#a lot of these could easily be fics

[frankiebirds]

will forever thinking about morgan refusing to leave dr. brazier's side while the bomb under her seat is being defused.

i didn't get a good screenshot of it, but he's also holding her hand the whole time.

and then the way he hugs her??

keep in mind he Just met this woman. he has no emotional connection to her beyond the fact that she is a person in distress and he is a person who cares. there is a bomb under her seat that could go off if she moves wrong or they fail to defuse it. if that happens, it will kill her, and almost certainly him too. he doesn't care. he kneels outside her car and holds her hand while she prays because he will not let her be afraid alone. he will not let her die alone, if it comes to that. derek morgan the bottomless well of compassion you are.

[cuz-reasons]

Summary: When he arrived in Hisui, he had nothing. Not even a name. He was given the name Nobori. Years later, he finds the name Ingo. Who is he?

It's MY turn to give Ingo identity issues! Also happy two year anniversary to me posting fic!

[stellamancer]

cher(ease)  (satoru gojo x reader)

notes: i want to preface this by saying: yes, i know i posted a fic yesterday too. no, i am not actually that prolific. this was written for the willow house Meet Fruit collab. actually, i wrote it right after @willowser​ suggested it, but i waited to post it because I was actually a little unhappy with it when I was done writing it initially and i figured some time away from it might help. it did. a little. i think. now i’m not sure any more.. 

contains:  gender neutral reader, typical satoru gojo antics, some small manner of sexual tension

wc: 1.4k

You love cherries. 

They are, without a doubt, your favorite fruit; tart, sweet and easy to eat with their stems serving as a cute little handle. It does suck having to deal with eating around the pits, but your beloved cherries are worth the inconvenience. It’s truly, truly a shame that they’re only really available in the summer, but that just means you need to eat your fill when they’re in season.

Which is why, when you stumble across a display of them at the market, rows of cartons filled to the brim with bright, plump, juicy red cherries, you end up buying a carton or three without a second thought.

In retrospect, it might have been better to show some restraint. Maybe you had hungry eyes, or were just a touch too excited, or maybe it was even the fact that you’d spent an unspeakable amount of money on just cherries. Regardless, in order to attempt to absolve yourself of some of the buyer’s regret that’s clearly haunting you after splurging on fruit you benevolently decide to share them with the students and your fellow staff members at Jujutsu High. 

Or at least, that had been your intent. 

“Oh hey,” Satoru Gojo greets you casually as you walk into the staff room, his feet propped up on the table so he can lean his chair back as far as possible. In one of his hands is a cherry, one of your cherries, hanging delicately from its stem. “What’s up?”

“What are you doing?” you ask him reflexively, ignoring his question outright as a surge of annoyance courses through your veins. There’s a part of you that feels weird about suddenly feeling possessive over the cherries. You brought them to share with everyone and everyone includes Gojo. It shouldn’t be a big deal that he's gone ahead and helped himself to some without asking, and yet you still find yourself feeling agitated. 

"I was hungry," he replies nonchalantly, popping the cherry in his mouth. 

"And you thought it would be okay to snack on my cherries?" 

Gojo shifts forward in his chair and offers you an easy-going smile that only makes you scowl more. “There were so many in the fridge I’d thought you’d brought them to share.”

Your instinct is to argue, to be obtusely contrarian with him, but the fact of the matter is that he’s right, so you keep your mouth shut. Instead, you sit yourself down and stare at the half full carton of cherries on the table. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Gojo wiggling around, not-so-subtly vying for your attention like an overly excitable child. You ignore him and instead choose to think of the rising cost of produce. It was truly an ungodly amount you spent on those cherries and you know for sure that a year ago the same amount of them would have cost marginally less. When you thought about sharing them with the students, the blow to your wallet seemed bearable, their smiles worth the cost and more. But rather than your students' darling faces all you can see is the image of Gojo’s face, his cheeks stuffed with cherries like he’s a squirrel feasting on nuts. It’s annoying. Maybe you can get him to pony up and pay you back for a portion of what he’s eaten. Surely the heir to the Gojo clan can pay for some of the cherries he’s gobbled up. 

