talking about jameson.

genie got up from her drawing desk, smiling at imani as she made her way across the room and bounced down onto her friend's lap. imani quickly shoved her off with a snort and the two ended up slap boxing each other. "don't lie to me, girl!" genie yelled at her, avoiding imani's hands as she rolled off the couch and onto the floor. "you've been moping and sighing around here all week. you hiding from him?"

of course she was. jameson knew where genie lived but imani hoped that if he approached her there, genie wouldn't let them sneak off together. she was sick of falling into the same pattern with him. fight, break up, fuck, fall in love again. wash, rinse, and repeat. "i'm tired of this shit with him, genie." imani admitted, sighing softly.

genie sat up and pat her hand against imani's. "i know. but...the heart wants what it wants, mani. i'm not saying you should listen to me. i'm bad at love. I've made so many mistakes. but i can see what you really want. i know you. it's why i know jameson has lived in your head rent free for years, girl. and you live in his. i'm not saying you gotta trust him immediately. just -- just text him back. maybe it's a mistake but what if it isn't? what if y'all get it right this time?"

a true romantic at heart, imani admired genie's belief in love. she just wasn't sure she trusted it. she remained silent as genie gave her time to process. she returned to her drawing table, picking up the pencil and finishing her sketches in silence.

imani fiddled with her phone for a moment before groaning out loud. if this man broke her heart again, she was going to fucking kill him.

[ imani ] : what are you doing next week? [ blockdt unless horny ] : nothing. you want me? [ imani ] : i guess we can talk then. [ blockdt unless horny ] : why wait until then? wya? i can come there. [ imani ] : i'm at genie's but don't come here. [ blockdt unless horny ] : why not? [ imani ] : i need a minute, jamie. i didn't expect this and i don't know if this is the right decision for me. [ blockdt unless horny ] : i understand. i do. but baby, you and me have something. i fucked it up before but i'm not gonna fuck it again. i can't lose it twice. [ imani ] : we can talk about it next week. [ blockdt unless horny ] : okay. what day? [ imani ] : Thursday. i'll be back from Italy then. [ jamie ] : i already miss you. [ imani ] : i'll miss you too 🙄 [ jamie ] : lmfao i'll take that. i'ma do right this time, mani. i swear on my life. [ imani ] : we'll see. [ jamie ] : yes, we will. i try not to make mistakes but when i do, i only make them once. i'll be the man you deserve. i promise. [ imani ] : i really want to believe you [ jamie ] : we can start there, baby. that's a start.

[bromcommie]

man the whole setup of friction between Steve as the weary soldier but also the idealist and Fury as the personification of the modern American intelligence/defense apparatus is great. Like I can't even give any funny-haha commentary on it it's literally just. Good. The dialogue is for the most part well written, the actors play the tension off of each other well, we get a very quick but very efficient look into Fury's mindset (I fucking love the "Grandad loved people, but he didn't trust them very much" story on so many levels when it comes to Fury's character, but I won't get into that now), the context feels real enough and the stakes high enough to catch your interest and get you thinking about the real world implications, even within a MCU "everything is very vague very purposefully" framework. And narratively speaking some of the little moments they drop in there that you wouldn't really pay attention to watching for the first time (in the case of this scene specifically the AI in the elevator pointing out Steve doesn't have clearance for Insight and Fury's "director override" foreshadowing, but also thinking back on that Steve-Rumlow interaction) are nice hints that retrospectively beef up the big reveal about Hydra.

Another moment I find personally interesting is Fury referring to just how bloody and morally devastating WWII was for the Allies as well, if for no other reason than it giving Steve a chance to show his own justification logic. And while on the surface it does seem comparatively more black and white (which is how many people—including, ironically, the writers of this movie lol—frame the '40s in general; as if the people and politics of the time are so vastly removed from those today, but that's a whole 'nother topic altogether) it still makes me wonder just how much of that certainty would, in this moment, be coming from a defensive place because him and Fury are essentially having a hostile conversation, and how much of it is how Steve actually justifies the weight of it all to himself.

[incorrect-koh-posts]

Hello I have a bit of a weird question here , well , do you think modern women or modern women we consider beautiful in our time now would be considered beautiful in the medieval times ? Let’s say conventionally attractive women of this time such as Tyla , Madison beer , Sabrina carpenter , women we agree all that they are beautiful, do you think they would be this appreciated in let’s say medieval Europe or the crusader kingdoms ? Thank you very much for reading and answering 💗

Hello, anon! Sorry for the extremely late reply 🙈

Ngl, I had to google these people because I had no idea who they are. So in case any of my readers are like me and lack a basic understanding of recent pop culture, here they are for reference:

All in all, medieval ideas of beauty were actually not very different from our present ones. Looking at descriptions of beautiful women in medieval European literature, we see that, in general, writers prized features that are symmetrical and signal youth and health - which also pretty much sums up our 21st-century understanding of feminine beauty. So it is likely that those we as a society consider beautiful would have elicited a similar reaction from Baldwin and his contemporaries. (Though I imagine they would have had a word or five to say about the future's skimpy clothing, and not only for reasons of modesty. Like, where are the swathes and swathes of luxurious fabric? Are we too poor to afford it?)

Of course, medieval and modern ideals differ in some particulars. As you asked specifically about medieval Europe and since the crusader kingdoms largely followed the customs & culture of the French court: Yes - to get the obvious out of the way - there was an emphasis on the whiteness of a woman's skin at the time. Which is here not only an issue of race (a whole 'nother can of worms to open) but also of class, as lighter skin would have been regarded as a signifier that the woman was (or looked like) a member of the nobility, who did not have to do physical labour in the fields etc. where the sun would have been beating down on her all day.

That said, there are examples of dark-skinned characters in medieval European texts who are described as beautiful, such as Queen Belacane in the early-13th-century German chivalric romance Parzival. However, I would be denying history if I didn't acknowledge that even these characters, sometimes subtly, sometimes considerably less so, tend to be presented as an Other. In Wolfram's Parzival, for example, Belacane's people are "liute vinster sô diu naht" ("people dark as the night", Parzival 17,24). She is thus deliberately constructed as the opposite of the European ideal of the courtly lady (Mieger 191), who tends to be described as things like "liehters denne der tac" and "touwegen rôsen" ("lighter than the day" and like a "dewy rose", Parzival 24,6 and 24,10).

I haven't found any specific research materials on beauty standards in the crusader states, but I'd imagine this might have been less of an issue there than in the more remote parts of Europe, given that the cultural melting pot of the Levant would have exposed its inhabitants on a daily basis to different ideas and ideals of beauty. First and foremost, in any case, would have come considerations of religion - a beautiful "heathen" would have had to be very appealing and otherwise virtuous indeed for a European writer to apply courtly adjectives to her, whereas a Christian woman, no matter the colour of her skin, would have been regarded a little more favourably (though again likely exoticised as an Other if she wasn't white).

What did European courtly culture consider appealing then, other than ominous "dewy roses"? As far as text sources go, medieval society liked women to have a slender figure, healthy but not too thin, with a small but full mouth, a well-formed, not too prominent nose, rather small feet and hands, a long elegant neck, and white and even teeth. Mathieu de Vendôme’s Ars versificatoria (late-twelfth century) uses the example of Helen of Troy as the epitome of beauty. His Helen has golden and free-flowing hair, a “Milky Way-white” forehead, black and separated eyebrows “like arches”, sparkling eyes “like stars”, rosy cheeks, a straight nose which is neither too flat or too large, rosy and delicate lips, straight teeth that are “whiter than ivory”, and firm, small breasts (da Soller 98).

Another interesting example is offered in a thirteenth-century Castilian translation of an Arabic folk story, La historia de la doncella Teodor: “the beautiful woman has eighteen signs: three long, three short, three small, three white, three black, and three red. three long: torso, neck, and fingers; three white: body, teeth, and white of the eyes; three black: hair, eyes, and eyebrows; three red: cheeks, lips, and gums; three small: mouth, nose, and feet; three wide: hips, shoulders, and forehead” (101).