“Hey…” He’s whining loudly now, any attempts at being subtle abandoned. You consider ignoring him more, but think better of it and look in his direction. Unsurprisingly, he’s pouting, his perfectly moisturized lips puckering out, and you’re glad that his blindfold detracts from what is otherwise a disgustingly handsome face. “Why the long face?”

He’s mocking you. He’s totally mocking you. Not that you’d expect anything different from him. Rather than grace him with an actual answer, you shoot him a pointed look. There’s no goddamn way that he doesn’t know. But still, Gojo plays his favorite role and tilts his head innocently. When you don’t say anything more he exclaims, “Oh! I know! You must be hungry.”

Again, he’s not wrong, but this time he’s not exactly right either.

He grabs another cherry, this time holding it up in your direction. He grins as he propels it toward your mouth. “Here. Say ‘ah~’”

“Gojo, you are not feeding me.”

He ignores you, insistently pressing the cherry to your lips as he speaks, his voice an octave lower, "They taste really good, you know." 

The sexy drop of his voice is nothing short of deliberate— a tried and true tactic of his meant to get under your skin. You glare at him, your agitation clear as day. He is, as expected, completely unfettered, the cherry still flush against your lips. 

Your options at this point are to: wait until he gets bored and drops the cherry, possibly onto the floor— wasting it or shamefully accept it and endure him gloating about it for the rest of the day. As much as you’d love to waste Gojo’s time and sit at the table in a silent stalemate, you have other things to do. Important things.

So you open your mouth wide, wider than necessary, and use your teeth to rip the cherry from Gojo’s grasp in the most unattractive way possible. 

“Yay!” he cheers, choosing to focus on seeing just what he wants to see instead acknowledging that you obviously don’t want his offering. You consider, for one wild second, spitting it back in his face. However, you don’t and just drop the cherry into your open palm. Now what? Do you eat the cherry or just toss it? Frankly, it feels like a lose-lose situation either way, so you might as well go with the option that gives Gojo less satisfaction: you toss it into the trash can. 

“Aw…” His lips jut out to form an excessive pout.

“I already told you: you are not feeding me.”

“You’re no fun."

“I’m plenty of fun,” you dead pan at him, scowling. “I’m just not your plaything.”

“Meaning you won’t feed me either?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Not even if I say please?” 

“Nope.”

“Hmph.” He’s being overly dramatic and you both know it. “Guess I will enjoy the cherries all on my own, then.”

His voice drops again. The second time makes your body feel a little bit weird, but you remain largely immune to his antics, electing to grab another cherry to eat over paying him any mind. 

But Gojo reaches for the cherries right when you do, obviously and intentionally going for the same one you are, and your fingers brush against one another. You scowl and rather than play some weird version of finger footsie, you go for a different cherry.

Annoyed, you shoot him another glare, or at least, you intend to, but he’s pulled his dumb blindfold down and that’s a tell-tale sign that he’s up to no good. You can already feel your blood pressure rising. Dealing with him like this is even more of a pain than usual.

He holds your gaze, his eyes clear as the summer sky, glimmering, as he presses the cherry to his mouth every so gently, as if he’s kissing it. You watch, almost entranced, your mouth suddenly dry. Gojo rolls it over his lips, parting them ever so slightly to press the damn fruit further in, his tongue darting out and—

You force yourself to look away, rolling your eyes as you do. “What the hell are you doing? You look stupid.”

Gojo merely hums, chewing on the cherry. You hope he bites into the pit and dies of cyanide poisoning. 

He tosses a few more cherries into his mouth before he speaks, another seductive drawl, and though you would never admit it, you think your immunity grows weaker every time he uses that damn tone of voice. “Hey.”

“What,” you deadpan, glancing at him.

Gojo grins at you and his lips part just slightly, calling your attention to them again. He reaches up and slowly pulls a cherry stem from his mouth. It’s looped into a little knot and the sight of it throws you back to your middle school days— your classmates giggling quietly to themselves over the implications of things like tongue tied cherry stems and candies unwrapped using one’s tongue alone. 

“So,” he starts, his stupid blue eyes shining with shameless amusement, “have you heard what they say about people who can do this?”

He grins at you, far too pleased with himself for his own damn good. You know the answer he’s looking for. And he should know that hell will freeze over before you give it to him.

“Yeah. They call them idiots for putting the damn cherry stem in their mouths.”