So, going back to the three women you mentioned, I'd say they fit the medieval ideal pretty well. Though we prefer somewhat more prominent curves and probably slightly more striking facial features nowadays than our ancestors (as well as fortunately moving away from prizing only light skin), I think we do see here that the difference between medieval and modern isn't actually that large. There's still an undercurrent of kalokagathia in our society's thinking, i.e. the idea that outward beauty signals inner virtue (think, for instance, of the fact that our fictional villains tend to be conventionally unattractive as opposed to the usually attractive good guys).

All things considered though, I shall end this rambling lecture by saying that, ultimately, tastes differ, today as well as in the Middle Ages. It is understandable that you might wish to appeal to, say, your favourite medieval king, but after expounding at length on what's supposedly beautiful or not, let me remind you: As people (and especially women), we do not exist to be ogled and judged by others - you are valuable regardless of whether a particular person considers you beautiful or not. 💛

Sources:

da Soller, Claudio. "Beauty, Evolution, and Medieval Literature." Philosophy and Literature, vol. 34, 2010, pp. 95–111.

Mieger, Hannah. "Königin of Color – Belacane in Wolframs von Eschenbach Parzival als intersektionale Figur." Intersektionalität und erzählte Welten: literaturwissenschaftliche und literaturdidaktische Perspektiven, edited by Verónica Abrego, Ina Henke, Magdalena Kißling, Christina Lammer, Maria-Theresia Leuker, 2023, pp. 187-201.

[nerdgirlriot]

'nother thing about "Dot and Bubble" was not just how white it was (because it was so very very white), but how all the characters were made up and lit to be as white as possible. it's all pastels and bright colors and shimmering and even Gothic Paul has nary a hint of "goth" to him (apart from some eyeliner I guess). And the moment the Doctor pops in, you NOTICE that because he stands out among that grid of whiteness. Like, o look! Melanin!

And then Lindy, our POV character of the week, she immediately blocks him. Because she doesn't have time to listen to one of THOSE people. The racism was always there but it lurks right under the surface.

The more I think about this episode the more I like it. Definitely going to rewatch it so I can think about it more...

[fuutakaijyama]

HAAIIII ITS 🪼ANON REPORTING FOR DUTY!!! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ could i request all MILGRAM characters (possibly including es, but if not or if its too many its a okay!) x a reader who is a fashion designer who makes lolita-ish clothes? likee reader designs clothes and asks the chars to model them. Lolita clothes r so pretty i love them so much ajkfaj

YESSS OMG SO SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG OHMIGOSH I WAS SOSOSOSSOSOSOOOOO BURNT OUT I NEEDED A LITTLE BREAK!!!!!!!!

A LOLITA LAYOVER?! ft MILGRAM ( ♡ )

synopsis: You’ve been making clothing for each of the prisoners for what feels like years; now they have a request for something you could make them.

warning: none!

alo’s notes: I LOVE THIS IDEAAAAAA I LOVE LOLITAS AND JFASHION IN GEN THIS IS SO CUTEE

ES

“ES! C’mere I need you to try something for me!” You’d yell from your cell as you heard ES groan, begrudgingly you watched the 15 year old stomp their way to your cell like a child.

“What?!” ES complained as you held out a pastel colored suit for them, along with a larger cape you had made previously.

“Try these on for me, I put a lot of hard work into making them so you should be appreciative of it!” You remarked proudly as ES took the garments from you going back into their room to change.

Es came out hunched over as you smiled, taking off their hat and ruffling their hair. “Essie!~ Oh your so cute like this!” Es scoffed, rolling their eyes as they swatted your hand from their hair;

“How many times have I told you not to call me that?”

001 SAKURAI HARUKA

It’d been a few months since you’d given Haruka a piece to wear, you’d been thinking about something to make him when you remembered an idea you had months ago.

“Haruka! C’mere I wanna see something!” You called for the blue haired boy, holding something in the small of your hands; he came into your cell with a small ‘huh’ sounding noise as you placed a blueberry pie themed hat onto his head.

Look! It’s a hat I made! You want it?” You asked gingerly as Haruka pulled the hat from his head flipping it around in his hands.

“Mhm.. can I keep it..? Please..?” He’d look at you with expecting eyes, his brow noticeably tugging upwards as he did his best to hold eye contact.

“Yeah of course! I made it just for you!” You’d grin as you watched his face light up, a wobbly smile on his face as he hugged you. “You're the best [Name]!”

002 YUNO KASHIKI

“‘Nother dress for me [Name]?~” Yuno chuckled as you came into her cell with another dress for her to check out. You’d made fairly simple dresses for Yuno as she seemed like the kind of girl to like simple dresses but this time you wanted to be a bit more extravagant.

“Yep! I think you’ll like this one too!~” You smiled, handing Yuno the crinoline lined dress, it had an iconic cupcake shape and special hand threaded lacing on the front, it complemented her hair color.

She gave you a cheeky grin running away to go try it on; coming out shortly after with her uniform in hand and a large smile on her face as she spun around.

“I might just steal this from you [Name]~”

003 FUUTA KAJIYAMA

Fuuta didn't understand the purpose of you bringing him outfits but as time passed he’d ask you to bring him one every few weeks or months, this time around he had come with a request.

A drawing made with Amane’s fresh pack of crayons that he had drawn up on the floor of his cell, showing it to Mahiru before approaching you with it.

It was one of a large bunny sweater, blues and whites with hints of red everywhere.

His face would flush as you listened to his idea of the outfit, happily you obliged, picking out anything that you had to get the job done.

You handed over the bunny sweater watching him pull the large garment over his head as he smiled admiring the feeling of the soft fabric as he felt it through his fingers.

The rough-edged boy seemed dull at that moment, holding your new creation with as much care and delicacy as possible, muttering words of thanks and gratitude as much as he could.

“Thank you.. [Name].. it's fucking amazing..”

004 KUSUNOKI MUU

Muu was never one to ask you for much, she’d never really talk to you either, Muu had been simple and timid when it came to your ability to make clothing for her she wanted to make your life a little bit easier.

She explained the concept of a yellow chiffon-like dress which she had thought about before not knowing how to make or get one.

Reluctantly you made it for her, adding long droopy sleeves and slimmed boning, finally, you handed it over to her the expression on her face reading of both shock and happiness.

“[Name]..! I didn't actually need you to make this! I.. dunno what to say..”

005 KIRISAKI SHIDOU

He’d seen your work with Mahiru and Fuuta, so much so that he wanted to get something from you as well.

You’d look over to the purple patterned fabric lord knows how many times as you stitched it to the inner side of the coat, sighing deeply as your fingers held the needle tightly.

You questioned your ability as you gripped the fabric, feeling your shoulder become warmer with a tight yet soft grip.

“The coat looks good.. I can't wait to see the finished product.”

006 SHIINA MAHIRU

Mahiru had always been fashionable, looking so dolled up even in her prison uniform. Now Mahiru cuddles up to you while you make her a new dress.

“This fabric is so much cuter than this one.. oh! But this one is so much softer!”

She doted over the fabrics you'd placed in front of her as she felt the difference between them.

“[Name]!~ Help me pick out one of these!~” She’d squeal as she hugged your shoulders playfully, nuzzling her face into the crook of your neck as she smiled at you.

008 MOMOSE AMANE

Throughout your time knowing Amane she had never once asked you for anything large, majority of the time the only thing she'd ask of you was just if you could patch up the uniform they supplied her.

Amane seemed to be working with her impulses today instead of usually working against them, coming up to you requesting a green and blue dress.

As to your surprise she wanted to watch you make her dress, not only that but she wanted to be actively involved in it as well, even going as far to ask for large changes throughout the process.

009 MIKOTO KAYANO

Mikoto was the first person to ask you if you'd be willing to make clothing for him, whether it’d be hats, sweaters, or socks he’d always have something for you.

Tonight was no different, Mikoto and you just sat there in your cell as you stitched together a pair of mittens by hand, he’d just watch over you, his hand over yours as he inspected your handy work.

Your legs thrown over each other as you leaned into his chest, your back pressed up against his body, his chin on your shoulder.

“[Name], can I try these on when you're done?"

[hardyshoe]

Sonnenblumen.

Chapter One - Carnations, for fascination.

Hello! Thank you so much for stopping by! Welcome to my first long fic, it centres heavily on Aegon and his perception of himself, a character study of sorts through the lens of somebody uninfected by the wills of his family. I aim to portray him in a way that aligns with his canon self had he been through different circumstances and I really hope you love him as much as I do.

Updates will be every Friday and I would love to hear any and all thoughts you have and if you want to be tagged! All my love, SlaginSecret xxx

⚘⚘⚘

The first time he comes in, you almost laugh at him. It’s a Wednesday, the pub as busy as it always is and there is a quiz half underway. After living your entire life here, there is a comfort to the noise, the grime on some of the working men who come in from the mines, the orders of the same drinks for the same people night after night. Behind the bar, you can look into the crowd and assess, see that Joseph Blackburn’s wife wanted to go home an hour ago, her coat is firmly buttoned, and she refuses another half pint of ale every time her husband staggers back to the bar. Bill and Brian are on the darts again, half-finished pints of Guinness dripping condensation onto the old wooden table next to them in anaemic rings, Bill is losing, Brian is gloating, nothing is new.  

You like watching the young women from the village playing the quiz the most, they all drink variants of vodka tonics and discuss their answers with each other, some prim and precise in their opinions, others vibrating in their seats when they are sure of an answer. You know some of these women from school, your companions until you all left school at sixteen. You note the missing Mary Crillen, how Barbara and Joan still leave an almost chair sized gap between each other for her absence, it had caused quite a stir among the group when she had taken her place at St. Andrews to read chemistry at the start of the school year. By the time the October chill has people shivering into the pub with their winter coats on, it is recognised that she won’t be changing her mind. She was always the brightest of their lot anyway.  

“’Nother of the same please, Darlin’” you’re snapped from your snooping by Joseph Blackburn putting down his empty glass a little too hard, his wife staring daggers at his back as he learns over the counter at you.  

“Does your wife not want anything?” You lead. He is perhaps too drunk to take your point,but you’ll try anyway, Helen always lets you keep the change, and you feel duty bound to try and help her. 

He turns around and raises his glass at her in question, she firmly shakes her head, arms crossed over her chest. He sighs heavily and fumbles some coins from his pocket, enough for a half. The ale drips down the side of the glass and onto your fingers, you shake your hand under the bar while Joseph drinks his half in short order. He makes his way back to Helen muttering about how “it’s only sodding nine”, but takes her arm when he reaches her, nonetheless.  

That’s when he comes in, bounding through the swinging door left open by the couple, no coat, and a wide-eyed overwhelmed look at the din of the small pub. He does not fit in at all, the creases in his slacks do not hide their quality and the shocking white of his shoulder-length hair would have him standing out anywhere but Scandinavia. He is, perhaps, the most interesting looking person you have ever seen. 

He takes the most convoluted route through the tables to the bar, peeking over shoulders at the quiz and staring at the pictures on the walls. You watch him, bemused, as he comes to stop in front of you. He smiles brightly when he meets your gaze. His are lavender somehow, verging on blue at the edges.  You didn't know that was possible, maybe it isn't really, only for  him. 

“Hello!” he greets brightly. Glancing around the bar at the coloured bottles of the liquor and the high stems of the ale pumps. 

“Hello,” you return, waiting for him to come back to you and order something. You aren’t pushing though; there is something enjoyable about watching him, an unpredictability drawing you along. 

“What would you recommend?” he asks, dropping his chin into his hands, propping his elbows on the bar. 

You laugh incredulously. No one has ever asked you that before, people don’t often ask at all, their usual orders as known as their names. “You’re going to make me question your age if you ask things like that.”

He grins, the smile on his face seems ceaseless, even when he had been bowled over by his surroundings on his entrance there had been a visage of it lingering in the lines by his mouth. “Maybe I wanted to know so I could buy you one.” 

You shake your head, turning to wipe the counters behind you. He tumbles along the bar as you walk down, you watch him follow in the mirrors in front of you. You’re amused by him, his excitability and the energy he exudes. “Fine, fine, I will have a pint of this middle one, please.”

He is pointing at the golden top of the ale pump and you truly don’t know what to make of him. He is your age, or there about, you’ll take him for eighteen. His accent adds to your curiosity, a rich southern something or other, much more proper than you’re used to this far north. What he is doing here you have no idea. 

“Is this your first drink?” you ask, tinging your tone with a pretend patronising lilt. 

He smacks a hand to his chest and drops his mouth open in shock, feigning offence. “What do you take me for?”

“Well, forgive me for assuming, but when a gentleman chooses his drink by jabbing at random, I don’t exactly take him for an expert.” 

He hardly seems to listen, his eyes flicking between the pub floor and you every time someone shouts something about an answer to the ongoing quiz. “You think I’m a gentleman?”

You don’t respond to his fishing, and he gets distracted craning his neck to watch you pull his drink. He realises you’re not going to reply when you place the drink in front of him.“Besides,” he says, taking a sip, “I didn’t choose at random; this one had the nicest picture on the label.” 

 He swizzles the label around in your favour and you raise an eyebrow between him and the forest scene depicted. He shrugs, pretending not to be pleased with himself.

The pub has quietened down slightly, the quiz keeping people from coming up for more drinks. You’ll have a quiet half an hour at least. It’s the intrigue of him that makes you ask, you tell yourself, nothing to do with the way he looks at you. “Who are you?”

He is amused by the question; he must be aware of what a foreign figure he seems amongst the regulars here. It’s your father’s pub, opened by his father in the late eighteen hundreds, most of the people come here because their parents did. He offers vaguely, “Aegon.”

“That is not your name,” you tell him, sure he must be messing with you. 

“It is!” He insists, voice high with indignation, “My name is Aegon Targaryen.”

You laugh at him properly then, the absurdity of everything about him. “Okay Aegon Targaryen, if that’s your real name,” he repeats his previous plea, even higher, and you hold your hands up in surrender, “What are you doing here and why have I never seen you before.”  

“I snuck out,” he whispers this dramatically, looking either side of him before speaking. 

“From where?” you ask, this strange boy becoming ever more interesting by the minute. 

“School of course.”

 It all clicks into place then, his too nice clothes, clean nails and posh boy accent. “You mean the big one two miles away?”

He gives you a sheepish look, “I may have temporarily relieved a friend of his bicycle.”

“Nice of your friend to lend it to you,” you say, knowing this friend has no idea of the location of his bike. 

Aegon confirms this with his wince, you chuckle. “He won’t notice I shouldn’t think, no one is allowed at this time.”

“And yet, here you are.”

“Yes well, I got a bit bored, didn’t I? " He explains, like it makes all the sense in the world. For him, with what little you have deduced of his character so far, perhaps it does. You stare at one another for a moment before a tapping of glass alerts you away.

Bill and Brian are waiting at the other end of the counter, and you begin refilling their drinks, watching Aegon survey the room from the corner of your eye. You expect him to go and take a seat somewhere, but he doesn’t, secretly you hope he won’t at all.  

“You missed the start of the quiz,” you tell him, he jolts from staring at the players on the floor tables. “You’ll have to sneak out earlier next time.”

“Oh, that’s okay, I’m shit at this sort of thing anyway. I don’t know anything,” he shrugs. “But it's nice to know you want me back.”

“Maybe I just like how quickly you finish your drinks,” you say, taking his empty glass and refilling it. 

“I’m not really used to this sort of thing,” he says gesturing around the room while his other hand digs for coins in the pocket of his rumpled trousers.

“What are you used to then?”