[sidesteppostinghours]

would you guys still love me if i made a roughly 3k word fic focusing on a side character you can completely miss that has less than thirty lines of canonical dialogue.

[nostalgia-tblr]

I watched Avengers: Age of Ultron (apart from I skipped some overly long action sequences) and I am not sure so can someone tell me whether or not Tony Stark was the baddy in that film? Because about halfway through I was sure he was but then it was maybe just an evil robot after all and I am confused because either this film was surprisingly subversive or it was about robots hitting each other.

[starrystevie]

steve harrington, luxury hotel heir, who wants nothing to do with the family empire. steve who remembers running away from every hotel he was dragged to as early as his memories allow, who stood in the lobbies and screamed until his throat was raw and his mother was so embarrassed she would take him outside.

he grows up knowing it’s in his cards to take everything over once he gets old enough and he despises it. the very idea of being in charge of the hotel chain has his skin crawling, electricity humming through his veins, makes the joint in his jaw constantly tense. rebelling isn’t really an option, not unless he wants to be kicked to the curb, so steve fights back in the smallest ways possible. he grows his hair a little too long, he wears his muddy reebok sneakers with his fancy suits at dinner parties, he snorts out a laugh with a roll of his eyes when his father introduces him as the future of the company.

it all gets to be too much. when steve, freshly 24 and old enough to take on more responsibility, tells his father that he won’t do it, that he won’t be a pawn in their game anymore, he gets cut off. credit cards canceled, fancy loft apartment lease forcibly broken by his father, access to the garages of bmws and mercedes taken away. he could get it all back, return to the ice of luxury he always knew, only if he could prove to his father that he could be a leader the company is proud of.

which is how steve finds himself working at the front desk at a smaller property of theirs in a place that should be named bumfuck, indiana. it’s the only hotel in town, which keeps them steadily busy with a bustling lobby bar and restaurant, as they’re the only lodging for out of town guests. he hates it, hates being confined behind the desks he’d look at with disdain as a kid in uncomfortable slacks and button downs that mirror his uniform now. he has to smile and schmooze and works off upgrade commissions and force himself to not stare off into space during the slow hours, imagining a life that could have been.

he’s been working there a little over a month when summer hours start and the lobby band comes back for the busy nights. it’s nothing exciting, a jazz band of sorts complete with a sax, but their guitarist catches his eye. he’s all long hair and smirks, leather and boots, and exactly the type of person mommy and daddy harrington would lose their minds over. he’s a way of rebelling all on his own in a gorgeously perfect package.

steve catches his eye as they’re setting up next to the bar for the night. the wink he confidently flashes causes the guitarist to stumble a bit before sending back a wave and a shy grin of his own, cheeks flushed the prettiest pink. there’s a phrase rattling around in the back of his head, something about not mixing work and play, but all steve can think of is tangling their fingers and pressing a kiss to the man’s temple before running away wherever together with his father’s angry face fading away behind them.

it’s too tempting of an idea not to try, especially when the guitarist keeps looking at steve with the same look he’s sure to be giving him. especially when they’re both ducking their heads with upturned lips only to glance back up and have their eyes meet again and again. especially when he comes over to the desk after the band's first set and slides a piece of paper with a name and phone number over to steve dotted with x’s and o’s and a smiley face.

and the thing that bothers steve the most is that something amazing could come out of this whole mess and he'd owe it to his father for giving it to him. he's still going to try, though, especially because some hotel band guitarist named eddie is smiling at him like that.

[flowercrowngods]

in which eddie is semi-nonverbal and steve notices despite eddie’s best efforts. cuddles ensue | 1.8k

They’re hanging out at Eddie’s, just the two of them, when Steve notices it for the first time. He’s not known as the most perceptive guy ever, but he’s actually rather good at these things. And he’s starting to get good at getting a feel for Eddie, too, even though it’s made harder by his dramatics and his flourishes and all those exaggerated gestures, mimics and mood swings. Eddie is fluent in all things sarcasm and drama, both of which Steve had issues reading in the beginning but is now pretty good with.

After fighting an interdimensional monster wizard creep, nearly dying a few times and spending time together almost every day because we stick together now, Steve knows Eddie.