He gives you a wry look then, evasive and self-deprecating at the same time. “Nothing as nice as you”

You’re not sure how to respond to that, nor quite what he means so you just look at him until someone else comes looking for a drink. It continues similarly for the rest of the night, you taking brief interludes to serve people while he waits for you to return, steadily making his way through an impressive number of drinks. You begin to think he is more used to the bottle than you had assumed when he first got in.  

He begins giving you answers to the questions as they are read out, all wrong but he is having so much fun that you let him. Enjoying the deep ruddiness of his cheeks and the way he exaggerates disappointment each and every time he is wrong. 

“Who even writes these stupid questions, how is anyone supposed to know who hosted the 1952 Olympics?” he slumps his head on the bar, and you discreetly push the ends of his hair away from the puddle of condensation at the base of his drink.

“It was Finland,” you tell him consolingly, “my dad writes most of the questions, that’s why there’s so many on sports.”

“Hmm,” he puts his chin directly on the bar and looks at you through tired eyes. “What about you?”

“I do the arts and culture ones,” you smile to yourself, you’re only ever allowed ten and they can’t be too obscure, but you enjoy writing them, nonetheless. They often centre on the books and magazines you read, foreign authors and artistic journals. Most of the older quizzers groan when your section comes up, but your father entertains you every fortnight anyway. 

“When do they come up?” he asks, dragging himself back to a standing position.

You check your copy of this week’s questions below the counter, he leans over the bar to try and see too. “Two more questions of world sports then I’m up.” 

“You read them out?” He is paying more attention now, coming back to himself a little more.  

You nod, “My dad can’t pronounce the names, so I get to do them.” You head over to the end of the bar, unlatching the gate to the floor and heading over to take the place of your father on the raised stage. 

Aegon strays from the bar, coming to sit on the empty table closest to you. He doesn’t look anywhere else as you steady yourself and begin. “Good evening, everyone, I hope you’re all having fun.”

A whoop erupts from beside you; you turn to see Aegon clapping. He pays no mind to the confused looks from everyone else and you can’t help but smile back at him.

You rattle through your prepared questions, the focus this time being on modern art and French philosophers. The quiz girls are conferring wildly, the old geezers looking resigned. Aegon keeps adding comments as you go, he’s thoroughly pissed but it's quite endearing hearing him to your left. 

“Good one!” he adds to a question about Camus, clapping and nodding like he has any idea about the answer. You’re sure he doesn’t. Nancy from the girls table is looking at him appraisingly, she does the maths questions and is sitting this round out. You hope to yourself that Aegon won’t notice, shake yourself out of that thought a moment later. 

“Who painted the 1907 work entitled ‘the demoiselles d’Avignon’? First displayed in Paris in 1916” it’s your penultimate question, just as Barbara and Joan are just bowing their heads together when Aegon leaps from his chair.

“I know this one!” he looks beyond pleased with himself, rocking back and forth on his feet with excitement. 

You walk over to him as everyone confers, some shooting him dirty looks for his outburst but he is oblivious to them. “You aren’t even playing, Aegon.”

He grins, still bouncing, “It's Picasso though, isn’t it?”

He looks so proud of himself. It's infectious, his joy. You nod at him and he spins in a clumsy, jubilant circle. “What’s my prize? What’s my prize? ” he demands.

“You have to be playing the game to win the prize.” He pouts and this and you feel yourself being won over by his charm once again. He is a magnet of a human; you keep falling to his gravity.

“What would you have as a reward for getting precisely one question out of fifty correct?” 

He ponders this, hands on his hips and eyes drifting into space, there is an electric drama in the way he moves. Such an exaggeration to every movement and expression, you find it funny in a way that scrapes at your bones. Has he ever just been neutral about something? 

“Your name, and perhaps a promise to see you again.” It’s so simple an ask, almost nothing at all, but the innocence in how he asks has you blushing.

“Get on with it!” Someone shouts and you dash back to the podium, it’s one of the miners, impatient to get to the final ten general knowledge questions. 

“Settle down George, just because you don’t know the answer doesn’t mean no one does.” He looks chastised, tucking his chin in while his mates laugh at him. 

You conclude your bit and Aegon follows you back to the bar, leaning across to you with his hair falling into his eyes. You want to brush it back for him, it feels wrong for his beautiful eyes to be covered. 

“I might like to collect my due I think,” he declares, tracing over the ghosts of drinks past stained into the wood below his hands. 

“I work here five times a week, I also live here. If you come back, you’re likely to see me,” you point out and he nods, filing that away in his busy mind. 

“And?” you almost act clueless to what else he wants.

You sigh and tell him your name; he repeats it back to himself and looks you up and down. “It suits you,” he decides finally. “I like it.”

“Thank you, Aegon,” he smiles beatifically at you. Your father rings the final drinks bell and an inpouring of customers pile the bar. You flit from end to end, fixing a dozen people with their final plying of the night before you make it back to your spot in front of him again. He nurses his last pint, drawing shapes in the condensation and watching them drip into nothing. 

“How come you knew the answer?” he perks when you speak again, there is something of an excitable dog about him. Something equally untamed. “You told me you didn’t know anything.”

“Well I might know a few things, just nothing of any use to me,” he is slightly grim when he says this, like he cannot do anything about it. “Anyway, my mother has one of the sketches for it in her sitting room. I used to think it was scary when I was little, the eyes are just so…”

He mimes funny, spiking shapes in front of his own, and shudders. The memory is still disturbing him somehow. You can hardly focus on him, though, not with the revelation he has just given. 

“Your mother owns a Picasso?” You can barely believe what you are asking.

“None of the good ones, just sketches and a few very brown things that don’t look like anything at all.” It's normal to him, you realise. The disparity between you two drops across the front of your mind like a veil. None of the boys from the boarding school come to the pub, they are not allowed off the grounds unaccompanied and the very few times one has come, they have been pulled out by their ear shortly after. It is a world unfamiliar to you and you struggle to fathom the calibre of person who attends the imposing institution. In the face of Aegon’s boredom for the shatteringly important art he apparently has in his home, you find yourself less surprised at his wonder at the pub. How quaint it must be, to have more money than God and to watch a group of bright young women scrabble their knowledge for a voucher to the bookshop down the road.

He catches you lost in thought and grimaces. “Sorry, I don’t want you to think I’m something I’m not for that. My mother has no care for the art itself, she views them more as investments than anything else.” You don’t speak, still to stunned. He begins to talk without direction, “it is a funny feeling to be cared for less than a frame on the wall, simply for being of less use.”

His eyebrows draw together when he speaks of her, you can sense a hurt he won’t speak more of. One you cannot ask about when you have only just met, even if you feel as if you have known him for years after just a few hours. 

“I cannot judge you for something that is out of your control,” he doesn’t seem to understand that, so you continue. “It’s not your fault, is what I’m saying.”

How odd you think, to be comforting him over his wealth. However, there is a darkness in the past of the vivacious boy that has consumed your evening, one that speaks of fear and shame and unbearable pressure. You can see it in the drop of his shoulders, how he looks as though he has the weight of a hundred worlds on them.

“Everything is always my fault,” he says, a sad little ghost of a smile crossing his face. “Always has been and always will be.”

He is vague and aimless in his tipsy state, the alcohol turning him melancholic and reducing him to a visage of a small boy before you. You are struck by the desire to hug him.  

You realise he is the last person left, your father glancing at you and him as he wipes down the tables across the room. You are loath to make him go, the idea of him biking the two miles back to his castle of a school filling you with dread. Reluctantly, you speak, taking his hand between yours and mustering a small uptick of your lips despite your concern. “I don’t believe that.”

He looks almost wounded when he looks up to you. “You’ll see, soon enough.”

 He turns his hand over between yours and squeezes you briefly but tightly, a fleeting feeling of his holding on lingering after he has withdrawn. The feel of it tingles across your skin, the wines of his palms and the gentle, accidental scratch of his short nail on the inside of the right pinky as he stumbled to his feet. You hold your hands to your chest, leaving enough of a gap for the memory of his.

He ambles towards the door; you watch him go. “Will you come back again?” You call after him, a shred of fear simmering in you at never seeing him again. 

He swings around to you and flashes you his teeth, “unfortunately for you, I don’t think I could stay away.” 

The October air swallows him, and you study the doors in his wake. You lose yourself to a reverie in your solitude, feeling a coldness lick at your shoulders in his absence. 

 “Who was that then?” your father asks, making you jump violently where you stand. He laughs at you, not unkindly. 

 “His name is Aegon.” you offer, not sure how to pull apart your myriad feelings on him just yet, let alone explain him to someone else.

 He snorts, “No it isn't.”

 “That's what I said!” you exclaim, picking up your rag and skirting it over the bar. 

 “He’s sweet on you,” your dad says, you don't look up from your work, feeling your cheeks glow. You hear him chuckle across the room at your staunch silence. 

  The two of you clean together in the familiar way, leaving the pub in a state of eerie quietness once the bolts on the doors have been smacked into place. Weariness hangs on your shoulders once the lights go out and you head towards the staircase next to the bar that leads up to the flat. 

 You fumble down the corridor, hands skirting the wallpaper and tracing the door frame of your parents room, your dad dad following and ducking in behind. “Goodnight, my girl.”

 “Night, Dad.” 

 In the solitude of your room, you think of him again. There is an impatient giddiness under your nails at the idea of him coming back, perhaps it is testament to the monotony of your life but you think it may be more telling of the brightness of his being. 

 Intrigue burns through your veins, a need to know more of him. Of the school he lives in, his society mother and his filthily rich family. You need to know where he fits in among it all, you cannot imagine him in a uniform, nor a pristine family portrait like the ones you see on the front pages of the magazines in the window of the newsagents. You can't quite imagine a place he would fit, wonder where he has that he can go without standing out. It must be tiresome being so constantly an outlier, there is something in that you can empathise with. 

 You shake your head and put him from your mind. You do not know him, you tell yourself sternly, what a daft idea to assume anything about him. Still, the look in his eyes when he had spoken of his mother dances in front of your mind before you are taken by sleep. 

[sokkastyles]

Your reblog defending brown women from racism and misogyny was so healing as a brown girl. I want to thank you for this because it feels like a lot of days we aren't worth defending or advocating from racism without further the staining of our culture. It feels good to know you cared and stood up for us (or me). In a way, you sort of restore some faith that other people care about racism against brown people, and that we are worth defending. So thank you and I hope you have a great day/night.

I am white so I cannot speak for women of color, but someone saying that no one hates zutara because Katara is brown is just such a blatantly false statement. I've definitely seen people defend Maiko on the grounds that Zuko should be with someone from his own nation, and you know what they really mean is someone with milky white skin. Even people framing things as "defending" Katara from being in a relationship with Zuko are being weird about her skin color in a paternalistic way while pretending they're doing the opposite.

That person then going on to say that it's bad to self insert into Katara also shows an ignorance as far as why it's important that Katara, as a brown girl, is a character that many fans see themselves in.

Now, if it were ever pointed out that not everyone in the Fire Nation has pale skin, I think the fandom would collectively blow a gasket. I also think a lot of the hatred for the Netflix live action, especially the criticizing of the appearances of the actors playing Zuko and Azula, have to do with them having darker skin and looking visibly Asian, but that's a whole 'nother can of worms.

[klanceficatalogue]

Ahhhhh I have been a follower of this blog for ever. I remember the worm. Any new secret relationship fics?? Ahhh

goddamn we have a veteran in the inbox - k

secret relationship tag

you're a dream to me by icedpink (1/1 | 6,107 | Teen and Up)

"Did you know you snore?" Keith asks, still laughing. The team finds out about Keith and Lance's relationship due to snoring, of all things.

You're From A Whole 'Nother World (A Different Dimension) by negativefouriq (2/2 | 6,541 | Teen and Up)

“Maybe he really has been replaced by a pod person,” Pidge breathes. She’s started to sound nervous, for all her joking. “Let’s go find him,” Hunk says, and he can’t hide the urgency in his voice. They both rush down the hallway, wordlessly agreeing to be as silent as possible. They pause before Lance’s bedroom door, exchanging a determined look. Pidge nods, and Hunk carefully turns the doorknob, soundlessly pushing the door open. It’s dark. The only light comes from the moonlight pouring through the open window, and the small shark-shaped nightlight on the desk. Despite the brightness of the moon, the only thing really visible are shadows and figures. The lump on the bed, wrapped in the covers, is far too big to be Lance. --- OR: Hunk hasn't heard from Lance in months. He's getting worried. But when he goes to look for Lance himself...nothing could prepare him for who he finds in Lance's bed.

White light in your arms tonight by mustardlord (1/1 | 4,056 | Teen and Up)

Lance had been in the pod for one movement, and if the team noticed Keith spent his days next to Lance, they didn't mention it. He would stay on his side, often skipping meals and forgetting to take care of himself. He sometimes went to the training grounds when it was all too much. Keith set the training bots to a high difficulty and got his ass handed to him, but at least he didn't worry about anything other than fighting. or After a month secretly together, Lance suffers an accident and Keith doesn't know what to do with himself.

//temporary character death

[abundantsnow]

oghhhgg kay first post on the kny blog

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hallo, if you dont know me, my name is Zenith Petrichor! you can just call me zen. :) my pronouns are zey/zem/zeirs (or he/it) and i am aroacespec (cupio/aegoromantic and aegosexual). i am on the autism spectrum and have adhd and ocd-c, all diagnosed. its nice to meet you if youre new, please send me asks about anything kny or related to my oc, i love answering questions!!!!1!1 /gen/pos

i need to put my oc out somewhere cause i dont want him to just spin in my brain 24/7, i need people to look at him in all his glory 💔

tumblr is the perfect place to release my "way too heavily projected on oc for it to not be a self insert" oc

kny wont leave me alone even tho the pacing and character dynamics are ass and i needed to make an oc and rewrite the entirety of kny with him and with better pacing and character dynamics

So anyway yeah thus is totally a self insert, meet Hisato Nagafuchi!!!!!!!!!!!1!1!1!1!1! please read more lkke pleade please please i love him so much please read about him im ljke so- *gets shot*

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Hisato's reference sheet

永渕氷聖 "Hisato Nagafuchi"

Hisato - 氷聖 “ice” “saint”

Nagafuchi - 永渕 “eternity” “quiet”

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Name: Hisato Nagafuchi

Race: Half-Demon

Gender: Male, He/Him

Age: 23

Height: 168 cm (5'6") (6'0" with his geta) ((the teeth are 5 inches but the base itself is a whole nother inch))

Weight: 80 kg (176 lbs)

Birthday: January 12th

Hair Color: White to Lavender

Eye Color: Indigo

Affiliation: Demon Slayer Corps

Occupation: Demon Slayer, Ice Hashira

Combat Style: Ice Breathing, Blood Demon Art: Purifying Ice

Partner(s): Giyuu Tomioka, Mitsuri Kanroji, Muichiro Tokito, Tengen Uzui

Relative(s): Unnamed Demon Father, Unnamed Human Mother (deceased), Sakonji Urokodaki (adoptive father)

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Hisato's sprite & parasol

I'll draw his actual official promo art at some point. This is like the sprite that would show up on the wiki lol

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About the Hashiras!

About the Water Hashira: “He’s kind, I like him a lot. He's very aloof and masks his emotions; which people don't seem to understand. They think he's arrogant, and he's not. He’s self-conscious, and I can tell something’s bothering him deeply. We were also taught under the same Former Hashira, even if I developed my breathing techniques differently.”

About the Love Hashira: “She’s a sweetheart. She was friendly to me from the start and trusted me, even though I am a half-demon. We bonded over our love for food.”

About the Mist Hashira: “Ah, I see him as a little brother of sorts. He’s a brilliant boy, even if emotionally stunted due to his amnesia. I’ve made the effort to try and communicate with him, and he has noticed this. I like to spar with him, and this is how we communicate.”