He’s not sure if they’re friends, exactly, but that doesn’t really stop him from knowing all of his tones, his moods, and even most of his music these days. Steve just watches. Listens. Remembers. He’s shit at talking about himself much around anyone but Robin, but he always makes a point of knowing as much as he can about his friends. And Eddie.

Which is why the sudden strain in Eddie’s voice catches him off guard. It’s not the I didn’t get any sleep last night because all I can think of is how I almost died kinda strain. Nor is it the It’s 5pm and I haven’t eaten yet and I don’t want you to find out kind. Steve still makes sure to make them sandwiches as he listens to Eddie rambling off about something or other.

And that’s the thing. Steve listens. He always does, but Eddie is rambling. And he sounds almost miserable about it. The words don’t make sense, they lack their usual enthusiasm when Eddie talks DnD or music — which, he’s doing both? There’s no connection. And when Steve turns around, sandwiches secondary to that fucking strain in Eddie’s voice, he sees that his eyes are dull. The smile forced. And he keeps talking even though his tone indicates that he’s done.

Steve frowns slightly and watches Eddie, who’s walking mindlessly, aimlessly, pacing and stopping every few seconds, looking a little lost every time he does.

The thing is, there is no reason for Eddie to talk. No point to his words. No calculation in his movement, no burning off of excess energy, no kick in his step, no stomp for emphasis.

Steve notices. He sees. He listens. And thinking back, Eddie’s reaction time to just about anything Steve said today was either close to nothing, or very delayed.

It dawns on him then, as he looks Eddie up and down, noticing the fidgeting hands, the tense shoulders, the stiff grimace of a smile. It dawns on him because he knows this look, this behaviour. Not exactly like this, but close.

He has a hunch and hopes that whatever they have built over the past weeks is strong enough for Eddie not to freak out on him over this.

“Eddie,” Steve interrupts him, and it shouldn’t be this easy. It wouldn’t be, normally, but today Eddie just shuts up immediately, mouth closed, eyes on Steve.

“Yeah?” Four seconds. That’s how long that word took.

Steve hopes the expression on his face is kind, not patronising. “You know you don’t have to do this, right?”

Eddie blinks. Swallows. Two, three, four. “Do what, Steve?” And immediately he is defensive, taking on an act because maybe that’s makes this easier for him, but even his performance is strained.

“You don’t have to talk all the time,” he says, and only realises once the words have left his mouth that they sound wrong, like he’s annoyed with Eddie’s constant babbling and needs some silence. Which he doesn’t.

Eddie scoffs before he can take it back. He scoffs, spins in a circle and sighs deeply, expertly bridging the four seconds it takes him once again to open his mouth and speak.

“Oh, that’s new! That’s new, Harrington, I’ve never heard that one before. What’s next, you gonna call me a Freak? Maybe tell me the bands I listen to aren’t music? Really sorry, man, and I hate to break it to you, but if you wanna hang out with someone who doesn’t ‘have to talk all the time’, I’m not your man!”

Even the anger seems dull, the little speech far from what it could have been, like Eddie’s brain isn’t quite there, like it doesn’t work today, like the words just won’t come and decide to leave him hanging with his failed dramatics.

Still, Steve approaches him slowly, his hands raised in a placating motion. “That’s not what I meant, and I’m sorry it came out wrong, Eds. I don’t mind your talking, you gotta believe me. But…”

How does he say this next part, this next assumption, without accidentally insulting Eddie again? Without sounding like a complete and total jackass?

“You know El, right? The one with the superpowers?”

Eddie nods.

“Well, when she came to us, she could, like, barely talk. Her vocabulary wasn’t there yet, sure, but that’s not the only reason. And now she’s made wonderful progress and her vocabulary is pretty decent, but still she gets those days where she just… She can’t talk. Or won’t. Maybe both. Sometimes both, yeah. And on some days she will, like, force herself. But I can tell when she does because she’s miserable about it and it sounds like hard labour and she’s always on the verge of tears about it. And… I don’t know, Eds, but you kinda look a lot like her now, and even if you don’t, which is fine, sorry for bringing that up, but even if you don’t have days like that, just know that you don’t always have to talk, yeah? One way or another, there’s not a price you have to pay in stories or running commentary just to be part of the group. You could never talk ever again and we’d still stick together, yeah? That’s what I meant. Sorry if that’s a jackass kinda thing to say.”

Steve hates how he’s always out there fumbling for words and can never get them to sound right. Especially now, when he needs Eddie to understand. He always needs Eddie to understand. It’s a bit of an urge lately. He just wants him to feel safe.

It’s more than four seconds now, and Steve stops counting at ten, acutely aware of the silence this time. He lets Eddie have his silence, though, leaves him room inside it.

“That’s not a jackass kinda thing to say, Steve Harrington,” Eddie says, and Steve swears he has never heard his voice in such a quiet, vulnerable tone. The quiet always helps El, too. Make all those words she can’t say a little less loud and imposing, make it all a little more okay. Not so scary.

“Good,” Steve whispers, and maybe that’s one step too far, but Eddie sags a little bit and for a moment Steve fears that he’s about to sway forward. Not that he wouldn’t catch Eddie.

“What do… How. Do you help El through it?” Small, vulnerable, confused, and Steve heart breaks a little for him.

“I do,” he says, equally quiet, smile on his face. “We always lie down somewhere because you only have to talk when you sit or stand, right? Lying down, no one can make you talk. So we lie down, she’s usually resting on top of me, and either I talk to her about, well… Anything, really. Or I shut up. Sometimes there’s music. Really, there’s many ways to get through it, but the main two things are lying down and not talking on her part, y’know?”

And the way Eddie looks at him makes Steve think that maybe they are friends, because you don’t let just anyone see you this vulnerable. You don’t look at just anyone with your big brown doe eyes like they’re opening a whole new world for you.

“Sounds great,” he croaks and that tension is back in his shoulders, so obvious that Steve wants to reach out and massage it away.

He smiles and searches Eddie’s eyes, absolutely sure of the situation now, and maybe having a cure for it. “Eddie Munson, would you like to go lie down and not talk for a while?”

Eddie stares at him as though he’s calculating the risk, as though he’s weighing his options. He could still tell Steve to go and he’d be out of here in a heartbeat if being alone is what Eddie really needs. But then he nods.

“I think maybe I do, yeah.”

“With El, I only ask her yes or no questions. You can just nod or shake your head. Okay? Don’t know if that works for you but, well, we can find out I guess. Yeah?”

Eddie nods, and Steve smiles. He goes to the kitchen area to grab the sandwiches he made earlier and then lands back right before Eddie, smile still in place.

“Not to be weird or anything, but I think this might work best on your bed. Is that okay for you? If that’s not okay, we can just lie down on the couch.”

Eddie looks back to his room, then back at Steve. He nods.

“Your bed?” Steve asks again just to make sure, and Eddie nods again.

And this is how they find themselves lying on Eddie’s bed, Eddie’s head resting on Steve’s chest. His fingers find their way into the metalhead’s locks at some point and Eddie purrs, which makes Steve laugh for a moment. He doesn’t take his hand away, though.

Steve doesn’t talk like he does with El sometimes. With Eddie, he just basks in the silence and lets the other boy soak up as much of it as he needs. There’s a smile on his lips the whole time, and he didn’t think he could smile so much around Eddie Munson, especially on one of his bad days.

But he does.

They even fall asleep like that, Eddie lying on top of Steve, cuddling into him. Steve lets him. Even the next morning when they’re both awake but not willing to break the silence yet even though Eddie looks much better already, he doesn’t make any moves to get away from Steve. He stays there, head on his chest as they both just bask in the moment.

Bask in the company.

Bask on the threshold of something just to the right of friendship. Something more.

[leviathiane]

yes, death mark is a rather flawed game. its got a lot of problems in all three iterations and in some ways death mark one, while being less technically impressive (lack of animations, no character sprites actively moving, art a little worse overall, less character sprites in general) it kind of handled a lot of very important aspects of the game better. namely, the plot, character integration/interaction, timeline, and yashiki just being a lil baby who isnt straight up inexcusably bad at his job--

but you must consider this:

Death mark 2 yashiki bondage CG,

[newvegascowboy]

Filling holes both plot wise and characterization wise like im putting spackle on drywall someone punched a hole through

[gem1n1venus]

We ARE besties. Best of friends. How many prompts have you submitted? Could we get a sneak peak?

about 15 (?) and i’ve deleted a few because they had remained unclaimed for a long time.

and ofc!! if you want to talk about any of these prompts, dm me!