About the Wind Hashira: “He’s hot headed and loud. Very loud. He was the most outspoken about me being a half-demon during my crowning and even tried to tempt me with his marechi blood. It smelled nice, like a gourmet dinner, but I could easily resist the temptation. I haven’t really liked him since.”

About the Insect Hashira: “She didn’t seem to like me at first. I had offered her my blood to use as a substitute for an experiment and she accepted. Whatever the results were had her interested in me. She now comes to me to ask me questions occasionally, and seems to hold no animosity towards me anymore. Although there is something simmering under her surface, I’m sure it’s something to do with Kanae’s death.”

About the Flame Hashira: “He’s also loud, like Lord Shinazugawa, but he’s very passionate and kind. I look up to him, even though I am older. He was wary of me at the very beginning, but was one of the few that accepted me pretty quickly. He even gave me pointers during a spar.”

About the Stone Hashira: “He was adamant on not accepting me at first. He believed anyone with Muzan’s blood, however diluted, did not belong in the Corps and should be slain. It took a long time to earn his acceptance and it almost seemed futile. As embarrassing as it is... it was learning that I can purr like a cat that... got him to like me. Both him and Lady Kanroji love cats, apparently. He likes to pat my head whenever he gets the chance."

About the Serpent Hashira: “He also doesn’t like me. At first, it was because I was a half-demon. He accepted that after a while and even sparred with me, claiming that I was fun to spar with. Now, he hates me because he thinks I’m too close to Lady Kanroji. I think he has a crush on her…”

About the Sound Hashira: “He’s very loud, too. He was mean at first, but it turns out it was just a form of tough love. We’re the same age and he even gifted me a haori that matches my breathing style! I wear it all the time and I love it, it makes me miss dad- I mean Mr. Urokodaki's haori that I outgrew. He said my Blood Demon Art was very flashy; he calls numerous things flashy, actually. It’s quite funny. I also think he’s really pretty, but he has… three wives…”

About the Flower Hashira: “I only knew her briefly, seeing as she died shortly after I became a Hashira. But she was also kind to me. She was hesitant to trust me, but she still did anyway. I really wish she was still around. After learning it was one of the Twelve Kizuki that killed her, I swore to Lady Kocho that I would help her find and kill Doma, the Kizuki in question.”

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Taishō Era Secrets!:

(with Tanjiro)

"Mr. Nagafuchi can't stand anything spicy! He prefers all of his food cold, even things that aren't supposed to be cold! He also loves sweet foods."

"His ears are incredibly sensitive, and he has a good sense of sight, smell, and hearing! It's not as good as mine or Zenitsu's, but he's still able to pick up a lot of things that normal human senses can't!"

"His voice doesn't match his appearance, but it's still considered a beautiful voice. He loves to sing and hum melodies, but he's become very embarrassed by this particular skill."

Tanjiro: "I hope one day I can hear you sing, Mr. Nagafuchi!"

Hisato: "I'd only sing for Nezuko, sorry Tanjiro."

Tanjiro: "That's okay! I'm sure Nezuko would love it!"

"He also doesn't talk to anyone because of this! Only the Hashira, me, Zenitsu, Insosuke, and everyone at the Butterfly Mansion have heard his voice."

"He's able to sneak up on anyone without making a sound! Despite wearing noisy clothes and having chimes on his parasol, he can move without alerting anyone! It's almost like he can choose if he makes noise when moving..."

Hisato: "I can, actually. When making my presence known, I tend to allow my footsteps and parasol to make noise for a more elegant appearance."

Tanjiro: "Is there a switch you can flip or something? How are you able to do that?"

Hisato: "That... shall remain a secret."

"Apparently he was taken in and raised by Mr. Urokodaki since he was a baby, and even calls him dad!"

Hisato: "Th-That's embarrassing, Tanjiro... You didn't have to say that..."

Tanjiro: "I think it's adorable! I also saw him as a father figure if it makes you feel better!"

Hisato: "..."

"Mr. Nagafuchi can purr! Like a cat! When Mr. Himejima and Ms. Kanroji learned about this, they were over the moon since they both love cats!! They find any chance possible to pet Mr. Nagafuchi, so cute!!!"

Hisato: "I... I do not purr... That is nonsense...!"

Tanjiro "Can I pet you, then?"

Hisato: "No, of course not, Tanjiro! You cannot pet me! And Lord Himejima and Lady Kanroji do not pet me!"

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Hisato's haori and parasol design

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That's all for the first post!! I have a lot more already, but I'll schedule those posts for later since its 1am and like. yeah.

[yakketymax]

All My Projects!

Alongside the projects listed below, you will also see me refer to other smaller projects, such as the Gingerfolk Universe I share with my friends or my own kitchen sink universe called the Scullery Basin!

Home Is Where The Harv Is

A fake series composed of two movies and two book series following the titular character, Harvey “Harv” Sugarplume II, and his adventures- mis and otherwise -and experiences learning how to love in all kinds of ways. Harvey's job as the big bad General of the Cookie Cutter Army of the Winterbloom Kingdom has taken its toll on him, making him rough and mean and jaded, and his current situation certainly isn't helping, but surely there's still a heart in there somewhere…?

Tumblejack

"Tumblejack" is my concept for a musical adventure rhythm game, wrapped in a metaphor (or is allegory the word I'm looking for?) for identity and the LGBT+ community and the challenges we face in this world! In this world, there is a list of types of music that are allowed and a much longer list of types of music that aren't allowed under ANY circumstances. If you are caught playing restricted music, your ability to do so is taken from you forever… unless you agree to comply to the rules society has put in place and play the "proper" music they tell you to. But who wants to do that! Here, you play as one half of the titular characters, Crackerjack- a peppy polka-playing punk pirate who is doing every little thing in their power to bring happiness and smiles to the people of this world, despite the ridicule they might get in return just for being themself.

Teacher's Pet

"Teacher’s Pet" is my concept for an action thriller video game centered around the rescue of seven living puppets from their now crumbling studio (and from an entity far more dangerous than a broken down building…). You (the player) seem to be the only person to have any memory of these characters from a children’s game you used to play about going to school and making friends and learning your numbers and such, but when the only thing you can seem to uncover about the vague memory is a cartoon based on it that never got off the ground, you take it upon yourself to visit the half finished address listed before you and investigate what might have happened.

Two Moons

"Two Moons" is a story that follows Synthwave Doughnut, an alien from another galaxy that's had an unfortunate accident during their space travel and crash-landed here on Earthbread… eight years ago. Though they've been stranded and forced to disguise themself to stay safe here, they're still determined to make it back home to their family even after all this time. Now joined by their closest friends in THIS world- their coworker, Galaxy Jam, a kindly mechanic, Astronaut Oreos, and the first person to take them in, Moon Cheese -Synthwave is closer than they've ever been to getting there. But, still, repairing a spaceship from a whole nother world takes an immeasurable amount of time, so, until the day finally comes, Synthwave looks up at the white moon of Earthbread, still hoping that one day it'll rise pink and yellow like their own moon back home. The blog for this project can be found here!

[twisted-wonderland-shenanigans]

So...

Do you guys know that thing about creative writers with ideas (plot bunnies) and how they always seem to multiply one after the other? That's me with Twisted Wonderland AUs. I can't help it! The series just reminds me of all the stories I loved as a kid, with characters that had depth and / or developed or we got to learn more about--even if it was stupid little things they do in their everyday life! I've grown to appreciate it in ways I never imagined I could any form of media. ;;v;;

To be honest...this game has given me the creativity to consistently create and build upon ideas, and the support you all have given me has meant so much. I can't thank you all enough for sticking with me for so long, and for sending me all the ideas or scenarios you all have been daydreaming of. ;;v;;

So I wanted to give a bit of an update on a few things I'm going to do with the blog:

1) Create a rules page. I've gone far too long without updating my original set, and I feel it's long overdue 😂 Plus, it'll help me keep track of certain things!