first one that i really want to read:

probably my favorite prompt. i’d loved to read a dark fucked-up situation. I also found this amazing fic with similar vibes.

then we have this 🐩 au prompt, inspired by Daniel Ric himself after i saw that video of him barking while dirt biking.

but i CRAVE for a classic werewolf au, fangs and canines, Daniel tries to have a taste of Max’s thighs or something…

next in line are the most recent ones, both sadly unclaimed for now:

desperately hope someone will claim them ❤️‍🩹 especially the first one because i’ve read mind blowing Daniel/Max/Daniel fics before but never seen a Mac/Daniel/Max situation.

second one is self explanatory 😵‍💫

and here’s a brocedes bonus!

[furashuban]

Honestly since joining the fandom last year nothing could've prepared me for how quickly the amount of Magic Misfits fics and fic writers would grow over such a relatively short amount of time (like every time i check the tag i see couple new fics or more each month in AO3 :0). And with a small and niche fandom like ours it's literally just the coolest thing ever <33

[tennessoui]

I adore the TA AU, but I feel like it needs a few more snippets before it could go on Ao3 and feel like a proper fic (not b/c of word count, but because it feels like there are a few key emotional moments missing). (What there is is so good!)

i guess that's the question though, like. a lot of my ficlets i have are just that--ficlets, meant to either lead into another ficlet eventually or lead into answering asks about the ficlet where i then talk more about the au and it gets all fleshed out.

is posting just a ficlet enough on ao3 or is it dishonest to what the au is on tumblr?

i think the ta au is a good example of that, where there are multiple ficlets but it may not feel complete in ficlet form because part of the au is the short ask answers and tags and head canon reblogs that can't be translated over easily to ao3 because it was born on tumblr and it's by it's nature a tumblr au

another example i think would be the princess diaries au where there are 2-3 really good ficlets i like a lot that i think people would like to read but they are by no means close-ended and they're written to leave the concept open to embellishment later on

so when it comes to aus like those, do i wait, do i try to write more, do i keep them solely on tumblr....and when it comes to aus that are JUST one ficlet but left-open ended, does that get to go on ao3?? do i wait?? do i try to write more?? at that point, is that no longer a copy-paste over project and an active effort to translate from tumblr norms to ao3 ones?

[mbat]

i dont know how to say it in a way that people wouldnt somehow still find an issue with but i think so much about how one of my main OCs currently is a goblin from world of warcraft, and i purposefully gave her features that people would say are offensive, and yeah they are in most contexts, but idk...

like, in the game theyre from, its definitely offensive. the entire goblin species in that game is, as far as ive seen, very one-note. they think only of money, and very much dont care about what it takes to get it, including carelessly killing other people (even other goblins) just for a quick buck. ive only ever seen one goblin who doesnt fit this description, and its no surprise to me that that goblin was only from a recent expansion. as a jewish person, and honestly as a person who thinks antisemitism fucking sucks in general, it doesnt feel great! i clearly like this game, but that doesnt erase the fact that a whole race in it is a walking antisemitic stereotype, and how it makes me cringe every. single. time.

and well, goblins are almost always like that. big nosed, money obsessed, conniving, and occasionally they even still love to eat children (coughs in the direction of the most recent season of doctor who). even the least bad depiction ive seen of goblins so far, being the ones from 'tell me why', theyre described as 'crafty' and are thieves, though theyre based on the main characters so its more of a playful thing, yet it still reminds me of certain things.

these traits are also often pointed out to be antisemitic even in non-goblin characters, which is of course fair, like the villagers and golems in minecraft. the villagers are big-nosed, and they used to be the only creatures with a concept of money, especially considering that money was the green gem in the game. not to mention, golems ARE LITERALLY JEWISH FOLKLORE! golems are from jewish myth! clay soldiers created to protect the jewish people from threat... its not hard to make the connection.

theres thing to say about the non-physical traits, but theyre not necessarily my point.

so... what is my point? and what about my OC? why did i give her these physical traits that i know are portrayed as bad and offensive, even though i know why theyre offensive? i couldve easily gone down the route of trying to give her traits that are as far from those as possible, or even have just not made a goblin OC at all.

well... reclamation. the thing is, these traits on their own, theyre not necessarily a bad thing. a hooked nose, green skin, other things that clearly make the character look less human, and therefore lean into the dehumanization of antisemitic depictions. these things together make a caricature, even though on their own theyre just traits.

i just hate that these things that i think are so fun to draw characters with are a bad thing in the right context, but most of all, i hate that a hooked nose is a bad thing in a lot of contexts. real people, especially jewish people, have hooked noses! or the bump seen higher up the nose bridge that adds to the shape thats often seen/depicted! i mean, i look at my own aunt or my grandparents and they have/had those noses.

it sucks that something thats a real, natural thing that my people have, has been taken and treated as an ugly, evil thing. i could get into the same thing many people have about how physical traits being treated as ugly and evil is already a horrible thing, but my point is specifically about this trait, and how it relates to jewish people and antisemitism.

why does this trait have to only be a bad thing? i mean, you dont exactly see it in the mainstream in any context that isnt a villain, i dont even know if i can think of any [animated/drawn] heroes who have big or hooked noses.

i have a few characters with this trait, but theyre either human-ish (an elf) or a bird-like creature, therefore the nose is meant to resemble a beak, or a furry that literally just has that nose because i wanted to give them that trait. then you have my goblin... a goblin based out of world of warcraft.

when i made her a few years ago, i did it out of spite. id already played the game a little bit on my main character (a draenei) and id seen how goblins acted and looked, and how they sounded (i mean, seriously, a new york accent??). and i was genuinely like. 'fuck you blizzard, im going to take your caricatures and make her a person, a fleshed out person whos more than the traits you gave them, and im going to love her for all of the things i give her, because likely no one else will.'

so i did. i gave her a history, i gave her a personality, a future, relationships, i made her a person. im also glad that when i made her, i made her do the starting zone made for beginners where you start on a shipwrecked beach, and they dont really treat you all that different based on race as far as i remember. i later went and made a new goblin to see what the goblin starting zone is like, and it pissed me off so bad... but thats its own conversation.

i made her a person so that the physical traits i gave her were simply traits that she had. i draw her happy and in love because shes a person to me. shes not money obsessed, shes not conniving. shes respected, she cares about people, she isnt sitting around rubbing her hands together plotting in secret.

i just dont want hooked noses to be a bad thing forever. i dont want every picture of a hooked nose to only make people think of the propaganda of the past drawn to disgust people and make people hate my people.

so yeah. i do draw her with a hooked nose, but i dont encourage anyone else to draw her. i dont even have her up on my artfight even though i have my other main world of warcraft character on there, and ive definitely drawn my girl enough that she could probably fill all 6 picture slots. i draw her for me, and i love her for me.

i draw her to take that power away from the hateful depictions. the punch in the gut when i see caricatures. its like when i say faggot and tranny to take away the power of queerphobes. i mean, i still remember the first time i was called a slur, called a tranny. the shock it sent through my body. its not that different from the pain i feel when i see nazi propaganda.

so i do it to take away that pain. to make it mine, and not theirs. thats why. people could see my character and criticize me for it, and thats fair, but i at least want people to know why i do it.

[manicpixiedreamedwins]

fandom imitates life in that it there’s a recent propensity towards violence but a deep discomfort towards sex

[ridiculously-over-obsessed]

When I say that I keep rambling while writing TMWYH, I mean it because the plan for the latter half of it is 5 sides of A4, but the last 3 chapters I've written have literally just covered the bit that's been highlighted 🤡

I think it's going to be closer to 40 chapters than 30... 😅

[smollandkindaannoyed]

It is a "Head empty, one thought" kinda day. And that one thought that has me thinking all day is Bucky calling himself "The Asset" in Sidereal from girlbookwrm and verbalatte.

Like I just finished the fic, loved it, but I cant stop thinking about how Bucky kept calling himself The Asset in the beginning. The way chapter two starts with: 'The Asset has no soulmark, as far as it is aware. Soulmarks are for the living, after all.' And that is some of the most heartbreaking shit ever. Like all I can think about is how Bucky really just became a weapon, an object, to be used for all those years till the point he himself doesn't even believe he is a living being anymore. How he talks about himself like HYDRA talks about him, how he starts to use their words and with talking in a thirth-person way also making his actions not his, because in the end all those missions were done by The Asset not by Bucky. Ye no this thought will be haunting my brain for next few days.