2) Go back through and update the links on the Masterlists with posts I may have missed. I didn't realize that some things I was referencing in some of my latest posts (aka the grape incident in the monster!AU) were missing, so I'm gonna comb through my posts and make sure I label and organize them easier for you guys to find (and for me to refresh myself on what I write)!

3) Answering asks (of course). Things are a little slow going and my muse has been getting finicky with me, but I will make sure I get to everyone's asks! Some I may answer because they're quick and easy, others...I may end up getting an idea for something more expansive, so that'll take a bit longer. 😅

And finally, 4) Introducing a(nother) AU:

Twisted Wonderland!Mermaid AU!!!

Honestly, this started because I got inspired by the artwork by this artist here where they drew the characters based on Floyd's nicknames for them, and it started as a Marine Biologist AU where Yuu is a marine biologist and taking care of the mermaid bois (all 22 boys + one fire-breathing cat) buuuuuut...at the moment, Yuu getting shipwrecked and living on the island with the mermaid boys wouldn't leave me alone. 😂

As well as an idea where Yuu is a full-blooded Kaiju/born a Kaiju and has Land Before Time like adventures because I got emotional at baby Littlefoot hatching, but who's counting the ideas? Certainly not me!

Anyway, I wanted to share a snippet of the prologue I have written that's currently under construction, so the final product may differ. I'm honestly really excited about this AU too, and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do~ ;;v;;

Snippet under a read-more because this post is going to be long anyway 😂 Enjoy!

Oh, and if I need to tag it a certain way for future posts, please let me know and I'll be sure to add them!

//////------------//////

If anyone were to ask Yuu what they were going to be doing over the summer, they likely would have told them: catch up on their reading, or playing video games, or any number of different things they had planned. Even just relaxing at home or on the beach would have been an enticing offer.

A scuba diving trip was not something they expected to get dragged into.

“First time diving?”

“Was it that obvious?” Yuu asked, one hand gripping the bar on the seat next to them until their knuckles were white while the other kept hold of the oxygen tank sitting in front of their flippered feet.

“Yeah…kinda obvious for a first timer,” the instructor said with a chuckle, the man giving them a reassuring pat. “It can be a bit nerve-wracking for new divers, but you’ll be fine. You’re one of the contest winners, right?”

“I put my name in as a joke, I didn’t think I’d actually win!” Peering over the edge of the railings, Yuu couldn’t make out anything in the dark water. “I…thought we were going to dive near the shallows closer to land. What are we doing so far out?” they asked, swearing they saw a big shadow pass by…only to realize it was the ship’s frame reflecting on the water.

“I know we’re a lot further out than we normally would for first time divers, but we had problems with our normal ship and the only one that was available was this ship a couple of marine biologists were using.”

“…why didn’t you just cancel and set it for another day?”

“Try telling that to my bosses,” the man muttered under his breath before the smile was back on his face. “Anyway, I think this will be a fun change to the program! These biologists are actually working to explore the reactions of marine life to musical instruments, and we’ll get to see it firsthand ourselves!”

Before Yuu could respond, the ship came to a stop and the driver said, “We’re here! You folks ready to go diving while we get set up? There’s a coral reef not far below us, so you’ll have plenty of time to sightsee.”

“Yup! Okay, so let’s go over the basics again, and I’ll make sure your gear is on properly.”

Yuu listened nervously as the instructor walked through each procedure and rule of diving, the wetsuit sticking tightly to their body as the tank weighed heavily on their back. This was not how they imagined their first time scuba diving would be—they could barely even make out the shore from a wave in the distance. Finally—with mask secured and breathing apparatus in—the instructor gave them a reassuring nod…before falling backwards into the water with a  ‘sploosh!’. For a brief moment they froze, but the motion of the ship and the weight on their back knocked them off balance and forced them backwards.

Fwoosh!!

[achoshistor]

final fantasy 7

spoilers for everything idk (ff7, remake&dlc, crisis core but only till like chapter four because thats how far i made it)

bro ive been tweaking out for like three months now. i bought the ff7 remake bc it was 50% off a few months ago and I was like I'm never gonna find a deal like this ever again (only for it to go on 50% again lmfao) but ok whatever it was literally 35 for the game and the dlc which is one million times cheaper than what splatoon 2 and octo expansion were and its ok because i can never own it physical anyways but bro I didn't even want to buy this game in the first place i was gonna buy ffxv cause i saw a clip of notcis or whatever that guys name is putting his lettuce on a nother guy's plate and i was like "wtf is final fantasy even about" SPOILER ALERT: TERRORISM like ????

i feel like i can never every play another game after finishing the remake and the intermission i bought crisis core reunion and theres literally LESS fighting in that game so far but it was also cheaper and i got it physical (after scouring ebay for two months to find a us edition because i dont want to even risk seeing things spelled in the british way because last time when that happened when I played great ace attorney 1&2 i couldn't stop spelling things in british every time i'd write an essay and then i couldnt tell what was wrong "its just an extra letter" no bro its messing up my diction) but anyways please just let me beat things up with a sword i wish people still used swords to fight then the fights would be more fair and the world would be a better place. but man sephiroth is lowkey a nice guy and the crashout was 100% valid not the killing people part but i would also crash out if i found out my mom was actually some 2000 year thingy they found in the ground. today i saw some snowflakes fall (they were the big ones) and freaked out for a second because i thought they were white feathers (I NEED TO GO OUTSIDE)

i also "finished" (AKA gave up right before the final boss) the original ff7 because i didnt want to deal with spoilers cause the main plot points should be the same anyways but i don't have enough patience to play retro games (the last one i finished was kirby super star three years ago) and they are like ten times harder than modern games too like i think i only got 10 game overs max in the remake but like one hundred million in the original and i was like at this point i dont even care anymore like we just need to beat sephiroth right? speaking of i really did think we just had to beat sephiroth and that he was just evil for the love of the game because all i knew was from that smash bros trailer but really everything is hojos and lowkey lucrecia's fault bc theyre bums like are you jealous of vincent or something how do you get a girl who's literally just broken up with this guy pregnant like no time bro literal bum activity im glad vincent was able to beat up hojo at the end. he was also my strongest party member (and had the hardest spell post out of all of them).

i was lowkey tweaking when i saw genesis cause i thought something seemed awfully familiar lo and behold hes just evil gackt. i saw a picture of some genshin character's sword and i was like holy sigma is that genesis rhaspodos but nope it was some genshin twink this is off topic but i HATE how like half of the characters in genshin look like children/teenagers and the other half are either whitewashed (brighter than printer paper) or have the most awful color scheme like unpleasant gradient just showed up to your door. i kept thinking angeal was named angelo because ive only ever met people named angelo and not angeal but so far his story seems too similar to sonons. zack = onika angeal = burgers OH his name is angeal like angel LMFAo

I barely edit my tumblr posts for coherence sorry if youre not one of my like 4 followers but anyways episode intermission gave me a genuine crash out. I was like "who is yuffie" but then i found out. yuffie is my goat. i hate fort condor and i still hate fort condor but i didnt know there was a literal fort with a condor on it. i was out of it bro i have nobody here that may hear this and i will be ashamed i genuinely couldnt pay attention to the game cuz of sonon hes so fine bro too bad he DIED bro i even felt bad for nero cause they forcefully made him shut up with that muzzle thing but as per usual he was a bum but theres no second part to the dlc (yet) 40 dollar 32 gb ram stick please find me (my computer will blow up) before rebirth comes out (my computer will blow up regardless) like watch the requirements be some esoteric classified government only processor like the ryzen 56 or intel i5412 like u gotta play it on one of those government super computers so the game doesnt lag the minute you start walking.

ok im done ive exhausted myself thank u for coming to my ted talk see u later my little minions

[ralexsol]

Okay, so I just rewatched S1 of Loki. And since the last time I watched, so many opinions of mine have changed. Instead of focusing all on Lokius and their character arcs, I went into this viewing instead looking at Sylvie, completely throwing my initial dislike of her out the window to be unbiased.

And MAN, am I glad I did that. Because I connected to Sylvie on a WHOLE NOTHER LEVEL.

In my eyes, I see her as a trans allegory. Lokis are usually genderfluid, right? I mean, that's the impression I get - our main 2012 Loki, who's only difference from the Sacred Timeline was escaping with the Tesseract, is classified as genderfluid. And that makes perfect sense, he's a shapeshifter and all that, yadda yadda stuff that's already been said, love it.

But here's the thing. The thing that made Sylvie a Variant, to our knowledge, was that "she is a woman!" So, let's think about this for a second. She's different because she's STRICTLY a woman. Not genderfluid. She/her in her bio. And it finally clicked for me that she's... trans. Literally trans. AND THATS WHAT GETS HER ARRESTED BY THE TVA! She wasn't the right gender, she dared to do something nobody wanted her to. She was different, unexpected... a Variant. And she had to be annihilated because of that.

I know, I know, I'm just stating what all of us already know, we KNOW thats why she was arrested. But you have to actually think past the annoying "oohhh she's the only girl Loki great original idea Marvel" in order to sympathize with her character, because she is VERY sympathizable.

She's literally just a kid, living as her truest self. She's ripped from her family by essentially the government of the universe. She's taken to a trial that nobody walks away from innocent. But Sylvie is different. Lokis are the definition of chaos, the unexpected, defiance. And she's the most defiant of all, because she defied even the preset she was given as a physical person. Nah, she didn't want to be a man or even nonbinary. She was a woman, and they wouldn't let her be. That wasn't allowed. They would hunt her down just for fucking existing in a way that didn't match up with their perception of Lokis.

Her entire life was fighting against a system that wanted her dead. They would rather have order and their precious little clean, easy system (that in reality is harder to maintain than letting people be free) than to let her just fucking exist as she wanted to.

The resentment grows. Of course you want to take down the entire system. Of course you want to burn it all down. Because not only did the government hunt you down, they had already hunted down an infinite number of people just like you. People who didn't find happiness in what was force-fed to them. People who didn't want to tread down the only path provided.

Isn't that what all of us people in the LGBTQ+ community want? To tear the system to pieces, to start over anew? I mean, that's what I want. Because it's flawed right to the very core - at least, where I'm from (the USA), it is. It was made to keep rich, white cishet men in power. A system built from discrimination and power-hoarding cannot be reformed. And even if you tried, it would take too long. It HAS taken too long, and it's cost countless innocents their lives.

You can't undo all that trauma instantaneously. Of course Sylvie would burn it all down. Of course she would kill He Who Remains. Of course she wouldn't want the TVA to keep existing. Yes, there are people in the TVA now that want to change it for the better. Yes, she needs to open her heart and realize burning it down doesn't fix everything. Because you can't rip everything to shreds and not create something new in its place. Fighting tyranny doesn't just end with kicking the dictator out of power - you have to set fair rules to prevent the same thing or worse happening again.

I understand why she didn't want to come back. She had fulfilled what she thought was her only purpose, and finally settled down into the life she utterly deserves. But her story isn't over yet. She can be at peace with having created a new world in which the tyranny is over. In which everyone makes their own choices. In which she can be a woman and never fear time itself imploding. It's just hard to let go of something you've been holding onto for so long. You've been fighting to keep yourself alive and true, and it's hard to accept when maybe... you are winning.

You are not a Loki because you are Sylvie. You broke your guidelines so deeply that you are your own person. There is nobody like you because deep in your very soul, you are the truest Loki to ever exist. You defy. You survive. You and your glorious purpose, to smile and know you are a woman and nobody can tell you any differently. You are exactly whatever you choose to be.

THATS NOT EVEN ALL OF IT THOUGH. THERE'S MORE. And yes, it's about our main Loki and Sylvie's relationship.

I'll come right out of the gate: I've been a Lokius shipper since literal day 1, and nothing will ever change that. I don't ship Sylki and I never will, end of story. I don't see them as romantic at all. What I DO see, however, is looking yourself in the mirror and feeling love for yourself, having survived everything and still more. Let me explain what I mean.

The whole first season, Loki gets to know Sylvie and more of her backstory. And obviously they have the fun dynamic of being two "Lokis" (I hesitate calling Sylvie a Loki anymore) because they're both insanely arrogant and backstabby, yadda yadda. But Loki becomes fonder of Sylvie. Why?

Because they see this other version of themself that went through something so similar yet so incredibly different than them. They are still genderfluid - and bisexual - and they went through that journey of self discovery. They realized they didn't exactly fit the mold, classic trans story. But the difference is that while their family came to accept that and they got to live their life as themself, they see this distorted mirror of what could've been. They see a life where Odin and Frigga didn't accept them. They see the life they were lucky to escape, a life of hardship and a battle they never had to fight.

Sylvie was so brave. But she's been broken time and time again, and she's lonely, and she's never had anyone to care about her. It's you. She's alone and you've just been told by an old friend that you will be alone until the end of time. That you are unlovable. You are the same. You feel so much empathy and you realize something important.

You're looking at this beautiful person. A person who has endured so much pain, and she is beautiful because she is herself. She fought so hard to exist and she has never had a win and she's never had anyone who ever truly understood her. She is you but not you because she is herself.

It's a similar feeling to looking into a mirror and seeing yourseld as a child. Different but the same. Your lives as a whole are completely different. But you still face the same issues. You look in the mirror and the other you is broken. The other you, just like you, thinks they are unlovable.

But you know what they are going through. And you love them more than anyone ever could. You understand more than anyone ever could.

As someone who is on the aroace spectrum and struggles to parse if I'm feeling romantic or platonic feelings (I won't even get into that), I see the Sylki kiss as a complicated but understandable action. The idea of feeling romantic feelings towards yourself is something unfathomable as nothing really can equate to it in our world. I won't get into the morality of it, because honestly, the answer to that is completely based on subjective opinion, since it's an abstract concept. Anyways, my point.

My POINT is that Loki has a lot of feelings and doesn't really know how to express them. Also, like, I'm pretty sure Sylvie only kissed him because she wanted to trick him into letting his guard down to kick him back to the TVA lollll.

As for the end of S2? Well, after the incredible mind-boggling Ep4, I have no idea what way the plot will turn from here. But as for character arcs, I think Sylvie will come to realize that this new TVA can be a force for good. With a new code for keeping the timeline safe from multiverse jumpers who wish the conquer multiple planes - AHEM Kang or others -, and NO PRUNING INNOCENT TIMELINES, why not keep it around? It's a whole different system at that point. It's no longer forcing people to be exactly as intended. It let's them live out their lives however they want to, safe from existential threats.

Sylvie can sit in the back of her truck looking up at the stars in her McDonald's uniform, breathing in fresh air, and thinking about how good it is to be no longer the only one like her.

[honkbird]

'nother tabletop post about rolling systems

no clue if I already posted about it but Burning Wheel is such a nice little system !! It didn't feel too crunchy to me but the information is sorta densely packed up and I'd occasionally have to set it down for a bit and do something else to properly absorb it. Big takeaway is I like the lifepaths, very Rolemaster, and I Love the dice rolling. Skills are described as a number of d6, and then as a monochrome shade. You roll your skill's number of d6, and count each die that is above a number defined by the shade. Black skills count as successes for 4 and up, grey for 3 and up, and white for 2 and up. So if you have a skill described as "5B Carpentry", then you roll 5d6 and count how many are 4+ (black). It sets a limit for what your character is capable of doing in a very cute way. But...

It's worth mentioning the math ends up being very tight. Specifically, the main ways to interface with the system is through adding more dice (ok) and adjusting the bar for successful rolls (very small window). +X integers aren't really a thing, but I could imagine using some other die type to do more with the successful rolls bar. Maybe use d10's and then you can do the same skill roll stuff And be able to slide the success frequency by 10% intervals? Only downside is uh . personal opinion here btw. d10's aren't as charming to roll as a bunch of d6's. Don't hurt me d100 lovers, I've seen your tables I know what you're capable of.